#they're so delicate but nothing is down there to damage them

[llycaons]

that post is very cute and I didn't want to be annoying in the tags but there are sponges that are literally thousands of years old. the world is so vast.

[witherby]

What would happen if any if the batfamilys enemies kidnapped baby y/n and ended up hurting them badly?

I'm happy to tell you, but not in any fantastic detail. When you say "baby" I think "infant, no teeth, still in diapers, etc."

Content warning for bruises on an infant

--

The contexts in which you would not be with a family member as an infant are very few and far between. I'm thinking a couple of your brothers have you on an outing, like a soiree or a networking lunch for Wayne Enterprises, where they have to put the masks away and act like civilians. There's lots of people around, their attention spans are divided, and they're also counting down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave.

When that time finally hits, Dick politely excuses himself and goes to collect you and Tim so they can head home. But he only finds Tim.

And Tim turns and only sees Dick.

"I thought you were watching them," Tim says, immediately turning sheet white. Dick's complexion is the same.

"I thought you were watching them."

Cue the immediate panic. Tim has his phone out and is trying to pinpoint your location via the tracker they put in all your pacifiers. Dick's eyes are sweeping the area for any signs of you having either crawled away or gotten scooped up by some confused and well-meaning socialite.

You are far away, and getting farther. Someone definitely took you on purpose. They don't hesitate before leaving the gathering and radioing backup. They'll handle all the screaming and scolding from everyone else as long as you get back home safe.

Whoever did take you, be it someone from the usual rogues gallery or a rando that likes kidnapping kids, it doesn't take long for them to catch up to him. It also doesn't take long to do any damage, either, so when they do find you, it's unfortunately with some significant bruising. Your chubby cheeks are red from tears and your arms and waist have handprint bruising from being dragged around, but nothing is broken or bleeding.

Your brothers can't say the same for the one that had the balls kidnap you. He should be thankful Jason was already on another mission.

(Jason comes back and pays him a visit anyway. Nobody gets to lay a fucking finger on you.)

In the aftermath, you're almost overwhelmed by the attention. You don't sleep in your nursery alone again for months; either someone is in there with you, or you're simply relocated to one of their bedrooms for the night. You're handled so, so delicately, like you're made of porcelain. It's all very soft play and quiet voices for a couple days. If you flinch at contact, either due to the trauma of the kidnapping or because someone brushed against a bruise that's still healing, there will be tears shed from that person.

Bruce notices you flinch when he burps you after a feeding and he has to sit on the floor with you in his lap because his hands are shaking so badly.

Damian will not touch you directly at all. If you need to be picked up, he's fashioning a hammock to slowly and gently roll you into and then carry you off.

Alfred maintains the calmest facade when he carries you around, but if you make any kind of whine or pained face, he has to take a moment alone to recollect himself.

Dick and Tim can barely stand to look at you. They're overwhelmed with guilt for assuming the other person was watching you and not simply double-checking themselves.

Jason asks Tim if he can do some tummy time with you, and he just straight up shakes his head.

Dick fucks up his sleep schedule keeping an eye on you in the night, because even though Dr. Thompkins cleared you, what if she missed something and you develop a complication and need help? He doesn't patrol Blüdhaven properly for weeks, instead coming over to Gotham to keep vigil at your window.

Needless to say, the general public does not see you again for months, and when they do, you are with the entire family. They will not let that happen again.

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 1

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?

chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru), mentions of unprotected relations...

masterlist

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"She's acting strange, I'm telling you." 

Satoru speaks through the gritted teeth of his smile, waving widely toward you while Shoko sees you out. What had been another work week filled with training and teaching had ended with drinks; this week's rotation leading the four of you to Shoko's apartment. Though of course, much like last week's invitation, you declined, instead choosing to return to your own home with promises of an early night.

Only once you're safely down the corridor, the door firmly closed behind you does Suguru turn his head to reply to his friend. A weight lifts from his shoulders, and he stands a little straighter once he's sure you're not coming back.

"Seems fine to me." He attempts to throw Satoru from the painfully strong scent, forcing a nonchalant demeanour as he takes a sip from his newly opened bottle. There's been an obvious awkwardness and distance wedged between the pair of you and the group, though Suguru couldn't fault you alone - he's equally to blame for this uncomfortable situation.

"For once, I agree." Shoko steps away from the door, shoes kicked to one side to join the other pairs in a messy pile. Although she'd grown comfortable with taking them off on the carpet while seated on the couch, Suguru's constant remarks of her apartment's disorder had gotten to her. Not because she'd cared all too much, but because it was beginning to grate at her; though this new habit did mean she'd had to clean the floors less. But, she wouldn't tell him that. "Something's up with her." Her eyes move from the heap shoes to her friends.

Suguru stalls his reply, taking an unwanted swig of beer while his heart picks up it's pace. He tries to reassure himself that there's no way they could know, that they're just too curious for his liking. It would've been unlikely you would indulge in sharing that sort of information with the others, you'd always been closed off unless it had come to him, and even then, he'd had to push. He's sure he could end this conversation now... he just needed to think of a good enough excuse. 

"Probably just work, right Sugu?" Satoru pats his back a little too hard, turning to follow Shoko into the front room while Suguru lags behind. He's grateful this is coming to a close with little work from himself, and allows himself a moments reprieve.

"I don't think it is." Shoko places the keys on the scuffed coffee table, throwing herself onto the couch. Her own drink sloshes in the bottle with her thoughtless movements, but thankfully not enough to spill over. Her eyes move upward in thought, attempting to make sense of Satoru's initial concerns, linking the possibility of your recent absences to a conversation she'd shared with you a few days prior. 

Shoko considers letting the others know, and although she does stop to consider the effects of sharing what should probably be kept between the pair of you, she decides this is better said than left secret. 

"She asked if we had pregnancy tests in my office the other day." 

Suguru tenses. He can't tell if the others notice every muscle in his body hardening, or his skin growing cold. There's a stagnant air left in place of their reactions and Shoko doesn't look to either party, trying to suppress the simmering guilt she feels for sharing what was probably personal to you.  

"It's probably nothing, though." Shoko affirms herself more than her friends, brown eyes finally flickering up from the coffee table to gauge the damage she'd incurred. She winces at both of her friends' expressions, each of them displaying some depiction of shock with slack jaws and wide eyes. "I mean, she'd have told me if it was positive." 

Satoru moves first, taking a seat beside Shoko on the couch, arm outstretched to rest over the back cushions. Suguru doesn't feel ready to take a seat, his emotional state wavering, but he knows he needs to avoid suspicions from the other two. They'd moved on, he needs to too.

"Yeah." He speaks, an attempt to convince himself that Shoko's statement is true while he sits down in the loveseat in the corner of the room. His eyes scan over various bits of clutter that seem to decorate it; Shoko was rarely home, and rarely cleaned at that. Books are stacked in various piles, a few pieces of stationary here and there, a mess of clothes pushed to one side. 

He tries to focus on his surroundings, but his gaze turns hollow as he's distracted with imaginary scenarios, consequences of an unplanned pregnancy riddled with fear. He couldn't share his inner battle with them, because half of your quartet is blissfully unaware of an evening he'd willed himself to forget. 

But it feel useless when no matter how hard he tries, he can still remember everything.

"Just crash here, it's fine."

Sleeping at Suguru's hadn't been part of your plan, though neither had staying beyond the bounds of Saturday. You look down at your phone, and with the time glaring back to reflect the early hours of Sunday morning, you agree to stay over with some reluctance. Although you'd stayed at Suguru's plenty before, there's still an uncomfortable twist in your stomach when you're sleeping beneath a blanket that smells like his washing, on a couch that smells like him. You're sure this will end as the others always had - with a bad neck and a hangover.

"See you later." Shoko raises a hand while Satoru wraps an arm around her, his much larger frame bending forward to bear his weight onto her smaller one. He smiles wryly, attempting to imitate her good-bye, though voicing only incoherent nonsense. She rolls her eyes, forcing him to take steps toward the door.

Suguru brings through a few blankets, throwing them over the arm of the couch. His hair is free over his shoulders, gentle waves flowing freely instead of tied in their usual bun.  "Need anything else?" Now the others have left his voice feels weaker, and for the first time this evening you focus on his eyes. They look tired, almost downturned, hanging lower than usual with purple blotches under the skin. 

"Could I get some water?" There's some guilt in your heart as you watch him slowly moving toward his kitchen. You're sure he's likely stressed about work, there'd been an influx of curses as of late, and he worried about his student's wellbeing much over his own. 

The TV is on - flickers of light and quiet chatter as some old movie was on, and you take a seat in front of it. It looked to be something to do with war, as uniformed soldiers carrying guns run amok. Suguru returns with your water, placing the glass on a side table next to you. You lift it up, bringing the cool liquid to mouth and taking a few gulps before placing it back over the wet ring that had been left without the use of a coaster. 

He stands beside the couch, eyes locked to the screen, lips rested into a frown. "Suguru." You pat the couch to your right, legs moving to accommodate him beside yourself. At first, you think he isn't going to move, though he eventually begins to plod toward the spot, and the cushions move beneath his weight. 

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your mouth in a hushed tone, a small waver in your voice as you watch his stoic face turn to face yours.  "Hm?" His aloofness concerned you, and with an arm outstretched you place a worried hand over his forehead. It feels warm beneath your fingers, but not enough for him to have a fever. He looks to you in his confusion; you aren't usually so maternal with him, and touch wasn't something you often choose to give. At least, not as of recent. 

He has distanced himself from you, from everyone, as of recent. The sudden closeness between the pair of you felt much more intense given that context, and he realises his breath has caught in his throat. Being a sorcerer was difficult at the best of times, but as of recent it had felt like wading through water each time he would grow closer to the school. He thought he'd kept it under control, but as you inch closer to him, he realises he hasn't. 

Perhaps leaning toward him wasn't the right thing to do, but with your hand on his cheek, you're not able to hold back any longer. 

Smooth lips lock with yours, and your once concerned hand fell mellow against him, slipping back to lace beneath the dark waves of his hair, a gentle tug. There's a subtle taste of whiskey on his lips as you continue to kiss him delicately. The subdued motions are returned, palms finding your hips to move you toward him. You set on your knees, though he tugs more, and you find yourself seated within his lap.

