#though he doesn't have much of it at the moment

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[thatonegreyghost]

Failure stings.

The truth of the matter is, they both knew it would be an uphill battle to get the Council to approve funding for a public works project. Hextech might be wonderful and easily accessible to the people, but the Council still thinks of it as "their's", and can be quite possessive over it.

So, they failed to acquire funding for the tram lines they wanted to build. But they knew that might happen.

The knowledge doesn't stop Viktor's tears, though.

"We got so close." Viktor mutters. "Just because our research isn't complete–"

"I know. I know." Jayce mutters, pulling him close for a hug. "We knew this might happen."

"That doesn't make it hurt less!"

"I know." Jayce presses his cheek to the top of Viktor’s head. "I know. But there's always next year. We can make this work."

"It's not fair." Viktor whines.

Jayce spoils him too much, because 5 years ago he never would have complained like this. The world isn't fair, and he knows it. He should know better than to expect good from powerful people.

"No, it's not. But we can make it work." Jayce insists. "Let's focus on getting the data we need, and if we can make a successful model, we can work on convincing individual councilers. Counciler Kiramann will here us out in private, so if we can just get the data–"

Already, Jayce is plotting how to move forward. Viktor knows that this is Jayce's way of grieving their lost opportunity, knows that his vigor stems from his own hurt heart. But that does not stop him from reaching towards Jayce, pulling his arm around his shoulder.

"Jayce, enough." Viktor mutters. "Just... stay here with me, just for a moment."

Jayce complies, and this time, Viktor feels the kiss placed against his head when Jayce leans in to snuggle him. His already conflicted emotions start to whip up into a storm. Did Jayce just... Had he meant... Was that real?

"Did you just kiss me?" Viktor asks, his voice trembling slightly.

Jayce freezes, his whole body going stiff agai st Viktor’s. They're both quiet for what feels like hours, though when Viktor's held breath finally punches out of his lungs, he realizes it can't gave been more than a few seconds.

"Uhhh... Force of habit?" Jayce squeaks out.

"Oh, you could certainly force that habit, alright."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing!" Viktor stammers. "....Let's just go back to the lab. We have some projects to finish."

Now is not the time for stupid feelings. They have a lot of work to get through if they're going to convince the Council of anything by next year.

All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms

[hy6erion]

𝐄𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲- 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟

⇢ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐳𝐚𝐮𝐧

𝐯𝐢𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o

Zaun never sleeps.

Somewhere in the distance, metal scrapes against metal, a high-pitched whine of machinery grinding through the underground streets. The scent of smoke lingers, thick and acrid, seeping into clothes, into skin, into everything that makes this place what it is.

But in here, in Viktor's small, cluttered room-where the air is thick with oil and old books, with sweat and something sharper, something charged-there is only him.

And you.

You never done this before. Not with him. Not with anyone.

He knows. Of course, he knows. He notices everything. The slight tremor in your fingers when you touch him, the way your breath catches before you even realizes it, the way you keeps shifting, as though your own skin doesn't quite fit right.

Viktor watches you like you’re something to be studied, analyzed.

Not in a cruel way-he isn't unfeeling—but in that slow, careful way he approaches everything, taking his time, committing every reaction to memory.

You swallow hard, nails scraping lightly over his shoulders. "You're staring."

His lips twitch. Not quite a smirk, but something close. "Am I?"

You huff, shifting slightly beneath him, and the movement draws a slow inhale from his parted lips. He's warm—warmer than you expected. His body, lean and sharp as it is, presses down against you, keeping you pinned.

Not that you mind.

"I'm nervous," you admit, almost reluctant, eyes flicking away for a moment before dragging back to his.

"Aren't you?"

Viktor hums, tilting his head slightly.

"No." His fingers trace the line of your ribs, slow, deliberate. "Should I be?"

You frowns. „I don't know. Maybe."

He chuckles softly, pressing his lips just beneath your jaw, his breath fanning warm against your skin. "I have waited long enough for this." His voice dips lower, something dark curling around the words. "I will not let nerves ruin it."

Your stomach tightens.

He knows what he's doing. You’d wondered if he would. He isn't like the men who linger in the dark alleys of Zaun, greedy and impatient. No, Viktor is methodical, deliberate in everything he does.

And right now-right now, he is unraveling you piece by piece, taking his time, savoring every flicker of hesitation, every shaky exhale.

His fingers slip lower, dragging over the sensitive skin of your hip. "You want this?"

You nod.

Viktor's grip tightens suddenly, fingers pressing firm into your skin.

"Use your words, love."

The sharp authority in his tone sends heat curling through you.

"I do," you breathe.

His lips brush against your ear. "Good girl."

Your whole body reacts to the praise, something embarrassing and hot twisting in your stomach. Viktor notices-of course he does. His mouth curves against her skin, amused, satisfied.

"You like that," he murmurs. Not a question. A fact.

You don’t answer.

He laughs softly, his breath warm as he drags his lips down your throat. "Ah, you are shy now?" His fingers tease at the edge of your clothes, pushing fabric aside like he's peeling away layers, stripping you down to something vulnerable, something fragile.

It should be uncomfortable.

It isn't.

"Stop thinking so much," he murmurs, shifting against you, pressing you deeper into the mattress. "You do not need to be so tense."

You huff a short laugh, hands gripping his arms. "Easy for you to say."

His teeth scrape lightly against your pulse. "I could make it easy for you," he muses, voice dipping lower. His hands slide up, pulling your thighs apart with slow, deliberate pressure.

"Or-" He breathes in, exhales slow. "I could make it harder."

You exhales sharply, your head tipping back against the pillow.

Viktor's tongue flicks out, tracing a slow line along your throat. "Which do you prefer?"

You don’t know.

He hums, dragging his fingers up the inside of your thigh, spreading you open. "No answer?" His voice is soft, teasing. "Hm. I think I know already."

You swallows. „Viktor-"

He presses a single finger inside you.

Your whole body tenses.

It's too much and not enough at the same time, the stretch of it unexpected. You exhale shakily, fingers gripping his wrist before you even realise what you’re doing.

Viktor stills. He doesn't pull away. He waits, patient as ever, watching you closely.

"You are alright?"

You nod, trying to breathe through it, but he catches your wrist and stills you.

"I did not ask for that." His fingers flex slightly. "Say it."

You exhale slowly. "I'm okay."

His expression doesn't change, but something in his gaze softens, just barely. He leans down, pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmurs against your skin. "I will be careful!"

You believe him.

When he moves again, it's slower, more patient, his fingers working you open, his breath warm against your cheek. You feel stretched, unpracticed, but there's something about the way he watches you, the way his mouth parts slightly when you react just right—

You grip his shoulders, head tipping back, and he smiles.

"There you are." His voice is pleased, teasing. "It is not so bad, hm?"

You exhale sharply. "Shut up."

His laugh is quiet, low.

He doesn't shut up.

But when he finally pushes into you—

You forgot how to speak, anyway.

[thesuperiorrobin]

She knew~

pairing: Damian Wayne x Crush!Reader

Warning: Agnsty? Not that much I promise, good ending, maybe, slight swearing? Reader is a bit flirty??? I think there’s a part 2.

There's something about laying in a hospital bed that's so humbling for Damian.

His arm was in a cast and his head was wrapped in bandages. A mission went wrong, that was covered up by a so-called "terrible car accident". Everybody believed it, because why would they believe the truth of Damian taking a bad fall dress up in his Robin uniform? Some of his brothers tease him for what had happened that night, and if he wasn't held back by his position in the hospital he was sure he would have all their heads on a stick by now. His father didn't seem any bit worried about him, that's what Damian thought, after the countless scoldings he's gotten he's sure his father doesn't care.

Damian has spent the last two days in the hospital, on the third day he'll be released. And he can't wait, the smell, the atmosphere the so-called food they serve him-- he can't wait to leave it all behind. But for now, Damian lies on the slightly uncomfortable bed with a book in his good hand. His family hasn't bothered him in a while and he's thankful for that, he's gotten used to soft voices through his room door and soft beeping occasionally that seemed to echo through his hospital room.

There’s a soft knock on the door that catches his attention and he groans—thinking it’s one of his family members coming to visit home again.

Damian prays it’s just a nurse coming to check up on him. He chooses not to answer and after a few seconds the door opens up—the person who steps into his dull white room was not the person he was expecting.

In you go, with a bouquet in your hand dressed in your school uniform.

"Hey" your voice is soft and careful "how are you feeling?"

Damian doesn't answer right away, he pretends to think about his answer before he clears his throat "I feel like I could be doing better at the moment" he places his book down.

"Here, these are for you" you hand him the flowers "I just came to see how you were doing, everybody's worried”

"Only because I'm the son of Bruce Wayne" he murmurs, glaring at you softly—scoffing as he does so.

"That's not true" you frown, He gives you a look "Well Maybe, yeah I guess you're right, but I'm worried Damian. I saw the news and the cars. Damian you could have been killed"

"But I wasn't L/N so there is no need to worry about that anymore"

You let out a sigh as you pull a chair beside him on his bed, It's been a while since you last saw him, two weeks to be precise almost three. Your eyes linger on him for a bit longer. He looks more tired than usual and angry. His hair is messy, with strands of hair spiked up in random directions. Though purple and blue covered his skin from head to toe he still seemed visually breathtaking.

"Did you just come here to just stare at me?" He snaps, and you jump back in your seat, a part of him regrets snapping at you so suddenly, that you clear your throat with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm just used to you being….” You trail off for a moment trying to find the right words to not offend the younger Wayne in his condition. “…so well organized. If I had a penny for every time I've seen you a mess I would have one”

His only response was a hum, and the room was silent between you two. The only sound echoing through the room was the soft voices from outside the room and the beeping of the monitor. “It’s quiet in most of the classes now. Did you know that?”

“How so?”

“Teachers pointed out how quiet the classes are since you’ve gotten stuck in the hospital. We’re known for yapping away in the back of class” You let out a breathy laugh, glancing up at Damian who holds a frown.

“You mean yourself?” Damian raises his brow at you “I normally don’t hold conversations. The teachers were probably talking about you—you do tend to talk a lot”

“Rude” You huff out and a chuckle leaves the injured Wayne's lips, which brings a smile to yours “But I guess you’re right, I don’t have anyone to talk to. You’re usually the only have I have a good laugh within class”

Somehow, your hand finds his. All bandaged and bruised but you don’t mind and Damian says nothing. His green eyes glance down at your face, hoping to meet yours but you keep them focused down at his hand. Despite the thick layer of bandages, he can still feel the warmth of your fingers as they softly glide against his palm.

“I miss complementing your artwork, it’s not the same when I’m looking beside me and see someone else’s artwork”

“You only compliment them when you copy my notes” he hums, “you say it as a thank you when I let you do so”

“Mhm..” you hum “but now, every time I look beside me there’s always a student sleeping with their paper blank”

“Maybe you should start writing your notes….”

“I could…” you trail off, head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. “But what’s the point if I can’t use it as an excuse to talk to you?”

It takes a while for Damian to answer fully. He can feel his skin feel out, and he’s sure you can fill it, too, with a smug smile on your face. He looks away, away from your eyes, as he answers, “True….”

There’s another long silence between you two, a comfortable one and Damian can feel your hand slip away from his—it takes so much in him not to grab ahold of your hand once more. He hears the sudden screech of the chair against the floor, he turns his head—eyes locking in on your form. He wishes you could stay a little longer, your presence is the only thing that doesn’t annoy him as much as others do, and a part of him wants to tell you to stay a bit more but he bites his tongue.

He sees your hand hover over the doorknob, and you seem to hesitate for a moment, he does wish you decided to stay a bit longer. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, turning around to glance back at Damian, who only stares at you confusedly.

