#the robbers would just have an awful time

[themarcspector-hasmoved]

funny marta scene running through my head sdjhfkjsdf

tw: gun, robbery, typical comic book themed violence.

I have the funniest image of Marta in a 24-hour-diner drinking a milkshake alone, humming quietly to herself, when two robbers come in and try to startle everyone there.

And like, her main response is just to continue eating while they tell everyone to get down. And both robbers are shocked that her small ass just stays where she is, unphased, drinking her milkshake.

And they're even more shocked when one gets in her face, she pulls a marta move and puts the beat down on them both for ruining milkshake time. And then, just cause she finds it funny, she takes their guns and pulls a d//ale c//ooper and just stares at them as she puts their empty guns in the kitchen's fryer sksksksk

and then when she’s done rattling them, she ties them up and has them watch her eat pancakes and drink yet another milkshake ….because marta is just….marta… 🤪✌️

"do you want a bite?" marta asks, bringing a piece of pancake close to a robber's mouth, right before moving it away and smiling in a way that's a little unsettling to people who don't know her, "too bad. it's very good stuff, this pancake -- but none for bad boys like you." dsjkfkhhdsfjsd

might write a drabble. though i don't know what verse 🤷🏽‍♀️

tbh marta is pure chaotic energy.

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy Missing

First | Previous | Next

Danny despite everything still liked acting on his own. He needed some space.

Bludhaven was his stomping ground now but it wouldn't be so bad to secretly fly into Gotham. Definitely not to see the other robins or anything. Especially not to see Red Robin.

They may have met briefly some time ago on a rooftop.

Dick didn't even tell him that Red Robin was his age and was cute. Dick already didn't like it when Danny said he thought Tim was attractive. Honestly, he had no room to talk he dated Barbara. It wouldn't be weird if he didn't overthink it.

Still, Red Robin was definitely his type. Then again if he had a dine for every red vigilante he had a crush on he would have 2 dime and well you know the rest.

Danny found it hard not to think about their first meeting.

"Wow, you are much more stunning up close."

The voice came from none other than Red Robin who almost snuck up on Danny who had let him approach.

Danny wondered what exactly the teen was seeing when he looked at Danny.

Red Robin eyed Danny with an intense probing curiosity. Not like how a scientist looks at a butterfly pinned to a board but like a photographer eyes a wild animal. Respect, awe, and excitement.

"You aren't so bad yourself," Danny responded keeping a healthy distance between them.

"Batboy right? I'm Red Robin. Call me Red." He held put his hand to shake.

"Batboy. Call me...uh...Batboy." Danny said awkwardly.

Red Robin seemed to get closer and closer when Danny wasn't looking directly at him.

It was throwing Danny off because the moment had gotten too close his wings reflexively unwrapped from around his shoulders.

"I was right, fruitbat wings. But they connect to your back, not your arms. Like having two sets of arms." Red Robin mumbled as he slid a gloved hand down one wing.

"He-Hey! You shouldn't touch a bat's wings like that." Danny shivered, his face was on fire.

"Oh, are your wings sensitive?"Red Robin teased pulling back and holding up his hands in feigned innocence. "Or is it that it's too personal? Should I buy you dinner first?"

Danny wanted to be upset but he felt the opposite. Maybe because it felt like the teen was playing with him.

Their meet-cute was ended quickly unfortunately since an emergency came up on Robin's end.

That's not why Danny is visiting Gotham. He could just be trying to see the other Robin or Batgirl. Batgirl is cool.

Danny stealthed his way through Gotham towards Crime Alley when a dark shadow was spotted nearby. Danny immediately dropped into an alleyway assuming it was Batman and trying to avoid him.

The young bat knew it was unwise to spread his wings here. They were too liable to get caught in the narrows. He shifted his wings away but he needed something else to help him. Sure he still had his ghost powers, but here in Gotham using them too much risked getting the eyes of the spirits here. Not to mention the Observers. Danny knew to limit his abilities and not overstep boundaries. Danny could only rely on shifting since it was considered a secondary ability.

Danny tried to remember any anatomy he had memorized that could help him. Shifting is very complicated and seeing something isn't always enough, he needed to know the function the further removed it was from his human form.

As Danny rethought his next move someone had sensed him. Red Hood was prowling the area.

Red Hood wasn't completely unaware of Batboy. He knew little of what was going on in Bludhaven but social media was an explosion of posts about Batboy the new sidekick to Nightwing. But the only thing he really knew about the teen was that he had giant bat wings.

The kid that is currently wandering around the alley does not have batwings.

It was just a kid hiding behind a dumbster and about to get mugged.

He was going to save the kid but it wasn't necessary as he watched the kid kick the would-be robber in the face.

When Hood finally got close enough to talk to the kid as he stood over the fallen man he saw a set of Lazarus green eyes shine in the dark like a cat.

Creepy.

A sinking sense of dread seemed to shroud him before passing through him like a cold breeze.

The green-eyed kid stared into his soul as he crept closer. A pull in his chest towards him bubbled inside like a cauldron of oil.

The white-haired teen looked at him with a deep weary sorrow. Without warning Jason felt arms wrap around his shoulders as the teen hugged him. Deep inside of Jason, he felt something settle.

"Im so sorry." The boy said "Let me help."

Without another word the teen pushed his hand into Jason's chest. Just through his body without resistance.

"What the hell are you-" Jason didn't finish as a foul brackish fluid came out of his mouth.

"This filth is not your own. It is polluting you." He said pulling his hand out. "Catch your breath. Slowly. In and out."

Jason felt like a heavy weight was lifted off his chest. Like this was his first breath of air since his revival.

In the teen's hand was a blob of black tar that he rolled into a ball before promptly popping it into his mouth.

"Ew." Jason said.

"Don't judge me. It tastes disgusting but if it isn't consumed it'll infect someone else." He said.

"What are you?"

"....a ghost." The teen paused before responding as if not knowing what to call himself.

"A ghost? As in undead?" Jason knew this had to be some kind of serial joke. It had to be.

"I don't make the rules. I'm a ghost. And you are a revenant. You are just a more alive version of me. Closer to life than death." The teen said.

"Who are you then?" Jason asked this time calmer as he steadied his nerves.

"Call me Phantom for now. I'm just trying to hide from Batman. I don't want him trying anything." Phantom said going back to looking for Batman.

Jason still had questions for Phantom.

"Alright follow me then. The Bat isnt welcome around here and I have a safe house you can wait out in." Jason sighed turning to leave.

The teen seemed to get that Jason wasn't going to hurt him and followed.

*Dick back in Bludhaven*

"Where is my baby?!"

[neo-nomatrix]

Drunk words are sober thoughts

Hobie Brown x reader

Part three of the My Nuisance mini series. Find the other parts here

word count: 959

Synopsis: Hobie forgets everything he told you last night. Thank you @good-so for the inspo!!

When you woke up Hobie was gone. You were surprised you didn’t hear his obnoxious boot buckles clicking when he left. In fact you were surprised he left at all. He basically confessed his love and the fact he was Spiderman to you last night.

You needed time to process everything, make sure none of it was a fever dream. As soon as you woke up (and gathered your thoughts) you trudged over to Hobies flat. You knocked on the door similar to how Hobie always did, part of you was angry that he had left you but you would rather die than let him know he got to you.

“Hobie? You in there?!” You yell pressing your ear against the door.

As you lean into the door it opens up, he had left the door unlocked and didn’t even fully close it. You stepped into the rather dark flat and admired the decorations. He had a way of making everything look like a punk rock magazine, despite the chaos it was cleaner than you had anticipated. You searched throughout the flat trying to find him but it was clear he wasn’t there.

Eventually you came across a small box decorated with photos of the London bridge and bright colors. You didn’t mean to snoop around, really, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Inside were five things: three letters, a ring, and a necklace. You had recognized the ring and necklace, they were yours. You had lost both of them by mistake about a week ago but assumed they were long gone. As you thought about it more you realized something like that happened often, you would lose something of yours and a week later they would up outside of your door with a note attached to it.

Usually saying “You’re quite clumsy, love - Hobie”

It hadn’t occurred to you why he had found so many of your things until now.

You looked at one of the letters, and sure enough it said “You just keep losing stuff don’t you? Good thing i’m here to save the day -Hobie” You smile to yourself thinking about the fact that he would probably give you this tomorrow.

The second letter was from you. The first time you had ever told him to turn down his music. As you read it you realized how much you had changed from the first time you met him. You were so polite in the letter, the fact you had taped a letter to his door instead of screaming at him was polite in itself. After that first letter you don’t think you have ever said “please” and “thank you.” From then on it was mostly you stomping over to his flat and yelling while he stood there amused.

The last letter was addressed to you. And it was double sided, either this boy has a lot of baggage or he was really in love with you. You felt awful reading it though. You started at the first words for a while “For my Love,” until the lights switched on.

“You’re breaking into my house now? That’s cheeky init?” He smirked. God he is so stupid, and what British person actually says init?

“The door was open. I was… just checking to see no one like a robber had broken in,” you replied.

“Right, and you also wanted to make sure that box wasn’t broken into?” he replied.

You immediately set it down.

“I haven’t read any of it, promise,” you smiled

“Yet, you haven't read any of it yet,” he finished for you.

“So, about last night?” you bring up. Hoping he’ll want to talk about it.

“Right… uhm, i don’t really remember any of it? So whatever i said don’t pay any attention. I’m a compulsive liar when I get wasted,” he shrugs.

Oh. He didn’t remember anything he said. And he’s also a dunk liar. Cute. You were still slightly convinced he’s spiderman, though. He showed you the suit and the mask, which weren’t exactly replicas to your knowledge. And trust, you knew your spiderman suit replicas. But the other stuff?

The stuff about you hurting his feelings and him being in love with you? Yeah, you were almost one hundred percent sure those were lies. You don’t know why you were convinced with one but not the other. You just did.

“Yeah, of course,” you looked sad.

“But I should get going,” you said after a moment of silence.

“Right, we’ll uhm, see you,” he said.

You nodded before looking down at the ground, walking off without being able to look into his eyes.

You shut the door to your flat faster than you ever have before.

“Oh my lord,” you whispered to yourself.

Gods, if that wasn’t the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. You didn’t even know what you were thinking, you had to be mental, right? Going into Hobies flat while he wasn’t around? And he caught you? You could never show your face again.

While you’re in your flat panicking your mind out, Hobie is filled with anxiety. He’s racking his brain trying to remember what happened last night and why he woke up in your bed. Did he say something horrible? Did he confess his deepest secrets to you? The answer was yes, but he didn’t know that yet. He only left early because Miguel had pinged his watch with some stupid mission.

“The fate of the multiverse is at stake,” or something like that.

He knew he had to talk to you again. Picking up the box he pulled out the ring. Admiring the way it glimmered in the fluorescent lights.

Throwing away the note that came with it, he knew exactly how to start a conversation.

Taglist!! @clown420cunt @good-so @anonima-2 @gh0stsp1d3r @miracleboylene @natthernandez @frenchbaddie @loislucky @juo6uvr @gaychaosgremlin @skiedrr @the-golden-goldie @hellok1ttycake @theleftkittycollection @xbl00dy-r0s3x @diamondroxypie

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling Far.

(Part 3)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

Warnings: cursing, crime, mentions of guns, stalking/harassment (brief), think that’s it.

Word count: 3.6k ish

A/N: i had no plan to make this story into a mini-series, so if this seems a little unplanned… it is. Anyway, hope you like it my loves 😘

(This is not beta’s so any mistakes are my own)

Part 2 ⬇️:

———————

Bold is readers thoughts

Italics is Bucky's thoughts

This starts in Bucky’s POV.

———————

His home office was always the place he went to feel at peace. Ironic really, considering the dealings done within the room. The walls had seen him order his men to assassinate his rivals, to eliminate anybody that got in their way. The desk had felt the tip of the pen write extortionate contracts, sent silently to some of the cities most powerful people, the non-explicit threat sent with photos of their family’s, to reminds them what they were risking if they refused to comply. The window that felt the full strength of his prosthetic too many times to count. The hole in the floor after one of his employees managed to literally shoot himself in the foot. {guess who}

But his peace was teetering on a cliffs edge. His hands were woven into his hair, pulling to try and alleviate the headache forming. Elbows resting on his desk as his eyes stayed staring at one specific groove in the wood.

A knock at the door broke his trance and he sighed. It was a rule in the Compound that if the boss was in his office and the door was closed, you do not interrupt or enter unless there was an emergency. Only one man was brave enough to completely disregard Bucky’s rule, which had led to some… interesting situations when Bucky had girls in there with him.

“Come in,” he called, knowing the longer he waited to respond, the louder and more incessant the knocking would become.

The door opened and there was Bucky’s very own personal dumbass: Steve Rogers. The man had been a part of Bucky’s life since as long as he could remember, if-fact some of his earliest memories were with Steve; young boys playing cops and robbers together, attempting to protect Steve when he picked a fight he had no business being in- which had led to Bucky getting his ass beat as well, and scheming together about how to make sure that Simon Justin never played baseball again after pulling his sisters hair on the playground.