Suddenly, the lull of the television is drowned out by the sound of your own heart racing within your ears, the quiet smacking of lips, the slow breaths from your chest. Everything feels heightened, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and urgency - you want so much more of him. Want overpowers any other logic in your mind, and although you suspect you will come to regret this in the near future, you can't help but entertain the thought of spending more time like this, within his arms. 

Suguru's tongue finds your own in a ploy to deepen this kiss, and you shyly accept. To begin with, the motions are a little sloppy, though you're soon dancing against one another in a languid pace. He raises his tongue and glides against you, and you gracefully repeat the action, growing closer, chest to chest, hands locking one to the other as desperation grows with every drag of his lips over yours. 

When your mouth is left bare, his finds itself at the nape of your neck, open mouthed kisses and nips igniting spark under skin. His fingers tilt your head backward to allow himself more room, and a soft bite at your flesh gives rise to a groan in your throat. His fists tighten over your shirt. 

He tugs at the fabric, palm kneading bare skin before deciding to discard of the garment altogether. Soon enough, there's a trail leading just shy of his bedroom door, and he finds himself asking the question; "Are you sure?" 

You don't allow yourself to think twice, to consider the consequences that may arise from sleeping with a close friend, and ignore the bubbling in your stomach. There's a voice telling you to take it slow, though it is overpowered by want. Years had been spent beside him yearning to be more than just friends - this would prove his loyalty to him, wouldn't it?

"I want you." You feel sure of it, even if there could've been a date first, a confession of longing. If this is the opportune time, then so be it. 

When you wake the next morning, there's an empty space beside you. It makes sense, you're just friends after all, but it still stings all the same. Your skin is bare beneath the blanket, and when you sit up to glance around the room, you notice your clothes folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. 

When you're dressed and up Suguru isn't in the apartment, and you realise what this is. He's unhappy, and you were just caught up in his sheets after he'd needed stress relief. 

You don't wait up too long for him because you're sure he doesn't want to see you. In your last moments you look naively for a note he may have left for you, hoping for the promises of breakfast - though of course, there wasn't any. There's no text either, and you're back at work soon enough, trying to ignore the fact he won't even look at you anymore.  

Weeks later, you're teary eyed and looking down at the result you didn't want to see. Of course, you're pregnant.

It's difficult to come to terms with the positive before you. Out of many imagined scenarios you played within your mind since childhood, finding out you were pregnant within the staff toilets of Jujutsu High had been the last of your predictions for what should be a magical moment within your life. 

There were suspicions that led you to this moment, and perhaps you could've done this at home, maybe taken some time to discuss with someone other than your rapidly racing mind, but you simply couldn't take it anymore. Your period was a week late, you felt tired, your stomach weak - it was evident without the test that something was up. The two pink lines had simply confirmed your fears. 

Your fingers shake, eyes welling with tears that you wish wouldn't fall. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you'd planned on speaking to him about that night, to admit those feelings you ignored for far too long. Before then, there'd been little progression on the budding crush you harboured throughout your adolescence, though now you felt stupid for ever growing close to him.  

There's a few options that cross your mind among picturing yourself telling Suguru the news. You hadn't even built the confidence to tell him your feelings, how would you tell him you were carrying his child?

This was something you were hoping to reserve for a lover, for someone who'd adored every fibre of your being, who would love and support you through the difficulties of carrying and raising a child. As much as it pained you, you weren't that person to Suguru.

Your heart pulses in your chest, and you try to picture a life with him, one the pair of you would make along with a third, though you can't help but remember his lack of passion for you following those moments entwined with him. Because since that night, he'd done nothing to display any form of fondness toward you. 

You would have to deal with this on your own. 

You put the test in your pocket, pulling yourself together and placing your hand on the stall's lock before stepping out into the hall. It's a near silent journey back to your classroom, the sound of your beating heart and uneven breaths your only soundtrack, a whirring in your head that you don't seem to notice until you're at your desk, putting the test into the opening of your bag.

"You're still here?" Satoru's voice causes your body to jolt, eyes wide as you glance to your classroom door. His arm rests at the frame, head cocked to one side. You wonder if he'd seen anything, though you're sure he would've reacted by now, so you stay quiet. "Are you drinking with us tonight?" There's a smile on his face, one that hasn't changed through the years you'd known him and it takes you back to the innocence of your junior years, before any of you had really harnessed the power of the cursed energy that resides inside you.

You think of the child you hold, of their energy. Would they take after you, or their father?

"No," You clear your throat. "I've got a bunch of paperwork to fill out." It's a lie, but you sell it well with an open gesture to a pile of paper next to you. It's mostly student reports and letters, but you rely on the fact he won't notice. "Eesh." He sighs exuberantly, exaggerating his expression with bared teeth. "Sucks to be you!" His exclaim is followed by a creek of wood as pushes himself from the frame, turning. "See you tomorrow."

You sigh with relief, though it's only temporary - you have a lot to think about. 

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover

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[rubra-wav]

how do you think Hazbin Hotel characters would react to a demon with butterfly wings?

The main Hazbin cast x Butterfly demon reader

Part 2 >

A/N: This wasn't really specific with what charas specifically, so I'm just doing the main cast. I'll do a part 2 with more characters, though, if it's wanted (sorry)

Reader's wings are written as colourful and proportionate to their body, so they are pretty big.

Realised there's a 10 image limit per post, which is bs. Isn't how i normally would have liked it to be aesthetically bc of that 👎

Cw: Sfw, slightly suggestive stuff in Angel's, reference to decapitation and cannibalism 💀, kinda a bit angsty in Angel's and Vaggie's, gn! Reader

Charlie

- Charlie would be absolutely delighted by you, no doubt about it.

- She wants nothing more than to be in a place that's vividly colourful and (assuming reader is a somewhat colourful butterfly demon) you'd be that for her.

- She also probably just really really likes butterflies in general though, let's be real.

- I can imagine her just staring at your wings with absolutely starry eyes while complimenting them.

- "They're so pretty ohhh my gosh!"

- I imagine her being lightly jealous, she'd love to have wings like a butterfly.

- Would probably ask if she can touch, and look somewhat sad when told no due to how it would cause your scales to come off. (Assuming reader's wings are the same as normal butterfly wings)

- It may get somewhat uncomfortable if you don't like attention, she would definitely fixate heavily on them. Tell her to stop though and it's making you feel weird and she will tone it down though.

- If not, though, enjoy the attention you're gonna be getting from Charlie over them.

Vaggie

- Vaggie would likely be a bit uncomfortable about seeing demons with wings in general due to her history - let alone you with beautiful, delicate ones.

- I think she'd secretly be hiding some angst and jealously about your wings ngl.

- When she sees Charlie fawning over them though oh boy.

- Yeah she's not gonna be happy about them then. She doesn't blame you or anything for how she's feeling as it's her issue and she knows that, but it still hurts quite a bit - especially in the beginning.

- It gets less and less bad though the more she gets used to it, she kind of just becomes 'meh' about it - especially if you ask Charlie to stop being so gaga about them.

- When she gets her wings back, though, I think she'd come to think they are cool. A normal level appreciation though.

- I can half see you two helping each other out with your wings down the line if you two get closer though.

- There are some things that come with upkeep so wings don't become damaged and stuff, so the people who also have wings? Allies 100%.

Angel

- I'm gonna be fr, the first time your wings come out he's probably gonna be panicked due to his baggage.

- Especially if it happens when you're angry.

- He's probably gonna need reassurance you aren't gonna try hurt him tbh.

- As sad as it is, his trauma would definitely play a part in his initial perception of them.

- After he recovers a bit and stops immediately going into fight or flight and seeing you =/= Val though, the switch up is insane.

- He would be all over you about them.

- I can imagine him calling you a bunch of butterfly related petnames.

- If you remember the 'make those wings flap' comments he made about Husk, its gonna be that on a hundred.

- Even if it's just joking flirting about them, it's gonna be constant because he thinks they are beautiful and it's a lot of material considering you're a butterfly and he's a spider.

- I feel like he would touch them at some point without really thinking and pull his hand back to see your scales have rubbed off onto his hand and go ''oh shit.''

Husk

- I don't think he'd have much of a reaction to it at all - at least not initially.

- Of course he acknowledges that they are very pretty, but he won't comment upon it much at all unlike the others.

- Possibly may make reference to it when crafting bitter statements directed towards you, though.

- Down the line, if you grow closer to him, I can see him as actually being concerned about your wings.

- They are extremely eye-catching and unique for a being in hell, and due to that, it could lead demons to actively target you

- Whether with overt aggressive intentions to take your wings and sell them, or with more covert problems like you being scouted for modelling (ie. By Velvette)

- I can see Vaggie and you trying to set up a wing maintenance group and trying to include him in it. Him being vehemently against it to a level that's almost comedic.

- You eventually convince him even though he's complaining the whole way through it. (He is lying and actually enjoys it).

Pentious

- He wouldn't like them at all in the beginning.

- They're big and bulky and get in the way of everything, including him.

- The amount of times he's accidentally fallen due to 'tripping' on your giant ass wings is greatly irritating and embarrassing to him.

- Possibly thinks you keep trying to kill him by tripping him.

- Could also see his 'hair' (idk how to properly refer to it, haha), accidentally brushing up against your wings with how expressive it is and getting your scales all over him.

- Basically, he doesn't like them because he's clumsy but will take it out on you.

- I also get the vibe he'd be jealous because of how eye-catching they are.

- In his mind, if he had wings like that, then he'd surely have been acknowledged by the Vees in some way.

- If you change your habits with your wings to be conscious of him not being able to walk normally and start getting onto better terms, though, he will likely become appreciative of them and stop being so pissy about them.

- They are very cool looking to him, and once his poor attitude wears off about them, he'll come to admit that.

Alastor

- He'd actually be somewhat weary of you in the beginning.

- It's nature's law that creatures that do not bother to hide themselves are not to be messed with - especially in a place like hell of all places.

- When he sees that you just happen to be particularly colourful, he drops that, though.

- He'd honestly probably be thinking of what it would be like to eat a demon like you after confirming you are, in fact, not poisonous or dangerous at all.

- He doesn't much care all that much for the intrinsic beauty of things as long as they aren't utterly ugly, and as long as they aren't obnoxious and in your face.

- Depending on how bright and vibrant they are and how much attention you bring to them, he may actually dislike them.

- If not, though, he acknowledges they are nice to look at, but again, doesn't really care about them outside of theorising how they would be to eat.