"Just because you wear a mask in the middle of the night while playing hero Damian, doesn't mean you're invincible"

huh?

"But anyway ill visit you tomorrow so I can hand you the homework you missed"

you give him one last smile before your figure disapears from his sight. Even after you left, his eyes burn holes at the door for a few more minutes before groaning and pulling at his hair in stress

"She knew?!"

Literally in the middle of my Art history class writing this Because I had nothing better to do.

[cvntroach5000]

LaDS men react to you getting a cat

Xavier

• Very happy that you're getting your own little buddy for your apartment.

• Brings your cat a bunch of goodies to welcome it to its new home.

• They immediately hit it off, since Xavier is naturally good with animals.

• Honestly, the cat starts to feel like a mini version of Xavier with how it immitates him. Or maybe he's immitating the cat?

• Sometimes when you're doing something, you catch them both looking at you with the exact same look of love and you think 'Oh. They're the same guy.'

• When he falls asleep on your couch, your cat, in turn, falls asleep on top of him.

• You have a whole photo album dedicated just for their naptimes, they're incredibly cute together.

• He gets one of those little cloth wrap bags to carry it around in, after it gets too big to fit in the pocket of his hoodie. He just walks around with it like a mom with a baby, and it happily rests and purrs.

Zayne

• He's so excited about this.

• When he meets it for the first time, he comes into your home dressed up and carrying gifts like he's about to meet your parents.

• Despite the bribes of cat toys and treats, the cat totally hates him.

• After it hisses at him and runs off, he just falls to his knees and stays in that position for a solid minute.

• "T-This was my only chance..." If your cat doesn't like him, no cat is ever going to like him.

• You don't think you've ever seen a reaction this dramatic from him.

• You do your best to assist him on his mission to get along with your cat. You instruct him to sit still on the couch and even sprinkle a bit of catnip next to him.

• Eventually, your cat makes its way over to him and becomes a comfortable little loaf next to his thigh.

• He's afraid to even breathe cause he might scare it away, but he's making intense eye contact with you that screams 'It's happening! Everybody stay calm!'

• The progress is slow, but any time your cat does anything to imply it at least tolerates Zayne, he's practically moved to tears.

Rafayel

• He cannot believe you'd do this to him

• This is betrayal. A breach of trust. Complete backstabbing move on your part.

• You try dressing it up in little mermaid and fish-themed costumes to warm him up to it but he just stares at it like it's Satan's incarnate.

• Much to his horror, the wretched creature adores him.

• You use that to try and butter him up with compliments, but he stubbornly refuses to accept your cat's love.

• "Why does it keep smelling my fingers like that?! That's disgusting!"

• "It must think you smell nice if it keeps doing that."

• "It's trying to eat me?!"

• He eventually somewhat accepts his fate of being the cat's favorite fishnip, but he still likes to whine about it. Will randomly text you to inform you he found fur on his clothes or, worse, in his mouth.

• Maybe he quite likes your cat. But only that one! Cause it's yours. Special privileges.

Sylus

• He is very pleased with this development.

• Gets you one of those fancy self-cleaning litter boxes and a bunch of other gadgets, like an automatic bowl and a water fountain. And, of course, large, high-quality cat trees for your cat to go apeshit on.

• To nobody's surprise, the cat loves him.

• The moment he makes himself comfortable on your couch, the little rascal is all over him.

• "Wait, Sylus, let me get you a change of clothes. You'll get fur all over yourself!"

• "It's fine. If the clothes get ruined, I'll just throw them away and buy new ones."

• He's completely unbothered and lets the cat make biscuits on his expensive black suits.

• Your cat also has a couple of crazy fancy collars. You don't really make it wear them, since you live in an apartment and your cat doesn't go outside, so there's not really a need for it. But they look really cute on it.

• Sylus does have pictures of the cat wearing every single one of the collars he's gifted it though.

• You actually got the cat accustomed to Mephisto since it was a kitten, so they make a surprising, fun little duo.

Caleb

• He's glad you have some non-human company while he's not with you. And he genuinely likes the critter!

• He always brings food and treats for you cat, and when he cooks he'll make a whole separate meal specifically for your cat.

• When he first met it, the moment you left them alone, he picked it up and said to it "You have to keep them company and keep them happy while I'm not here, got it? Do not blow this for us."

• Unbeknownst to you, he has saddled the blissfully ignorant creature with quite the responsibility.

• "Caleb, you're overfeeding the poor thing. It's going to pop from how much you let it eat! Animals don't have a sense of restraint like us."

• "Awww, so it's going to be a cute, chubby little cat." He cuddles it, giving it kisses on its squishy cheeks, "Don't worry, baby, Caleb will love you and take care of you, no matter what."

• This isn't about the cat anymore is it.

• Trying to reason with him is impossible, he's decided he'll spoil the cat rotten and that's that. You can't convince him to stop.

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

Remus chuckled at hearing that squeal. He washed the rest of his legs, then he stood back up so he could pull Emile into a deep kiss. "Dammit, when you make that noise I just wanna fuck your brains out. I love it when you make that noise so much." He blushed, "I'm not nearly as wonderful as you are, ems."

"Got it. I'll get it arranged in no time. Oh, it definitely will! So many people across the world will be willing to pay big bucks for those videos, that's for sure!" The man shrugged, "You can do whatever you want, that's just my cup of tea..." He suddenly chuckled, "Or should I say, my cup of coffee?" He lifted up his coffee cup.

"I know if I do anything like that to Roman you'll have my neck for it. I'm not willing to sign my death wish just yet. And don't worry, I'll make sure it's just me doing the procedures. There won't be anyone else in the area." He snorted, "I just know to not act stupid. Most people don't think before acting, but I do." He nodded, "Thank you though, sir. Thank you for trusting me." Then he thought about it for a moment, "Would it be possible if I can do the exams tonight, by any chance? The only reason why I ask is that I just know I'm going to be busy dealing with Remy and Remus. I would rather get it done and other with, you know?"

His eyes light up when Virgil reconsiders, a sickening grin spread across his cheeks. "Well, I can tell you right off the bat that it's going to be extreme. Very extreme. But I'll do it your way, with just bondage. But thank you, I'll do it to one of the mutts that are brain dead. It's not like we're going to miss one of them, right? If the hypnosis doesn't work, there are other methods I can try that's not...extensive. but I understand, that's what I want to avoid too. Mhm..." He chuckled, "I would love to send a video to Remus of the men having fun with his mutt. That'll scare him for good, won't you think?" He smirked, "Actually, I can do that without waiting to see if anything works... I could test the hypnosis on him afterwards too, to make him forget it even happened."

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[skzhua]

episode 2.

MASTERLIST

pairing: XO, Kitty's Min Ho x Female reader

genre: Fluff, angst, exes-to-lovers, slow burn, coming-of-age.

word count: 4.1k (not proofread yet!)

warnings: Cursing, post-breakup feelings, jealousy.

summary: while kitty explores her bi awakening, you try to navigate how to deal with being friends with min ho again, and it's not quite how you'd like it to be. especially not when stella is around.

note: Bold - Korean, Italic - Over the phone

(let me know by filling the form in my bio if you want to be added to the taglist!)

"My world got so much bigger because of you and because of Simon," Kitty read as you and Q laid in her bed, as if she was reading bedtime stories to you both. "Jina has to know something about Simon. Why else would my mom mention him in her letter?"

"Yuri emailed her mom," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but Jina's at some wellness retreat and doesn't have any service," she sighed before grunting. "It is killing me to be this close to finding the guy that my mom was so in love with that she moved here against her parents' wishes..."

She kept on rambling on about her frustrations and wonders, meanwhile Q was attempting to make sense out of it. As for you, you couldn't focus much. Eyes on the phone, you were still hoping someone would text you any moment now. You got up from Kitty's bed and dropped yourself on yours, letting out a whine in the process.

"Y/N, stop thinking about it," Q said.

You shook your head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kitty hummed. "So there is somebody more dramatic than me!"

You all heard laughs coming from the other room, and Kitty rolled her eyes.

"I guess Yuri and Juliana are still in their honeymoon phase, uh?" Q commented.

"They're always tickle-fighting!" Kitty exclaimed, a fake smile plastered on her face. "We basically have to tear them apart for curfew checks so the RA doesn't figure out they're a couple."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Oh, not at all! Their squeals of joy act as a helpful reminder for me to stay focus on my goals. It'll get rid of this silly little crush-"

Her alarm went off went off and she sighed in relief. "Thank God."

You forced yourself to get your butt up and yell "Okay, guys, break it up! Ten minutes until curfew check!"

"Thanks, Y/N!" they yelled back.

The three of you got out the room to lead Q out the door, only to be welcomed with the sight of Yuri and Juliana cuddling. While you were so happy for your friend, you couldn't help but feel bad for Kitty. I mean, you were pretty much in the same situation.

"You're really going to subject yourself to an entire semester of that?" Q asked.

"You know what they say," Kitty responded. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"

Unconvinced, he nodded. "Right. Something's telling me this is just killing you, though, so... Good night!" he waved at you both before walking out the door.

"Girls!" Yuri called out as soon as the door closed. "You're always hiding out in your room, come hang out with us!"

"Yeah, come distract us," Juliana added. "Otherwise, an RA might walk in and catch us making out."

"Oh," Yuri said in a teasing voice.

"Sure," Kitty responded, uncomfortable.

The couple began to tease each other with jokes and stuff, making you both even more uncomfortable. They ended up deciding to hide in their bedroom, and so did you in yours. Assuming Kitty would follow, you let the door open. When you noticed she wasn't coming with you, you turned on your heels to head back to stopped yourself as soon as you heard Yuri's voice. You were never the kind to eavesdrop, doing it a little wouldn't be so bad, right?

"What about you? You going to bed?" Yuri asked.

"Soon," your friend replied. "Y/N and I are just going to wait for Stella to get home. She's on her big date with Min Ho."

Your heart tightened as a short silence fell between your friends.

Yuri was the one to break it. "I don't know why Y/N gave her his number."

"Well, she was pretty mad at him. Maybe it's her way to move on."

"But they were getting on so well at the barbecue the other night. I'm sure I even saw a spark between them."

"You heard Y/N, though. He did some fucked up shit."

They were right. Why did you give her his number if you were hoping so bad he'd text you, telling you how boring she was and how he wished you were there to save him?

That text never came.

Chores. That was your punishment for staying with the boys last semester. In the end, you were also discovered to be one of the roommates, hency why you were mopping around a classroom with the whole gang: Dae, Q, Kitty... and Min Ho, of course. So far, avoiding Min Ho had been going pretty well. You caught up on a lot of stuff with Dae, such as how he had been dealing with the break up and how things were going at his place. You did manage to get your mind away from your problems for a short amount of time. It was also a good reminder that Dae was an excellent friend.

"You're avoiding him," he nodded his head towards Min Ho.

You shrugged. "Maybe."

"He really does feel bad about your argument."

You let a breath out. "I know that you're trying to ease things between us, and I appreciate it. But I want to heal in my own way first."

He smiled apologetically. "I get it."

And as if the world was doing everything in its power to make your life miserable, the man in question decided to mop right at your feet. And as to make any worse, the guy was intentionally poking your feet every two seconds. While you glared at him as a sign to stop, he could only smile lightly, and do it again. The silent interaction went on for a few minutes, until he cleared his throat, grabbing your attention.

"I'm just not that into Stella."

Your eyes grew bigger. "Pardon me?"

"I mean, she's cute. Don't get me wrong. But, maybe she's a bit too nice?"

You scoffed. "Is this where you're the playboy wanting to corrupt the good girl, and you're just mad because you're not getting anywhere with her?"

He threw his head back, letting a laugh out. "Please, I already did that with you." Instant blush. "I just think she's boring. Why are you so focused on my love life anyway, pup?"

