#thread: worst vacation ever

[deathsdue]

She had ruffled his feathers, at least a little, but Gerome was practiced in putting people off when he was blunt with his words. If she had pressed further, then that would be when he took issue, but she hadn't and he was grateful for that.

The thought that he could relate to someone outside his close knit circle hadn't crossed his mind before. Even the Shepherds, as supportive as they had been, they would never truly understand in the way Cynthia or Inigio or Lucina or the others did. He supposed Lapis still wouldn't understand some aspects, but on this they had someone that understood the other. It was...a relief, of sorts.

Still, her outburst made him blink, caught off guard by the sudden enthusiasm from her. He should be used to this sort of thing. "Allies, then," he agreed, his tone still flat compared to hers.

Worst Vacation Ever

sadland hours

[illbegottenfaith]

symphonia ix - theo nott x reader

brothersbsf!Theo helps you recover from a terrible case of burnout at his family’s lakehouse

a/n - this is one of the more self-indulgent things I’ve written. a few months back I experienced my worst case of burnout ever. It was bad, like drop-out-of-college bad, and I really wanted to talk about it with my best friend at the time, except that we had just broken up and I forgot that he wasn’t my best friend anymore and god I rlly miss him :( anyways this was rlly cathartic to write enjoyyy

P. S. thank you so so much to everyone who has left a comment on my fics! I rlly appreciate it so much 🥹🫶 will start working on a lucky pt 2 once I get the inspiration heheh

tropes/warnings - angst, description of burnout, self-loathing, hurt/comfort, brothersbsf!theo

word count - 1.7k

You were one of the first to arrive at the lake house. After your breakdown about a week ago, your parents made sure you were on the first train out of Hogwarts the second your last final was over. Though, from what you gathered, you were soon to be joined by a few of your brother’s friends, as if to make it seem more like a vacation getaway than a rehabilitative trip.

You dropped your bags by the door as soon as you entered, a frail breeze barely stirring the living room air as the humidity made your hair plaster itself to the back of your neck. There was a tiny window looking out to the glittering lake and the all-too-familiar boy lounging near it, leisurely smoking in nearly 40-degree heat. After all, this was who the property belonged to - Theodore Nott. He had almost immediately offered it up as soon as news of her breakdown spread in an embarrassingly short amount of time. From the way the blazing sun beat down on his lean, toned back, you could tell the lakeside agreed with him.

You slipped your bathing suit on under a T-shirt and shorts. It was simply too warm to not consider a dip in the lake. Too warm to do anything except have the shrill cicadas bear a hole through your skull. Too warm to do anything except watch the flimsy reeds sway in the nonexistent breeze. Too warm to do anything except thread your fingers through your brother’s best friend’s hair with eyes fluttering shut as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Do you want a drink?” Theo asked hours later, when the sun was just a little past its zenith. You were reclined on a lawn chair with a tedious book while Theo was sitting at the edge of his, watching a school of carp crisscrossing with one another. It was afternoon, and without much breeze, the air was starting to border on stifling, even with your cover-up off. A cold soda sounded perfect about now.

“I’m fine,” you said instead, feeling irritable and sulky in the sweltering heat. Your eyes were glued to the way his back muscles tensed and relaxed under the blinding sun from behind your sunglasses. 

Ever since the both of you had gotten a little too drunk at that one Halloween party, you’d occasionally spend the night together, and if either of you got a little handsy, well…you were teenagers. Other than the occasional flippant remark of ambiguous vulnerability, what you had was purely physical, and you guessed that it had something to do with him avoiding acknowledging you as his best friend’s little sister. For whatever reason, it was easier when you were just another warm body in Theo’s bed, and in your moments of weakness, that was more than enough. 

You didn’t know what you were doing or why you were doing it with Theodore Nott, of all people. It wasn’t like he could seek you out in public, and the way things were going, that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. But between your maddening, idiot brother and your well-meaning if distant friends, there were days when he happened to be the only person in the world you didn’t hate.