- Would probably make comments about how he could "just eat your wings up," or ask you about how you taste just to try to freak you out.

Niffty

- When she sees them, her eyes grow wide in a mixture of surprise and awe. At the exact same time, an unhinged smirk spreads across her face.

- She then proceeds to leap at you, scissors or whatever sharp object is closest to her raised at your wings.

- She'd be absolutely trying to take a piece out of them for her 'collection' 💀

- You're gonna need medical attention after she's done with you because she's hellbent.

- Her obsessiveness over your wings would vary depending on your gender but either way, she'd be trying to get a piece of them for herself.

- Definitely abnormal level of appreciation of them in the absolute worst way.

- If you can get her to stop instantly trying to cut off parts of them, she's still constantly trying to touch them. You need to complain about your scales every damn time she tries to reach out to touch it without fail.

- it's like your wings are a beacon, and she's the insect gunning for it ironically.

[darlingdesire]

LIKE A TATTOO

Y/N really loves Harry’s tattoos.

Y/N loved the way Harry’s tattoos looked on his skin. They were like little pieces of art, each one telling a story or holding a special meaning. But what she loved even more was tracing the lines of each tattoo with her fingers, feeling the ink on his skin and the ridges of the designs.

It was a habit she had developed early on in their relationship, and one that Harry had grown to love. They would often lay in bed together, tangled up in the sheets, and Y/N would trace the lines of his tattoos while they talked about their day or whispered sweet nothings to each other.

As they drifted off to sleep, Y/N would often continue tracing the tattoos, her touch becoming softer and more gentle as she grew more and more relaxed. Harry would wrap his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, and they would both drift off into a peaceful slumber, feeling the warmth and comfort of each other's love.

Usually, Harry would close his eyes and let out a contented sigh, feeling the warmth of Y/N's touch on his skin. He loved the way she traced the lines so delicately, like she was afraid to smudge the ink or damage the design. He loved the way her fingers felt against his skin, soft and gentle yet confident in their movements.

Sometimes Y/N would inspect the tattoos more closely, asking Harry about the meanings behind each one. He would tell her stories about the time he got them or what they represented to him. It was a way for them to get to know each other even better, and for Y/N to understand the parts of Harry’s past that he had immortalized on his skin.

Other times, Y/N would trace the tattoos out of boredom or absentmindedness. But even then, Harry didn't mind. He would just lay there and watch her, feeling the love and affection radiating off of her. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that she loved him enough to memorize every little bit of him, even the fine lines of his tattoos that were unnoticeable from the faraway eye.

Y/N was lying on the bed next to Harry, her head resting on his chest as she traced the lines of one of his tattoos with her finger. She looked up at him with a curious expression.

"Did this one hurt when you got it?" she asked, gesturing to the tattoo she was inspecting.

Harry smiled down at her, his fingers delicately playing with her soft hair. "Not too bad," he said. "But it was definitely one of the longer sessions."

Y/N smiled back at him. "Which one hurt the most?" she asked.

Harry thought for a moment before answering. "Probably the one on my chest," he said. "It felt like the needle was going right through to my heart."

Y/N winced in sympathy. "That sounds painful," she said.

"It was," Harry replied. "But it was worth it. All of my tattoos are reminders of something important to me."

Y/N nodded and continued to trace the tattoo on his arm. Harry watched her with a fond expression, admiring the way her eyes studied each line and curve of his tattoo. "I've always wondered what it would feel like to get a tattoo there," she said.

Harry chuckled. "It's not for everyone," he said. "But I love it."

"I can tell," Y/N said, her eyes still focused on the tattoo. "You have so many."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I do," he said. "But each one has its own story. They're like little pieces of me that I carry around with me."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes softening. "I love that about you," she said. "You're so... unique."

Harry gazed down at her, his eyes filled with adoration. "And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, his hand cupping her cheek.

"I love the way you look at my tattoos," he said softly. "It's like you're seeing a part of me that no one else can truly see."

Y/N smiled and looked up at him. "That's because I love every part of you," she said, her voice filled with tenderness, “I especially love your tattoos," Y/N said softly.

Harry grinned, his eyes sparkling. "I know you do," he said. "You always find new ones to admire."

Y/N grinned, continuing to trace the lines of his tattoos. "As you said; they’re like little works of art," she said. "And they all have a story."

Hary nodded, his fingers playing with Y/N's hair. "Yeah, each one has a special meaning to me," he said. "They're like a visual representation of who I am."

Y/N snuggled closer to Harry, feeling his warmth surround her. "I love getting to know more about you," she said. "And your tattoos are like little clues that help me do that."

Harry smiled down at her, his eyes filled with affection. "You're the only person who can read me like a book," he said.

Y/N blushed, feeling a rush of love for Harry. She traced the lines of his tattoos once more before resting her head back on his chest. They lay there in comfortable silence, the only sound the steady beat of Harry’s heart.

With a contented sigh, Y/N closed her eyes and let herself relax into him, feeling safe and content in his arms, all while gently skimming her finger over the delicate lines that created her name which were marked into Harry’s soft skin in black ink.

[madschiavelique]

look. viktor doesn't give a shit. just, like, in general. nothing at the academy surprises him anymore. he's had more than a few experiments explode on him, he's singed his eyebrows (and hair, and arm hair, and jayce's eyebrows too, once) and he doesn’t really even notice it anymore. oh, his arm hair is all white and crumbling now? huh. wonder how that happened.

he keeps un-organizing the desk so that everything is within reach, which drives jayce mad. this is an added bonus. but mostly he likes to have everything in an semi-organized chaos, so that he can see what he's working with. he thinks better when he can see everything laid out.

he's living in a limbo of yes-i-am-professional-but-yes-i-did-stay-up-all-night-and-am-now-brewing-solid-coffee. he'll wipe the remains of those spilled chemicals in his pants. take apart that machine and not use gloves. he still forgets to turn on the local extraction fans when he's heating something up, because he doesn't remember he could. he will wash down his painkillers with enough caffeine to stun a horse and take a nap in the lab after. (it's fine he knows he's not supposed to eat or sleep in there but he knows what he's doing. also he's done worse)

learning how life in piltover works is...something, but he's decided to take it in stride. oh, the floors are heated? the windows open and the walls talk sometimes? okay. guess that's fine. a little weird, but fine.

at first, he doesn’t realize they can afford to throw out broken tools. he keeps telling jayce to not throw them out, because they can still use them, and if not, they can make something from them, and then in return, jayce tells him that if you just replace the tip of the soldering iron more often, you don't have to use that much force, and a sharper drill does less damage and oh my god are you re-wiring that by hand, we have like a bajillion of those in storage?

and somehow, at the same time, jayce tells him to be more delicate with the tools, because somehow that's how things work now, he doesn't need to use that much force to get them to work, these controls actually work the way they're supposed to, and he doesn’t need to lay his body weight on top of the pressure drill to get it to bite into the metal-

so one time when jayce drops a new model tool, delicate and fragile, and instinctively slams his thighs together to catch it, breaking the tool in the process? viktor's not gonna let that go. he gives jayce a lecture about how he needs to use less force.

jayce sighs so hard it ventilates the building.

viktor smiles to himself.

- doctorho 💫

JAYCE BREAKING A TOOL BY THE STRENGTH OF HIS THIGHS omg i need this. this is glorious

[lookinghalfacorpse]

i think i remember your pandora symptoms fic was in general, canon compliant to ITWALL and tbh i have been curious, has phil ever been "sucked in" into one of dreams nightmares like techno was?? (if the "dreamon chapter is even canon to itwall of course lol)

i forgot about this headcanon! i imagined it as a part of his admin powers that he hasn't mastered yet-- a way to communicate quickly with the players on his server. i think philza would recognize it.

----------

/dsmp /rp

Dream dropped himself into the kitchen chair, letting it creak loudly under his weight. Phil didn't even know he was awake already.

The arctic had settled into a slow, soft routine; Philza was usually first to wake, and he'd start breakfast as Dream and Technoblade joined him at their own pace. This morning, he had deep pockets of purple under his eyes and he seemed unable to hold himself up. His head drifted into his hands as he sat at the time. His hair was a mess.

Philza chuckled at him. The old man hadn't slept too well, either, but he was chipper as always as he tried to make food quickly. He put a kettle on the stove to get Dream's tea started. "Mornin', mate," he said, "I guess Techno really wore you out yesterday, yeah?"

"Mm."

"I'm surprised you didn't sleep in more."

"Couldn't sleep," Dream said as he rubbed a hand groggily across his face. "I'm so sore. I don't wanna look at firewood ever again."

"Ah, nothing a warm bath and some pain meds can't fix. You must've pushed yourself too hard."

Phil continued with breakfast. He opted for bagels that morning-- it was quick and easy, and made up for lost time since he was moving slowly. He also had apples on the stove for some homemade applesauce, and it made the whole cabin smell absolutely lovely. He mixed them occasionally, checked on the bagels, and peaked over his shoulder at Dream. The poor boy was nearly falling asleep again.

He jumped when the kettle started to whistle. Phil prepared an English Breakfast tea for him in his favorite mug, with milk and sugar.

"Thanks," Dream croaked, his thin fingers wrapping around the mug, cradling it delicately in both hands. Phil watched as he raised it to his face, sniffed at the air, and moved his hair aside so he could blow cool air on the surface.

"You didn't tell me that Sam poisoned you," Philza said.

Dream froze, green eyes darting to Phil's face.

"How did you know that?"

Phil turned his attention back to the apples, turning his back. "I had an odd dream last night."

Dream put the mug down, his back straightening. "Tell me what you saw."

"A part of the prison I didn't recognize, with chairs. I saw scraps of food on a table-- all potatoes, I think, but maybe not-- and I heard Sam asking questions. About Tommy. But I-- you-- felt so sick, the room was spinning. Could barely understand the questions at all. Dream, I asked you if Quackity did all of the damage, and you said yes." "And I didn't lie. Sam didn't-- Sam didn't hurt me. Not really. None of these scars are from him." Before Philza could voice a protest, Dream continued, "Listen, I-- I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep doing this. I did it to Techno, too, I-- sometimes I can control dreams on purpose, but more often I just... force people to witness random things that I don't even want them to see. I'm really sorry, Phil. I'll try to stop."

"No, no," Phil started, "I think this explains a lot. I've seen something like this before." "You have?"