It took everything in you to not let it show you were hearing exactly what you wanted to hear. "You tell me, you're the one who brought it up. But to answer your question, I'm not," you faked his accent.

"I actually miss the two of you bickering like this," Dae commented, reminding you he had been there the entire time.

"Am I still the only one who's irritated by her?" Min Ho groaned. "It's her and Covey's fault that we're cleaning the building for my dad's vanity project."

Q chuckled. "Guys, there could be way worse punishments. Like your dad forcing everyone to take one of his arts electives. Except for me! Your boy got an exemption. The star of KISS' track team needs to focus on getting gold at regionals."

"I'm taking Entertainment Management," Kitty informed.

"Yeah, same. Kind of sounds interesting," you affirmed.

"Me too," Min Ho said as he winked at you, making you blush again. "It's the only one without singing or dancing."

"I signed up for Advanced Voice," Dae informed casually.

Kitty turned around slowly, doubt on her face. "You sing? How did I not know this?"

"Because we were long-distance, and it's weird to serenade someone over the phone."

"I think we should hear something," Q encouraged as the four of you positioned yourself to be his audience.

"Now, like, here?"

"No, next year," Q joked.

"Yes," you and Min Ho said in unison.

"I wanna hear it," Q said.

"Yes, right now," Kitty rushed him.

In an instant, Dae jumped on top of a desk amd began to sing his heart out. Frankly, it was one of the prettiest voices you've heard. If this was his hidden talent, who knew what else he was capable of? The fun was cut short once Principal Lee walked in the room, visibly bothered byt the concert.

"This is a punishment for secretly living with Ms. Covey and Ms. Park last semester." At the sound, you straightened your posture, now face to face with the principal. "No fun!"

The moment you thought you were done for, Min Ho's father walked in with some of his employees following behind. You exchanged glances with Min Ho, who shrugged as to show he was as perplexed as you were.

"Okay, kids, you're dismissed. My cleaning crew will take care of it," Mr. Moon announced, Principal Lee shaking his head in disapproval.

"Wait, you can't overrule me on student matters."

"Renovations must begin today to stay on schedule, unless you also want my donation delayed."

Mr. Lee paused before his shoulders dropped in defeat. "Students, you're dismissed. For today."

The adults left one after the other until only the five of you were left in the room once again. It was a matter of seconds before you exploded in laughter, feeling somewhat relieved as well.

"I have never seen anyone talk to Professor Lee like that," Dae commented.

"I mean, he kind of ate," Q added.

Kitty squealed. "Mr. Moon forever!"

Min Ho let out a chuckle before he went on to gather the cleaning materials. You grabbed some yourself and left with him to put them back where they belong. You wanted to speak, say something. Only, nothing came to your mind that was slightly interesting. Even less after learning he had close to no interest in Stella. For the few eye contacts you had, small smiles were exchanged. But again, nothing more.

As your aunt told you, you stopped by her office before going to your Entertainment Management class. While you were having a harsh return, you did realize you hadn't visited her since school started. Knocking at her office's door, she immediately yelled for you to come in. As you stepped in, you immediately noticed the bags beneath her eyes.

"Are you killing yourself with work again?"

She might have looked exhausted, but she didn't let it stop her from laughing at your comment. "I'm trying to slow down, but you know me. And with Jina gone, things are working out differently this semester."

"Tell me about it... The curfew checks are getting annoying."

She nodded, and then picked a letter up. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to show this to you."

You took the piece of paper from her before reading the information on it. Frowning, you held it up to her again. "It's not addressed to me, it's for you."

"I know, but it's from your father. While cleaning this week, I rediscovered it and thought you might want to have a look at it."

Your expression softened and you took her hand, grateful. "Thank you. Anyway, I just wanted to see you a bit and let you know that things are settling down."

"I'm glad. Have you seen Min Ho? Seriously, that guy is handsome! What a shame it had to end."

You rolled your eyes. "And that is my cue to leave for class."

You could hear her from behind as you left as she was trying to either apologize or reinforce her point. Either way, you were far too gone to hear any of it, and you went to join Kitty at the cafeteria. Phone in her hands, she was trying to contact another retreat center in hopes Jina would be there. You started to walk and she mindlessly followed, phone now glued to her ear. They didn't answer until you reached class.

"Hey, could you connect me to Jina Lim's room? She's a guest at your resort," she spoke but her disappointed look was all it took for you to understand the call went nowhere. "Oh, my mistake. She must be staying at another property. Thank you."

As she hung up, you patted her shoulder. "You'll get a hold of her. Want me to ask Yuri?"

She groaned. "I did already, but she can't even reach her mom herself, so I guess it makes sense I'm not getting anywhere."

As you scanned the room to find a seat, your eyes landed on Stella, who just happened to be sitting next to Min Ho. The class you were almost excited to attend was now definitely the one you'd hate the most. Still, Min Ho gestured the seat next to him so you allowed yourself to take the spot, and Kitty sat on your other side.

"Hey, do you know who our teacher is?" she asked the pair.

"I'm just glad I won't have to perform. I'm still scared from playinh the donkey in m church's Nativity play," Stella replied. "But I'm guessing, you know, with your dad, you'll have a record deal, blockbuster movie out soon?"

You could only roll your eyes — though you did it mentally. She didn't know him, and it showed. Your inner comments were confirmed as soon as Min Ho opened his mouth.

"Yeah, not my thing."

"Imagine," you said in an ironic tone, making him chuckle lightly.

The door finally opened, revealing who your teacher would be. You were unsurprised to see Mr. Moon step in, as flamboyant as ever.

"Good afternoon," he greeted.

Min Ho' glanced at him for a second only to look at you with panicked eyes. "Oh my gosh."

"And congratulations. Out of all the new arts courses offered at KISS, you lucky few have stumbled into a masterclass." his dad continued.

"Masterclass, my ass," Min Ho said under his breath, you being the only person to laugh at his comment.

"But, I have news for you. Being a successful manager isn't something one can teach."

"Then why is this a class?" Min Ho commented once more, looking so done.

"It comes down to trusting your gut. And today, you will determine who will earn a spot in Advanced class and who will get their mic cords cut."

Kitty raised her hand. "Uh, Mr. MOON, i don't know enough about singing to be an effective-"

"Knowledge is do overrated," he cut her off. "My strongest opinions are on things I know almost nothing about."

"And that's my dad..." Min Ho sighed.

"I really wonder why you didn't want me to meet him," you joked only to receive a glare.

"Y/N, are you seeing the same man that I am seeing right now?" he gestured to his father.

"Yeah, an icon."

He huffed in frustration, but you could only laugh more at his reaction. As you were about to say something else, you met Stella's eyes. She was obviously telling you to back off. Who was she to tell you so? If anything, she should be grateful you gave her Min Ho's number even if he was your ex.

"Let's bring in the aspiring singers!" Mr Moon exclaimed.

Class went by quickly and, frankly, your feedbacks were written half-consciously. For most of them, you wrote some sweet comments with one or two flaws. Except for Dae, because he is a friend who just happens to be an excellent singer. At the end of the class, Mr. Moon went over everyone's feedback quickly — noting that Stella was being too kind and that Min Ho was a perfect critic — before class was dismissed.

"Y/N, you coming?" Min Ho said the moment the bell rang.

"Where?"

He shook his head in annoyance. "Just, come with me."

"Alright, my bad," you groaned.

Putting your belongings in your bag, you followed him out. You could hardly catch up to him as he was running out that room as fast as he could.

"Would you slow down?"

"Stop whining. I forgot how irritating that sound of yours is," he said in a huff.

"Well, why did you want me to leave class with you if I'm oh-so fun to be around?" you asked, growing impatient.

He stopped, making you almost run into his back. "Avoiding my dad and Stella. I feel comfortable with you so I guess you were my easy way out."

You took his hand — only as a friend — and rubbed it in a reassuring way. "You'll get through the semester just fine, I promise."

He let a chuckle out. "Well, if you and Covey are there, probably not."

You slapped his arm. "That's what I get for being nice?"

Satisfied his mocking worked, he laughed some more. "Is coffee going to make up for it?"

You perked an eyebrow. "Am I paying for it or-"

"On me," he said as if it was obvious.

Satisfied, you dragged him behind as you still had a grip on his hand. With a few protests, he tried to break away but gave in soon enough since you were clearly not going to let go of him.

Maybe he missed the two of you bickering like this as well.

It would have been a fun moment between you two if it wasn't for Mihee thanking Min Ho for getting into Advanced Voice which got Min Ho to go speak about it with his dad who kind of got into his head as he showered him with hopes and compliments... All that, and you had to follow him around like a literal lost puppy.

"I'll go," you said once you left his father.

He frowned. "What do you mean? We barely had time for ourselves."

"Exactly," you exhaled before clearing your throat. "I get this wasn't your fault, but I don't want to be your pet, following you while you do your stuff. That's what I did in L.A. and I don't it to happen again."

"Y/N," he tried to interfere but you didn't let him.

"And, please, let down Stella easily. She's nice, but she'll still give me death glares if you keep leading her on."

And with that, you left him there.

Kitty threw a dress on your bed... while you were laying in bed. You took the piece of clothing, looking at it up and down, and stood up to put it back in the wardrobe — where it belonged.

"Oh, come on!"

You threw yourself back on your mattress, pulling your phone out again. "I said I was not going."

"You're leaving me alone?"

You gave her a look. "It's a date, Kitty. The purpose of a date is to go one on one. Not with your friend as an extra."

She groaned. "But how am I not going to make a fool of myself?"

You shrugged, still on your phone. "Yuri and Juliana will be there too, no? They're getting ready as we speak."

Distressed, she took a huge pile of clothes from her drawer and dropped it on her own bed. "Help me out instead of making fun of my misery."

You ended up doing so because, well, you were her friend and you also did enjoy dressing her up. However, as soon as she was dolled up, you were back to being a couch potato. You didn't even hear the girls leave, and with Stella being gone wherever she was, you were left alone in the dorm.

Hunger got the best of you eventually, which made you check in the refrigerator what food you had left. Eggs and fizzy drinks were not going to fill your belly, so you took it upon yourself to change into a decent outfit. Once dressed, it was time to head to the department store near school so you could buy instant ramen for the hundredth time already.

Min Ho: Can we talk?

You saw the message, but ignored it. You had one goal in mind: food. While the fresh air hit you as soon as you opened the door, you got used to it quickly and rushed yourself to the store. Only then you spotted a familiar figure. Min Ho, again.

"For fuck's sake," you cursed under your breath as you tried to act as if you didn't spot him yet.

Thankfully, he was on his phone. You checked yours and he was, indeed, in the process of writing you another message. You almost found his attempt at reaching you cute. There was a lot of debating happening in your brain whether to text him back, come up to him, or even offer for him to go get food with you. The universe decided for you when his father appeared, walking furiously towards his son.

"Mihee dropped Advanced Voice," he said, anger spread through his entire body language. "You tipped her off, didn't you?"

"Well-" Min Ho started.

"You went around my back just to protect her feelings."

Again, you hated eavesdropping, but with how loud Mr. Moon was speaking, he didn't make it any easier. You poorly tried to hide behind a tree closeby. While you didn't like where this was going, you couldn't intervene. Not yet.

"I don't know why I thought you had what it takes to be a manager. I gave you a chance to step up and impress me," he continued, growing angrier by the second. "And instead, you threw it away for some loser who can't even sing."

"Don't talk to him like that."

Min Ho turned around and his eyes immediately softened when they landed on you. The words left your mouth without your knowledge, giving you no choice but to approach the duo.

"This is a private conversation between father and son."