But the more time you spent together, the more likely it was that either of you would slip up. You had already had a couple of calls too close for comfort, and it was becoming increasingly clear how fraught their situationship was making him. There way he’d occasionally hesitate or seem off pointed to how much this going behind your brother’s back weighed on him. Though you’d never admit it, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if he decided to end things. He already had the upper hand, being the older and more experienced half. You weren’t about to give up any semblance of a bargaining chip by admitting you needed him as much as he wanted you. So the only thing you could do was keep kissing him and hope that he liked the feel of your body under his enough to keep sneaking around.

But some days, like today, all you could think about was the ache that came with playing house with him when your brother wasn’t around. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you started, in a clipped voice. “Your friends must be missing you.”

Theo looked up, half-distracted by the lake, scratching his face. “Who? Zabini? Riddle? They’re joining us in a couple of days."

As if all this wasn’t humiliating enough. “What for?”

He stopped scratching his face. “For moral support, tesoro. We know how difficult this must be for y-“

You threw your book into the lawn chair next to yours. There it was again. More unwanted pity. God, were you really that pathetic?

“Principessa -“

“Shut up, Theo.” You felt him stiffen next to you. A small, nervous part of you knew you were being unfair, but the larger, angrier part of you didn’t care. Maybe this days-long meltdown or whatever it was would finally drive him away. Good riddance. It was what you were destined for, anyway. It was what you deserved. You stood, fumbling to pull on your cover-up with your trembling fingers.

“Go home. You and your friends. I don’t know what you’re doing here. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend or something.”

You relished the surprised look of hurt that flickered across his face before marching back to the cool, shaded lake house. Your mind was a blunt mess of chaos and hurt. You suppose you meant to draw yourself a bath because you find yourself submerged in lukewarm water in the bathtub, still fully dressed.

You’re not sure how long you sat there, feeling the tepid water cool around you, watching the sun and shadows shift through a tiny window near the ceiling. Eventually, you hear the front door creak open. You close your eyes and relax against the tub as you subconsciously follow Theo’s footsteps until he stops in front of the door. He taps against it and calls out your name, but you don’t deign him with a response. He sounds unsure of what to do. You’re not sure what you want him to do either. Eventually, he tries the handle and finds the door unlocked.

"What are you doing here?" Theo asked conversationally, keeping his tone light, as if he found strange girls fully-clothed in bathtubs every day. You continued staring at the tiled wall in front of you. You felt rather than heard him crouch closer to you and tentatively hold your wrist, preparing to sling your arm over his neck.

“Let’s get you out of there, hmm?”

You twisted your wrist out of his grip and you felt him retreat minutely. “Get away from me,” you rasped, your voice brittle with disuse.

Theo was no longer able to disguise his stricken tone. "Tesoro, please. You'll feel better once you're dry and warm-"

You shrank away from him, hugging yourself tighter as your head spun. The water was cold, so cold, filling you with a chill that was settling in your bones. A chill that made you feel like you could never be warm again, no matter how hard you tried. “I don’t want to be dry. Or warm. Don’t you get it? This is...this is it for me. I'm sickand...and crippled. I'm small. I'm weak."

Your voice died to a whisper towards the end. Theo gently, but firmly, reached for your arm and knees again, scooping you up like some sodden, fearful downtrodden animal. You were too exhausted to stop him this time, melting into a boneless heap on his lap, hissing from the feel of his burning skin against your freezing body. He swore softly under his breath as he held you closer and started rubbing your arm, trying to warm you up. With his arms around you, you didn’t feel so exposed to the whims and fancies of life and its cruelty. You felt safe.

You felt the overwhelming urge to cry. "It's so stupid," you mumbled. "Everyone does this. I've been doing it, for years and years now. I just..." you squeezed your eyes shut, sagging against Theo. "I can't do it a day more. I can't. I really, really can't."

"I know," he murmured into your hair, massaging soothing circles into your lower back.

"Theo," you choked out, as if you were only just realising who was holding you. Good Theo. Kind Theo. Beautiful Theo who rarely raised his voice at you, who waited up for you no matter how late it was and who held you like you were the most precious thing in the world even after you'd gone off the deep end.

Merlin, you didn't deserve him.

He captured one of your trembling hands in his own. "’M here, amore." 