“Fuck me Buck, I’m not sure if today could have been anymore fucked,” Steve stated as he collapsed on to the couch, flinging his legs over one arm and resting his head in the other.

Today was a stressful fucking day.

It was the day that Bucky was making all necessary moves. Why all the problems had to pop up now, he wasn’t sure. And the kicker to this awful day? He had no time to talk to you, the girl he could not get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. You’d managed to flood his mind, memories of the kiss you shared playing over and over again.

“Did you close the door?” Bucky asked, not moving an inch.

“Yeah.”

“Good because I do not need anyone else talking to me right now,” Bucky said, his voice low and quiet, an air of danger ever-present in his tone.

“C’mon Buck, y’know you love them,” Steve responds with a dopey little smirk on his face, and he tilts his head to make eye contact with the man he calls his brother.

I hate that fuckin smile.

He softly hums his agreement and returns to inspecting the groove on his desk.

“We just gotta talk it out, figure out what the fuck is going on, then plan our next moves accordingly,” Steve says, swinging his legs back to the floor, hands clasped together, his arms leaning on his knees.

“Yeah thanks man, I didn’t think about figuring everything out, maybe I’ll give that a go now” Bucky retorts with weak sarcasm, mind too busy, replaying the events of the day.

“I can leave you alone to get lost in your head, or we can figure this shit out together. It’s your call jerk.” Steve says, tilting his head down to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Alright.”

“Stop pulling your hair jackass.” He adds.

I hate it when you do that.

Bucky drops his hands to the desk and says, “Ok let’s start this debrief with Walker.”

“Nat’s got his ass tied up in the basement for ya, he’s ready when you are.”

“Anybody looking for him?”

“One frustratingly loyal friend, but he has no idea that Johnny-boy is with us. The rest of his little fan club have no idea he’s even missing.”

“Ok, one problem down. Rumlow?” It’s the question he doesn’t want the answer to. He’d much rather spend his time thinking about you. His history with Brock Rumlow was bloody and painful, for both of them. There was only one person from his past that Bucky hadn’t dealt with, and here he was, coming back to ruin the name Bucky had made for himself.

Rumlow knew things about Bucky’s past that made him a a high security threat, but after he failed to blow himself up in an attempt to kill Bucky, he had disappeared. Bucky thought it was finally over, but the asshole popped back up about a year ago, with more power than before, making himself seemingly untouchable by Bucky’s hand.

“Currently moving like he has been, not causing too much trouble for us, though his crew are getting closer and closer to our dealings at the port.” Steve said, a slight look of digits on his face.

“Put extra hands down there for the next couple weeks, see if we can’t scare them off a little.”

“Yes boss. I’ll let them know after this.”

“The commissioner’s dealt with?” Buck asks, remembering the deviation the man had decided to make.

“Yep, send him that gift basket. He called Sam this morning and agreed to our terms.”

“Good. How’s Barton?” He asks, moving into what they class as ‘personal business’.

“Pissed, man. He wants blood for what happened, we all do.” Steve answers, the memory of seeing Clint covered in blood and bruised made his blood simmer.

“We sure it wasn’t Rumlows’ lot, or fuck even Walker?

“Walkers’ fanclub do not have the brain cells, the power, or the information to organise an attack like that, and Parker tracked Rumlow and his men, all are accounted for and have alibis. This is someone new.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Isn’t two power hungry assholes enough.

“We haven’t found anything? No security cameras, no cell tower pings?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair, resting his head on the back.

“Actually, I sent Scott there this morning to check out if there was anything left there and he found something.” Steve responds, some apprehension creeping into his voice.

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped back up and locked eyes with Steve who now stood in-front of his desk, pacing back and forth slightly.

“Care to share with the class Rogers?” His voice was hard now, his extreme dislike of not knowing all the information shining through.

Steve exhales sharply, biting his tongue to not retort and piss Bucky off more.

“He found a package tucked behind a dumpster addressed to ‘Bucky Barnes’ that had a memory stick-“

“Like a USB?” Bucky interrupted.

“- Yeah a USB-“ he gets cut off again.

“Then just say USB, calling it a ‘memory stick’ makes you sound 100 years old.”

“-oh dear god, you gonna let me finish?” Steve responds.

Bucky waved his hand at him, a sign for him to continue.

“Scott found a package addressed to you with a USB inside, we gave it to Stark ‘cos Parker was busy tracking down Rumlows crew, and he checked it out and told us it was completely normal, no virus or anything bad in it.”

“Was there anything on it?” Bucky asks, his brow furrowed.

“It..uh..has two pictures on it.” Steve said lowly.

“…of?”

“It’s probably better if I just show you.” Steve said, his tone of voice made Bucky a little nervous.

Steve took out his phone, tapped a couple of time before turning it around to give to Bucky. As soon as the latter had ahold of the phone, Steve took a full step back, which caused Bucky to raise his eyebrows in question.

“Just look.” He says in response to Bucky’s unasked question.

He looked down at the screen and almost immediately removed his left hand as to not break the phone.

Fuck. Shit.

The first picture was of the night he met you. It was taken through the window for you apartment, and clearly showed both you and Bucky, stood side by side, looking through your flash book.

“What the fuck is this?” He pushes out through gritted teeth.

“I assuming that’s the tattoo artist you told me about, the one you got a thing for?” Steve says.

The one I’m obsessed with.

When Bucky gives him a sharp nod, Steve just drops his head, suddenly fascinated with his shoes.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was louder now.

“Look at the next picture.” Steve says while avoiding eye contact.

Bucky looks down, his finger swiping to the next picture before he can think about it.

No. No no fuck. Not her.

The next photo was taken from inside the apartment. Inside your bedroom. It’s of you. Asleep. Completely unaware of the danger stood at the foot of your bed.

Bucky couldn’t look away, he was frozen staring at the picture. Your shorts and oversized tee had both ridden up slightly, showing how truly vulnerable you are. The clock on your table showed the time as 3:54 and showed the date.

“…this was taken this morning.”

“..yeah.”

fuck.

———————

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

The bastard hadn’t contacted you since the shop.

Bitch ass told me to keep my phone on so I wouldn’t miss his message, kept me glued to my phone like a weirdo waiting for him to call… and he didn’t. Dick.

Despite the annoyance at the very very attractive mobster, you couldn’t help wonder how he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about you too.

You’re overthinking about Bucky was interrupted by a knock at your door.

“One sec!” You shout to whoever’s there, getting up and walking to the door. The second you undo the lock, the door is being pushed into your face with a chorus of greetings.

“Come in I guess,” you say to the three who just walked in.

“Well thanks darlin, you got food?” Billy responds, already making his way to the fridge.

“Don’t fucking eat my pizza Bill, I swear I’ll kill you,” you answer, giving both Frank and Curtis a hug, letting the door close behind them.

He laughs off your threat as the others take a seat on your couch.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but why the fuck are you here?” You ask, moving back to the arm chair in the corner and taking a seat, your phone pinging in the back ground.

“What, we can’t pop in on you whenever we want?” Frank says, leaning back in the arm of the couch, moving to put his feet in the coffee table.

“Frankie if you put your feet on my table, I’m gonna beat you with a spoon.” You call at him.

He freezes and slowly lowers his feet back to the floor.

“We just wanted to come see how you were…Frank told us about Barnes.” Curtis says, cutting into the conversation and completely dampening the mood.

God-fucking-dammit Frank.

Oh fuck do I tell them that he’s not an issue and I actually quite like him.

“Yeah are you ok sweetheart?” Billy asks and he collapses on the couch in the middle of the other boys.

“I’m fine guys, I swear, like I told Frank he’s actually not bad,” you answer, shifting uncomfortable lay in your seat due to the indecision of how much to tell them, “He was nice, polite and kind of…charming, I guess-”

“Is that why you kissed him?” Frank interrupts.

Shit, how does he know?

“-what?”

“You kissed him. Or rather he kissed you but you seemed to enjoy it.” Billy says with an annoying smirk on his face.

“How do you know that?” You ask, shock still written all over your face.

“..the security cameras, kid. You forget about those?”

Ahh fuck.

“Ahh fuck,” you say out loud.

“What the hell are you doing making out with a mobster, Y/N?” Curtis responds, looking at you with those eyes of his that show he’s not judging, just trying to understand.

“I..uh..I wasn’t-really-thinking.” You put you hands on your head, even though Curtis wasn’t judging you, the other two definitely were.

“Obviously you weren’t, he’s a goddam mobster Y/N-” Billy starts, anger in his voice, but you cut him off.

“I know that Bill, ok, I do,” you say, shifting to place your feet on the floor, “but he’s not the animal you think he is, he’s kind and considerate and he makes me feel…” happy. you cut off before the last word, wanting to keep that realisation to yourself for a little longer.

“Plus you bastards can’t be judging me for meeting the guy twice, only yourselves and the devil knows what fucked shit you three have been up to.” You almost shout.

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank answers.

“C’mon Frank I’m not stupid, you three have some shady shit in your pasts. I mean you were goddam military for fucks sake, and don’t think I don’t see the fake payments on the books at the shop-“

“Stop Y/N.” Billy cuts you off. “Stop it now.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

You were about to respond to his demand, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Told you to keep you phone on.” A dark voice calls through the door.

Oh shit. No no no not now please not now.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frank asks, suddenly sitting up straight, eyes pinned on the door. Both Billy and Curtis stand, facing the door as if waiting for it to bust off it’s hinges.

“Please all of you, shut the fuck up and don’t do anything dumb,” you answer, moving towards the door.

“Is that him?” Curtis asks.

“Didn’t I just say shut the fuck up,” you retort a little snappier, opening the door slightly.

He cut his hair, it’s looks good on him.

Bucky lowers his arm from his thwarted attempt at a second knock and says, “Is your phone broken or are you ignoring me?” The smirk on his face made your heart beat a little faster.

“Neither, I just missed your text because I have some friends over right now,” you say.

“Is that why you’re not opening the door properly? I can barley see you,” he says with a grin.

“…kinda? Ok wait..” you exit your apartment, pulling the door closed fully behind you, “long story short, they know about the k.. uh about what happened at the shop, and they know who you are and they are not happy about it.”

His eyes darken and his smirk grows wider at the almost mention of the kiss. He shifts until he’s leaning his shoulder on the wall by your door.

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t really matter what they think though, does it doll? Both you and I know how much you enjoyed it.” He says, mouth forming a cheeky grin.

Oh my god.

“Me? You’re the one who started it Bucky, seemed you enjoyed it more,” you respond, having no idea where the confidence came from.

He hums at your statement and says “Well I can admit that I did enjoy our kiss sweetheart, but I may need a little reminder of how it went, it’s been a long day you see.”

“Bucky-” you’re cut of by him stepping closer until your chests are barley touching, the new position making you tilt your head back to see him better.

“What darlin? You ok with this?” He asks slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Why does he have to be so sweet.

You nod in answer to his question and he smiles. Not the terrifying grin or the cheeky smirk, but a genuine smile - one that makes him even more beautiful. Bucky raises his right arm, dragging his thumb over your lips and cupping your cheek while you stare up at him, his other hand sneaks around your back, pulling you flush to him.

“You have no idea what to do to me, do ya?” He mumbles, probably not intending for you to respond as he’s closing the gap between you. The kiss is harsh and a little messy, shocking you slightly with his apparent desperation, hands holding you tightly. He takes advantage of your shock, tracing your lips with his tongue and pushing past to deepen the kiss.

His hand drops from you face to your waist, gripping so tightly, you’re sure he’ll have left a bruise. That thought got you’re heart pumping faster, the idea that an imprint of his hands, his fingers would be left on your skin. It felt right. Bucky pushes you until your back hits the wall, hips fitting against yours almost perfectly, one leg sneaking between yours as you let a light whimper escape.

You break the kiss to get some air, leaning your forehead against his, both of you catching your breath.

“Bucky, I mis-”, you didn’t get to finish the sentence before your door opens and you’re suddenly faced with three pissed off ex-marines.

-(Bucky’s P.O.V)

Bucky immediately steps back, releasing you, and straightens his posture. He looks at the men, quietly analysing them. He can tell that they either are or were military, and definitely care immensely about you, probably to the point of beating the crap out of anyone that hurt you.

The one in the middle is a frightening creature , he thinks, but the wedding band means he has something to loose, he should be less quick to anger, in theory.

The one on the right with the short buzz cut and the tense muscles reminds him of Clint, he’s ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and by the look on his face, I’m gonna be his next target.

The man on the left intrigued Bucky the most. His face is blank, showing nothing. He’s favouring one of his legs, and the other shows a bulky piece of metal at the bottom. Wonder if that’s an old military injury.

“Guys, what are you doing?” You ask, apprehension in your voice. Bucky wonders if you’re scared for them or for him.

“Oh we are gonna head out, let you have some time to really think about what we talked about.” The man in the middle says, putting emphasis on the word really.

“Frank please-”

“No it’s ok sweetheart,” Bucky bristles at the pet name the Clint wannabe says, “we’ll see you later.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, I left my phone on your table, could you get it for me?” The other says to you, cutting off your words, smiling at you to calm the stressed look on your face.

“Of course Cutis, one sec,” you respond, Turing to Bucky at the end of your sentence with a look at says please don’t make this worse.