"Well, you're a crappy father. Not just from what I am seeing right now, but also from everything I've heard about you. Min Ho does have what it takes to be a manager, more than you do with this tired Simon Cowell routine from 2002,"

You looked at Min Ho real quick to see if he would try to stop you, but he was speechless. Letting you steal the show, he was almost admiring you.

You took it as a sign to continue. "For a man who claims to have his finger on the pulse, you should know that bullying is so over, Mr. Moon. It's really a miracle you haven't been canceled."

His jaw clenched. "You certainly have a lot to say, don't you?" is all he said before taking off.

Not a sound could be heard after that. You didn't dare to look at Min Ho, not after the stunt you pulled. You had no idea what took over you.

"I'm sorry... I-" you started but left, embarrassed.

Only, you were stopped by a hand grabbing you by the arm. "No, wait," he said, turning your body to face him. "Y/N, where did that come from?"

"I don't know, it sort of just... came out? Seeing you being yelled at, I just snapped. And with everything you told me about him, I don't want you to suffer more than you already have."

He took both of your hands, grazing on your skin with his thumbs. "I've never had someone who'd stand up for me that way, so thank you."

You nodded shyly. "I just hope I didn't make things worse."

"You did quite the opposite. I think you impressed him. I bet he thinks you're a real badass," he chuckled. "It's a shame it's when we're not together anymore. He would have approved."

You didn't know what to respond, so you nodded again. "I should go, then."

His grip got firmer, a sign he didn't want you to leave. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Sure."

He gulped. "I'm sorry for kind of using you as some decoration I can bring wherever I want. That's never what you were to me and it will never be."

By default, your bodies kept getting closer to one another. Everything around you was like fog to you, there was only him and the sound of your heartbeat. A voice in your head told you to get away, to learn from the mistakes of the past. Another was screaming for you to play your cards right, and let him be back in your life again. In a word, divided. That's how you were feeling.

You raised an eyebrow, now curious. "What am I to you, then?"

"Hopefully, this."

Before either of you could process, you were kissing. It truly felt like your lips were meant to be together as they moved in sync. Your arms wrapped around his neck while his were placed on your waist. It felt... like home. And you hated that you loved it so much.

What you hated even more was seeing Stella behind him once you pulled away.

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Copyright © 2025 skzhua. All rights reserved.

[writeriguess]

Hiiiiiiiiiii I was wondering if you write for Dabi (bnha) and if so could you have a super oblivious reader? He has strong feelings for her and she feels the same way, but she doesn't have a lot of self confidence and is so convinced he couldn't love her that she doesn't notice the signs that he *does* at all. Shigaraki or Dabi himself have to spell it out for her. I hope you're doing well c:

author's note: Yes of course I write for Dabi <3

Burning

The first time Dabi realized he had it bad for you, he almost laughed at himself. Him? Catching feelings? What a joke.

But the joke was on him, because now he was stuck with it—with you, this annoyingly sweet, absolutely clueless little thing who had no idea how deep he was in. He'd tried to make it obvious. He stuck around when he normally wouldn’t, let you ramble about whatever nonsense filled your head, stole you food when you forgot to eat. He even softened his usual sharp tone when he spoke to you, which, coming from him, was practically a love confession in itself.

And yet, you remained completely, infuriatingly oblivious.

"You gonna keep starin’ at her, or are you actually gonna grow a pair and say something?" Shigaraki drawled from across the room, idly scratching at his neck.

Dabi clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away from where you were sitting on the worn-out couch, nose buried in a book. "Mind your own business."

Shigaraki just smirked. "It is my business when I have to watch you pine like a damn schoolboy every day. It’s embarrassing."

Dabi scowled, but before he could snap back, you looked up. "What’s embarrassing?"

He didn’t miss the way your gaze flickered to him, then away just as fast, like you couldn’t possibly believe he was the topic of conversation. He clenched his jaw.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Shigaraki’s just talking out of his ass again."

You smiled, and something about how soft it was made his stomach twist. "You two are always bickering. It’s kinda cute."

Shigaraki barked out a laugh. "Yeah? You think that’s cute? What about Dabi stealing food for you every damn day? Or how he only ever watches your stupid movies when you put them on? Or—"

"Shut up," Dabi growled, but the damage was done. You were blinking at Shigaraki like he’d just spoken in a foreign language.

"Wait… what?"

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. "Holy shit. You seriously didn’t notice?" He gestured vaguely at Dabi. "This idiot’s practically in love with you."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Dabi felt his face heat—though whether it was from anger or something else, he wasn’t sure.

You stared at him like you were trying to process some impossible equation. "But that’s… no. That doesn’t make sense."

He scoffed, forcing himself to lean back against the couch, arms crossed like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. "And why’s that?"

"Because you’re you. And I’m just… me."

Dabi’s jaw ticked. "You say that like it means something."

You looked away, fingers twisting in your lap. "It does. I mean, you could have anyone. Why would you…"

He let out a slow breath through his nose. "You really are a dumbass."

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "What—"

"I don’t do this kind of thing, alright? I don’t stick around. I don’t care about people. But you—" His voice dropped, rough with something raw. "You got under my damn skin, and now I’m stuck with it. So yeah, I like you. I thought I was making it obvious, but clearly, that was giving you too much credit."

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. Then, after a moment, you let out a shaky laugh. "You are making it obvious. I’m just an idiot."

Dabi smirked. "Yeah, but you’re my idiot."

The warmth in your gaze made something in him settle, just a little. Finally, finally, you got it.

Shigaraki groaned. "Thank God. Now can you two get out of my sight? I’m gonna throw up."

Dabi didn’t look away from you as he flipped Shigaraki off. Because for once, he didn’t care about anything else.

Not when you were looking at him like that.

But of course, nothing was that simple. Because while you finally realized how he felt, you still couldn’t seem to believe it.

The next day, Dabi caught you staring at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to puzzle something out. When he raised a brow, you quickly looked away, face heating.

It happened again at dinner. And again when you were sitting together, watching some dumb show you liked. Every time, you’d glance at him like you were trying to see what Shigaraki had pointed out, and each time, your expression would shift into uncertainty, like you still couldn’t quite accept it.

Dabi sighed. "Are you gonna say something, or just keep staring at me like a creep?"

You flinched. "I’m not staring."

"Yeah, you are."

You fidgeted. "I just… I’m trying to understand."

Dabi frowned. "Understand what?"

You bit your lip, hesitating. "You really like me?"

He groaned. "Are we seriously still on this? Yes. I like you. I want you. Do I need to spell it out more? Want me to tattoo it on my forehead? Because at this point, I might as well."

Your face turned red, but you still looked doubtful. "I just… I don’t get why."

Dabi dragged a hand down his face. "You ever think maybe it’s not something you have to ‘get’? Maybe you should just accept it and stop making this harder than it needs to be?"

You still looked unconvinced, but after a moment, you exhaled. "Okay."

Dabi narrowed his eyes. "Okay?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Okay."

For the first time in weeks, Dabi felt like he could breathe. "About damn time."

You laughed softly. And when you leaned just a little closer, Dabi figured maybe this whole feelings thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Feel free to request <3

[fandom-susceptible]

I know people have already talked about this scene before but I wanted to break it down myself because I love it so much. Little Lira yells "Rayla! Callum wants to have ten babies with you!" and everyone's reactions just kill me

Poor Callum has been doing so well with these kids, he's gonna be such a good dad one day, and he knows EXACTLY where he went wrong that produced this result and he also knows there's NOTHING he can do to stop it

Ethari is clearly the first of the elves to start to process what she said. Rayla's so distracted. Runaan frankly just looks tired.

:3 Rayla doesn't look upset at the concept though, just surprised. And Stella is literally just the :o meme.

Lira looks so pleased with herself. This little girl lives for chaos. She has done this on purpose. The smallest child here is convinced they're about to die (figuratively). The middle child is just trying to figure out what the big deal is. Callum is going for damage control.

He also knows this little girl did this to him on purpose. Ezran has absolutely said shit like that out of context to get him in trouble.

Rayla's recovering, has to blink to process what just happened. Runaan is like I barely signed up for one child, I'm not babysitting grandchildren yet. He's reconsidering whether being alive is a good thing. Ethari is connecting the dots between Lira's mischievous nature and Callum's frantic reaction.

He's the first elf adult to fully grasp what's just happened, and this is fucking hilarious. He brought this on the poor boy by unleashing Lira on him without warning him.

Runaan and Rayla have a strong like father like daughter moment as Ethari just loses it laughing. What was this household like when Rayla was growing up? How often did this happen? Ethari is the dad with all the puns that make them both groan and Runaan threaten his life, you can just tell

The laughter sinks in and Runaan visibly remembers why he likes being alive. Rayla is more concerned about how funny Ethari finds this than the statement itself. You can see her thinking Moon help me, Dad, please no.

Lira is so proud of herself. She made Pride Papa Ethari cackle. Callum isn't sure what to do but is fairly certain he's not in trouble. Runaan is vaguely amused at how much this hit his husband in the funny bone. We can no longer see Rayla's expression.

god I love the Moonfam parts of this episode. Runaan is so fucking done with having guests, Callum is a good partner and is gonna be such a great dad one day, and Ethari and Rayla are both just so happy to be home and together again

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of poor mental health, death, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 1: digging dirt

🔹🔹🔹

Jason's having one of those days, his hands ache a little too much, his scars pulling a little too tight, the ringing of metal as someone worked on their car grit in his ears a little too loudly, It's overstimulating. he doesn't even feel Like…..a person right now, he feels more like a body caring for itself. So he did what he usually does when he's not quite all there, he walks. Wanders around until he finds somewhere quiet enough to stuff himself back into his own head, until his body feels like him again. And that's how he found himself here of all places, a graveyard, the graveyard. Someone's still taking care of it, it seems. The grass is neatly manicured and the stone is moss free, he hates that in a way. The stupid gravestone looks like it's been shown more care than he has. He hates that he can still clearly read it.

“What a dreadful graveyard, you must be very proud of it.” A mystery voice chimes from behind him, who the fuck snuck up on him?

Spinning around with a snarl on his lip, Jason's greeted by the sight of a….Goth witch? That doesn't bode well on Bruce's property.

“Who the ever loving fuck are you?” his hand rests on the grip of his gun, warning enough to not try anything too hasty. Damn what if they're a meta-

“oh excuse my manners, I'm your new neighbor.” The mystery goth steps closer without any hesitation and holds out their hand, their other hand holding a…casserole dish? Oh right, Alfred mentioned something about a neighbor…They introduce themselves as an Addams like they're not standing in a graveyard and he's armed, alright then…

“Okay…I'm Jason Todd...? I'm not your neighbor though, i don't live here.” He glances back down at the gravestone, his gravestone-

“Oh? Then i suppose you'll just be my new friend then instead of my new neighbor.” They glance down at the stone as well, noticing the obvious. “Oh is that yours? You have one already picked out and placed? How macabre!” They smile, Jason's gut twists at the sight.

“No it's not-that's just uhh…don't worry about it alright? I used it and then.. Got better?” Jason wants to bury himself Alive right now, what kind of an answer is that? They just had to catch him on one of his bad days.

“you know, my dear grandmama has done that quite a few times. The lady just can't seem to stay buried for more than a few weeks at a time. One of these days…” The goth sighs wistfully at that, seeming unbothered. Are they mocking him?

“I'm not on the mood for jokes.” He grunts out, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to step around them. He'd prefer to wallow in his fucked up mental state without an audience.

“Grandmama’s perchance for breaking the barriers between the living and the dead is no laughing matter my new-not-neighbor-friend, say do you know the man living here? I'd like to return this to it's rightful owner before the poltergeists smash it.”