You exhaled shakily, pressing an ear to his mildly agitated heartbeat. “Why am I so-so broken?” you hiccuped.

'You're not broken. You're just...exhausted. You'll get better."

You subconsciously tightened your grip on his arm. 

"But what if I don't? What if…what if I never get better?"

He pressed a kiss to to the top of your head before tucking you under his chin. "That's okay too."

You swallowed hard, casting a guilty look towards Theo’s chest. You didn't dare meet his eyes. “You’re soaked,” you muttered, half-heartedly trying to free yourself from his hold. His arms tightened around you as he drew you in even closer, rocking you gently. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, him whispering comforting sweet nothings under his breath while you alternated between sobbing into his shirt and feeling numb to how your world had unravelled around you.

But here was Teddy, warm like the sun, and just for a moment you could believe that the world wasn’t truly ending.

[sister-lucifer]

A COLLAB WITH @cryptidcircuswrites ! PLEASE CHECK OUT HIS VERSION HERE! 

Genre: Gore smut 

Summary: A mission goes awry and Toby is shot straight through the skull. Tim decides to take the new hole for a spin, and Toby is more than happy to let him have it. 

Content/warnings: OHHH MY GOOOOD DONT FUCKING READ THIS IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, Toby literally gets his brain fucked, bullet hole wound fucking, explicit gore, I cannot emphasize this enough STRAIGHT UP PENIS IN BRAIN SEX, brain creampie, guns/shooting/etc, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, fake out death, Toby vomits a little at the end, cum leaking out of face holes it should never be in, mirror sex, rough dom top Tim, Tim bullies Toby for his trauma regarding his physically abusive father, use of homophobic language/slurs, degradation, just general nastiness, very mean spirited. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. THIS IS AS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AS IT GETS.

A/N: if you skipped the warnings on this one or didn’t read them all the way, go back and fucking look at all of them, otherwise don’t read. 

Breaking and entering. 

It’s a routine for Tim and Toby at this point. 

Tim can brute force open any door, Toby can pick any lock, and both of them have long since shaken off any qualms about taking a life. They’re skilled at it now, neither of them ever leaving the cabin without their weapon of choice. In a line of work like this one, after all, you can never be too prepared. 

This was supposed to be easy. 

Three people in the house, a couple and their third wheel squatting in an abandoned vacation home. Bare bones interior, probably no weapons. 

Probably.

A lot of good ‘probably’ had done them. 

Toby had gone in while Tim stood watch in the doorway, just in case one of their targets tried to run out. His revolver fit into his palm like a glove, his grip confident and ready. He’s done this a million times before. 

Tim can only hear the altercation going on in the back rooms of the house, but he has a good idea of what’s happening. 

The sound of a hatchet coming down onto a throat. 

One down. 

A woman screams. Something knocks over, a shelf or a table. A splatter. Silence.

Two down.

A man cries out. Something hits the wall. Rogers swears. There’s a struggle. A gunshot rings out. 

…A gunshot. 

A gunshot?! 

Footsteps.

Fast, frantic footsteps coming down the hallway. 

Tim readies himself, aiming towards the dark hall with a hand that is far too steady. He’s holding his breath. The steps are getting closer. 

In a split second’s time the last target emerges from the shadows, Tim’s gaze zeroes in on the whites of his eyes and the trigger of his revolver is pulled by a swift finger one, two, then three times. 

The shots ring in his ears as the body falls limply to the floor, devoid of life in an instant. 

Three down. 

But still one bullet unaccounted for. 

“Rogers?” Tim calls into the hallway, stepping over the body without looking down. 

No answer.

“Rogers!” He says again, with more authority this time. 

Nothing. 

That little fucker runs his mouth like an engine at all hours of the day, but now he’s quiet? 

A stabbing pain of fear twists in Tim’s gut. 

Their ‘boss’ won’t let them die, he knows that. The pseudo immortality they’ve been given keeps their bodies functioning and regenerating even after some of the worst injuries one could imagine; he knows that, he’s felt it, and yet… 

This silence is sickening. 

He can’t stop himself from rushing into the makeshift bedroom, heavy boots on the creaky wood floor announcing his presence before he calls for his partner again. 