"Mm-hmm. You projected a memory to me. If you can harness this, I think you'd be able to communicate to people even when they're awake. Sounds convenient, yeah?"

A way to communicate privately. Dream liked the idea.

Phil continued, "I'm angry about what I saw, don't get me wrong. Pissed off, really. But I'm glad to have discovered this. We can work on it."

Dream ran his fingertips along the handle of the mug. The glaze was smooth and cold, and it fit inside his palms neatly. He saw Phil watching him, waiting to find out if he would drink.

He drank.

[petermorwood]

This popped up on my YouTube the other day and not to brag, but...

Oh, why the hell not? It's a small brag, but satisfying. :->

I posted about refilling the Pilot Vpen (IRL-UK) / Varsity (US) - and adding how-to links - about 4 years and then again a year ago.

Here are the how-to links; I'm glad to see they're still active.

This one, like the video, calls for pliers and suggests removing the nib:

This one doesn't use pliers or separate the nib from the feed.

*****

Bragging aside, I'm pleased to see Brian Goulet of Goulet Pens giving this hack a higher profile (and Kudos for it, too - as a retailer it's more in his interest to sell them than refill them!)

His reason is very sound: those cheap little pens (usually about 3-to-4 local currency units whether €, $ or £) are ideal for FP-curious newbies or as no-loss-worries when travelling or no-damage-worries loaners.

They also have much better nibs than the price would suggest. Indeed that seems common to all the inexpensive Pilot pens I've tried, which includes every nib size of MR / Metropolitan.

In addition, IMO the notion of "disposable" fountain pens goes completely against the principal FP virtue, where once you've bought the pen, all you USE is the ink.

*****

I should mention, for completeness, that some "starter" fountain pens have prices not much more than these disposables and, refilled by "proper" ink cartridges / bottle-refill converters, don't involve anything like this trouble.

Just saying...

*****

It just so happens that one of my two Vpens was about due for a refill, so here are some pics of the process.

I scrubbed the markings off the barrels a long time ago so I could see what was inside, since refills mean the ink in the pen often has nothing to do with its colour-indicator cap.

First, disassembled and washed in changes of warm water until the water stays clear.

Here's the nib and feed: they've always come out of both Vpens as a single unit, with no need for pliers. Since the nibs show no desire to come off I've no desire to force the issue and maybe break something; those little ink-guide fins are delicate.

The filler is a small syringe begged from our local vet. I also use it to refill cartridges with custom ink colours (yup, I sometimes roll my own...)

Its "needle" is plastic tubing (an empty Pilot gel-pen cartridge, appropriately enough) which fits the syringe perfectly, and a pointy end made by stretching the tube over a candle-flame then snipping to length. If it gets too stained - this is nearly there - just chuck it in the recycle bin and make a new one.

The ink could have been any of the 30-odd I have at the minute, or something mixed specially, but I chose this one - a nice dark green - for the same reason @dduane had me buy it.

It's a very cute bottle... :->

*****

And here's the "disposable" pen refilled, reassembled and re-writing.

It really does have a better nib than you'd expect from a supposedly single-use pen...

*****

It sometimes takes a while for the ink to work its way by capillary action down from barrel to nib, especially if everything has been left to dry after washing. Put the cap on the pen and be patient.

Or speed things up by taking the cap off and running a thin stream of hot water over the barrel for 30 seconds or so. This increases internal pressure, forcing the ink along the section fins.

NB, this step is only for a refilled Vpen / Varsity. Don't try it with anything else, and in case it's not obvious, do this at a washbasin or sink, because You Never Know.

Now use a bit of kitchen paper or loo roll to blot the water which has got on the nib. This has a mild "suction" effect, and when you see ink on the paper (you might need to wet the nib again) your refilled pen is ready for use.

This wet-and-blot nib step can be used to encourage any stubborn fountain pen to get back in action, but the hot water trick, once again, is Vpen only.

Anyway, done.

[nicebonescomrades]

There's this SAGAU plot simmering in my head recently.

You're a passenger on the Astral Express and during an expedition towards another world, the train encounters an energy bubble and it slams into it, full force. The strange energy sends a shockwave through the carriages, knocking you out.

The moment you wake up, you are in a different world. The grass, dew, and wind feel fresh but the stars look strange. They look... Artificial. Like it is computer generated to flicker and move like the stars but they feel too systematic.

You travel through this strange land, Teyvat as you've learned by eavesdropping from the locals. You've taken to dressing more similarly to the locals by using cloaks and jackets you've found to hide your clothes to avoid attracting attention. What you've noted is that this is the universe of Genshin Impact, a world you've admired from afar and its people you've cheered on from light-years away.

New knowledge comes to you that was unavailable through the computers that this world had a singular leader. It was strange. From the database, it said that the nations were ruled by their archons but nothing was mentioned about a ruling one above archons like the Raiden Ei, Rex Lapis, Barbatos, Buer, and Focalors.

So imagine your surprise when that leader had declared to seize anybody that wasn't from this world. What about the Traveller? Where are they? Were they on to you? What was going on?

You don't have time to ponder as you run away from governing bodies like the Favonious knights, the Millelith, the Shogunate, and the Fatui trying to capture you once they caught sight of your cellphone. You dodged arrows, took slices from claymores and swords, endured elemental damage from catalysts, and parried spears. You've lost faith in most of the people. Except for one.

With limited stamina, you can only run for so long until you were presented to the council of archons and their leader on the throne. On your knees, arms chained behind you and as well as your ankles. Your head is pressed into the floor in such a humiliating position, held by the foot of a soldier who's taking such an ego lift by grinding your head down into the rough concrete by just subtly pressing a bit harder and moving his foot around.

You held no emotions in your face. You've lost faith in anybody from Teyvat. Lost faith that they would save you. You try to lose that one last bit of faith in that one person. The last person who you believe in. After all. They're standing right there. It must've been so obvious to the leader. With a sick grin, the leader orders your most favored to behead you.

It's like your heart stopped. You glanced up at them, a tiny hope of leaping into your throat. Your blood rushed. Your mind was blank but all that stayed was the hope that they'd take you to safety.

With each move of theirs, you wait a second more. Faith just hangs in there, so steadily balanced by a string. Not rising or dropping but so delicately hanging in the balance of whether you'd be saved or you'd be killed by the one person you had faith in.

They step forward. Your eyes focus on their feet. The rush of blood in your ears drowning out the hopeful anticipation.

They stop and stand next to your kneeling position. The soldiers lift your head up and hold you by the shoulders, baring the back of your neck. You stop breathing. A voice whispers to you that they won't save you but you hold out hope.

The blade is unsheathed by their hand. Sweat begins to drop down your forehead and onto the concrete. Your hands begin to shake.

You feel the cold blade against the back of your neck. You feel your heart drop into your stomach.

Shaking, your eyes glance up at their face. All color drains from you. They're... Sneering at you. In contempt.

The blade rises. You hear them wish for a painful death. Your eyes drop to the floor.

Tears bubble and drop on to the concrete, creating pools of your tears.

As you hear the whine of the wind created by the blade cutting through it, you lose faith in all of the people of Teyvat. Your eyes drain of life as you accept your faith.

The blade nicks the back of your neck as your phone rings. A sonic boom shakes the room and your body warps through space, sending you back to the carriage.

Your phone continues to ring, and your most favored glances at the screen. It's perplexing how technology far above Khaenri'ah existed. Even more so when the ringing stops and the lock screen flashes for a few seconds before the screen dies.

It was a picture of you on the astral express.

Suppressed memories start to flood the people of Teyvat. Beyond the archons, there was one that led the people towards the path of safety. The guiding light is what they called you. You bestowed people of artifacts, weapons, strength, and knowledge. Though they've never heard your voice or saw your image, what they did know is your presence gave them strength, relieved their pain, and provided them with faith.

As your body warped through time, the path between your world and theirs began to close. They feel the strength they've been bestowed with by you weaken. Their weapons became equal to those of dull swords. The artifacts withered away, disappearing and floating away as star fragments. Some didn't feel as affected as you'd only started to bestow them with blessings but those who were so clearly favored by you felt the most pain of losing the strength you've bestowed them with.

You were the one that gave them the strength to stand out beyond the crowd. The one to guide them out of darkness and temptations. The one to heal their wounds.

And yet they were the ones to hold their blades against you.

As their despair consumed them as the connection between the guiding light and their world was cut, your mind sealed your consciousness away to protect yourself from the shock of the betrayals.

You were found to be slumbering inside a carriage of the train. Unable to be woken up.

To preserve your body as they waited for you to wake up from this self imposed sealing, you were kept inside a med pod, in cryogenic suspension to prevent your body from dying.

The crew were worried about you. What had happened between the milliseconds of the energy warp when you were separated from them? Your body was full of bruises and cuts. It was like you had endured months of survival within a span of milliseconds.

While you were cryopreserved as your mind protected your consciousness from breaking due to the stress of the betrayals, the world of Genshin did not return to normality.

Due to the loss of power of leading figures and the widespread rumor that they'd destroyed the connection between the guiding light and their world, people were rioting and attacking the soldiers in an attempt to gain information. The leader was decapitated for treason and playing an active role in severing the connection between the guiding light and their world.

But nothing like this mattered to your most favored.

They lay at the feet of a marble statue carved in your image. They had it carved after you had disappeared. A kind smile carved into your expression as if your eyes were sparkling with joy.

They bury their head into the side of your legs, their arms wrapped around your legs in reverence and desperation for forgiveness. Guilt clawing through the back of their head as they remembered the moment the light in your eyes faded as you accepted your faith of being killed by their bare hands.

Their voice hoarse after days of nonstop prayers to you in hopes of forgiveness. But this was nothing compared to what you had to endure from them and their people.

Nothing could compare to the moment all life faded from your eyes as you realized your most favored betrayed you.

No tears could escape from their bloodshot eyes.

This was their self imposed punishment. To lay at the feet of your statue and to beg for forgiveness. Never leaving for food, water, or sleep. It was a faith written with death.

But no matter how long they wait. How long they punish themselves. Their prayers will fall on deaf ears as your consciousness is sealed away.

____________________________________

So yuh, this is me, i haven't played honkai impact or starrails yet so idk if the plot is holding but yeah, it's something I've been thinking about that the only way to depart from a world you do not belong in without the astral express is to sever any connection to anybody or anything from that world.