Jason stares at them for a long, silent moment. They said all that with a straight face. Must be committed to their aesthetic to the nth. The thought of seeing Bruce right now sounds about as enjoyable as crawling on broken glass on his hands and knees, but they seem to expect something from him. God he hates social obligations…

“I'm not even gonna ask, give me the dishes and I'll get em back to Bruce.”

“Who is ‘Bruce’? I was under the impression the resident here was named Alfred.”

“No that's the butler- wait, you don't know who your neighbor is? How can you move in beside one of the wealthiest man in the country without knowing?”

“oh is Gomez here? That sneaky devil already bought property in this wonderful city without telling me? Oh I could die of jealousy!"

The goth seems…happy? Jason doesn't want to snap them out of it just yet. They're obviously crazy and he's not ready to deal with the fallout. He's ready to just say fuck it and leave, but he doesn't want to leave Alfred to deal with them…

“Gomez? No this is Bruce Wayne's house. You know, billionaire philanthropist?” he turns towards the back of the mansion and starts walking, ready to go drink until he can't see his reflection straight on. Who cares that it's only four in the afternoon.

“Wayne? Was he the one in Jersey shore?” They say with curiosity, stepping after him with casserole dish in hand.

that actually gets a startled laugh out of Jason, picturing Bruce on Jersey shore with Nikki and big Mike. “No, God no. That'd be a sight to see though…. You don't seem the type to watch that show, i bet supernatural is more your thing, what with the whole….goth thing.” Is he making conversation? Wow, go Jason i guess.

“i enjoy the chaos and violence.” Is all they say, following him to the manor.

“…alright fair enough.” He falls silent again, the only sound being the crunching of leaves underfoot. God he's not good at this, this feels awkward very quickly. At least to him, they seem intrigued with the sights of the graveyard.

“so how did you die, I'm assuming you used the gravestone in death. Yes? Not unless you enjoy a little being buried alive action, i dabble in it time to time myself so don't feel awkward. Do tell.”

Do they have to press on about that? What kind of freaky shit are they into- “you're fucking demented.” he hisses out before he can catch himself, wow way to make a nice impression on Bruce's new, probably rich if they're buying up land in this neighborhood, neighbor.

“Oh? Aren't you a romantic one, My new-not-my-neighbor-friend.”

“…that wasn't-can we drop this? You're driving me nuts.”

“You're very sweet, perhaps we can explore this another time then. Please tell Alfred the casserole was positively horrible! Toodles!”

And just like that they turn on their heel and leave, disappearing into the- wait why is it suddenly foggy? Jason shakes his head and briefly ponders whether any of that was even real, or if he's gone off the deep end this time. The weight of the casserole dish on his arm the only thing assuring him he's not full blown hallucinating like certain people he knows.

He gets a few steps closer to the manor when he pauses again, he feels…. Okay. Not great but…he feels like a human instead of a ghost occupying a body. Huh. Guess meeting someone crazier than you'll fix you.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: ngl I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, Jason's fun to write! Any feedback is appreciated as I figure out how to write other ppls POV TYYYYY 🖤💜🖤💜

[antianakin]

As much as I dislike TBB, I don't actually mind discussing my issues with it much, but this forced me to go back and rewatch the scene since I only watched it once and that was obviously years ago, so you can apologize for that instead haha.

What I discovered is that I had in fact misremembered the scene and you're actually correct about it. I'd PRIMARILY remembered that Wrecker seems to hone in on Omega above everyone else and while that's definitely true, he does explicitly state why he's targeting her and he does attack the others for having violated Order 66 prior to going after Omega.

Wrecker claims that he's going after Omega because her decision to try to protect Hunter, who is considered a traitor, has now also made HER a traitor. Theoretically Wrecker would've left Omega entirely alone if she hadn't tried to shoot him to protect Hunter based on this comment, but it's obviously left somewhat unclear. He also could've chosen to attack her anyway simply because she associates with them and is now doomed as a result.

There's actually very little issue with Wrecker attacking the clones because they let a Jedi go, this falls in line with what was established in TCW for Rex after he joins up with Ahsoka and the other clones seem just as inclined to shoot him as they are to shoot Ahsoka. It makes sense that the chip programming might include a clause about getting rid of anyone trying to help or protect a Jedi in addition to the Jedi themselves, kind-of like a "get the Jedi at all costs" and "eliminate anyone and anything in your way" thing.

So this doesn't actually change or muddy anything to my knowledge, and Crosshair does something similar earlier in the season anyway, so Wrecker wouldn't even be the first character to react that way in this show alone for this exact reason.

So there's actually much less issue with this than I remembered there being. I DO think it's a little odd that he hones in on Omega the way he does. He completely abandons Hunter, who is literally IN HIS HANDS at the moment, in order to chase after Omega. Omega obviously does currently have a weapon whereas Hunter has been mostly disarmed, but he spends a weirdly disproportionate amount of time trying to hunt her down after she's already run away, ignoring the greater threat of people like Hunter, Rex, and Tech (Echo's been stunned).

You COULD make an argument that the chip does this, that it takes away some of the clones' ability to think something through, forcing them to sort-of focus in on a perceived threat to the exclusion of all else, I suppose. Where this ends up also being weird is in CONTRAST with the others. As mentioned, we see characters like Cody later who obviously very much canonically had a chip activated and he seems pretty normal. We see Howzer who theoretically SHOULD'VE had the chip activated and he's entirely normal. Wrecker gets a complete personality change when his chip activates, though. He ends up feeling more like Tup in terms of how it's impacting him. Wrecker's chip has begun to impact him as a result of a head injury earlier, but it had theoretically ALREADY BEEN ACTIVATED, so the head injury doesn't actually activate it on its own, it just... somehow makes the activated chip start to WORK on Wrecker despite his mutations that used to protect him. So his chip presumably hasn't been deformed the way Tup's was, and as soon as the chip is removed, Wrecker is completely fine, so it's not actually impacting Wrecker's brain long-term.

So it just begs the question of WHY Wrecker reacts so aggressively once the chip finally hits a critical point in its impact on him. Why would Howzer have such an easy time pushing back against his loyalty to the Empire (something that theoretically was given to him via the chip's influence) and doesn't seem to have much of a personality change at all, even after the Syndullas start fighting against the Empire, but Wrecker basically has his personality entirely erased and immediately turns super aggressive towards people he sees as traitors.

And there's almost zero hesitation from him. Even Jesse hesitates at one point, when Rex tries to logic him out of trying to kill Ahsoka, we SEE him consider the new information, and none of the clones immediately start firing as Rex walks out with Ahsoka into the hangar. Wrecker doesn't act like that.

So.... it's not... TERRIBLE on its own, but it's a little confusing mostly just in comparison to the other examples we have of clones who had their chip activated, either through a virus like Tup or just through the regular activation like Jesse and Howzer.

There was an entire major plot element in the Order 66 arc of TCW season 7 about how the chip didn't care that Ahsoka wasn't technically a Jedi anymore and was forcing the clones to want to kill her anyway.

Like.

It's a pretty important part of that whole story that Ahsoka not being in the Jedi Order anymore DOESN'T exempt her from Order 66. It would've been a pretty boring story if that technicality had WORKED.

But somehow the clones guarding Barriss at the prison are totally fine applying that technicality to her.

I guess they just like her better than Rex and the 332nd liked Ahsoka in the end or something. Ironic.

[jweekgoji]

I just read your d-16 obsessed with famous reader and was kind of curious to think about what he would do when he became megatron like almost yandere obsessive

anyways… ily!!

Yandere!Megatron/Idol!Reader [TFO]

tw: yandere themes, obsession, possesive thoughts. word count: ~1,7k additional: gender-neutral!reader, ex-racer!reader, decepticon!reader. a/n: I did something similar before, you can read here if you want. however I would focus on different scenario here and mostly on exploring dynamic through inner feelings (if that makes sense). i think i wrote about more violent Megs before, so i wanted to write a bit softy one.

Pretty little thing.

Always on a pedestal, standing at the centre of attention, you rarely had to think about any problems. You were always surrounded by someone who would surely worry about it and solve everything at the flick of your wrist. The only thing that was needed was to just innocently clap your optics and enlighten the rest of the crowd with your beauty.

It's hard not to get used to it.

From the moment he saw you, you were amazing. No, perfect.

It seemed like every time he watched you from afar, he was looking at the brightest star in far, far away space. No matter how far away he stood, you always shined brightest for him.

Surrounded by a crowd of fans that never gave you a moment's peace, like satellites, you always stood out in the crowd. Everything in this tiny, cramped world revolved around you.

There was nothing in D-16 that could ever catch your attention, if only for a second.

And yet, he was happy. Never having seen the real beauty of the outside world, deprived of freedom since birth, at some point you always made him feel surrounded in a field of stars.

If it was safe on the surface of Cybertron again, he would surely spend cycles watching the vast sky dotted with colourful, bright lights.

‘It's not the right place for you to be,’ he would remind you every time he gets the chance of.

Away from Iacon, albeit rotten in the filth that was left behind by Sentinel the false Prime, he couldn't deny that there, you would be much safer.

Away from Iacon, you were lost. You never seemed to belong in the company of the former High Guard. Being silver spoon fed since the moment of your creation made you more naive and so painfully obvious to everyone around. It is a miracle, that there were still someone who looked after you, even though your silly little title doesn't mean here anything anymore.

He must have hated you, you would have thought. Unlike all those who joined the Decepticon resistance, everyone here was united in their hatred for the former reign of long-abandoned leader of the Iacon. Numerous attempts to hunt down, then exterminate every last one of them, only to hide the truth will forever be remembered by those whom Sentinel Prime deemed a threat to his rule.

In turn, what really united you with the idea of the Decepticons?

Did you feel as if you had been betrayed? Were born into this world only to exist meaninglessly in the depths of of your home planet, furnished for a slow, faithless death?

Something in Megatron's gaze drew you in. It was hard to tell if it was that bloodthirsty determination to free your city from the captivity of tyranny, or that look of despair and bitterness as the newly elected Prime banished him from his own city?

Either way, you followed him that day, much to the surprise of the Decepticon leader himself.

You glanced in Megatron's direction. Battered, like a wounded dog he was clenching his teeth and sitting on an equally time-worn throne. The silver frame was dotted with many scratches and dents, and the distinguished cannon still emitted a faint hint of smoke after being sliced in half.

The three members of the High Guard always stayed close by, but it seemed that no matter how hard they tried, their words always passed by Megatron's audials, that he didn't even have the slightest desire to cast his gaze at one of them.

“We can't waste time just because you're unable to move on from the last confrontation,” Starscream hissed demandingly, red optics fixed on the seated leader beside him. “We have a chance to mount a surprise attack until they secure their position in Iacon.”

The quiet scraping of metal against hard surface barely passes your optics. Fingers dig firmly into the armrests of the throne, at the mere talk about the recent defeat.

“Makes no sense. All focus should be on finding a suitable base for the Decepticons,’ Soundwave reminds, taking a single step forward towards the jet. Now, Starscream's gaze in Megatron's direction is blocked.

“So why haven't you started on this yet?” comes another, counter question. Stepping forward to meet the officer, the former leader of the guard gives his colleague only a sceptical, stern look.

“I'm working on it,” is the simple answer, not uncommon from the Decepticon's lips hidden behind the mask.

Starscream pinches himself on the bridge of his nose, closing his optics for a fleeting moment. This is what he gets after cycles of loyal service to the Primes. Total disobedience, and their new leader is hardly battle-hardened, spending twenty-four hours wasted in a pathetic attempt to soothe the yearning spark. To believe it, and this is the brat he lost to?

“Then get on it quick!” the red and white mech clucks his tongue, after which, casts a sharp glance in Megatron's direction. “If we can't keep fighting, what was the point of all this in the first place?”