You pass by the men and let the door fall closed behind you.

The silence is tense as the men all stare at each-other.

“So…how’s your man doing? Y’know the one that got jumped,” Billy says, smirking at Bucky.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks as his muscles tense.

“…Y/N told us, obviously,” Billy says.

The pause was intentional, she didn’t tell them that.

“He’s fine, thanks.” Bucky responds shortly, all to aware of the lie he was just told.

The door opens just before Billy can respond, all four men going silent again.

“Here it is Curtis, guess I’ll see you guys later then,” you say, before hugging each man.

The three shoulder past Bucky as if he was just a man on the street, no care in the world that he could have them killed for that disrespect. But he lets this one slide, for her, as they’re her friends.

“Did you tell them about Clint?” He knows it was a lie but he needs to make sure his cynical brain isn’t marking it up.

“No? Why?” You answer, unaware of the turmoil occurring in Bucky’s head.

Then how the fuck do they know.

“Give me one minute doll, I forgot something at the car,” he says, “go on inside I’ll be back soon.”

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, walking back into the apartment.

He watches the door and as soon as it closes he is moving back down the stairs, hoping to catch and ask the men how they knew about Clint. Bucky normally has an reasonable explanation for everything, but this time he was stumped. He catches them outside the front door to the building, the three of them stood leaning against their car, watching the door, waiting for him to come out.

“How do you know?” He repeats his question from before, voice lower and more dangerous now.

“Y’know…that bastard has a solid right hook.” Billy says. The sentence sends red hot anger through Bucky’s blood.

It was them. But that means…

“Did you get our package?” The big one in the middle asks, Frank, she called him.

Fuck. The anger that has been burning in his veins since the second he saw those photos of you pours out of him and he immediately pulls a gun on Frank.

“Hey now that’s not smart, is it?” Curtis asks in a placating tone.

“Don’t forget about our girl up there. What’s she gonna think if you shoot me for no reason?” Frank says, unflinching staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun.

Fuck. Fuck. These bastard are the ones threatening everything, they jumped Clint and are using you to get to him. They’re your friends and you? You have absolutely no idea.

————

Yo this took so long to do!! Hope you like my lil twisty turn at the end there 😈.

Lemme know what u think 😘

Tagged :

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @1-800-bxrnes @fandomsfallnomore @bushtail @ghostofwinter @missdarlingsb @amiets2 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

[serpenlupus]

About Wyll and his horns (and what they mean)

Let's say I was writing a part of my Tav's story with Wyll directly connected to the dialogue he has during the tiefling party, and while struggling with this bit, I've realized there's quite a few misconceptions floating around. I felt compelled to add information to the table that might clear them, so here we go.

First, what exactly happens to Wyll when he disobeys Mizora in act one? Well, he doesn't get turned into a devil, he certainly doesn't get turned into a tiefling, he's not a half fiend, not a demon, none of that. Wyll stays human, but he has horns and red eyes (and other features we can't see on his model as of now).

(Everyone has their race listed, Wyll's remains "Human")

This is because when a warlock fails to uphold some part of their contract they can suffer a certain number of consequences, Wylls is “The character grows horns, a tail, or some other devilish features that can't be removed by any means short of divine intervention. As long as these marks persist the character detects as a fiend when subjected to Detect Evil and Good spells or similar magic.” ( from Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus, page 214)

And I’ve come across some people that think it wasn’t so bad of a punishment, that he was being racist towards the tieflings, or just not being justified in being upset after having his body forcibly changed against his will. I think they are missunderstanding just how insidious Mizora’s actions were, and here I just want to give some context to maybe bring a better understanding to the situation. Your conclusions are up to you.

Gonna start by using a not exact analogy, but I think it’s going to make the explanation easier. Stick with me for a minute.

Remember Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean? He had a branded “P” on his arm that marked him as a pirate. A murderer, robber, criminal, etc. in the eyes of the society he was a part of. What did Jack do to earn the branding? (if you don’t know this I suggest you look up the “people aren’t cargo mate” scene) He refused to transport slaves and later freed them, and Beckett had him marked as punishment.

Then, in the first movie, he saves Elizabeth, a woman he didn’t know, from drowning. Right after however, when Norrington sees he has a branded “P”, he’s like “alright, off to jail with you, and then hanging”, no other option crosses his mind. Again, Jack doesn’t know Elizabeth, isn’t indicated to think he is going to be rewarded for helping her, he just sees a drowning person, sees that no one else is going to help, and chooses to save them. That is a pretty selfless/good aligned thing to do, for no other reason that he was the one able to do it, yet the branding in his arm overrides any good action he could ever do, marking him as a criminal for execution and no further thought.

In a way, that’s what Mizora did to Wyll; she forever visibly branded him as someone that has made deals with devils, and that in the world of DnD is a VERY BAD THING. Personally I really like the mod that gives him more devilish features, but at the same time I think there was something clever about choosing to leave him looking more human. He can’t be confused with a tiefling, he doesn’t have the ears, the claws, the tail, all those features that characterize them. He looks kind of uncanny, and that would be like a red flag for anyone in that world. (Beyond the already existing hate for tieflings that I’m not gonna tackle on here because it’s a complicated thing that deserves its own post). And Wyll wants to do good, he wants to help people, to be a positive force in the world so, so badly. This dude got abducted by a nautiloid, got tadpole’d, and the first thing he did right after that was come across the Tiefling refugees and be like “Oh you need help? No worries let me teach you self defense. Oh you being attacked by goblins? Let me blast them real quick”. His way of saying fuck you to all the awful things that have happened to him is being aggressively good and kind. Mizora knows this very well, wants to see him suffer for her amusement, wants to remind him he can't escape her claws, so her choice of punishment was to forever taint his future interactions with mistrust and suspicion. Some people can go real fast from “oh thank God they saved me” to “oh no, are they gonna rob me, are they trying to trick me, are they in cahoots with the ones that attacked me first?” just because of outward appearances. Especially in DnD world. And that deserves its own conversation, but we're focusing on Wyll here.

(Mizora, when I catch you Mizora)

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a deal in the first plac- - “ He was seventeen, alone, preyed upon by Mizora and put in an impossible situation. Please PAY ATTENTION to the story you’re witnesing.

Anyway.

About the tieflings. I know it’s easy to think his words can be derisive towards them, but it’s less about the horns and more about his body being changed against his will. Imagine instead that he got half his face burned, or something that disfigured him. I think his feelings at the moment were closer to that, and yeah they are pretty insensitive words to say to someone with a similar condition (horns or disfiguration), but when feelings are fresh and raw like that it’s easy to say insensitive things. Not saying it was ok for him to say them, but there was no malice in his words. I’ve also seen some people share that they think Mizora wanted to change him more to make him unrecognizable to his original self, the Wyll Ravenguard kid, and I think there is some truth to that too. She wants to make sure that Wyll remembers that he belongs to her, there's no question to that.

(MIZORA, WHEN I CATCH YOU MIZORA)

Whether the Tieflings refugees would feel unsettled by Wyll or not? Yes. In a way, they would. From reasons aside from the ones I explained above, remember that these specific tieflings come from Elturel. If you didn’t pass the History check or don’t remember, Elturel is a city that was literally ripped from the land and dragged to Avernus, First layer of hell (it left a hole on the ground and everything) because their mayor made a deal with the Archdevil Zariel some decades back in the timeline. He sold the souls of all its citizens and the city itself.

This was probably one of the worst times of their lives. Some even got captured and forced to participate in the blood War, like Dammon as a mechanic. And after Elturel got returned to the surface, the tieflings lost their homes because they reminded the other citizens of the literal Hell they’d just gone through, and they kicked them out. And remember, they met and saw Wyll as a human, and then saw him with horns. It’s not unreasonable to think that by looking at him they would be reminded of all the events that led them to the awful situation they’re in. Because of someone that was making deals with devils, just like Wyll. Even if his situation is completely different. And Wyll knows that, that’s why he tells you the tieflings are unsettled by him and chooses to stay away during the party.

It was never just about the horns.

And I know Wyll calls himself a devil but I think it’s because it’s the closest thing he looks as; devils are a whole different race with their own intricacies, although humans can be turned into devils ONCE their souls go to Avernus and they start climbing the power hierarchy there (Mizora and Raphael are cambions/ half-devils btw, which is a different thing,  there are plenty of videos exploring those details more in depth).

Do I think Larian should have made some of this information clearer/easier to access? Maybe? but to be fair, it's a game focused and dedicated to a crowd that was already somewhat familiar with the source material, that blew up waay out of what they originally expected to reach. Hopefully they’ll add some clarifications like they did to other quests. 

Anyway these are my two cents to the conversation, have a nice day, and don't hesitate to add your two cents if you feel like it!

[derangedsynthpop]

because barbie

written for @bucktommywinterfest Halloween warm up round

prompt: couples costumes

rated: T

tags: halloween costumes, horny buck, smitten tommy, banter

word count: 824

[read below or on AO3]

Summary:

Buck and Tommy try to figure out what to wear to a 118 Halloween party.

***

"I am not wearing that."

"What? Aw, c'mon, Tommy. Please?" Buck tilts his chin down to look at Tommy through his lashes with a pout.

"Absolutely not. And put those sad puppy eyes away, Evan, they won't change my mind."

"Okay, fine," Buck huffs. Taking one more look at the picture on his phone, he frowns, silently mourning what could have been, and shuts the screen off. "Then what would you suggest?"

They're sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing each other, and trying to decide what to wear to the Halloween party Bobby and Athena are throwing at their new house. Buck feels like they've been going back and forth over it for hours, when in actuality, it's only been about ten minutes.

"Okay," Tommy grins wickedly, doing that little excited wiggle he does that Buck adores. "You already know I have the whole get-up to do Han Solo..."

Buck raises an eyebrow at that, instantly intrigued. "And who would I be?"

"Well, I think you would look really hot in a slave Leia costume."

The images that Buck's mind conjures has blood rushing to his face and his heartrate skyrocketing. "I, um-- Uh, wow," he says a bit breathlessly. "I... wow."

Tommy laughs, cupping Buck's face in his hands. He gives Buck a quick peck on the lips. "Did I break your brain?"

"Mhm."

"You know I wouldn't actually ask you to wear that in front of your friends and family, right? Unless you really wanted to."

Buck breaks out of his daze to say, "Hey, they're your friends and family, too, Tommy."

Tommy gives him another quick kiss. "I know. I just also knew phrasing it like that would get your brain back to the present."

Buck rolls his eyes affectionately. "Okay. So, I'm definitely not wearing a slave Leia costume. Outside of sexy time, that is. And, I don't know... Princess Leia, or even General Leia, just isn't sparking anything."

"Bee and bee keeper?"

"Too soon."

"Milk and cookies?"

"Too cliche."

"Shaggy and Scooby?"

"Too many invasive questions about our sex life."

"Ghostbusters?"

"Ehhh..."

Tommy sighs. "Evan, we have to pick something in the next few days or we'll be the only ones without costumes."

"Ughhhh," Buck groans, dropping his head back. "Why is this so haaarrd?" His head shoots back up. "Oh! Hard! Maybe sex will help me think."

Buck reaches for Tommy's pants, but Tommy grabs his wrist. "No. No sex until we figure something out."

"Oh, you are evil."

Tommy grins big, his eyes crinkling and nose scrunching up all adorable, taking Buck's hand and bringing it to his lips. Buck is helpless against that smile, blushing as he returns a small smile of his own. "Angel and devil?" Tommy asks, and kisses Buck's knuckles.

"May...be...? It's a solid contender, at the very least."

"Alright!" Tommy claps his hands together. "Finally, we're getting somewhere."

"Ooh, one of us could be the Rubber Man from American Horror Story." Buck waggles his eyebrows, biting his lip as he looks Tommy up and down.

Tommy gives him a look. "What was that about too many question about our sex life?"

"Relax, Babe, I was kidding." Buck pats Tommy's leg. Then he grins, and adds, "Mostly."

"Brat."

Buck sticks his tongue out, like the mature adult he is. Tommy flicks the tip of his nose, then kisses it to soothe the slight sting.

"Okay, well what about pirates? Cowboys?" Tommy asks.

"Hmm, I was a cowboy for the Haunt Fest. I don't want to just repeat that. But you in assless chaps? Yes, please."

"Evan."

"What?"

"You're picturing me in assless chaps, a cowboy hat, and nothing else, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Buck says like it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.

Tommy shakes his head, a fond look on his face.

"Cop and robber?" Buck suggests. "I'll let you cuff me."

Tommy quirks a brow. "Like you don't already?"

Buck snickers. "Okay, okay. For real this time. Um, what about... Oh! Barbie and Ken. In their cowgirl and cowboy oufits."

"I thought you didn't want to be a cowboy again? What makes this any different?"

"Because Barbie."

"Alright," Tommy raises his hands in surrender. "But why not Ken and Ken?"

"Why would be both be Ken?"

"Because... we're both men?"

"Tommy," Buck looks at him like he's grown a second head. "It's Barbie and Ken, not Ken and-- Wow. Nope. No. That came out all wrong. I sound like a homophobe."

Tommy laughs. "We could be Alan and Ken."