I feel like the angst is not angsting as hard as usual because I have a hard time making characters talk in a canonical way while also keeping the position of the most favored as fillable as possible with any character.

Forgib me ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

-Big-Sad Anon

THIS IS SO PAINFULLY GOOD IM GOING TO HAVE A WKEKEWJSJD??

How do you always write so well im in awe of you every time i read anything written by you i can feel the air going crisp and all my organs are back to top shape i am in love with your writing ddkdjddn

But this is so much pain 💔 that bit of hope that had remained until the very last moments im about to cryyyyy

I have the weirdest relationship with honkai 😭 i don't enjoy the storyline no matter 6 times i tried to like the writing but I really love the characters and the combat system so i just keep deleting and redownloading the game 💀 starrail isn't out yet but I'm not a fan of turn based games so who know lolll

I know what I say really may not help you feel better but I want you to at least know that ai understand how you feel ❤️ sometimes writing character lines really becomes difficult when you're juggling canon and the plot 😭 but just know im wishing you much inspiration and well wishes because even without dialogue this was a fantastic read <33

[venturethighs]

The healslut drabble is here btw! You can also read it on my AO3 if you'd like.

Enjoy, you silly little Venture enjoyers. :>

A/N: The masculine version of "princesa" is "príncipe" for those who prefer reading it that way!

"Are you ready to play some video games, mi tesoro?" Sloan asks.

They adjust their harness slightly to ensure they're nice and comfortable– completely nude underneath otherwise. Next, they take their rightful seat on the couch and pull up the ottoman for you to lay across. You stand before them in nothing but a cutesy pastel colored g-string thong that they had picked out for you this morning. Your clothes lay folded nearby, forgotten for the time being. You proceed to lay yourself in front of them and wait for them to take control.

"Mhm!" You answer.

They align their strap with your sopping wet entrance before reaching down to hold it in place, pressing the silicone head against your first hole and delicately pushing it inside. You bite your lower lip in preparation and your hips clench in anticipation as the lubricated surface slides easily within and settles against your spasming walls. Instantly, you feel yourself grip down and nestle it safely inside you as they relax back into the couch with their legs spread wide. A small huff of arousal leaves your lips as they playfully smack the side of your ass to brace you for the ride ahead. A cheeky grin spreads across their weathered face.

"Princesa." Sloan's voice breaks the silence.

"Mm–" You hum, craning your neck to the side to look at them.

"Are you sure you're ready?" They ask.

"Mhm." You resound.

Sloan queued for a simple quick play game since neither of you are in the position to focus on competitive. While the time ticks up on screen, they reach down to firmly grasp at one side of your hips and jiggle it playfully. Their fingers cling into your flesh and feel the softness of your skin slip between them with every squeeze. You hold yourself back from vocalizing your approval, but you feel them brush against the thin fabric of your thong and you sigh in delight absentmindedly. Frisson rolls down your body and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

"Focus." Sloan tells you.

"I'm trying." You pout.

"Try harder." They tease you.

A knuckle brushes past your folds and brushes against your clit, already wet with excitement. A pulsating pounds inside it as it reacts to the featherlight touch from your darling– another puff of air exiting your nose as your mouth falls open but silent. They're testing to see how much it takes to break you, but little do they know you wouldn't fall so easily.

Finally, after only a few minutes of waiting, the two of you are thrown into a match. Your attention is snatched by that instead– but for how long will your willpower remain? You lock into your main character: a cutesy support whose primary focus is healing allies and providing damage boost for tactical advantage. Her adorable blonde pigtails adorned with pink ribbons line her mature face with grace. It was your favorite skin– no doubt about that. It was absolutely perfect for a brainless healslut such as yourself.

Your beloved takes a little more time deciding between characters. Did they want to play something a little easier– a gun toting old soldier with a decent support ability to help you along? Or maybe something a little more risky, a wraith like antihero who provides up close style combat for maximum carnage? They mull it over for a moment. You notice that they're the only one who hasn't chosen, but luckily you're playing on Attack, so you don't have to leave the spawn room anytime soon.

"What do you think, princesa?" They ask.

"Pick whoever you'd like." You answer.

"Uh huh. I'm trying to decide on that." They add, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass.

They end up choosing the latter option after cycling through the choices for a moment more. Then, all hell breaks loose. You instantly target your healing beam onto your dearest to provide them much needed support as they dive in to attack the enemy tank. With a few well placed critical shots, the enemy tank falls, as does the support attempting to resurrect them. So far everything was going smoothly for your team.

Then, your other support is flanked without mercy, getting downed in two hits of the enemy DPS.

"Go rez them, cariña." Sloan orders you.

"Okay!" You submit.

You position yourself in the sneakiest possible way before soaring over to their dead body. With the press of a button under your well manicured finger, they come to life again and thank you briefly before heading off into battle once more. You're now back to pocketing your sweetie for the time being.

"Good job!" They praise you, delicately patting your thighs.

"Thank you." You smile.

The battle continues as you push the payload on its way to the checkpoint. It steadily makes its way across the map with little resistance as the enemy team clashes with yours with colorful beams, splashes and effects blossoming across the television screen. Your pretty pink healing beam locks onto everyone in your vicinity as damage flies every which way without warning.

Then, it happens.

Sloan is ganged up on and falls victim to an enemy DPS ultimate. An inaudible gasp falls from your glossed up lips as you rush in without thinking in an attempt resurrect them. You're next to die in the most embarrassing way, your barbie doll body falling uselessly next to theirs.

"Princesa." They state, unhappiness present in their voice.

"Yes?" You meekly reply.

A slap falls hard to left side of your hips. Another one follows suit on the other side– and as you two wait to respawn, you're humiliated by them grabbing even more of your reddening flesh and striking it with the palm of their hand. The audio doesn't pick up the punishment you're receiving, but you have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from calling out.

"Don't fail me next time." They command.

"Yes, dear." You dreamily sigh.

Then, it's back into the fray you both go. It takes a little bit of walking from the spawn point to get back into the action. Your other DPS turns the tide in your favor as they unleash their ultimate onto the enemy back line to take out both supports. Your darling follows that up with a quick, up close blast from their shotguns into the low health enemy tank. You're able to push the payload to the next checkpoint before overtime hits– the game is saved for now.

As the enemy team takes the time to regroup, they adjust themself quickly on the couch and accidentally buck their hips forwards, pushing their strap along with it. The most timid sounding moan resonates inside your throat as it hits that sweet spot buried inside of you. A bead of sweat forms on your forehead as you realize someone had heard it.

"What was that?" A teammate asks.

"I coughed! Sorry!" You quickly make up an excuse.

"All good!" They answer.

Sloan grins all the while.

As the payload approaches the final point, your team is once again dived without remorse and nearly everyone is wiped out except you and your beloved. You both find yourselves surrounded in enemy territory before their quick thinking has them brandishing their ultimate to take out three whole enemy team members. Except the worst scenario is now unfolding: it's you, Sloan, an enemy DPS and an enemy support. You engage your healing beam onto them as they continue blasting away at their target, only for the damage to immediately be healed away. Your team is still regrouping at spawn and wouldn't be back to help anytime soon.

"Damage boost me." They grumble.

"But you'll die!" You frown.

"Just trust me." They growl.

You do as your told and your pretty pink healing beam transforms into a powerful blue beam instead. At first, it seems like it's working, and the enemy health bar is slowly being chipped away with the extra damage. They fell the enemy DPS with one final critical headshot and the fight was nearly over– but not before they're killed by the enemy support in revenge of their fallen teammate. Even during your resurrection of them you can feel the unrelenting smacks to your ass increasing with every second. You fall over dead in the moments that come afterwards, and your beloved successfully avenges you despite your soreness.

Then, it ends.

Your team successfully pushes the payload to the end goal. The word "VICTORY" lights up the screen in bright blue lettering as it fades into the victory poses for your characters. As soon as you're disconnected from the team voice chat, a deep sigh of relief exhales from your lungs and you feel yourself relax just a little.

"You did good, princesa." They praise you again.

Their hand softly rubs the skin they had just assaulted moments beforehand.

"Thank you." You accept their praise with gratitude, however.

"Ready for the next match?" They question.

Your chest swells up with a sharp inhale. You're not entirely sure you can stand going another round like that. They laugh in response.

"Alright." They say, grabbing ahold of your hips and grinding forward. "I'm just joking! Are you ready for your reward?"

"Y-yes, please!" You beg.

Sloan bucks their hips forward and slams into you with no warning. Your eyes go cross with the amount of force they can muster– even at their older age, they can certainly drill into you just like they were twenty seven again. A long awaited moan finally escapes your bare chest as they pull your g-string further to the side for even easier access. Their tattooed hand reaches down and grabs a fist full of your glamorous hair and pulls you back as a sort of leash to ride you with. Furious thrusts of their hips has your reddened ass bouncing from the energy of their enthusiasm.

Your own hands grip down on the side of the ottoman you're laying on while your walls clamp tightly around their silicone length. Whimpers and whines echo out into the living room as you're viciously pounded into like no tomorrow. Drool begins to form on the edges of your mouth as your view is turned upwards towards the ceiling.

"Such a good healslut~!" They verbally poke you. "You love taking my strap, don't you?"

"Y-yes! So much!" You cry out.

Your eyes repeatedly squeeze shut as you're continually thrusted into like the good support you are. Heavy breaths escape into the heated room as a wave of pleasure descends upon your sweating figure. You desperately attempt to hold yourself together but to little avail.

"Do you think you deserve to come?" They chastise. "Even though you let me die twice?"

"Mm–" You can't answer straight. "Hah~!"

"You're lucky that I love you so much." They fume.

"L-love you too~!" You melt.

The sound of your voice dripping in ecstasy makes their own heart gush with an overwhelming sense of affection. Every aggressive drive into you has that wave of pleasure repeatedly beginning to crash over you as the pleasure in your hips inflates to an insurmountable degree. You lose yourself in it completely after a while– and without warning, you fully shutter as you reach the apex of your orgasm. Sensitivity covers your body in a blanket as Sloan finally pulls out of your glistening body. All is silent as they unharness themself for cuddles.

"You did good, mi tesoro." They remind you. "C'mere!"

They scoop you up in their toned, art covered arms and hold you close. You nestle yourself into their neck and rest your tired body against theirs. Meanwhile, they grab a blanket and toss it lightly over your shoulders to keep you nice and warm from the incoming endorphin drop.