Such an arrogant, son of a glitch. Doesn't know when it's the right time to shut up. That hit only deeper, after everything that happened for the past cycles. The constant whining and demands do nothing to ease his already troubled mind. He lost everything that day, the one and only time when he felt like everything. The bloody red optics darken at the words, and a soft growl escapes from him.

So, you step up.

“Soundwave is right, there will be another time for the attack, but now the top priority is to establish a base,” you raise your voice enough to catch all the decepticons around off guard. “Let our leader sort out his thoughts instead of pressing on him.”

Who could know you can speak up?

The confused sight you received from Starscream worth it in some way. If for all of Iacon you were an idol, loved by many, the old member of the high guard had no idea about you. The majority of the decepticons probably don't know either, you imagine, but does it really matter? The only look you only wanted, was from him.

An invisible, red string of fate always seemed to be tied around your wrist when it came to the unknown, small miner named D-16. After countless days of him following you around, it would be you looking out for him. How funny.

You smile.

Not a fighter, nor even build for any hard work. Your frame is neatly polished, shining pretty in the light. Even though at first of the decepticons glared and watched you with nothing but suspicion and hesitation at first, your bright charisma always let you have your way. Good on cameras, a valuable experience even at war. Somehow, you even made friends with them. You can even remember Slipstream and Thundercracker asking you about your daily polishing routine.

The same, dark red optics always trained on you. He should be glad, at least. Wasn't he concerned about your position in his new rankings? No matter how hard he tries to act so mighty and cruel, the big bad leader of the decepticons, Megatron, is still soft.

Still shy, you can add.

He's taller, stronger. If you easily towered over him, now the silver mech is the one looking down at you. It was odd, for some time. Your alt mode is build for speed, keeping you on the road and easily avoiding any obstacles that might get into the way. But with Megatronus' t-cog now, he's no longer that scrawny mech you were used to.

It must be so confusing to him, but so satisfying. It is no point in trying to hide it. With how tight his servos wrapped around your waist, holding you suffocatingly tight against his own frame. Like you'd run away or disappear if he let go. Funny enough, you'd do exactly the opposite of it.

The last bits of his own comfort in this Primus forgotten place. With you in his arms, he feels safe and loved, even though he doesn't understand what exactly this feeling means for him. He felt like that every time he was with Orion, playing that arcade game over and over, even as a miner, it was enough for him to be satisfied.

Megatron hides his face against your neck, closing his optics. Loved when he's with you. It was never this close until now. As D-16, all he had was glimpses of you on the big screen television, some rare, closed-door nights, when lucky.

He should be happy now, he thinks. No more hiding now, just you and him together. No more of this cursed society that stood in his way. Who would dare to oppose him at this moment? Tell him he has no chances of having you this close, however and whenever he wants it?

If only you just stood still and never moved an inch. He'd put you on the pedestal you deserve to be, so he could be the only one to be graced by your own appearance. A big, nice, glassy box will be good enough to cover you from the outside world, so maybe no Prime would even dare to lay their filthy hands on you.

Your servo gently laid on his back, moving in lazy, soothing circles. Both of you don't have to say a word; it was a comfortable silence between the two. After long, long and tiring days of work, he wants nothing but to rest next to you. Let himself fall in the long deserved recharge, so the constant, painful ache in his processor would be gone.

Such a peaceful sight for you. Having him this close, right in your arms. You would never dare to bother him at such a time. Even if his servos are fully covered in deep pink energon, wouldn't it be easy to just pretend not to notice it? If there's anything you're thankful for from your past career, it is the ability to turn blind optic when it's needed.

If you can't change him, you can definitely make him worse.

[isa-ghost]

I genuinely intend to remain reinforcing that Phil Does Not Want To Do Lore On The Realm because I don't want the community's pushing to send him to the point of never doing anything like it again (I've seen this lowkey happen before in other fandoms).

BUT...

I see such a clear pipeline from trPhil's "no fuck you go away I'm burying previous trauma and pain in logging obsessively" to some sort of "fine, I admit I'm miserable because I lost family and friends AGAIN, and I will begrudgingly try soothing it with letting people in my bubble again" type surrender moment brought on by trSneeg because he's so persuasive and makes excellent points with pure logic and reason and the idea makes me salivate.

Obviously it's all 100% ooc jokes and even if it WAS intentional rp, we have no guarantee that trPhil is "main" (specifically q) Phil, but technically trPhil HAS vaguely opened up to trSneeg about the grief and scars he has in the wake of losing his children. trSneeg knows trPhil is bitter and still grieving. He can see that logging, no matter what trPhil insists, is Not helping him actually heal. It's just barely letting him cope.

It's the same old tricks rpPhil has always turned to to deal with baggage, immersing himself as much as he can in physical labor of some kind. His projects back home in Hardcore, the "trains in his basement" in DSMP after he had to kill his own son, all the building and looting and protesting he did on QSMP any time the kids were taken away from him.

And I think we've seen more than enough evidence to show that trSneeg could 100% keep his cool through all the stubborn and heated refusal trPhil would meet with his attempts to convince him to just be willing to socialize and invest in people again. Not even to join Yellow, just let himself have meaningful connections again, rather than sticking to tolerating his and trFit's presences (most of the time). Even though trPhil's evasive behavior has been reinforced (probably tenfold) after The Keepers assaulted him and destroyed his wings AGAIN, I think with the tenacity and confidence trSneeg exudes, he could slowly eventually coax trPhil into opening up again. Even if just a tiny bit.

Especially because he sees why trPhil is so adamant on sticking to his guns rn, he knows it's not JUST the factions and snails. He'd see it even if trPhil hadn't straight up told him multiple times already. Right away, trSneeg would make it very clear that trPhil would have no obligations to anyone or anything, that socializing doesn't mean he HAS to save people from the peril they face or take a side in the interpersonal conflicts they have or help them all figure out what the deal is with the eyes or the Keepers or anything else.

He doesn't have to put up with a snail that reminds him of his lost kids, he doesn't have to choose a side like it's Purgatory again, he doesn't have to get involved with the horrors people are going through like he often did with the islanders, he doesn't have to help solve/understand whatever is going on in The Realm like he did with The Federation and The Codes and everything else fucked up and strange on Quesadilla Island. If having friends is all he wants, he can have that.

And even if trSneeg STILL couldn't sway trPhil with All That, that would mean we'd get a gut-wrenching storyline about how after so many years of loving and losing again and again throughout his immortal life, rpPhil knows that pain is a part of love whether you want it to be or not, you can't have one without the other. He can't make connections here without signing up for the stress and pain that comes with it because that's what it means to care about people.

It's not just the most recent time putting him off from it all, it's an entire cycle he's been forced to suffer in for as long as he can remember, because that's what being immortal entails. He wants the cycle to end already. He can't stand being fully alone right now whether he admits it or not thanks to QI. His determination to isolate himself as much as he can while he's in The Realm is to slowly reacclimate himself to being alone so he can tolerate it in his home world again. When the loneliness gets unbearable, that's when he has no qualms with being pestered by people or goes to see what everyone else is up to. As that happens less over time, he'll go home again now that complete isolation doesn't hurt anymore (or more accurately: now that he's reconvinced himself it doesn't).

All of this is to say, trSneeg is 100% the guy that would break the ice under trPhil and get his story rolling, whether that means he embraces the pain of loving and caring again, or reinforces how hellbent he is on trying to escape it.

[batdadtruther]

Superbat Fic Recs pt. 1/?

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter | words: 33,007

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Embarrassing to Say by rajirani | words: 4,622

Clark figured out Batman's identity entirely by accident. It was fine - they'd been friends for this long - it was bound to happen sooner or later.

He probably should have given more thought as to how he found out, though.

Make an Ass of U and Me by Huntress79, Sevidri | words: 11,271

Bruce neglects to explain exactly who the attractive young man that seems to know him so well is, and what their relationship entails. Naturally, there are some misunderstandings.

or: Five times Clark makes an assumption, and one time he finally learns the truth.

Look Before You Leap by rotasha | words: 7,882

In a TV interview, Superman slips up and reveals that he thinks Batman is the most attractive member of the Justice League. Bruce’s kids find this hilarious. Bruce finds it intriguing.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 | words: 23,259

“But Bruce isn’t gay?” Clark points out, and there’s an awkward moment of everyone clearing their throats and avoiding Clark’s eyes until he turns to stare at Bruce. “Are you?”

Bruce blinks for a moment before offering a sheepish smile. “I’m not… not?” he offers, and Clark feels his brain just about short-circuit at the news.

Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

[beomiracles]

𝓚𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓓𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features.  You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 3k ་༘࿐

𝓹airings reaper/entity!taehyun x gn!reader (written with fem in mind) 𝔀arnings angst, major character death, lots of crying, kissing.

#serene adds ✎.. HAPPY TAEHYUN DAY !! except this is not a happy fic because I seem to struggle with anything positive.. anyhow :3

“Please help me.” 

Silence. Nothing but an eerie stillness of silence followed your pleading words. You want to scoff, your eyes twitching as they fight to remain closed. There was no way this was actually going to work. You had been a fool to even consider the idea, much more actually try it. But in spite of your foolishness you were also utterly desperate. 

Just as you were about to give up, to slump back against the hard floor boards and accept defeat; just then, there was a shift in the air. A cold, ghost-like exhale. It hits your face hard, like that of a slap. Your brows furrow, your still shut eyes scrunching together. A shiver runs down your spine, and you do not dare move. — He had come. He’d heard your call and he’d actually answered. You could hardly believe it. 

The creak of a floorboard makes your eyes jerk open, your head snapping in its direction. From the salt spread in a messy circle, to the lit candle in the center, your gaze travels along the open book, over to the far corner of your room. — There, in the shadows, submerged in darkness but still definitely there. 

You swallow, the gulp echoing through the desolate air. “Please…” Your voice is hoarse, on the verge of cracking as you shift on the floor, your body twisting as you turn his way. Once again, your hands rub together as you beg him. — “Help me…” 

He takes a step forward, revealing his tall frame as it emerges from the shadows. God, he was beautiful. So it was true then. All of it had been true. — His face, sickeningly pale yet so alive, ethereal almost. His eyes are dark, shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place, something out of this world. The brows on his forehead twist, if only for a moment. 

Dressed in all black, a long cloak draped over his body as it sways by his feet. He looms over you, his presence demanding and stoic. You do not dare get up from your position on the floor, even as your knees burn and ache for relief. You would be sure to stay put. 

It seems as though he expects you to speak, his expression unreadable as he remains quiet. With a deep inhale you gather courage. “It’s…It’s my mother, she..” Your voice trembles, on the verge of tears you shake your head, blinking the pain away. “She is very ill — I can’t… Please, I need more time with her.” 

At first he doesn't say anything as he merely watches you with the same brooding expression. Your face falls, worry consuming you as you fear that he might disappear once more. He was your last chance, your last sliver of hope. — “Please, I’ll do anything!” Your hands reach for the cloak he wore, fingers curling around the fabric as you cling to him. 

A low, breathy sound, almost a laughter, is pulled from his chest. You freeze when his warm hand places on the back of your head, his touch firm but not forceful. “Time”, he drawls, and he sounds as though he hadn’t spoken in years, yet you find yourself entranced by the mere word. 

“Time can never be brought back. You cannot ask such a thing of the universe.” 

His words make your eyes widen tenfold. What was that supposed to mean, would he not grant you your wish? Would he refuse you, would he leave again, leave you with nothing but the despair of the day to come, and the agony of those that were. 

“Please! You have to help me, I already told you I’m willing to do whatever it takes!” Tears were streaming freely down your face now, ugly sobs rolling off your tongue, meddling with your speech. — He’s silent, quietly observing your weeping form from above. His hand leaves the back of your head, the almost soothing touch gone with it. 