"So you don't want to see me in a sparkly hot pink cowgirl outfit?"

"I--" Tommy starts, stopping abruptly, his cheeks heating. "I don't not want to see you in a sparkly hot pink cowgirl outfit."

"So... Barbie and Ken?" Buck gives a sly smile.

Tommy nods in agreement. "Barbie and Ken it is."

"And... sex now?"

Tommy bursts out laughing, grabbing Buck's face to kiss him. "Yes, baby, sex now."

"Yeehaw!"

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes. 

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered. 

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak. 

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt. 

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have. 

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while. 

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between. 

That's why he calls this place purgatory. 

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips. 

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth. 

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human... 

He wonders if she's even real. 

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls. 

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke. 

And then the angel turns her head. 

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile. 

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her. 

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him. 

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base. 

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees. 

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite. 

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it. 

His angel is lonely and trapped too. 

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss. 

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too. 

Has someone claimed her already…? 

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night. 

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat. 

No. 

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good. 

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror. 

He wants all of that. 

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either. 

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse… 

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet? 

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him... 

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move. 

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster. 

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers. 

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now. 

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too... 

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly. 

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

[bokettochild]

Social Butterfly

Sometimes I just want to touch on the fact that Legend is not, in fact, the worst possible human being

He has friends

He has so many friends!

"No, Time, don't shoot that Dodongo! No, yeah, that's my old friend Demitri! He totally is chill and won't keep attacking if you stop hitting him, guys. Wait you want proof? Okay! Hey, Dimitri! It's Link! Yeah, see? Told you!"

Or you know, there's also Ricky and Moosh. Twilight is over here complaining about Wild's choice in steeds and Legend is sitting there wondering if now would be a bad time to mention that he got carried around in a murder-rabbit's front pocket, or that yeah, he's ridden bears too, but his flies.

Oh, the robbers who are holding them up on the road? The other heroes are all preparing for a beat down but Legend just groans and starts chewing out Ghanti because, seriously girl? You've filled the quota for how many times you can rob me this year! Find another sucker!

And when they run into the actual goddesses? Legend greets them all so chill, just a "hey, Din! Long time no see, how's things with the circus troupe? Nayru, how's Ralph doing? Did he finally master a spin attack or is he still struggling with that? No? Aw well, sucks to be him! And hey, Farore! Yeah, I'm going okay, how are you?"

Meanwhile the other heroes are just...okay, yeah, this is happening. Legend's friends with the goddesses and some strange animals. But then there's the witch girl who keeps running into them, seemingly targeting Legend? And every sage seems to know this guy, but there's like.....14 of them? And no matter where they go, it's just like "Hey, Vasu! Got any bigger ring boxes in? No. Aw well, I have some duplicates to trade." The librarian? The random seed farmers? The village mayors? The soldiers?

Legend knows literally everyone. The heroes can't even keep track of the names but they still keep coming. Legend finally starts telling stories of his adventures and the amount of people he names is just confusing. "No, no, Syrup is the old witch and Irene is her granddaughter." "Who's Rosa? Oh, she's a pop-star I dated this one time." "Raven? Oh, well, he's sort of a hero but not a chosen hero and he looks like Time but minus a decade and most of the trauma. Also he's my ancestor. Anyways..."

He just...knows everyone.

No one is sure how to reconcile the wary and guarded hero they know with the apparent social butterfly he just has to be to know all these people!

[boy-comics]

MONSTER HOUSE!

── .✦ pairing; monster!xdinary heroes x gn!undead!reader

── .✦ summary; it's your first time waking up from the dead. thankfully, you meet six guys who are just as strange as you are.

── .✦ word count; ~2.9k

── .✦ tags; mentions of death, swearing, fluff, found family, unintentionally jooyeon-heavy bc he likes the attention ig, exposition :(

── .✦ a/n; a little post-halloween one shot!!! mostly an excuse to post my monster!xh headcanons which are at the very end. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, but they love reader either way hehe <3

You wake up to a series of dull thuds coming through the ceiling.

It's strange. You don't remember falling asleep. But your head is on a pillow, and you feel soft, hazy, and vaguely numb. Darkness fills your vision when you open your eyes and the only thing that arouses your suspicion is that awful noise from above.

That, and an equally awful, musty smell.

You groan, or at least attempt to groan, as you nearly hack up a lung upon taking in a larger breath. You don't remember living with upstairs neighbors.

… You don't remember much of anything, actually.

You try to wiggle your toes. They eventually do, and then you move on to your fingers, then your arms. With an ungodly amount of effort, you prop yourself onto your elbows—

—and promptly hit your head on the ceiling.

"Ow."

A sudden uneasiness washes over you as you feel the area around you. It's narrow. You can't even stretch your arms out before you hit rough panels of wood by your sides, behind your head, above your face. Your feet hit something equally solid when you try to slide downwards. Then you realize how chilly it is, and then you recognize the smell, and cold shock runs through your entire body as you realize just where you are.

"Hey," you croak, hitting your fists against the lid of the coffin. "Get me out! I'm not dead! I'm not dead!"

And to your surprise, someone answers.

You don't recall when the thuds had stopped. But they return with fervor, and soon enough, thumps give way to the sound of wood splintering, and dreary, grey light shines through the cracks and breaks through the darkness.

You gasp. Chunk by chunk, your coffin lid is torn away, and rain soaks into your clothes as you meet the wide eyes of a young man.

His eyelashes flutter as he stares at you underneath the thundering sky. You stare back.

A shiver wracks your bones.

"Oh," your grave robber exclaims, stretching a hand out towards you.

—

If it weren't for the dirty windows, the peeling paint, the creaking boards, and the overall stench of death and bad luck hanging over the entire premises, you would have felt out of place in front of this mansion.

"It's a lot cleaner inside," Jungsu assures you as he turns the knob, sheepishly giving the front door an extra hard push when it doesn't budge. "Better than a grave, anyway."

"Are you sure it's okay?" you ask again.

He nods, finally getting the door open and inviting you in. "I'll talk to Gunil-hyung, but it should be fine. Everyone will understand. And I'm the one who dug you up, so I feel like I should find a place for you to stay."

A warm feeling blooms in the cold center of your chest. "Thank you."

Jungsu's smile turns shy, and he closes the door after you.

"Jungsu-hyung!"

Someone tumbles down the massive staircase in the center of the foyer. They jump to the bottom and come to a stop before the two of you, panting hard.

You blink.

"Oh, hey," the young man says once he gets a good look at you, a grin crossing his face. "I thought I smelled something new. I'm Jooyeon. What's your name?"

You give it cautiously, and Jooyeon's grin broadens (it's very toothy, you note) before he turns to Jungsu accusingly.

"Hyung, how come you get to bring guests back and I can't? I thought you were just going to the graveyard to eat."

"When you find someone who isn't human to bring back, then you can," Jungsu replies. "And I did go to the graveyard, but I ended up digging them up instead."

"Shit, really? I should've gone this time. I bet we could've found more."

"The mansion would smell like wet dog for weeks if you did, so I think it's best that you stayed in today." Glancing over at you and then himself, Jungsu seems to remember something. "Can you get us some towels? I don't want to track mud everywhere."

Jooyeon makes a face not dissimilar to one a younger sibling would make, but he does as he's told.

"We have running water and heating thanks to Jiseok, so you can take a shower," Jungsu tells you. "And we'll find some extra clothes that you can wear."

"Okay."

When Jooyeon returns with two fluffy towels, he and Jungsu show you to the downstairs bathroom. You have the most out-of-body experience taking a shower, though the waxy soap smells much better than the graveyard, and open the door a crack to grab the clothes left outside for you to dress in.

When you return to the foyer, feeling a thousand times better, Jooyeon is there to greet you.

"Gunil-hyung wants to talk to Jungsu-hyung after he showers, so I get to introduce you to everyone," he explains before you can ask. He sends a wink your way. "Lucky you."

You nod, unsure.

If he's perturbed by your awkward response, he doesn't show it. You follow him up the stairs as he continues to talk. "So do you know what reanimated you? Jiseok was brought back by some weirdass scientist. He was a table corpse, though. Never got buried."

"I don't know. I woke up when Jungsu was digging up my grave."

"Maybe lightning struck it, like in the movies," Jooyeon suggests. "Or you were cursed to come back on the anniversary of your death." He breathes in, humming a low note that rings in the back of your head. "It's weird. Your and Jiseok's death smells are different."

You shrug, frowning as you try to remember details of your past life. It's all foggy. Even your name was something that Jungsu had to show you on your gravestone.

"What are you?"

"Me?" He sounds pleased that you had asked. "I'm a werewolf. Pretty fucking sick, right?"

"I thought werewolves lived in packs."

"This is my pack. Being in one with all werewolves sounds too boring." Arriving near the end of the hall, he turns around to face you. "This is Seungmin's room. Make sure you get to the bathroom before him in the mornings, because he takes forever to shower."

Right at that moment, the door opens. The being behind it clears his throat, and you bite your tongue; if it weren't for the dusky orange fox ears and the two enormously fluffy tails curled around his legs, you would've thought he was human.

"First of all, you know I can hear you, and second of all, you should be taking the time to wash both your forms too," the being says. He spots you behind the werewolf a second later, and his stern expression recedes a bit. "Hey, I'm Seungmin. You're our new housemate, right? [Y/n]?"

You're surprised. "How did you know?"

He sniffs pointedly. "Your scent. I'm a gumiho, so I'm sensitive to that sort of thing," he explains. A beat, then, "Also, I heard you guys and Jungsu-hyung downstairs earlier."

"You should've been down there when they first came in. They reeked of death."

"That's why I stayed in my room. It's always too strong right after Jungsu comes back from the graveyard." Seungmin sniffs again before casting you an apologetic smile. "I can handle it now, though. It almost smells nice."

The way he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway causes you to stutter a bit when you thank him.

Jooyeon whisks you away. "Okay, on to the next person," he says hastily. "Hyeongjun's a hit or miss. I can't smell him, so we'll just have to check if he's in his bedroom."

"Why can't you smell him?" you ask as you stop in front of the door. There's a blank whiteboard hanging on it, and you wonder what kind of situations would warrant its use.

Jooyeon plays coy, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "You'll find out." He knocks on the door. "Hyeongjun! You dead in there?"

The two of you wait a few moments. There's nothing but silence, then you hear the faintest 'just a minute' before the door creaks open to reveal a translucent figure with rumpled hair.

"Sorry, I was asleep," the ghost says, squinting at Jooyeon. His gaze drifts over to you, and he seems taken aback, his mouth parting. "Um ..."

"This is our new housemate. Jungsu-hyung dug 'em up from the graveyard today," Jooyeon explains smoothly, gesturing at you like you're something new and shiny. Maybe you are, in a way that is neither new nor shiny. "Cool, right?"

"I ... guess?" Hyeongjun nods his head towards you, a bit polite but kind nonetheless. "Nice to meet you. I'm Hyeongjun."

You give him your name as well, and he repeats it, giving you a small smile that brings one to your own face.

"Did they meet the others yet?"

"Not Gunil-hyung or Jiseok."

"Jiseok's probably in his lab."

"Yeah, he's been there all day." Jooyeon grabs your shoulders and marches you down the hallway. "Okay, bye, Hyeongjun. On to my room!"

"Bye," you hear Hyeongjun murmur, and you look over your shoulder and wave.

Jooyeon's room is ... very fitting based on what you know about him so far. A stash of opened snacks on the dresser, strategically placed piles of clothes that look like they've been made to sleep in, and a window plastered with crumpled posters of musicians. There is, amusingly, a dog toy on the ground that's been ripped to shreds. Despite the clutter, you find it oddly cozy. It's lived in.

"Don't tell Jungsu-hyung or Seungmin that I showed you my room without cleaning up first." He offers you a half-finished bag of chips, but the sight makes your guts churn oddly and you shake your head. Jooyeon tips the remaining contents into his mouth before tossing it and leading you back outside. "Anyway, let's go to the basement. You've gotta meet Jiseok."

You trail after him to the other end of the hallway, passing Jiseok, Jungsu, and Gunil's bedrooms on the way. There's a door at the very end, and when Jooyeon opens it, you find yourself staring down a very dark, very narrow staircase.

"Scared?"

"No," you half-lie, stepping forward and grabbing the handrail.

"Me, neither," Jooyeon says. Still, you note the way he places himself by your side and remains glued there as you start to descend the stairs. "I mean, it'd be weird to be, right? Since we're the monsters."

Monsters.

You feel strange holding that title. You suppose it's true; all of the occupants of this house, you potentially included, are everything that human society finds frightening and unnatural. If they saw you right now, would their instincts tell them that something is wrong with you? Would they tie you up and burn you at the stake?

"Everyone's scared of something," you mutter, and Jooyeon, surprisingly, is quiet in response.

Upon turning onto the second flight of stairs to the basement, you see a heavy metal door at the bottom. An eerie, green light shines through the cracks.

"Jiseok! Coming in!"

"Wait!"

It's too late. Jooyeon wrenches the door open with an inhuman amount of strength, and immediately, you're temporarily blinded by a bright green flash, followed by a small but concerning boom.