"Do you want to play a few more rounds in a little bit?" Sloan asks.

"Mm– maybe. I need to rest just a little more." You reply.

Their hand traces soothing circles across your back as they gently rock you back and forth in an equally securing manner.

"Rest up then, princesa. You deserve it." They assure you.

[stuckytoyoulikeglue]

I've been wanting to get my thoughts on Steve's ending off my chest for literal years and I read something earlier that finally prompted me to write it all down.

This is entirely my own, personal, biassed opinion.

I do not want a fight. Or even a 'healthy debate', if I'm being honest.

If you don't agree, that's cool, just move along, nothing to see here.

Please don't be mean, I'm a delicate flower and I can't take it.

So... Like most of the people I've come across in my preferred branch of the fandom, I didn't love Steve's ending.

Unlike a lot of people, I didn't actually have a problem with the end result, just the motivation behind it.

Chris was done, Steve needed to be written out, Tony founded the universe and deserved to be its ultimate saviour, so the best case scenario was to give Steve a happy ending. I'm glad he got a happy ending. I love him, I wanted him to be happy.

But...

The exact same story arc, only without it being his choice, would still have given him the happy ending that Marvel presumably wanted for him. It would have given him the girl that got away, and the chance to finally live the life that he thought he'd lost, and all without betraying his character.

I still think it was incredibly dumb not to leave him trapped in the past (and making the most of it) after returning the stones, rather than having him choose to walk away (from everything, but especially Bucky, no matter how you see their relationship), but one thing that I keep seeing posts about (some joking, but most not), that I do not get at all, is why so many people seem to think that everything else would have played out exactly the same, just with him as Peggy's hubby instead of the man she married in the MCU timeline (I'm not debating here whether that was Daniel or not).

Yes, Steve's character was damaged by his choice to walk away, but he's still Steve. He wouldn't have sat idly by and watched Hydra sink its claws into the SHIELD Peggy was building in front of him. He wouldn't have just left Bucky to stew in Siberia. We don't even know if he actually put down the shield for any real length of time.

After all, he didn't return to pass it on to Sam until he was an old man, and the shield he passed along was a different shield. Maybe it was a new one that was made for him after his old one was lost to the ice, maybe he had it made specially to give to Sam, who knows? But what we do know as a result, is that whatever happened in his new timeline, it was not the same as what happened in ours.

Personally I choose to believe that Bucky lives next door, the Starks come round for tea most weeks, and everyone just dotes on ickle baby Tony, not least his dad. They're still in touch with the rest of the Howlies, though they don't get to see them as often as they'd like, and ideally Zola is rotting in a cell somewhere.

Admittedly, I'm not sure what I reckon happened to the original Steve from that timeline. Maybe he didn't survive the ice, maybe they defrosted him early and the two Steves started a rota for playing Cap so they both get a chance to actually have a life in between punching bad guys. Maybe he's living in sin with Bucky, pretending he's our Steve's identical twin brother if anyone ever sees them both at the same time. It doesn't really matter.

My point is that damn near anything could have happened in that new, mysterious universe, because the only certainty we have is that it was exactly like ours until Steve went 'back' to it, and it was definitely not the same as ours from that point on.

Butterfly effect and all, Steve's mere existence guarantees that it's different and, as I already mentioned, the shield that he gives Sam provides concrete proof of it.

Of course, I'm not saying things necessary played out any better. Maybe SHIELD didn't fall, but the governments of the world did. Maybe Steve saved Bucky only for him to be hit by a bus mere weeks after he brought him home to Brooklyn. But in no world did Steve sit there casually tossing a salad while fully aware that his brainwashed best friend was off to murder the president.

That is all (for now).

PS. I love Peggy. I'm still miffed they cancelled Agent Carter. I don't think having her marry Steve in an alternate timeline takes anything away from who she was or what she built in ours. Her legacy is entirely intact in our world, and in another world she was doubtlessly equally kickass, she just got to have Steve too.

[christylove94]

Everlasting - Part One

For two months I worked on a collection of snippets tied to Love Between Fairy and Devil. I've added AU elements, and altered the timeline slightly, but they're still very much connected to the show. It's Orchid-centric, dreadfully wordy (I apologize for this) and unbeta'd. No summary really. If you know the show, that's all the background necessary. I just wrote what inspired me at the time and I'm pretty happy with what I was able to achieve after years of nothing, so that's all that matters.

This first part is quite short, but the rest are much longer. This is the equivalent to a prologue I suppose.

Pairing: Dongfang Qingcang/Xiao Lanhua

Chapter Tags: AU elements

Little Fairy Orchid's eyes sweep along the pair of silvery feathers. Observes the graceful manner in which they cup around the blades of young, pea green grass. 

The moment she first took notice of its place splayed across the middle of her back not long after first gaining her human form, awe had swelled up in her belly and sent her bouncing down the halls to her Master Siming. 

After being gently told that it’s improper to be undressed in public and prompted to redress, Lady Siming had settled warm, comforting hands over her shoulders and spoke to Orchid in a gentle tone wrapped in the quirk of her lips. 

“That mark means there is one special someone out there destined to be your partner in life. The mate to your soul. They'll love you, take care of you, and remain by your side forever.”

Orchid had clung to the fact that her soul’s mate was out there in Shuiyuntian, longing to be with her as she was to be with them. 

After her beloved Master went on a trip to Yunmeng Lake, and never returned, as she did her best to cultivate her damaged, immortal root, as she tended to the endless Destiny Books in her Master's stead by her lonesome, as her fellow fairies bullied her and looked down upon her weak power—

For over a thousand years, she had found hope in the blessing given to her by fate's delicate brush between her shoulders.

But today, her Fate Mark's reflection fills her gaze, and the world seems to grow a few shades darker. A strange heaviness takes up the whole of her belly, off balancing her breathing. It's an odd feeling. One she's been sitting with for days.

She doesn’t deserve it.

The criticism from Lord Changheng begins to drift into her mind before she squashes it down with a deep breath. 

Though it’s easier to forget while she’s in the presence of a certain escaped criminal. Watching the subtle lighting up of his eyes in his otherwise blank expression when she brings out flower cakes, or the quiet ease of his strong shoulders when he thumbs through one of her Master's old poem books, or the softening of his rigid mouth when he enjoys a particular liquor…

Changheng is blind.

You are different.

You are much more precious than them, Xiǎo Huāyāo.

She claps her palms to her cheeks to snap herself free of her strange musings only to recall another thread of his mysterious being. 

Fate Mark? I don't have one. My destiny lies with something of far more significance.

He had said it with such cold indifference, his stare unflinching. There was no sadness, no concern that there was no one out there hoping to one day share forever with him. Just frigid acceptance.

Her shoulders, eyes, lips, her very spirit, everything seemed to have drooped down in response. Like a wilted flower without sun. And she still does not know why. He's a criminal after all. But she has seen countless Destiny Books and is certain that while those without Fate Marks can have happy lives, they are not as fulfilled as those who have lived out their lives with the mate to their soul. 

She squeezes her eyes shut with a throaty grumble of frustration that whips into a small decision. 

Pointer and middle finger rise up to chin level in a sharp arc. She swells her lungs as much as she can, squares her shoulders and forces her eyes straight ahead. Magic tumbles and skitters within her chest from the small pail of her spirit energy before flaring to life in a sparkly mist on the tips of her joined fingers. The stark luminance glimmers like stars in her pupils before she guides her magic with a twist of her wrist. A few short moments pass before her magic tapers off. 

Her stare flickers for an instant, catching pale, uniform skin across her back. Curving her bottom lip between her teeth, she gives into the urge to scrutinize her skin. 

The simple concealment charm is flawless. No ripples or hazy edges. Her skin simply looks blank. Ordinary. Her dark eye lashes flutter atop her cheeks as her index finger connects with the smooth, cool mirror before her.

Her image remains unchanged.

A sensation that starts up in her belly and bubbles up into her chest tries to overtake her attention, so she gathers up the layers of her dress and focuses on that instead. Humming while working on the ties does nothing to subdue her persistent thoughts.

My clothing is as good as a concealment charm, so why use one, silly head? 

Puffing out her lower lip, she huffs and whirls away from the mirror, dress ties finally done up–

Arms flailing, her ears ring from her yelp as she stumbles back a step. Her heart pounds so fast and so hard the hand that lands atop of it vibrates. 

Da Qiang. 

Dark, pristinely draped robes. Smooth, burnt mahogany hair flowing down his back. Barely a hand length away. 

All of this is taken in at a glance in favor of his steady, unamused almond tinted brown stare.

“Xiǎo Huāyāo.” No flourish or hesitation, his lips and low dulcet tones address her with pure efficiency like some stuffy, fairytale lord. 

Little Flower Demon. That name used to fluster her and grate on her nerves. That he would insinuate that she's anything like one of the women from the Moon Tribe. Thus, her name for him. Little Sinful Criminal. Very fitting for such an arrogant man, she had thought at the time with a little snicker. Though her insult has since softened with blooming fondness. Whereas his… his has never shifted.

Because it was never an insult to begin with. 

“Da Qiang!” Her arms flop to her sides while her bottom lip juts outward, “You scared me!”

He raises an eyebrow. This issue is your own.

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

His head tilts a fraction in their wordless exchange, gaze penetrating. Unwavering. “You were taking too long. I told you, you are not to leave my sight–”

“Ba ba ba!” She waves away his words and collects his hand to tug him from her room behind her. “Come and help me water the plants!”

His hand swallows hers in a toasty, secure grip in less than an instant - a far cry from the limp grasp from when he first joined her in Arbiter Hall. And her heart trips into a sudden frenzy. Feeling quite similar to the rush of something at seeing her bare back. 

Both are pointedly ignored. 

[imaginelegends]

Cynical

distrustful, self-interested

Everything is fine. Nothing happened. Jinx met her - spoke to her, and it was easy. She didn't feel anything - no overpowering desire of any kind. It's over. She's done with her.

A speck of ash drifts down from the ceiling. Jinx glances up at the aftermath of a brilliant explosion. Flashlight makes the prettiest explosions - delicate and crystalline unlike her chunky, messy creations. And despite its appearances, those transient singularities pack a stinging punch. It's beauty and power in a single perfect package.