He hums, a low and still sound. “You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

His words make your eyes light up, and you crane your neck in order to peer toward him. “Yes! Please yes, I’ll do it.” You were beyond hesitation now, far too desperate to even think about the consequences of your own actions. To give, that’s what you wanted. You wanted to give your mother time, time to spend with you, to do what she loved. That was what’s important, right? 

The man nods, and you find yourself immediately missing the warmth he provided when he takes a step back. “Very well. You shall have time.” As the words leave his lips an icy feeling shot through your chest, it makes you fall forward, barely catching yourself on two hands as you pant. 

It did not hurt, but it was cold, so very cold. 

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone in your dark house, with nothing but a ring of salt, a candle and a book to show. 

But after that things changed. Your mother, once bedridden and ill, was now up and about. It was a miracle, that’s what everyone had said. The way she tended to her garden, made home cooked meals and even picked up crocheting again. — But most importantly, she smiled more. There was a different light to her face, a different joy to her laugh and a whole other woman within her body. 

Doctors said she wouldn’t make it another three months. But those months turned into a year, and then another one, and another one. Five years pass within the blink of an eye. Just as quickly as they had begun they had ended again. You would like to think that those were the best years of your life, you had everything you could have ever wished for right by your side. 

So why was it that you felt so cold? No matter how many hot showers you took, how many hours you spent under the sun or how long you wrapped yourself in your mother’s warm embrace you couldn’t seem to shake the icy feeling looming over you. — It has been that way since… You shudder at the thought of him, of his sickeningly beautiful face. You try to ignore it, you try to shake the uncanny feeling that something is wrong, very wrong. 

The dread that fills you, the sense of impending doom. Everyday you worry for your mother’s health, for her life, in spite of the way she radiated. You feared that it would all one day diminish into nothing. That just as quickly as it had come, it would be gone again. And as your worries grew larger, the cold seemed to strike harsher. 

Ice had frozen your chest by this point. It made no room for love in your now lonesome heart. You could not enjoy your time with your mother, for you feared that your own was running out. 

It was then, on the day that would mark the sixth year, that he returned. And just like he had back then, did he emerge from the shadows. 

The night was warm, but you could not feel it, for you had not felt warmth in a very long time. With trembling hands you tug at the blanket, wrapping yourself up in it as you try to create some sense of comfort. You would delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, you would try to ignore the pestering cold. But it never seemed to quite work. 

And there it is, that subtle creak of a floorboard, ripping through the still air. You don’t have to sit up, nor do you have to turn your head to know who has come. His presence is just as demanding as it had been all those years ago. Back then, when you hadn’t understood the full extent of his words, their true meaning. 

“You cannot harvest time for yourself. But you can give.” 

And you had. You had given your mother time, you had shared whatever you had left for yourself, in turn trading places with her. Realization struck as his beautiful face came into view once more. He had not changed, for he was timeless, he seemed to be the only thing unreachable by the ever ticking clock that decides your fate. 

He takes a step forward, then another one and another one. Soon he stops by the edge of your bed, dark eyes peering down at your shivering form. — You swallow, “I don’t want to die.” It was the truth, you did not fear death, but you did fear the end of your existence. Your throat feels thick, tears building in your eyes as you shake your head. Perhaps you thought that begging him once more would prove successful. 

But he only hums, a soft almost melancholy sound. It makes your chest churn, the ice around you feels heavy. You could not die, not right now and not like this. How would your mother suffice without you by her side? She would be heartbroken. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It wasn’t right… 

“Please I can’t-” He interrupts you by raising a pale hand, and you immediately fall silent. His face, once unreadable and stoic, now looks solemn. His gaze roams your trembling figure, the tips of his fingers brushing along your cold arm. 

“Can’t you see?” He says, his hand traveling to your chest, his palm flat against your heart. “You are already dead.” 

The words hit you like that of a wave crashing against shore. Dead? No. You weren’t dead, you were… You were… 

Your eyes drop to your hands, grey and lifeless as they clutch the blanket tightly. The biting cold made the tips of your fingers an almost pale blue hue. Suddenly it all made sense. Your vision blurs as you bring your hands to your face, studying them closer. The cold, it wouldn’t leave because it was all there was. Your lifeless self, a shell of who you were, walking amongst the living, an imposter. 

Your heart was not frozen, it was unbeating. Dead. You were dead. You had been since that night, all those years ago. With a shaky exhale you glance up to meet his dark unyielding gaze. It was impossible to read his expression. — “Why?” You croak, the question barely making it past your choked up throat. “Why now?” 

Why had he waited, why had he let you roam this earth for so long. — The man doesn’t answer, instead he extends his hand for you to take. You regard his pale and long fingers, waiting for you to lace yours within his. It was an invitation, one that would carry you to a world outside this one. You wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. 

“I can’t…” The whisper slips past your lips without second thought, the realization weighing heavy on your shoulders. You shake your head, the first droplet of tears rolling down your cold cheek. 

His eyes narrow, brows pulling together on his perfect face. “Your time is up.” It’s all he says, his voice suddenly sounding monotone yet commanding. You continue to shake your head, scooting away from him as your back hits the headboard, the blanket sliding off your body. “No.” 

“Y-You tricked…” You hiccup, feeling the sudden onslaught of tears throughout your entire body. “You never told me I would… That I…” — The man doesn’t say anything, his hand has dropped back to rest by his side, and for a moment you think he might turn back around to leave. But he doesn’t. 

“You willingly gave her your time.” He states as a matter-of-factly, his features remaining stoic as he regards your sobbing frame. You knew that he was right, that you had willingly brought this fate upon yourself, as naive and unknowing as you may have been. This was all your doing. And though you had gotten another couple of years with your mother, you could not bear the thought of parting from her again. 

The cold was worse now, worse than it had ever been before. It consumed you wholeheartedly. Even if he was to let you continue on like this, what life would you get? You were dead already. There was nothing left for you. Nothing but the inevitable grief you were to bring forth on your mother. 

With trembling hands you wipe your tear stained face. Your breath is jagged, like a broken record, playing the same part on repeat over and over. Through bleary eyes, you manage to find him in the darkness. The pale moonlight casts his face in an eerie glow, one that made him appear ethereal. It was then and there you realized that your time was indeed running out. This would be your last conscious moment. 

“Please..” Your voice is low, nothing but a mere whisper. Yet it garners his attention as his dark eyes flicker over to yours. “Can you grant me one more wish?” You don’t expect him to oblige, you don’t expect anything at all, in fact you would have been content with even a small twitch of his brow. But the man doesn’t say anything, instead he merely watches you, an almost expectant look striking his features. 

You inhale, holding that last dying breath for a second before letting go. “Can you… Can you kiss me?” Your words hang in the still air, flashing before your eyes in menacing quality. You had not thought the request through, not once. All you knew was that you wanted to feel something, anything, one last time. 

His expression remains unmoving, he looked almost statue-like as he stood by the edge of your bed. — Your hands had returned to the blanket, now by your knees, and your fingers twist uncomfortably in the fabric. The silence is so loud it rings in your ears, causing an almost screeching noise. 

But then, without as much as a word, he takes a step forward. The mattress dips under the weight of him as one of his knees sink into the soft cushion. His spotless face, now mere inches from yours make your eyes widen in surprise. — He doesn’t say anything, nor does he hesitate when he presses his lips against yours. 

He’s warm. 

For six years, two thousand one hundred and ninety days, you had been cold, terribly so. Nothing could bring you comfort, nothing could make the icy feeling go away. Nothing but him. The small touch of his skin against yours set your body aflame, and for the first time in so long, you felt alive again, even if only for a moment. 

His lips are unmoving against your own, warm and soft. You don’t dare open your eyes, instead you remain equally still, almost frozen in place. And when five seconds have passed you think he might pull away, demanding you come with him to wherever awaited, but he doesn’t. 

You kiss him, you kiss him in the way you would those you longed for, those you lusted after. But not those you loved, for you don’t think you had ever loved anyone like that. Without stopping to think, your cold hand reaches for his face, trembling as your palm comes to rest against his cheek. 

You want to hold on forever, never letting this moment go. He must feel your nails digging into his shoulder now, your hand on his face pulling him closer. But even then, he remains unfazed. For a second you think he might actually kiss you back, that he might reciprocate that feeling of life that you so longed for. He doesn’t. 

He pulls back only when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, a guarded expression on his otherwise melancholy face. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a soft redness to his warm skin, one that you were certain hadn’t been there before. Though his soft breaths are hardly matching your near panting ones. 

Your hand falls from his face and you swallow. “I don’t want to die.” It didn’t matter if you were already dead, that was not the same as what you were about to face. An end to your time on earth, a cease in your existence. You want to think about your mother, you want to remember her face even in death, and you want to hear her voice even as the ground swallows you whole. 

But you can’t look away from him, from his beautiful and nearly expressionless face. You had never imagined the face of death to be beautiful, for it had always been described as a painful and sorrowful experience. It is permanent, with no way to ever go back. 

Tears spill down your wet cheeks, an ugly sob ripping from your thick throat. Your body trembles, but not from the cold. — “I’m scared…” The admission is a mere breath, one so silent only he could hear. 

He shakes his head, the movement slow and soft. “Don’t be.” Is all he says, and for some reason you find solace in his words. 

Then he presses his lips against yours, briefly startling you as your eyes widen. That same feeling of warmth embraces you once again, and you feel the ice around you slowly melting. He kisses you just like you had him a mere moment ago. Except his kiss holds love. A love that felt almost sacred, like you were undeserving of it. 

Your body feels numb, and you could feel yourself becoming almost drowsy. It doesn’t hurt, none of it does. In fact you can barely feel anything but his lips on yours. 

Death wasn’t painful, nor was it agonizing. It was beautiful. The man before you was the epitome of it, and you did not fear him. You did not fear what would come after, and you did not fear that nothing would come at all. 

Your soul died that night, but it died warm.

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[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 5

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

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What Makes You Tick Masterlist

Divider by @plum98

You can't breathe.

You wonder if he can tell you're faking it. If he's just playing along because this whole thing might as well be some kind of fucked-up game to him.

Breathe in, breathe out, you tell yourself. Slow and steady, in through your nose, out through your mouth.

You wonder if, at any moment, he finally plans on killing you. And it's not the first time you've had the thought, but it certainly doesn't make it any easier to digest. It certainly doesn't make the threat feel any less real.

A nervous kind of energy builds in your system. The anticipation mounts with every passing second of him not moving, not speaking, not doing anything except watching. You dread thinking that he might've done this every night, and that you're only now realizing it because you just so happened to be awake.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You think back to the million and one things you could've done to avoid this moment. You could've slept in the bathroom. You could've screamed for help. You could've jumped out the window and risked a few broken bones. Hell—you'd risk so much more than just a few broken bones to get away from these men.

The bed dips next to you as your thoughts frantically rush by. Your first instinct is to throw yourself at him to push him off and get him away from you, but you quickly stifle the urge.

Maybe he won't do anything, you think. Maybe he's about to leave, and you shouldn't risk it.

Just breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe.

And after what feels like an agonizing eternity, you hear him shift, you feel it on the bed next to you, and then you feel something else.

His hand.

Soft and warm, it's like his touch sparks some strange kind of electricity through your skin. You try not to stir, try not to flinch away from him.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. To distract yourself from what's happening, you focus on trying to figure out which man this is. He isn't jerking or twitching, as far as you can tell, so you assume it's not the one in the goggles.

The tips of his fingers ghost over your cheeks, trailing your jawline, tickling your skin.

You try very, very hard not to panic. Even when it feels like he's leaning closer into you, you try not to let the stress get to you.

The one with the white mask seemed way too impatient, way too angry to have this kind of gentleness to him. Leaving your last option, you realize, to be the one with the black mask.