When you open your eyes, Jooyeon is thankfully still standing, scrubbing at his own eyes with a curse.

You look tentatively inside the lab. Everything on the shelves is intact. The only things that seem to have been affected by the explosion are a small conical flask, now black with soot, and who you assume is Jiseok, his face covered in an equally thick layer of soot.

"Shit," Jiseok moans, putting the flask down. "I was this close to the endpoint."

"Ah. Sorry." Jooeyon has the decency to look rueful. "The explosion was cool, though."

Jiseok stares at him blankly. You wonder if you're about to witness a lycanicide before Jiseok breaks into a grin, nodding.

"Yeah, it was pretty cool." Wiping his face with the sleeve of his lab coat, dirtying it even more, Jiseok meets your gaze when you step out from behind Jooyeon, and his eyes bug out. "Whoa, hey, Jooyeon, is that a human? I mean, a fellow human?"

"Nope. This is [Y/n], our new housemate," the werewolf chirps. "Jungsu-hyung found them in a grave. I'm introducing them to everybody."

Visibly relieved, Jiseok raises his eyebrows in delight, and he runs up to you. "No way, you're reanimated too? Do you know when you died?"

It takes you a moment to recall. "Around forty years ago?"

"Oh, that's super recent! It's been around three hundred since my death. Gunil-hyung and Jungsu-hyung have been around for even longer."

"Wait, so that means I'm still the youngest?" Jooyeon says. "Shit."

You snort.

The two jolt in place, staring at you, and the silence that ensues makes you shrink into yourself.

"Sorry."

"No, no," Jiseok replies, a bit loudly. "It's fine—"

"It was cute," Jooyeon adds just as quickly. "Pretty mean of you, though, damn." He doesn't sound upset at all.

"The way you said it was funny," you mumble, and Jiseok heartily agrees, clapping you on the back.

"Hey, guys?"

A familiarly soft voice comes down from above. The three of you tilt your heads back to see Hyeongjun's head popping out upside-down from the ceiling. Although technically not unexpected, you're impressed nonetheless.

"Gunil-hyung wants all of us in the living room. Including [Y/n]." And then he's gone again.

"Sounds like hyung's gonna have us vote on if you can stay," Jiseok comments, offering you a grin. "It's just a formality. You've got mine."

"I've already told everyone you're our new housemate, so you know what my vote is," Jooyeon says.

You manage a slight smile.

In the living room, there are two dark red, velvet couches, an armchair, a glass coffee table, a piano, and a large fireplace. The carpet is soft and lush underneath your feet, and as you sink down into the armchair, you discreetly watch Gunil shepherd most of the others onto the couches. (Hyeongjun, as he is, merely floats nearby.)

"Alright, everyone's here," Gunil announces, clapping his hands. He turns to you, and to your surprise, he nods in a friendly manner. "You've been introduced to the rest of the guys, so I guess that leaves me. I'm Gunil, the oldest one here. For transparency's sake, I'm a vampire, and have been for the past seven hundred years."

Someone coughs. Gunil looks over his shoulder, and you don't know whether to laugh or be nervous when the guys break into snickers.

"... Anyway, I've talked to Jungsu about how he found you, but I think you should also get to tell us your side of the story. So, whenever you're ready."

Biting your lip, you take a breath and do as he requests. It's a short tale, ultimately, from the moment you had woken up to your lack of memories and the coincidental discovery made by Jungsu, who had kindly postponed his hunt for a corpse to eat in favor of bringing you here.

Despite having heard the same story from Jungsu, Gunil listens to you intently, and his eyes are understanding when you meet them upon finishing your story.

"It's hard to adjust to living after death. Most of us have gone through the same thing, so we get it." Putting his hands on his hips, he regards you thoughtfully. "Honestly, the only concern I have is how you were brought back. Something like that doesn't just happen spontaneously. Since you were buried, you can't have been reanimated the same way Jiseok was, so that leaves pretty much one other option. Seungmin," the gumiho perks up in his seat, tails in hand when Gunil addresses him, "you're the only one here who uses magic. It's a curse, isn't it?"

"A curse?" Jungsu blurts.

"It's kind of hard to smell underneath the death, but yeah," Seungmin says. "I don't know why or what the conditions are. It must have happened before they died."

You stare at him, astonished.

Jooyeon pushes Seungmin's shoulder. "Dude, why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Because I figured I would help them feel welcome first before stressing them out! Besides, it's not the kind that spreads."

"He has a point," Hyeongjun pipes up. "Most of us are already undead, anyway."

Gunil cuts in. "C'mon, guys, we gotta focus here. [Y/n]," he tilts his head, "do you feel any compulsions or desires for anything? Do you want to hurt anyone here?"

His voice seems to deepen when he asks you these questions. His eyes peer into yours, serious and unblinking, and your mind feels like it's being peeled open and picked through as you answer.

"No," you rasp, "not at all."

The sensation fades as Gunil leans back.

"Okay, there we have it," he simply replies. "Here's the gist, then: [Y/n] just got reanimated because of an unknown curse, and they need somewhere to stay indefinitely. Let's put it up to a vote. All in favor of letting them stay here?"

Gripping your knees, you watch, terrified and then relieved, as all six occupants raise their hands.

"... Looks like it's unanimous." Gunil grins at you, fangs and all. "Welcome home."

Your face crumples.

Before you know it, you're squished in the center of a very messy group hug, arms and legs and tails tangled up as each of them welcomes you. You're elbowed a couple times, and their voices clash into your ears, and you can barely breathe—

And you feel like, finally, you belong.

—

notes;

gunil; vampire. 700 years old. favorite blood type is ab positive. the others make fun of his age and he can't do anything to stop it.

jungsu; ghoul. 400 years old. he has a favorite graveyard that he visits to dig up corpses for dinner. he doesn't like how dirty his clothes get, though. :(

gaon; zombie. 300 years old. he was a mad scientist's assistant before he got killed and reanimated by his boss in a quest for immortality. jiseok outlived the man and now spends his time on projects like making bees glow in the dark. and fusing animals together.

o.de; gumiho. 200 years old, so he's only got two tails. plans to swear off human flesh for 1,000 years in order to become human. nobody else gets it.

junhan; ghost. 200 years old. he can touch things, but it takes a lot of spiritual energy so he doesn't bother to most of the time. has a whiteboard on his bedroom door so he can let others know not to disturb him when he wants to be alone.

jooyeon; werewolf. 22 years old. left his pack as is tradition when he was a teenager and stumbled across the mansion; never left since. he frequently gets in trouble for trying to bring humans in to impress them.

y/n; in their human life, y/n was, ironically, a disgraced monster hunter. the last witch they put to rest laid a curse on them, which killed y/n four days later.

the curse was that on the 44th anniversary of the witch's death, y/n would be brought back as a new vessel for the witch's soul. nobody in the monster house has a way of knowing this until it actually happens.

when it does happen, it takes the whole group to restrain the witch enough for hyeongjun to possess y/n and throw the witch's soul out of their body for seungmin to capture.

realistically, once the witch's soul is destroyed, y/n's soul would no longer be chained to their body and they would finally be put to rest.

(but my heart says that y/n lives happily ever after with xh :))

[wailing-bunny]

The Price of Kindness

Blade with language barrier <3 (I researched the Chinese phrases but if they're not accurate I apologize!)

☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂

Dark Content Warning!

Contains: Blade x gn Reader, Kafka (mentioned)

Warnings: yandere, NSFW, non-con, murder, violence (I mean it's Blade come on)

☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂~☂

You made the grave mistake of meeting Blade.

And an even greater one, you made the mistake of being kind to him.

It was all you could think about, as your tears fell like raindrops, dirtying the bloody mattress even more.

He didn’t pay any mind to your cries, however. In fact, you almost felt him going harder, moving faster, as he grunted like he was the one in pain.

You didn’t want to think about it, you didn’t want to remember that hellish day that you met him, but it was really all you could think about at the moment. If only… maybe… if you had done this instead of that… or that instead of this…

Or maybe, the best result would’ve been never meeting him in the first place.

You were strolling in the Luofu, glancing around the place in awe as you admired the ship you've wanted to visit for a long time. You had gone to a few stores, tried a few dishes you were dying to try, and now you were taking a stroll in the streets you admired so much.

Normally, people prefer places like Penacony for travel, and a few people had told you that the Xianzhou Luofu isn’t exactly all that touristic, and that you would have trouble understanding their language. But you didn’t care! It was your dream, and right now, you were standing in the middle of your dream, a happy face on your face.

Until you were caught up in an emergency, where you were cornered into a wall.

“Blade…”

You hissed in pain. “At least be a bit more gentle… “ You begged.

Of course, he didn’t listen. As if he couldn’t even understand what you were saying.

And to be honest, you couldn’t understand him either.

A man, trying to rob you, cornered you into a wall. He was saying things you couldn’t even understand. But it was clear he was a robber.

You cried as you tried to explain to the man that you didn’t have anything valuable with you. And the man, instead of understanding you, started to get violent.

Just as you were ready to accept your destiny, and regret your choice of coming here,

You heard the sound of a swift blade.

Cutting through delicate skin, and not even letting the victim scream.

You were shocked, scared, hesitant, happy? You just hoped he wouldn’t kill you too. You fell to your knees, looking at the dead body now laying limply in front of you.

You should’ve screamed.

You really should’ve. But even that wouldn’t have saved you.

“Shh.”

You looked up. A man with black hair, and eyes as sharp as a blade, was glaring at you, with a hand on his mouth, urging you to not speak, or scream.

You stood there confused. Not knowing what to do, but you obeyed. Scared for your life, so you obeyed.

A shushing sound, you’re all too familiar with, was heard. And just like before, you bit back your words, and closed your mouth, trying to muffle any sound that could be audible.

Because just like before, you were scared for your life.

At first, he was really intimidating, but after realizing he had saved you, you started to grow less weary of the man. Even inviting him to a café you saw on the way.

He gave you a look, not speaking, or making any move, as if he was judging you. You stayed there awkwardly, before remembering.

He probably doesn’t understand you.

So you quickly open a translating app, and show him your phone with a smile. Perhaps you were too calm for a person who just saw someone get murdered, by the person right in front of her, but you didn’t care. You were a bit lonely, to be honest. And although weird, he looked like a handsome gentleman.

Though, after seeing your screen, his expression did not change. He just glanced at the screen, before turning his attention back at you. He huffed, a frustrated sound.

And with that, he turned around and walked away. You frowned. How mean.

Just as you too were about to turn around, you heard a sound.

“Lái.”

You tilted your head, not understanding, before he made a beckoning motion, and you gasped, now starting to follow him with a smile.

“Bì zuî.”

He grunted. You yelled in frustration that you did NOT understand him, but when he gripped your hair and yanked harshly, you got the memo and stopped talking.

But he continued to pull as you sobbed, now growing more frustrated. What did he want you to do? You whimpered in pain, and misery, feeling hopeless. You wanted to go back home… You wished you had never came to the Xianzhou Luofu. You wished you had never talked with this weird man. You wished you had realized that the wanted posters among the galaxy had his face on them.

You shared a meal with the man. Although you couldn’t understand each other, you still tried your best to show him your appreciation with the translator on your phone.

He himself, didn’t talk much, nor react. But he wasn’t glaring at you with such hatred anymore. Maybe he wasn’t even glaring in the first place? That may be his natural expression. You weren’t sure.

Regardless, it was fun. And he was a good listener. Even when you stopped talking, thinking you bore him, he urged you to continue talking.

You eventually came to the conclusion that he was just bad at expressing his emotions. You were happy to make a new friend though.

After the little date, he even invited you to his house.

But you didn’t know, that you would end up being kidnapped by the Stellaron Hunters instead.

A slap brings you back to the present. A harsh one too. You yelp in pain, furrowing your brows and looking at him with a confused face.

He looked…less feral now. Less like an animal. He was panting, still glaring, but his expression was softer now. Less like wanted to kill you by ravishing your insides.

He did the latter anyway though, you were so tired, you barely felt him pull out. You finally could breathe.

You tried to roll over to rest more comfortably, but the smell of your own blood covered in the sheets, and the pain of your open wounds brushing against the surface made you whimper in pain.

Which you quickly regretted, when you felt his eyes lock on you again. He was about to grip your wrists again.

“Bladie, let them rest, will you?”

You heard her voice, and breathed a sigh of relief. Blade tsked before getting up, and leaving with the lady who was chuckling in amusement.

You closed your eyes, finally happy to be able to get some rest. You heard his voice among their distant talk, something catching your attention.

“Maybe it wasn’t too bad of an idea, after all…”

And you opened your eyes in shock when you realized.

[letters-from-cutie]

THE STARS WILL ALWAYS GUIDE ME (BACK) TO YOU

In which the most unexpected person in the world becomes a poet

Or were you always find your soulmate when he needs you the most

synopsis: levi's skepticism over the soulmate concept didn't stop him from meeting you at three different times - as his soul would always find a way to meet you, his star. -> 5.0k words <-

warning: gn!reader, wrote at 3 am; cringe attempt at poetry; slightly angst; reverse comfort; not intended longfic; childhood crushes; death of major character; levi is bad at feelings; cursing (it's levi c'mon); shallow use of soulmates!au; english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes! author's note: hello dear reader, marie here <3 this is my first fanfic on our captain, so he may sound ooc; i'm trying out past and present on english, SO i tried something different here, hehe; like always images are not mine; also this is more of a prologue for my future works if you wonder. and i wish you have a great time reading ^-^

800's - Titan's Era - The Past

After so many years, Captain Levi barely remembers the first time he saw you, but he knows it was special.