“Answer me, dammit, Rogers!” 

He looks around the room, scanning the blood splattered walls. Two bodies are slumped against them, opposite to each other, one with its neck severed and the head hanging on by a thread of viscera, and the other with half of its innards thrown to the floor. Neither are Toby, he knows that in an instant. 

Then his gaze trails to the center of the floor. 

The cold washes over him so suddenly he feels faint. He can feel the color draining from his face as he lays eyes on his partner, face down on the ground, a thick splatter of blood painting a moonlit halo around his head. 

Or what’s left of it, anyways.

A hastily fired bullet has carved a path through the boy’s skull and out the other side. 

Clean through. 

Tim’s body seizes with shock, disgust, grief, and everything in between, tensing so suddenly and so harshly he nearly passes out. A hand clamps over his mouth as it opens in a silent scream, a gasp that can’t escape because he can’t breathe. He rushes to the body before he can stop himself. 

“Rogers?! Rogers, get up!” He demands, but the way his voice cracks and trembles shows his true fear. He shakes his partner’s still body harshly, desperate to jar him into consciousness.

There’s no movement. 

Not a sound. 

Tim’s eyes start to wet behind his mask. He shakes harder, even bringing a fist down on his shoulder blade. 

Nothing. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, Toby!” Tim screams, landing a few more punches on his back, “I’ve seen you take worse than this, get up!” 

Not even a twitch. 

The realization settles in like splinters under Tim’s skin. 

He backs away from the body, the room spinning around him. He grasps at his face under his mask, his lungs starting to expand and restrict so fast it’s painful. There’s a searing panic burning the back of his skull and threatening to engulf his entire body. He stumbles back and falls onto one of the now bloodied mattresses their targets had been sleeping on. 

This isn’t happening. 

This isn’t happening. 

He’s not really gone.

He’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone he’s not really gone— 

A sudden noise makes Tim jump out of his skin, his eyes shooting up to find the source of the sound. 

Was that a…cough? 

He looks down at Toby’s body. 

It hasn’t moved. 

Maybe it was just air escaping, or some other weird thing bodies do after death. If he didn’t get up already, then he must be…

Tim nearly screams when Toby suddenly splutters and hacks, his body jerking as he fights for air. Tim is frozen in place as he watches the partner he thought was dead slowly struggle to get up, managing to get on his hands and knees. He coughs again, spitting onto the ground and groaning at the unpleasant but not unfamiliar sight of blood. 

“Yeugh…god, it’s in m-my nose,” Toby mumbles with a sniffle, wiping his face with his sleeve. He doesn’t notice Tim as he sits up on his knees, inspecting himself in a way that is far too casual.

…He has no idea what just happened. 

Tim can feel his eye twitching as he stands up slowly, his frenzied gaze trained on the younger man as he approaches. Toby looks up at the sound of the footsteps, and Tim has to stop himself from reacting to the sight. His body trembles as he forces himself to stay still. 

Toby’s right eye is completely gone. There’s not even a shred of the eyeball left, only a pulsing, bloody cavity he instantly recognizes as the entry hole of a bullet. 

Toby blinks up at Tim with his remaining eye. 

“S-Shit, I must’ve passed out when—bitch!—when h-he hit me, heh. What, you-you thought I was—grrrk!—d-dead for real?” Toby asks with a head tilt and an amused giggle. Tim’s eyes narrow. 

Slowly Tim turns his head, following the imaginary trail the bullet would have made based on where Toby fell. 

Right there, lodged into the decrepit wall right next to the doorway. 

The first bullet. 

Clean through, and out the back. 

Toby follows his gaze, squinting in the dark to see whatever it is his senior partner is seeing. 

“…O-Oh shit,” He mutters, “Talk about a-a close—don’t listen!—a close call—c-call—call me!—hehe…”

Tim stares back at him with a look in his eyes that says ‘You have no fucking idea.’

“…W-Why are you looking at me— a-at me like that?”

Tim looks around. For some reason, he’s not sure how to answer that. 

That is, until he lays eyes on a conspicuously mirror shaped object draped in a sheet and pushed into the corner.