Jinx rubs the speck of ash between her fingertips, letting it color her skin. The room isn't pristine anymore. Well damn. Flashlight really knows the best ways to spoil a girl.

She hears them before she sees them. Thunderous footsteps approach her cell before the door slams open. The summoner looks straight at her, blinking once then twice before their brain catches up with their eyes. Then the summoner flinches - back curving, limbs tightening, as if expecting pain.

Pfft. What does she look like? A hand-to-hand fighter? She has the body mass of an anorexic lingerie model. If she punched anyone, she's more likely to bruise herself first.

"You're... still here?"

Jinx slowly looks to the left then to the right before facing the summoner. "Sure looks like it."

"But... the surveillance system... and the door - the door was unlocked! You could've walked out!"

Huh. Jinx blinks. "I guess so."

"... Okay... I'm gonna just..." The summoner scratches their head - forgetting that they're wearing hood. "Do-Don't move. I'll reinstate the sealing array."

Jinx salutes him. "Sir yes sir."

This must be a scrub summoner because the guy turns their back towards her then gets to work. At this rate, they'll be dead by the weekend.

"Since I'm here, " they say, striking up a conversation as if they were colleagues around the water cooler. "They chose you to participate in the upcoming Demacia vs. Noxus match. This means mandatory scrims starting tomorrow.”

"Tch. Putting me to work already? I just got back."

"The Institute is eager to recoup their investment. You're not exactly staying here for free."

Jinx clicks her tongue. The summoner finishes the sealing array. Then with a brisk nod at her, they walk out of the room, locking the door shut. It’s business as usual here in the Institute of War.

As promised, bright and early the very next day, Jinx is hauled out of her cell. They never got around to fixing the lights, so she actually slept through the night. Of course, this was likely the last long rest that she’ll get in these parts. Once she returns from the Rift, her cell will be flawless again. If only they used their powers for good.

So here she is, in the lobby, with an assortment of mooks and morons. This game never fucking changes. She’s sure that when the universe finally collapses into its primal entropic form, there will be ten losers still fighting over Baron Nashor.

It’s a Demacia vs. Noxus match. She finds the usual suspects: big armor dude, hextech tryhard, edgelord wannabe, spineless cuck, and flat-broke simp. It’s not like she’s disappointed by the lineup, as if she was expecting to see someone specific, definitely not. But the Demacian team barely has any burst damage with that team composition. The Noxians will bully them in the laning phase, gain an early gold lead, then take over the match. They should have picked a flashy, long-range mage, in her honest, totally unbiased opinion. It’s just logic.

Biting back a sigh, she turns to join the Noxian team (big armor dude, hextech tryhard, edgelord wannabe, spineless cuck, and flat-broke simp).

“Jinx of Zaun!”

At the sound of her name, Jinx turns around. Garen Crownguard marches up to her until a single step separates them. He stands tall and broad and heavily armored - his sword alone matches Jinx’s size, she can tell because he’s got the sword in his hand. It’s not pointed at her but that’s probably because they’re in a really public space, with dozens of spectators all around them, and the Institute does not allow maiming or killing of other champions when off the Rift. Jinx is sorta an expert on rules because duh! How can she fully destroy something if she doesn’t know where to aim?

"Whatever you have done to my sister, I swear that you shall pay for it, thrice over."

Oh. Oh wow. He’s using the high dialect of Demacia. Only nobles use that and only when they really mean business. Alrighty then.

"Worry not, Garen Crownguard,” Jinx replies, also in the high dialect. “I have not given anything to your sister that she did not beg for."

Garen jolts, clearly unprepared to hear her speak his language. Pfft. Sure, she’s a crazy motherfucker but she can be cultured when she wants to be - when it would be funny. And boy, she’s prepared to laugh.

“Bite your tongue,” Garen snarls, shifting his grip on his sword.

They should be on the rift by now. All the selected champions have arrived, ready to fight. Yet they remain in the lobby, in plain view of everyone with a working set of ears. The Summoners seem to be distracted from their preparations, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. They are not singular in that respect, as the whole lobby watches her and Garen. Good.

Jinx smirks, cocking her hip to the side. "Please tell me not that you are surprised. Surely, you must have known that your sister has such perverse inclinations. After all…” She lets her eyes travel up and down his robust physique. She raises an eyebrow. “...it runs in the family."

[A champion has disconnected.]

During the scheduled scrim between Demacia and its allies versus Noxus and its allies, the champion Jinx of Zaun was the first to die. This would not be so out of place except she suffered her death off the rift, away from its sophisticated resurrection majyyks.

Later, much later - hours later, Jinx wakes up in a hospital bed. She should have never woken up at all. People don't survive after a giant sword cleaves through their torso. But she died within the Institute, which houses many prodigious healers, including the Starchild, Soraka. As such, she is fully healed, bearing not a single scar from her ordeal. She's not even dehydrated, which is truly remarkable considering she gave the lobby a new paint job with her blood.

Garen was summarily suspended from further practice scrims. This ruling is currently in the appeals process by the Demacia party, and they're liable to succeed. Of course, they would. As one of the oldest champions in the Institute and representing one of the most powerful city-states, the golden boy must be excused from all rules and regulations.

Jinx doesn't actually care about all that. No. The real prize is the whispers - the rumours - the gossip slinking from ear to ear, haunting the dinner parties and fireside chats. Everyone knows about Flashlight's little dalliance with Jinx.

And they slop that shit right up. If Garen is the golden boy, then Lux is the immaculate lady. She was virtually untouchable - a de facto favorite of many summoners, an unparalleled genius with high class breeding. And she has soiled herself with such filthy company.

They revel in the scandal. With the increasing scrims between Demacia and Noxus, which the little lady excused herself from participating, she's all alone - without a friend to stand at her side. Naturally, a few smart guys try their luck with the newly defiled Lady Crownguard, and the infirmary gains a half dozen new burn victims. But that's just a bonus.

This is what she asked for. This is what she gets. This is the price to pay for hanging with a jinx.

As the day of the big game approaches, the summoners take a quick break. Heaven forbid these nerds from suffering eye strain while their champions suffer through gristly death after death. At least, these summoners are of higher rank so there's less stupid deaths. But some of them get awfully tilted, shouting out confused orders, which leads to disastrous teamfights. It's a whole thing. The break is very much needed because Jinx was about to blow up her summoner if he mistimed his flash one more time.

As she steps off the summoning platform, she spies Cassiopeia slithering off. She's the current favorite for the mid lane position, with Swain as a close second. Jinx is actually a substitute since Draven insisted on taking the marksman role. But even as a substitute, she is required to practice with her team. They really know the best ways to torture her.

Stretching her arms, she shakes out the fatigue from the latest scrim, then jogs after Cassiopeia. For someone without legs, the lady sure can move, disappearing into a hallway. Jinx follows, ready to call out. But as she steps into the hall, a serpent's tail slams against her, pinning her to the wall.

"Oof, ow. You Nauseous guys are al-ways so intense! Ease up, la-dy! I come in peace!"

"And you will leave in pieces," Cassiopeia hisses. "You've already died a real death this week. Are you so eager for another?"

Despite the tail limiting her movement, Jinx shrugs as best she can. "Listen, you're - you're a big, bad vi-per lady. I'm to-tally into it. So he-ar me out."

Cassieopeia's face twists into a grimace. She drops her tail, releasing Jinx. "What makes you think that I would ever stoop to have a Demacian's sloppy seconds?"

"Wow. You really do spit poison. But no, I'm not talking about that. I could use your help. I'll even pay. It's an honest business proposition."

"You? Honest? Is the world about to end?"

Jinx only smirks, adjusting the strap on her weapons. Cassieopeia's stare briefly stray to Fishbones before she narrows her eyes to needle-thin slits as she glares at Jinx. Suspicion seeds every feature of her expression.

Jinx pushes a little more. "C'mon. It's me, the loose cannon famously known for not playing well with others. And I'm asking for help. Isn't that just so weird?"

Cassieopeia rolls her eyes. "You really are not the subtle sort, are you? Well, it gives you the appearance of candidness, at least." She crosses her arms, eyes mapping every weak point in Jinx's body. Whatever she sees, she seems satisfied by, allowing a coy smile to form. "Let me make one thing very clear, Jinx of Zaun. I am not interested in any trouble that you're peddling. Unlike you, I abide by the rules and I refuse to endanger my family. Is that understood?"

Jinx bares her teeth, every single one. "Perfectly.”

[bardic-inspo]

Okay so I also happen to know nothing about BG3, other than what several characters look like and sorta...general D&D knowledge? if that counts?

but "Blood in the Mortar" sounds veeeerrrryyyy interesting 😗

@krokaxe Thank you both! <3 <3 I think general D&D knowledge definitely counts!!

[Ask me about a fic on my WIP List]

This fic features an Vampire Ascendant Astarion (a powered up vampire lord is the short of it) with a vampire bride Tav. The Tav I'm using (Naomi, a bard) is the same main OC from my multichapter with her and Astarion, Midnight Chimes, but this fic is very much a standalone and a sort of "what if they both ended up evil" AU occurring post-game. It's just a smutty one-shot for now, but I might end up writing more of their "evil" versions at some point if I have enough fun with it.

There's a lot of different interpretations of Ascended Astarion out there, but some concepts I'm playing with in Blood in the Mortar are:

Tav has been made into his bride and not just his spawn. This is a concept a lot of folks have played with and is based heavily off this excerpt from what I think is an old monster manual talking about vampire bride/groom rituals.

In the rendition of this I'm playing with, a bride and a spawn is really similar. Astarion could compel Tav if he wanted to. But, they have a really intense/intimate mental/telepathic link and he's gonna take a buttload of psychic damage if he did anything to hurt or really upset her.

It also works as a sort of perpetual feedback loop. They feel each other's happiness and affection for the other as if it was their own (and other, less pleasant feelings, too). Who the emotion originally started with starts to get a little blurry. Their individual wellbeing is really tied up in the other's happiness. It's intense and probably toxic but for the most part, they're both happy about it. (As Wyll comments in-game, they are the "unholiest union")

I wanted to toy with the protective/possessive streak in Ascended Astarion, but also, some text I saw in an epilogue that I think was ultimately unused in the game. Something about him hosting grand masquerades at his palace while Tav bolts the doors behind the party guests.