In his childhood, a man named Kenny taught him some survival skills. They went beyond common self-defense; he learned to steal from small stores, run from the military cops, and beat someone, in case he needed to fight. After all, knowing more than just basic skills was required to survive there. Plus, his Ackerman genes helped him endure that filthy environment.

The other kids in the underground found him extremely intimidating. They began avoiding him after hearing rumors that he could beat up grown-ups twice his size and never face any consequences. Some saw him as a legend, while others viewed him as a scary and awful little boy.

With Kenny's departure, Levi was left alone. He had to rely on himself as a young child, without any family or friends to give him support.

Until the day he met you, that is.

Being raised inside your parents' small store, you lacked the street smarts. There was only so much you could do against the older kids who would bully you. And the alley next to your home was the perfect place for them to get you.

Levi found you there, scared for your life. The bigger kids were dragging your face down in the muddy floor and making threats. You knew who they were: robbers, who left your parents' store not satisfied with just some pennies.

Just like these children, Levi was also a thief. However, he was only trying to secure his daily meal, struggling to survive on his own, while the others committed theft for their own pleasure.

Maybe that's why he saved you that day, getting himself into trouble with the other kids. Or it was because he felt like he owned your dad, as he once caught him stealing some bread and let him off the hook. No matter the reasoning he was sure that he could handle the kids

The next day, it was your turn to help him. You found Levi injured near your house. You hurried to him and treated him following your mother's instructions. Since he couldn't afford medicine, he allowed you to treat him.

Levi was impressed by you, who seemed unfazed by the red flow of blood gushing from his knee. (You were repulsed but insisted on helping him back, so you kept it to yourself.) In return, you were also impressed to learn that he was the least hurt in the fight he had with your bullies, handling all of them alone.

It quickly became a routine. Every time you met, it was for a different reason. However, there was this shared, strange proximity whenever you saw each other. A friendship was formed, but you would never use such a word; it didn't seem to fit with the connection you had.

Suddenly, Levi thought he was getting sick. His heart would take leaps whenever you took care of him, with so much dedication written on your face. He would stutter when seeing you after a long time apart, but your caring tone and look would give him the confidence to speak for himself afterward.

One day, your mother teased him and got away with it. He came rushing into the store when another child who resembled you went missing. Not seeing you there made him panic; only your mom was there as you left with your dad for a walk. To lighten the mood at the small store, she made a joke about him liking a certain kid.

He did like you. It was an innocent and pure first love. Yet, kids like him didn't get crushes, so he never put such a label on his feelings. He believed that he would not live long. And since you had a (slightly) better condition, one day you were to be married and carry on your family name. He saw no use in having a crush.

When you saw him later that day, he said your mother was sweet, like his. You asked about her whereabouts, and after knowing of her death, you told him that she must have become a star in the sky. He wished to see it for himself.

So the stars caught both of your interests. Well, you already talked nonstop about nature and the sky — it was your dream to leave the underground.

You'd talk about the birds that sometimes get trapped in the underground. Daydreams about living outside would fuel your imagination. You would imagine feeling the sun's warmth on your skin. How cold was the snow? — you asked yourself. And in some days you'd dream of kissing your love in the rain one day; you longed for a romance like in your stories.

Levi never got your name; he never asked. When he was older, he would call you "poet". Truth be told, you were just a little child, seeking solace in fiction as a form of comfort from the terrible circumstances you lived in.

Even as a child, Levi was skeptical of others' beliefs, religions, and legends. Interestingly enough, his main memory of you was a discussion over a love story. Something about two people meant to find each other, connected through a red string of fate.

"You're such a baby for falling for this soulmate thing. I think you're being stupid!"

He was ignorant and rude as a kid; he knew it.

"Do you really, think that about me, Levi?" No.

You were brilliant — an entire constellation; he noted.

Actually, he was amazed by your appreciation for nature, something you had never encountered before. Levi never said it, but he liked your drawings in the dirt. They illustrated your stories. Since you didn't know the format of the stars, each time you would draw them in a unique pattern.

He was so bad with words, he could never say beautiful things like you did. He wanted to, tell you how much he enjoyed your company. But he wasn't able to.

Soon enough, you started to cough and sneeze a lot, and out of nowhere, you became a star too. A little star, beaming in the sky, hidden from Levi's sight underneath the capital.

Your death was invisible in the underground. Diseases were everywhere, and people died easily there. They did not live long. If they got sick, they would probably die very soon; just like you did when a cold got your family.

In Levi's opinion, you managed to escape from that hell.

His heart ached again; he wanted to cry, he wanted you, then he wanted his mom, but neither could be found. And his thoughts would revolve around the fact that he would never love meet you again. Gone forever, he thought.

A frigid and everlasting winter started inside of him, building up icy walls around his heart.

The images of his first love faded over time, just like the clouds in the sky. In his heart, it was always winter. The sky turned gray, and the air he breathed was freezing cold. The ice kept him closed off from the world around him. 

Levi got so used to the cold that he was afraid of his warmer days. The sun would bless him again; not as the large sphere that shone during the day, but more shaped like his friends. Those who brought comfort to his broken heart were like sun rays.

His line of work would bring even more disaster to his life. And these were the coldest days. But there were always some sun rays peeking through the windows of his heart. It was their persistence that encouraged the man to continue moving forward, with no regrets.

When asked what he desired to do if he ever got a life after the military, Levi would scowl - as if that could ever happen - he would respond. In the end, everyone agreed he'd excel at whatever he chose to do.

Just no poetry - his friends commented - not with his awful attitude and scary face. Levi brushed them off. The comments made his friends laugh, and that lightness was needed there. After all the deaths and injuries, the captain couldn't find himself mad at their silly banter after an unsuccessful expedition.

Yet, just as the sun always sets at night, death would soon follow Levi's path. He always got shocked by them, but never surprised, as to him disaster seemed to be as natural as the daily sunset.

Mom, his first love poet kid, Isabel, Furlan, all those fallen soldiers, his squad, Erwin... They all faded in the sky which was Levi's life, leaving him in the darkness of the night. During those evenings, he would gaze at the stars that were once his companions; then he would cry, grieving and trembling with the coldness of his solitude.

One of the few memories Levi had of his childhood was that poet kid, always talking about the overworld. On his first explorations, he was able to see everything that the kid always dreamed about. Although that child would never expect him to lose his family the first time he saw the poetic and romantic rain.

Levi hated rainy days because they reminded him of himself.

Years later, Levi almost lost himself, as the raindrops fell on his severe injuries. He was rescued by a friend, whom he didn't have enough time to thank, as their death followed soon after. With Hanji's death and the war's end, he could finally rest, assured that his days would be calmer. At the same time, he feared he would never find love again.

But he was wrong because he met you (again).

Years younger than him, but old enough to have your own career, you were a witty traveler. Born into a wealthy but absent family, you traveled all over the world, writing about what you saw, getting inspired by the diversion of the world. At least until the rumbling vanished almost everything you cherished.

After surviving the war, you decided to help to record your historical period. You joined a group of writers and journalists, leaving your poetry and romances aside for a while. You were able to interview the allies, as your popularity granted you the prestige enough to do so.

At the right time, your kind heart earned the trust of the allies. They allowed you to write down their stories, and they recounted their side of the story to the rest of the world. One name was common in all of people's stories — Captain Levi. He seemed to be an icon, but you didn't meet him right away; he was injured and opted to stay out of the spotlight.

The first time Levi heard about you, he dismissed it. Thinking that it was a one-time meeting with his friends fellow soldiers, he didn't dwell much on it. Not long after, some comments caught his interest. Jean and Armin kept discussing a topic he hadn't heard of in nearly three decades, much to the captain's surprise.

Apparently, a fictional romance you made was inspired by the 'soulmate' concept. So many survivors were occupying themselves with your flowery words and books.

What even was a soulmate? He couldn't remember the explanation he heard from that poet kid.

Most survivors were now hoping to meet their other halves. It was rather a welcome relief after going through so much. But Levi felt it was ridiculous.

So he decided to confront you. Levi asked to meet with you. He thought about what he would say to this fraud of a cultist. Oh, how he would speak his mind on the fact that you were giving his friends family soldiers, empty hopes.

To his surprise, when the man first met you (again?), he was unable to speak at all.

No, he had never met you before, but at first glance, he thought he had (he did).

His soul knew yours. And yours knew his.

For the first time in years, he struggled to speak, enchanted by your starry eyes, in a trance of your voice. Instead of debating you, he let you ramble by yourself on the matter, as long as you desired.

It made no sense to him. After all the death and suffering he endured, he couldn't accept such a simple, perfect idea. Seeing you as such a firm believer, made him curious as to why you trusted so hard such ideas.

"I may be a writer, but my words on love are nothing but the reality I've seen." You had met so many adorable couples, so it had to be true. Plus, you also wanted to believe that someone was waiting for you in this and other lifetimes. Especially after so much disaster, there has to be something good in the end.

"Not everyone gets to meet love during their life, and many people died. But it doesn't mean that we cannot dream of a better life." You spoke your mind to him, unfazed by his strong presence.

Captain Levi was a legend. First, you were so determined to write and tell his story and to melt down his icy heart too. As you came to interact with him, you realized that he deserved to be loved, and by himself first. You wanted to show him that he deserved his own love and others as well. He deserved happiness.

You couldn't bring back his beloved ones, nor could you take the burden of their deaths off his shoulders. But you could offer him your care, patience, and attention, the things that were once taken from him, and you were happy to oblige in his needs. top of all, you would not go away; He would say that it was annoying how persistent you were. Yet his biggest fear was that you would leave him, like the others.

As a result, working to retell humanity's strongest soldier's story was your biggest act. It took a long time, but you, being the stubborn person you were, managed to get through his clouded heart. And your soul was able to speak to his own, to comfort him, and reassure him.

Not only as a storyteller but also as his lover.

Your care and attention were so comforting. Your company was like a spring breeze, and he became fascinated by you; the feeling was mutual. Each small glance and accidental touch sent shivers down his spine. The sensations he felt with you were as strong as thunder in the summer rain. Watching you work, he imagined autumn leaves falling from a tree. But it was simply you scribing words on paper, slowly but steadily.

Before, he felt that there was only winter in his life, but you showed him that there were other seasons as well.

During a rainy day, when you both had to stay inside, he took you in his arms for the first time. He told you he remembered a friend from his childhood, the poet who first told him about soulmates. He used to make fun of them and never really believed in what they said until he met you. You proved him wrong in his concepts of life.

He didn't look as disgusted when looking in the mirror. His scars were now his trophies, and he took care of himself so he would not get hurt again. Because he knew he didn't deserve to feel pain anymore.

The Titan war ended, and he was finally free to live and to love — you helped him realize that.

So he kissed you for the first time as the raindrops fell on the window, the storm was outside. You were his home, protecting him from the rain and any other type of disaster. He finally had a place where his heart belonged.

That night, while looking at the stars, he vowed to always find you again.

And thus, he became a poet.

2020's - Global Era - The Present

The man's long fingers dance across the books, checking off the level of the dust. He found it bothersome. How could someone keep these valuable gems in such a filthy condition?

"So, what do you think, Professor?" "Is this collection any good?" The owner of the items sounds anxious, and the man detects the desire in their eyes. All for money.

"The eyes are a gateway to someone's true self; poetic words, but a true reality."

The tales presented on the pages told a story from another time. It belonged to the historical record rather than the literary one, so he would not have any use for it. Maybe his friend should have them, he imagines.

The professor didn't see himself as a money seeker. So he wouldn't mind lending the books to someone else. Rather than a money-driven individual, he's someone who attempted to live his best life. Especially now, in the middle of such turbulent times.

"I'll evaluate them later with a colleague; you're dismissed." He didn't even look at the person in his office. His mind was far away, among the empty pages on his desk.

His focus sat on the big windows of his office, where the sky looked way too dark for the middle of the day. A storm was on its way. Shit

He cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. He should've just listened to his mother's suggestion. That a witchy woman, always knowing when it's going to rain.

"I'm sure you have some expectations for how much we'll get from these relics. Right, Mr. Ackerman?"

In response, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. Taking one of the books in his hand, he double-checks the signature engraved on the leather. The old calligraphy looks to be very legitimate, even having the original author's name signed on the front page.

[Reader] was a big poet from the Titan Era. This means that these could be some original editions of the books they'd written about the war, while they were experiencing with nonfiction. Their most prized book was 'Humanity's Strongest Soldier', which now stands in a museum for ancient eldian relics.

The professor was named after him, it was his duty to know at least a bit of it. His mom liked how the soldier's name sounded, and it's pretty common for modern Eldians to have names of these old personalities. Ackerman's friends are examples of that, most being named after fallen scouts.

Now he definitely would call his history enthusiast friend later, and he would have the time of his life.