But right as you mentally place your bet that it's black-masked man, you feel his thumb caress your lips.

Your body moves before you can stop yourself.

All at once, you open your eyes and shove him away from you.

But right as your hands connect with his body, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them down either side of your head.

It's, unfortunately, a familiar position, a familiar set of motions you've had the displeasure of experiencing before. And when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you understand why.

He's not wearing his goggles, but the mouthguard covering the lower portion of his face is as familiar as ever, even in the inky darkness of the room.

You’re about to keep fighting him off—about to start kicking and screaming and yelling at him for being such a creep—when your gazes suddenly lock.

His eyes are... breathtaking.

It’s the most you’ve ever seen his face without the opaque lenses of his goggles. And even though you can’t fully make out the details through the darkness between you, you can tell this guy’s a pretty boy.

His dark eyes are framed by long and equally dark lashes. Messy, somewhat curly locks of hair fall over the boyish angles of his face, and you hadn't noticed it up to this point, but his hair looks thick and soft enough to make a good amount of girls seethe with jealousy. He seems to be around your age, and the realization has a strange mix of emotions fluttering in your stomach.

There’s no way he’s a murderer, you think. No way someone with that kind of innocence in their eyes could do such a horrible thing.

There's no fucking way.

"There's a notebook," he says suddenly, his voice just above a whisper. And there's this strained kind of urgency in his words that has you snapping to attention. “The symbols in it—the symbols keep him at bay.”

“W-what? What’re you talking about?!”

“He’s—he’s watching—“

He cracks his neck, and then it looks like he’s about to say something else, but he abruptly cuts himself off and freezes.

And, at the same time—you feel it. Someone is watching.

You snap your eyes shut. In a split second, your body takes over, and you’re back to pretending to be asleep. You force your breathing to slow, force your muscles to relax, force everything to soften in a cruel mockery of the panic buzzing through your system.

You feel the brunet lift off of you, releasing your hands, and a tense beat of silence follows.

You can control your breathing, but you can’t control the thrumming of your heart. You wonder if it’s noticeable, even through the sheets covering your body.

The thought’s a welcomed distraction from the paranoia and confusion regarding just what the fuck is going on.

There’s silence for what feels like way too long, until you almost start to wonder if he was just fucking with you from the start, and you’d only imagined feeling someone watching.

But then you hear the ever quiet, ever-faint thudding of what sounds like boots on the floor.

“Hard time sleeping?” a voice, deeper, huskier than that of the brunet, hums over the footsteps.

Your whole body stiffens.

It has to be the black-masked man this time, you think. It couldn’t be the other one—you would’ve recognized the voice. And you dread the thought of another man—a fourth one—being involved in this whole situation, so you don’t even want to consider that option.

Your kidnapper doesn’t answer. And, for a second, your skin prickles with the possibility that he was addressing you instead.

But you still pretend to be asleep. You don’t move an inch, even when a hand—bigger, more calloused than the brunet’s—strokes over your cheek.

You almost stop breathing. Almost.

“She’s a cute one, huh?” And then there’s a brief pause before he adds, “just your type, isn’t she?”

You want to swallow down the lump in your throat, but you don’t dare.

“Fuck do you want, Hoodie?”

Hoodie?

His answer’s another hum, low and velvety.

It almost feels like the sound reaches somewhere deep within you, something that has goosebumps rising along your flesh. You hate the feeling.

“Nothing,” he states simply. “Just wanted to make sure there aren’t any secrets between us. For example,” he trails off, and when you feel his hand at your thigh—even above the covers—you nearly jump. Your pulse kicks up frantically.

“If you liked her…” he continues, his touch slow and lazy as he strokes the length of your thigh. “you’d tell us—wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck off, mind your fucking business,” the brunet spits. “And quit being such a-such a fucking creep while you’re at it.”

You hear him smacking Hoodie’s hand away. And then the warmth and pressure at your thigh leaves, and you nearly deflate with relief.

"I am minding my business, Toby. And you better start minding yours too, before Masky gets involved.”

You half-hope, half-expect the brunet—Toby—to spit out another retort. It doesn’t reassure you when he stays quiet, because it means that this Hoodie guy has a point. And you don't exactly know when you started rooting for Toby, but you don't even think it matters, at this point.

Another long second ticks by.

And then there's finally the sound of boots thudding away, leaving you with your kidnapper once more. But this time, you don’t dare reopen your eyes. You feel like an absolute coward, but even as yet another beat of silence passes, you just can’t bring yourself to move.

Sooner rather than later, you hear the door creaking open, then firmly clicking closed. And you know that you're fully alone again.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

You don't know what to think of everything that just happened. Quite frankly, considering the last few days of your life, you feel utterly lost, paranoid and fucking exhausted with worry. You don't even want to think about what that interaction implies.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

All you can do is cling to whatever shreds of sanity and normalcy you have left. And the easiest way to do that, it seems, is by mentally repeating the names of the three men over and over again.

Toby, Hoodie, Masky. Toby, Hoodie, Masky. Toby, Hoodie, Masky.

It grounds you—until thinking of their names is the only thing that eventually lulls you to sleep.

That night, you dream more than you have in a long, long while.

You dream that you're back home, but it's not the way you left it. It's dark, and it looks decayed, like it was abandoned years ago. Your neighbor's there, and even in your dream, you realize she shouldn't be there.

She should be dead.

She smiles at you like she knows what you’re thinking. Her teeth are black and rotten, with maggots squirming through the gaping holes in her mouth. And even in your dream, you tell yourself this isn't real.

It's just a nightmare, she can't hurt you.

She offers something—a book, you realize. And when you don't reach out to take it, she opens it in front of you so you've no choice but to look.

At first, you don't see anything. The pages are black like ichor, and when you try to concentrate on the pages, your mind is pulled into it. Like you're falling through a void.

You don't remember who you are. It doesn't even matter anymore. All that matters is that book.

There's a brief millisecond of clarity. You understand everything. You know the answers, know what needs to be done.

But just as quickly as that understanding—the meaning of all that is, all that will come to be—floods your mind, a loud, shrill abrasive sound snaps you out of it.

Your neighbor screams at the top of her lungs, and it’s the same sound she had made when she’d gotten killed.

She drops the book with a heavy thud, and all you can think about is no, not the book.

You need that book.

You scramble to grab it. But when you reopen the pages, they're no longer black, no longer imbued with knowledge you should’ve never had access to in the first place.

The pages are moldy. They're wet and rotten, and the writing is indecipherable. When you flip through it, the pages tear from the binding and disintegrate to ashes in your hands.

But the more you flip through it, the heavier it gets.

You realize, with a vile kind of lurch at your insides, that there are insects inside the book. It's just a small beetle on one page at first. But then on the next, there's a centipede and a few flies, and the one after that has a handful of worms and flies and maggots slithering around.

By the time you realize what's happening, you try to stop, but it's already too late. You're holding dozens—hundreds of insects between your hands. They’re writhing and squirming and wriggling between your fingers, crawling up your arms and slithering all over you.

You scream.

You’re so terrified that you don’t even hear how similar your scream is to that of your neighbor’s.

A spider—so much bigger than the rest of the insects—crawls up the spine of the book and onto the page. And the closer it gets to you, the bigger it gets. Until, next thing you know, it’s even bigger than you.

Its legs are thick and long, its massive inky black form towering over yours. You look up, and you get that feeling again.

That feeling that you’re going to die.

But you can’t run, can’t scream, can’t do anything except stand there, frozen, basking at the creature of death dominating over your form. Its front claws jerk and twitch in front of it, and that’s when you notice its head.

Except it isn’t a head at all. It’s a diamond. Pale, shimmering and impossibly beautiful, it seems to glint in a light that isn’t there in the darkness. It’s… mesmerizing. It takes your breath away.

The spider rubs its legs together, its mass convulsing and trembling, and then glittering webs of diamond are spilling out of it.

It’s, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Strings of glittering gems hang freely in the air, like they’re suspended in time. And as you’re admiring it, the spider keeps weaving more and more of its web until you’re surrounded in it, surrounded in its trap, but you don’t even care.

You reach out, fingers extending. And as your skin makes contact, it bursts into flame.

You’re hot. You’re so unbearably hot.

You’re burning alive.

Your eyes flash open, a chocked gasp clawing its way out of your lungs.

You bolt upright to a sitting position. You’re sweating. You kick the sheets off your clammy skin and tell yourself to breathe.

Mouthful after mouthful of the stale hotel air eventually cools you down and clears the panic from your mind.

You look down at your hands. No diamonds. No burn marks. You’re ok. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.

Still, you feel gross. You feel off, like something inside of you is inexplicably wrong.

You need a shower.

As you stand, you notice a few things on the wooden drawer next to the guys' door that wasn't previously there. There's a McDonalds breakfast trio, complete with a coffee and everything, and a change of what looks to be new clothes, along with basic personal care items like travel-sized deodorant and mouthwash—that kind of thing.

You're beyond grateful for the personal care items, but when it comes to the breakfast, it has you snorting.

McDonalds, you think, they must've been feeling fancy.

You don't know when they dropped everything off, but judging by how cold everything is—including the coffee, unfortunately—your guess is that it was at least a few hours ago. Still, despite the less-than-ideal temperature, you savor the sweet blessing of caffeine.

You spend even more time than usual in the shower. You don’t know whether or not the change of clothes is a good thing or a bad thing. Is it a sign they’re finally going to bring you back—or is it a sign that you’re doomed to stay here much, much longer than expected? You almost don’t want to know the answer.

Instead, you do what you’ve been doing best for the past few days; you cling to whatever thoughts hold your attention enough to distract you.

It has you recalling last night’s events. You think back to what the Toby guy had said—something about symbols and a notebook—and you shudder as last night’s dream resurfaces.

You push the memory back to the recesses of your mind.

It feels like you've been given pieces of a bigger picture, but no matter how much you try to focus, you can't possibly begin to understand what’s going on. And you're painfully aware that your ability to understand the situation might just be the only thing that saves you.

Besides, if you've nothing else to think about, you know your thoughts will spiral. You'll start thinking about your friends and family back home, and what they must be thinking right now. Are they ok? Are they being interrogated by the cops? Were they forced to return to work and carry on like nothing's happened? Have they already started grieving you?

You shake your head, and keep doing what you've been doing for the past few days now; you try not to think about it.

As you finish up your shower, the last question on your mind is why. Why did Toby bother telling you that information? Was it some kind of trick? A test to see if you actually know anything or if you're just bluffing?

You promise yourself you'll be more careful around him. But even as you do, you think back to that look in his eyes, and you wonder if his situation maybe isn't too different from yours. You think about ransom and coercion and manipulation, and it has you thinking about unlikely alliances and how chances of survival are always better with teamwork.

But then you think back to what that other guy had said about you being Toby's type. And you don't know what to think all over again.

You dry yourself off, comb through your hair with your fingers, and make good use of the hygiene products they left you with. The clothes, much to your surprise, fit you relatively well. They're relatively basic; a shirt, a simple pair of pants, and a pack of basic black underwear—which you couldn't be more thankful for.

They still smell like the store they were bought from, which is reassuring to know that they actually bought it, and didn't just steal it off god-knows who instead.

Once you’re done, you step out of the bathroom.

You would've never expected to see the three men in your room—waiting for you. But, lo and behold, as soon as you step out of the bathroom, the three turn their full, undivided attention toward you.

You're a dear in headlights. You're so, so incredibly thankful that you decided to get dressed instead of lounging around in your towel like you would've otherwise done if you were at home. But even then, even fully clothes, you, once again feel like a peace of meat dangling in front of three hungry predators.

The one with the white mask—Masky, you assume—wastes no time for pleasantries as he addresses you with an impatient huff.

"Took your sweet fucking time in there, didn't you, Princess?"