So, some uppity nobleman (or maybe another true vampire, I haven't decided yet) starts talking shit about Tav at one of Astarion's masquerades. It's clearly an effort to get a rise out of him, or to poke at what this nobleman perceives as Astarion's only weakness (Tav). But instead of getting the desired result, Astarion takes the "have you met my wife?" angle:

“Do you know what they call her? Other than mine, of course?” “The hero of Baldur’s Gate." Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?” The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.” "And yet here you are," Astarion sneers with a curled lip, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little wayward ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you." His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of the lordling's gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of sapphires set amongst delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for her, with the likeness of a swan in mind. Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes, set between the glittering finery. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, deep wine. "She is captivating, isn’t she?," Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride." At long last, it seems, lord what's-his-name has found the decency to shut up. Astarion draws a long draught from his goblet, drawing a dark glare over the sheen of sweat that's started on the other man's brow. “You see," Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat, "my beloved, oh, she’s a monster too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

And then they do murder and steamy (if wildly impractical) sex together. I think there's a grand piano involved. 👀

[aiyumiyeou]

yumi & harumi 🪷🕷 snippet (season 15, crystallized) under the cut!

their dynamic is actually so toxic and fun it hurts almost... they're not supposed to be romantic but they do emit more yuri vibes than they should

(also 🪷🍀 endgame is. such a long road. from s1~s4 lloyd likes yumi first (in a puppy crush way), then s5~s15 yumi likes lloyd back (but in a kind of tsun/tease way) but lloyd doesn't realize it & yumi thinks its for the better bc he doesn't want to be a weakness to lloyd) (they become boyfriends after crystallized... yay!!!)

Harumi warily watched the fox-eared teen slumped against the pillar he was chained to.

The vengestone glinted an eerie hue of orchid against the bloodied hanfu of the pink-haired boy and the pillar of crystal pulsed as if it had a heartbeat. Wounds littered Yumi's body, gnashes and cuts visible through the sheer and delicate fabric.

"You're pathetic," Harumi scoffed.

She was met with a razor sharp glare from Yumi who lifted his head up and woke his body from its lethargic state. Despite the thick disdain in his eyes, Harumi could see fear and timidity.

"What do you want, Harumi." Yumi's tail bristled with agitation, but his voice was slightly raspy and unthreatening. His pink hair was dulled and unkempt, haloing his face messily in a way Harumi could describe as beautiful.

She was supposed to feel happy for causing considerable damage to Yumi and his life.

But she felt a weight of dissatisfied.

"It's my duty to check up on you." She curtly answered. Yumi huffed and turned his head away from her greedy eyes, which sunk its teeth on the sight of the Yāojing ninja so defeated.

"I'd rather you just kill me," One of Yumi's soft ears flickered in annoyance. "It's impossible trying to use only my blood, sweat, and tears to empower the Overlord's entire army."

Ever since he and Lloyd were found infiltrating the Crystal Council's meeting, Harumi had the pleasure of seperating and tomenting the two. Yumi was chained and skirmished almost every quarter of the day. His initial cries were loud enough to help Harumi convince Lloyd that the pink ninja was no longer with them.

In reality, Yumi was being farmed for his very essence. His blood was absorbed into the crystals that suffocated him and his screams fell on empty ears as the council each had their turn in honing their new powers.

"Don't be silly. Even if you could die, your own soul won't let you," Harumi crossed her arms, slowly inching towards the chained-up boy. "Isn't it so lovely? Being unable to die?"

She found herself at the edge of Yumi's tangled legs. The replacement of his gi to a simple hanfu reduced his image into a helpless boy. Yumi's bruised ankles peeked out from under the splattered cotton, but the sheerness led Harumi's eyes futher up his calves to right above his knees.

The white-haired girl bent down to Yumi's eye level and his gaze refused to meet hers.

"Lucky you. People who don't deserve to die still do." Harumi seethed through her tongue. Yumi found strength to roll his eyes and Harumi watched his glinting eyes, a soft purple casted from the shine of the crystals bleeded into his soft apricot and rosy pink irises.

She watched his throat flex and the scar that she left him. Yumi swallowed harshly and dryly opened his mouth.

"Like it's my fault I can't die," Yumi's tail now twitched in annoyance. "I'm no different from those people."

Harumi growled before standing her full length and slamming her foot onto one of Yumi's exposed ankles. He responded with a hiss of pain and it quickly melted into a warning growl bubbling in his throat.

"You don't deserve anything!" Harumi gritted her teeth. "You're nothing like an innocent person. You only think of yourself, you are the reason why so many people have died. Do you truly think you're innocent, Yuyu?"

The nickname she spat with venom caused Yumi to flinch harded, but his eyes became furious. Harumi was taken aback and lifted some weight from the pink-haired boy's ankle with means to create distance.

"I only think of myself." Yumi repeated. "I'm the one who thinks of myself?"

Yumi suddenly pulled himself up and the sudden energy and struggle against chains startled Harumi backwards even further. Another low growl emerges from his throat until Yumi snapped.

"You have no idea what it's like to be selfless! You have no heart! I don't understand what Lloyd even saw in you."

Harumi's eyes settled coldly on the frenzied Yāojing ninja.

"If you're not thinking about yourself, you're thinking about Lloyd," Harumi pursed her lips to mock pity at Yumi. "But even then, you treat him selfishly. You and I both know he likes you, yet you reject his love. You're heartless for leading him on."

That's when Yumi shattered all his self-resolve.

"I reject him for the good of his heart! I can't let him love me," Yumi's voice raised tremendously. With quivering breaths and teary, wild eyes, this image of Yumi burned itself into Harumi's mind.

"If I tell him I love him he'll do everything in his power to love me back. I can't risk that! I can't risk all of his life being poured into mine!" Yumi's cries became more unstable as he continued to try to struggle free from his imprisonment. "If he knew what I want, he would sacrifice it all." His voice trembled from screaming.

Harumi was silent. She watched Yumi's eyebrows knit and the tears threatened to spill from his exhausted eyes.

"He's sacrificed so much to love everyone, especially you," The pink-haired ninja collapsed onto his knees without warning. "I want that."

"I wanted to be loved unrelentlessly like how Lloyd loved you," Yumi lowered his gaze from Harumi, voice cracking into a high whimper. "I want to be selfish. I want to be as selfish you."

Harumi found herself back at Yumi's feet again but this time crouched down in front of him. Her limbs felt cold as she brushed her knee against Yumi's and he flinched away, shaking like a lost animal.

"You only think of yourself," Yumi cried into the chains wrapping him against the clean ridges of the crystal stabilizing him. Without another thought, Harumi's hands reached out to hold the crying teen's face.

"You're so selfish and even your stupid revenge is centered around you," The hiccups and stutters errupted against Harumi's calloused hands and she leaned forward to hold Yumi's head against the crook of her shoulder. "You have no idea how hard it to care about others."

Yumi continued to cry his vents into Harumi's quickly collapsing chest. She felt a dread she hasn't experienced in years.

With every insult the pink-haired ninja threw at her carelessly, the harder Harumi found it to breathe. It was hard to tell how long she had sat there even after the tears stopped wetting her skin.

Harumi was alone with her thoughts and the occasional flick of a soft and wispy fox ear brushing against her cheek.

[abysmal-black]

@videcoeur

It starts with a single bundle of black hair. Sanji knows he's too young to start graying, even if their captain drags them head long into danger. It was charming, these black hairs weren't. They're easy to ignore at first, a sharp yank or brush and out of sight out of mind. It could easily just be a side effect from the stress on his body— even if he refuses to allow the thoughts to surface, knows he's prone to spiraling.

Then comes the ache in his legs and the prickle on his skin. Sanji bought the same detergent if he could help it and always used the same products to moisturize but something was under there. His skin didn't itch, didn't burn , instead it was raised in constant goosebumps, the fine hairs on his arms and legs snagging to fabrics or strangely clinging to the gloves he uses to do the dishes. It's odd enough he decides to visit Chopper just to touch base. The chief could have contracted something and at worst it could be transmuted to the crew.

Sanji watches the little reindeer prepare a tray of instruments, they had agreed on a full physical since his symptoms were innocuous.

"I'm going to take your vitals then some blood to compare to your last check up." Chopper's short snout pulls into a cheerful smile. "After that I'll have a look at your legs. Do they still hurt?" Dark eyes level him with a concerned look.

"Sounds good." Mouth parts to exhale. It's probably nothing. "I wouldn't say hurt but something doesn't feel normal." He recalls butchering a sea beast on the lawn deck and suddenly found the grass beneath his feet scorched. That has never happened before, ever. Nothing was damaged but since then the same feeling has persisted.

Chopper listens to the story eagerly, eyes on the blood pressure cuff he's secured around his friend's bicep. "So you have to actively keep your leg turned off?" Sanji was always odder than the others, not as odd as Luffy or Franky but it wasn't concerning. "Your temperature, heart rate and blood pressure are all normal."

"Something like that." He mumbles watching the reindeer remove the cuff, set it aside and grasp the blood kit with human fingers. Delicate work, he thinks. "I've been finding a lot of black hairs too…"

Chopper scribbles down a note. "And this started after we left Wano? You seemed ok after your fight with Queen."

The memory lights up his spine, muscles tensing at the ready. He'd only worn the suit three times before destroying it but still something in him had changed, he could feel it back then. "Yeah." A quiet, distant affirmative, his mind a million miles away.  Those changes were … no, no he was fine, he reverted back to the old him. He was ok, this was ok.

Eyes blink open to the frantic taping of fingers on his shoulder. Chopper has turned blue and it takes him far too long to realize it's his hand around the reindeer's throat. 

___

"Oi, Marimo." The nickname doesn't have its usual bite, his words fighting not to be a whisper. Doesn't want to alert the rest of the crew where they've gathered on the lawn deck.  Chopper is ok thankfully, even smiling where he sits with a cotton candy apology cake. 

It just happened. Sanji can't begin to explain the kneejerk violence or his lack of awareness as the perpetrator. One moment small hands were tying a band around his arm and prepping a needle and the next thing he knew Chopper was stumbling away nearly brought to tears.  I did that. Sanji swallows, feels his eyes grow a little too wet and he has to turn away from the swordsman to clear his throat. "Need to talk to you about something."  He nods towards the stern of the ship, far from prying eyes before heading that way. Each of his steps are slow, heavy with the burden of his crimes. Would he hurt Nami-swan next? Would he wake up one morning with bloody hands, frantic he killed someone?