Maybe he could do like that poet and try out new writing styles? But for now, he needs to rush home first. But it's going to rain, and his visit is still there, keeping him in his office. The professor just wishes to not get trapped in a storm.

He stands up, going straight to the old wooden door of his office. As he opens it, the visitor starts to get mad at him. What a wrong decision.

"Oi! I said I would speak to Mr. Erwin later, but if you're so urgent for that money, his office is just across campus." Stop pestering me; I have to go before the storm comes.

Professor Ackerman isn't in a position to judge history books with such detail. After all, he's on the creative side of writing.

Plus it's a good excuse to expel him from my office.

"I'm sure you'll earn enough to stop you from coming here again."

The person urges themselves, gathering their stuff and mumbling their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the professor, the cold tea on its holder, and piles of papers on the desk. At first glance, the papers seemed to be organized but were actually a confusion of syllables, in which he was drowning. The confused papers match the ones in his own home and in the garbage.

I need to work on this book myself; Erwin cannot help me this time, he's too busy.

He hopes that this found collection does not bother Erwin much. He already has a lot on his hands. He always does. His friend researches nonstop about the Titan era. It's weird. Maybe Erwin should see a therapist. It would be more useful than rambling to him about a connection to a time when they weren't even alive.

Who in their right mind would feel connected to the years of man-eating beasts? Right, our mutual friend.

Ackerman curses them, remembering he needs to call them soon.

They would go insane when they found out about his last visitor: a minister's son who asked for the university to clean his appointments just to see him. And to make matters worse, they didn't even inform him, until two hours ago, when they saw him trotting to his office.

He picks up his phone and checks the time. It's been an hour since the appointment he arranged with the writer. He felt a bit bad for them, and the copy of their work resting on his desk.

The professor remembers how other young writers he met had to kiss the asses of seniors to get a chance. He was more than happy for his friendship with Erwin; his dad, also a professor and author, made things much easier.

Rushing out of his office, he gets his phone and calls "Four-Eyes." Ackerman only stops for a moment to speak with his assistant. Petra would have to manage the rearranging for another day.

He senses someone nearby in the reception, but his focus is fully on his phone's screen. Come on, pick it up! You owe me this!

As he leaves the old building, phone on hand, his thoughts travel away to that writer's project again... Maybe he should give them a bit more time to try to convince him to help with their project, if he was on a good day, that is.

Plus, he read the draft; their writing was really good. He wondered, did they really share a name with that poet from centuries ago or were they just a poser who took that as their fake name. Whatever reason, the professor would kill to have someone with such skills on his writing team, like this [Reader].

But the concept... soulmates? No one even remembers about that! Why did they choose it?

He almost tossed it in the trash when he first saw the synopsis. That's also why he scheduled them in the final office hour after leaving them as the last ones he would review during the semester.

Could you blame him? They did submit a romance, after all, Professor Ackerman was anything but a lover, being known for his dark stories, complex characters, and drama. He wasn't the best at flowery and sugary stories. Then why did they submit it to him in the first place?

Yet, the concept of the red string sounded so... Poetic?

His line of thought gets stopped by a water drop on his forehead, falling through his face. As he feels more drops of water getting into his meticulously arranged hair, his call is finally answered.

"SHORTY! I was talking to Mike about inviting you to the..."

"I'm not going to this sky-dropping shit. If you guys want to die, fine, but leave me out of it." He sounded harsher than he intended.

Knowing his friends, he would eventually find himself in the air some days later. It was just to help Mike's girlfriend with her project of losing the fear of heights. The problem is that Ackerman doesn't commit to things he may regret, so he needs more time to digest it before confirming.

"Oh well, but then at least try to get through your fears too, like dance in the rain like that old movies!" The friend laughed.

What a coincidence! He is trapped in an incoming storm, while his friend makes fun of his phobia. Is this how therapy works?

"Have you not checked a fucking window? Get my car here, it's raining!" Please.

With that, their friend starts to apologize over and over again, he accepted the apology the first time they muttered "I'm so sorry", but he was to leave them repeating it by themselves, as a punishment. Looking forward, there stood the bus stop, so beat up that its coverage would fail to protect him from the rain.

"Forgive meeee I'm getting into your car right now."

He sits down on the bench and starts thinking to himself... Maybe he can ask the ministry for more funds! They'll eventually come back to him with more ancient relics that he totally cares about. He'll put on his best act again.

Who is he kidding? He prefers to die than interact with a politician again.

"Tch, I have work to do, Four Eyes. I can't go skydiving with so much shit on hold."

"For fucks sake, you're having a creative block! Stop forcing it! Go get some fresh air or look for the help of another writer!" From the phone, he could hear the engine of his car, which made him relax a bit.

"That is my job, Hanji. And you don't get to tell me what to do!" But thanks for caring.

He's the professor, the one meant to be an example for new writers. He cannot let his walls down; he cannot let himself be in a junior's position. And as the raindrops get harder, he feels his suit soak.

"Besides, I'm tired of ass-kissers. Now leave your phone away and fucking drive." And be safe, please.

So he hangs up, making a note to not let Hanji drink so much the next time they go out. They can't hold themselves on alcohol, and he has to babysit them and the rest, but they are always the worst among all the drunks he delivers to home.

This time his car paid the price, and since Professor Ackerman was too much of an elegant man to step into the filthy car, he made Hanji stay clean it for the entire day. He could handle the rain if it meant that a certain someone got to clean up their mess.

A bus passes through swiftly, and someone curses out loud from behind him. Idiot student. His mind goes back to his unfinished work. The sky was now so dark. He would expect a big storm to arrive and drown the earth. Yet the rain that was pouring looked rather ordinary, not as strong as it was supposed to be.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you wish to share?"

A forest-green umbrella appears in his sight. He quickly turns his head in the direction of the voice and sees a star, a real one. His tired eyes meet your serene ones, which leave him speechless.

Just like every single lifetime.

"Sir? You don't want to catch a cold, do you?" Who are you? Do I know you?

You sit by the men's side. The position is awkward. Half of the large umbrella keeps your left side dry. The other part protects the man's right shoulder from the rain. When he looks at you, he can see your left arm getting wetter. It's a choice you've made by lending your space underneath the umbrella. Your arm stands high on top of the already not-too-tall man.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" You answer quickly, and an awkward silence followed.

Are they insane?

"Tch. Getting sick is not the worst thing that can happen to me, stop bothering." After all, it's not the Titan era. Why is this getting in his head again? The water may be getting to his brain.

"It's just another shitty day."

"Fair." You followed. "Well, I just missed an important appointment and lost my bus; I'll probably cry myself to sleep if I even get home...." You paused, taking a big breath, that changes your energy completely."But I'll come back later. It's just another bad day."

Why is this person venting to me?

"Don't get into problems with higher-ups," Like I did. "They'll step on you."

"Ah, it wasn't my fault." You told him (and yourself). "It's said around this campus that the guy's awful and scary anyway."

Professor Ackerman found himself awfully empathizing with you. He knew that this part of the capital was full of self-absorbed rich guys. He recognizes the glow in your eyes, innocent but determined. But your voice speaks of bad things and problems, like a supernova, a star that died but still shines.

"So... yeah, not the worst thing that can happen to me, too!"

It's good that you keep smiling yourself determined in this place because no one else can do it for you.

Funny. He struggled so hard with his own writing for the past few days. And suddenly the professor finds himself getting inspired by a stranger. Someone with whom he will never cross paths again.

"Are you a student here?"

Talking about Paradis' main university, the chances are high. But you quickly assure him that you have already graduated. And in another nation's college, which means you're probably not even an eldian.

He is curious now; what more can he get from this stranger's crazy talk?

"Then what is worse? Shitting yourself in public?" He jokes, not expecting a laugh back. And surely you don't laugh. And a familiar car comes down the street.

Waiting for your answer, he looks at you again. And his breath gets caught in his throat for a moment. Your eyes, so beautiful, suddenly matched the stars stamped on your cute bag. And your smile, big and shiny, made him feel butterflies, that soared freely inside his chest.

"Not meeting my soulmate in this life. That is the most cruel fate I could ever be given."

Levi stops in time; that concept was such an old-fashioned saying, that not many young people knew about it. What were the changes of you... No, it can't be.

Seeing his lack of reaction, started mumbling again, seemingly nervous.

"I understand. People can believe in large man-eating creatures destroying this world... But not in true love, right? Leave that for poets, haha."

No, it was not that, I...

"And how will you know that you've found them?" He has so many questions, so many thoughts so many ideas...

You laugh.

"Maybe the stars will tell me, they always know."

So it is you.

"LEVI!" Hanji calls from the street, and you jump in your seat.

As soon as the rider saw Levi with some company, they sensed something rather interesting. So, as the Cupid they are, they decide to act and point out to you, waving to the car next. They were calling you.

"Cutie! You don't want to get a cold, do ya?"

Levi just sighs, annoyed at his friend's behavior. If it wasn't his car, he would go around and leave, thinking Hanji sounded like a perverted.

Getting up from his seat, he pats your head, amused by your cute wide eyes looking at him. You then look at his badge resting on his brown suit. The name 'Professor L. Ackerman' shined in gold and was visible now thanks to the car lights.

He knows he is a stranger, and this offer would sound strange, but it's to thank you for the umbrella and to talk to you more. He may even work together with you soon.

Levi feels like he's not a stranger to you; you feel like he's not a stranger too.

He knows your soul, and you know his.

"Seems like you got yourself lucky, [Reader]; you've got yourself a ride." He points to his car. Levi walks toward it without looking back, letting you decide for yourself.

It's time for Levi to tell a different story; he's aware of that now. But then, would you be the one to help him write it down, reader? Do you accept the ride?

[synthetickitsune]

angst prompts 20 + 6 with seventeen dk but with a fluffy ending please? thank youu <3

...why am i always writing angst with svt's sunshine? i'm not complaining at all but poor minnie. anyway, thanks for requesting ♡

DK (Seventeen) | Crying together & Waiting, not knowing if they'll come back angst | 0.6k | gn!reader

It's only been hours but it might as well been days since he's left.

Now you understand why you’ve agreed to never leave the house upset, which turned into yet another empty promise - like many of them did lately. Never to fight, never to sleep in separate rooms if angry, never be mean just for the sake of it, never to ignore each other’s calls and messages…

The tears rolling down your cheeks get heavier as you go through the list. Where did it all go wrong? You love each other, so why would you be so terrible? There's no excuse; no bad timing and stress and awful coincidental clash of bad luck and life happening should make you forget to appreciate what you have.

…have? …or had?

You can't imagine Seokmin going through practice fine after that fight. You can’t imagine the others forcing him to. So where is he?

Will he come back? Tonight and at all…

He's made it clear that he won't text you anymore if all he gets is a seen …which, yeah, fair. You wouldn’t bother either. And you understand if he decides to stay at the dorm but not knowing for sure? That's cruel. And you suppose it’s also what you deserve. It's just that you can't stop wondering if maybe he's just never going to come back again. Without a message, without a goodbye.

He's a good person. Kind. But he's also fragile and sensitive. If coming here or explaining would hurt him more, then you're alright with suffering all the more for it yourself instead. Even if just the possibility of it makes you cry harder.

You think you officially lost it when you hear a key rattle in the lock. Cautiously, as if expecting to see a very polite robber, you creep closer to the hall, only to see a red-eyed Seokmin trying to kick off his shoes. He wipes at his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt with little result.

“Min?” you’re proud your voice barely breaks. He whips his heads up like he indeed is a robber that has been discovered. Forgetting about everything but you right in front of him he stumbles forward until he falls into you, his arms squeeze the life out of you.

“I thought you’d be gone,” he whispers through a sniffle.

“I live here,” you smile, hugging him back with just as much strength.

“Me… too,” he hesitates. It breaks your heart that it sounds like a question, so you nod and kiss the side of his head.

“I'm sorry I was so horrible to you,” you’re getting his hoodie all wet with tears and call it even with your own shirt that he got tear-soaked.

“I'm so sorry too,” he cries, “I hate it. I hate what’s going on with us.”

“Maybe we just need to cry it out,” you joke - but in all honesty, you don't think you could make yourself stop crying if your life depended on it. Maybe if your relationship did.

“Let's do that,” he nods like a man possessed, “Let's cry and then we can talk about it.”

…you don't talk about it. Not for the lack of trying, though.

Turns out crying and clinging to each other for hours is exhausting. You try to talk between sniffles and sobs and choking on words but it's pointless. So you lie down and cry together, wrapped in each other, and you kiss, you caress, and you hold.

The next morning you exchange good morning messages. You pick up each other’s calls at lunch. 

And when it’s time to come home, you know it won’t be cold and deserted.

[collegeheist]

DEMO ( . . . ) || ro descriptions ||

You honestly can’t remember how you got here.

You and your three best friends are quickly becoming the most elusive robbers in Detroit, and you’re hardly out of your teens.

And now that the four of you are out of high school, you’ve had all the freedom you could ever dream of!

…That is, until the police get a little too close to your crimes for comfort. So, now all of you have to pack your bags and head off to college to avoid looking suspicious. Burglary would look awful on your record, after all.

Some habits, however, can’t be broken that easily. You still feel drawn to the shiny jewels behind the store windows, or the extremely expensive designer bags. All of them able to disappear with just a swipe of your hand.

If you had a chance to steal everything you’ve ever wanted, would you take it?

Play as straight, gay, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, monogamous, polyamorous, aromantic, or asexual.

Form a deep(er) platonic or romantic relationship with your three best friends! They’re all gender selectable between male and female, and can have different reactions to your decisions. There are 4 monogamous routes and 2 poly routes so far.

Experience college (for better or for worse) when you’re on the run from the law. Pick your classes and your roommate, and choose well! They’ll be with you for a while.

Rob some banks and choose your role! Do you go on the front lines and get your hands dirty? Or do you stand aside and assist from the back?

Try your hardest not to get caught by police. Or do. No judging here.

This game will be rated 15+ for drug usage (mentioned and implied), under and of age alcohol usage (mentioned and implied), strong language, and optional depictions of violence.

COMBAT EXPERT

J Scarlett is probably one of the most unapproachable people you know. With a permanent scowl on their face and an insult always raring to shoot, there’s no surprise that you are one of their only friends. J may seem insensitive at times, but they simply have a hard time letting their guard down, even around people they like.

Would you break down their walls?

INFILTRATION EXPERT

A Al-Salih can best be described as carefree. Optimistic and caring, they’re always there to back everyone up in tough situations. A is reliable, and will go out of their way to make sure everyone is feeling alright. They know it’s wrong, but they wouldn’t even think twice about sacrifice themself for you.

How far could you take your relationship?

TECH EXPERT

S Klein, despite never leaving their room, is somehow one of the most annoying friends of the bunch. Bastard is their middle name (not really), so they say. Their teasing and flirtatious remarks are seldom genuine, and their flighty and indecisive attitude leads to some regrettable moments. No one really knows who they are.

Could you become the one person they trust?

POLICE FORCE

T Seniloli is a new member of the police department, and their lofty ambitions tend to blind their good judgement. To them, you and your group are their enemies, and they are hellbent on capturing you. They tend to wear their emotions on their sleeve. In fact, their delusions are kind of… funny. Maybe cute.

Are you the reason they lose sight of themselves?

current word count : 1k

[pfhwrittes]

hello p! here with a prompt for tradie!141. i’m curious about how any of the fellas would react to reader teaching them a handy trick or easily solving a problem they’ve been struggling with on a job site.

hi sy! aw yis, more tradie!141 for everyone! so, i actually had two ideas for this one. initially i was going to go write how transmasc!tradie would go about bending pipe but i realised that it wasn't very body inclusive of me to assume that transmasc!tradie would be less capable than the boys physically so i've binned that one.

instead you get this instead. it's another johnny heavy instalment because he's a bloody drama queen.

TW: discussions of feet (in the context of keep them warm in your boots, not anything else).

it's a fucking miserable day on site. it's cold as shit, or as price had said "it's brass monkeys out there today lads" so everyone is more miserable than usual. well, nearly everyone.

kyle's alright because he's got the industrial heaters in the room he's working in, he claims it's to help the plaster to dry out evenly and to reduce the chances of causing damp. so he's swanning about in his base layer.

simon's layered up in a massive quilted hi-vis jacket and a skull print balaclava. johnny got a punch on the arm when he said that simon looks like the world's shittest bank robber. you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut even if you did privately agree with him.

price had begged off working, claiming it was too cold to be fucking about with shaving down doors so he's posted up in the site office with a little fan heater cranked up and a hand written sign on the door warning them all not to leave the door open under any circumstances while he goes through purchase order invoices.

but johnny? johnny's miserable as fuck about it and come break time he's bitching up a storm about how he "cannae even feel my fuckin' toes in my boots!" as he huddles around his steaming mug of coffee.

you make a sympathetic noise in the back of your throat as you wrap your chilly hands around your own mug and allow yourself to zone out a bit as he carries on.

"how come yer not freezin' yer tits off then, flash?" johnny's question interrupts your musing about pipe lagging.

"got heat patches stuck to my socks mate." you tell him nonchalantly before you take a careful sip from your mug.

"what?!" johnny sounds scandalised and you're not sure if it's because you're warmer than him or if it's because of your slightly odd way of keeping warm.

you just shrug and take another careful sip. honestly you're a bit baffled that johnny doesn't have heat patches in his boots. it was one of the first tricks you'd learned when you were working with your previous company.

"g'wan then, show us." johnny leans forward eagerly so you pop your mug on the table and bend down to unlace your boots.

johnny watches with a look of concentration as you pull off your boot, one thick woollen sock and a plastic bag sandwich bag with the zipper ripped off (which earns you a pair of raised eyebrows), to reveal your thin cotton sock with a heat patch stuck to the sole of your foot.

"mate, that's pure genius!" johnny praises loudly. "'m definitely gonna dae that the morrow."

[synnamonroll666]

Hello! I noticed that you’re taking requests and I hope you don’t mind doing mine…

Request: could you write headcanons for Syzoth with a fem!reader from Earthrealm who’s also in a circus as an acrobat who mostly does aerial silks? (Once I heard about him being in a travelling, my mind went ding! and produced this idea)

Ohhhhh, this is so cool! I always wanted to do something about the reader being in a carnival too. And when I heard about Syzoth being in a travelling carnival, it ticked that idea off in my brain as well. 😅 I love the idea of the reader being an acrobat who does aerial silks too! I have always been fascinated by it. 😍 Anyway, here are the headcanons!

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

Syzoth X Fem!Reader: In The Carnival

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

I had worked at the carnival for quite a few years now. Acrobatics were my life—my passion. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

But my favorite act was the aerial silks. Being up in the air with all my limbs wrapped in silky ropes like a butterfly caught in a spider's web gave me a feeling like no other.

It was a day like any other when another carnival came to town. The newcomers decided to have a visit and watch the shows me and my colleagues would perform.

I was a little more nervous than usual before performing. My audience was one thing, but these people were in my profession, and I could help but worry about their judgment.

Either way, I still pushed through and did my work. It didn't take long before I was swinging in the air like an angel of their entertainment. Listening to their gasps of awe was like music to my ears.

I was pretty tired after the show, so I only said hello to a few of the newcomers before heading back to my tent to rest. Though I wished I could visit for longer—due to feeling quite lonely at the time—I just did not have the energy for it. But just as I sat down, some of my boxes that were stacked came crashing down before me.

Startled, I jumped up from my seat and yelled. My reaction must've scared the unseen intruder as well, because only seconds later, a person appeared out of thin air.

I screamed, grabbing for my pepper spray. Having something to defend yourself with was crucial when being a carnival performer due to the risk of robbers and other unwanted individuals regularly stopping by for a visit.

But lucky for this guy, I waited for just a second before attacking and saw his hands go up in defense. I hesitated, but I kept my little weapon up just in case.

"I-I'm sorry! I-I just w-wanted to come say hello, but I was too nervous!" He frantically tried to explain, his words coming out glued together to make one huge sentence.

Hearing this, I lowered the pepper spray, understanding the situation. I was quite shy as well, so how could I blame him for disappearing the second the chance to socialize came up? If only I had his ability...

"Y-You were invisible. Are you a magician of some kind?" I asked, genuinely curious and wanting to learn more.

He visibly began to relax and let out a faint chuckle, amused by my question. "No, I'm a shape-shifter."

"Shape-shifter?"

He nodded his head and then gave me information that blew my mind away: that he wasn't even a human. I begged him to show me his true form, and after a moment of hesitation, he revealed himself before me.

He was shaking slightly, as if he expected me to hurt him. But that was the complete opposite of what I wanted to do. He was so beautiful—an 8ft reptilian beast. He was something to be cherished, not harmed.

I couldn't contain myself and reached out to pet his nose. His crimson eyes widened, but he allowed it, quickly melting into my touch as I brushed my fingers along his scales.

After that, we spent the entire night talking. There was no sleep; slumber was replaced by facts about our lives and curious questions. By the morning, I felt as if I knew him more than anyone else in the world.

He told me that he was a Zaterran and that his race was from Outworld, as well as the fact that his people banished him for his ability because he was different. My heart broke for the poor man.

However, I reassured him that he was not a freak in my eyes, and I would like to keep in touch. His whole face lit up with joy, and he agreed that he would also like to continue our friendship.

When it came time for the other carnival to leave, I promised dear Syzoth that we would meet again. And I fully intended on keeping that promise. We said our goodbyes, and then I was lonely once again.

Not only that, but my heart then beated with a new desire. I had to see him again someday... I just had to...

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

[addsalwayssick]

Marauders Night At the Museum Au part 1

Remus pressed his lips into a line a quirked his eyebrow. James, on the other hand, smiled. “Thank you, sir.” James said, patting his back.

“You start tonight. There are rules in the cabinet.” Albus said, waving them out of his office door for the night.

Albus soon packed up, leaving both Remus and James behind in the sunset.

Remus pulled out a book, starting to read. “You’re so boring. We should be exploring.” James sighed, spinning around in a spinny chair.

Remus rolled his eyes. The sunset drew to a close, as a curtain of darkness fell upon them. James, now sleeping in a chair, only awoke when Remus screamed. Now, James was expecting a robber, or a burglar or something. What he was not expecting was a skeleton dog trying to get behind the circular desk that James and Remus were sat at. James was wide awake now. “Holy crap! What do we do?” James yelps.

“Get the rules!” Remus says, his voice rushed.

James tries to open the cabinet Albus said it would be in, failing to. “It’s locked!” James said.

“Try again!” Remus shouted.

“I can’t!”

They heard a piercing whistle throughout the museum, and everything stopped. A man wearing tight pants, and a complicated top came out. The skeleton dog rushed to him, sitting by his side. “What are we doing chasing the new night guards?” He asked the dog. The man was gorgeous. With his long dark hair, eyes silver yet warm, and a smile radiating through the cold air of the museum.

Remus thought he was beautiful. Remus had never thought of anyone like that. “Who are you?” Remus said, coming to his senses.

“I am Prince Sirius Orion Black the lll of France. Well, previously I suppose. It is…2024, non? Well I was disowned in 1775, so I suppose that’s that. I was killed in 1780, though, so it didn’t matter.” He said, his black hair swishing elegantly, despite his sad story.

“Are you alone?” Remus asked carefully, his mind swimming with questions. “Are you real?”

Sirius laughed. “No, i’m not alone. I have my brother Regulus. He got disowned and guillotined in the same day. He technically died before me. Only by a month, though. And no, i’m not real. I’m made of wax.”

“Where is Regulus?” James found himself clearing his throat and asking.

“Well he got sent out for enjoying men’s company and guillotined for having no desire to be a woman, so most likely changing. They’re awful here, they put him in a corset every day. He changes, every night though.” Sirius told them.

Remus and James’s mouths dropped. At the stunned silence, Sirius groans. “Please don’t tell me you don’t like the fact we prefer men over ladies. Ladies are lovely, I just don’t like them. The last night guards were like that and-“

“You like men too?” Remus chokes out.

Sirius nods carefully. Remus gets up out of his seat, patting Sirius in the back. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise James and I don’t care. I’m bisexual and James is Pan”

Sirius furrows his eyebrows. “You speak two languages? As do I. What does that have to do with anything. And James is a pan? He doesn’t look like one.”

Remus laughs. “I like men and woman. James likes everyone.”

Sirius frowns. “Oh. That’s nice. So what am I called?”

“You just like men, right?” Remus asks, taking him to the seats. The dog follows. Sirius nods. “Then you’re gay, probably.”

“Gay? As in happy? Well, I suppose I am happy with men.” Sirius thinks aloud.

Remus laughs, brushing his hair out of his face.

James, on the other hand, is nearly banging his head against the desk. He truly didn’t think life could get any crazier after his boyfriend of 2 years broke up with him, kicking him out, with no job. But of course, wax statues, skeleton dogs, animals, and is that a talking statue of George Washington? are coming alive. James was not having the best time. He was happy his best friend, Remus, finally met someone (even if it was a wax statue) and thought that was awesome, except for the fact they were talking wax statues that are now alive. Wasn’t Remus supposed to be the logical one?

But then again, all his logic apparently flew away when a man walked down the stairs with James’s clothes on. James coughed. “Those are my clothes.”

The man turned to him and frowned. “Hm. Sorry. Yours must have been the locker I nestled into. I have to steal these clothes you see, because apparently committing so called treason and getting executed isn’t enough for me to be put in men’s clothes.”

“Oh, no! It’s totally okay, just a bit of a shock. Considering it had my name on the back and things.” James choked.

James had walked in wearing a spider-man t-shirt, black jeans, and a letterman jacket from high school that said ‘Potter 03’ on it. He had to change into his uniform, so the clothes went into the locker.

It seemed wrong that someone as elegant as this man before him was wearing something so casual. He looked as if he belonged in a painting.

He smiled. “Thank you then.”

“Are you Regulus?” James asks, fascinated by this new man.

Regulus nods. “I suppose Sirius had told you our entire life story?” James nods. “Thought so.” When James looked confused, Regulus sighs. “He tells everyone.”

i haven’t posted any writing in literally forever so have this unfinished scrap xx