Yeah, it’s easier to just show him.

Tim shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walks over to the mirror, trying not to rush. He’s annoyed with Toby for scaring him like that and nearly bringing him to tears, even if it’s not really his fault. Maybe startling him a bit will take the edge off that embarrassment. 

Toby’s eye follows him closely as he walks, then watches as his hand slowly raises to grasp the sheet obscuring the mirror. His brow raises, curiosity piqued. 

The sheet is pulled away in an instant. The cloud of dust that results makes Toby cough, trying to wave it away from his face. He squints through the grimy mist, struggling to make out his own reflection in the mirror.

“L-Look, Tim, I don’t know what it-it is that you n-need me to—suck it! fuck you!—see, but I-I don’t— Oh my fucking God?!”

There it is. 

Toby crawls closer to the mirror, his remaining eye wider than Tim had ever seen it and the hole where the matching one would’ve been stretching gruesomely. 

Tim winces. Toby can’t feel it, even if he could feel pain normally all that nerve damage would make it numb, but Tim can’t stop imagining what it would feel like. 

“…Jesus Christ…” Is all Toby can manage as he looks at what remains of his face. He feels around the wound, getting far too close to touching the exposed insides for Tim’s comfort. Toby stares at himself for a long few moments. Tim can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

Then Toby turns to his partner, and to Tim’s surprise, he’s sporting the widest, most lopsided grin he’s ever seen, his crooked teeth stained with blood on one side where it runs down his cheek from the wound. Tim holds back a shudder. 

“The fuck you cheesin’ for?” Tim growls, walking around behind Toby to see him in the mirror, “You nearly got half your damn face blown off!” 

“Relax, o-old man!” Toby replies without missing a beat, “In a-a few days there won’t e-even be a— b-be a mark…”

Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask. That’s true, yes. An injury this extensive will take a bit to regenerate, but it’ll grow back like nothing happened. Still, Toby doesn’t even seem mildly disturbed. He practically saw himself die, and here he is giggling to himself and moving his face in odd ways just to see the horrid wound contort in the mirror. The quiet squelching noises it makes nearly bring Tim to vomit. 

“…You’re not even a little put off by the fact that…you know. You’re missing half your fuckin’ face?!” 

Toby lets out a sharp laugh at Tim’s outburst, amused by his clear discomfort. 

“Don’t be s-such a—bitch! bastard!— baby, I-I think it’s—asshole!—I think it’s k-kinda cool. Besides…”

He turns to look up at Tim, yellow teeth glowing in the moonlight that leaks in through the busted windows. 

“…I-I got a brand new hole f-for you to try out.” 

Tim gasps in disgust. Before he can think a hand comes up to smack Toby upside the head, though he immediately regrets it when a splatter of blood is thrown to the floor as Toby rocks forward. 

“Don’t say shit like that, you dirty fuckin’ pervert!” 

Toby nearly breaks out into hysterics at that, grabbing his sides as he laughs like a maniac. His tics increase tenfold at the sudden rush of energy, his fingers flexing unnaturally and tearing at his sweatshirt.

“H-How can I not?! You m-make it so f-fucking—fuck! funny!— fun, haha!” Toby replies, his voice cracking as his head jerks involuntarily in all directions.

Tim crosses his arms, huffing in annoyance but not sure what to say. He can feel his cheeks getting warm under his mask. He hates when Toby laughs at him. It pisses him off like nothing else. 

He stares daggers into Toby’s restless reflection as he leans into the mirror to inspect his wound again, mumbling to himself endlessly and doing his best to stay still. 

Toby’s rambling starts to fade out as Tim glares at his mirror image. He can feel something dark bubbling up inside of him, its vines sprawling out and over his body as he marinates in his thoughts. 

He thought he was gone. 

For a second there, he really thought he’d lost Toby for good.

And now here he is, without a care in the world, looking at his own fucking gunshot wound like it’s a new tattoo. 

Someone oughta teach this kid a lesson. 

Tim’s not sure what comes over him, but something, a nagging little thought has settled into his brain and taken root there. It thumps in the back of his skull like a heartbeat under the floorboards. He pulls one of his hands from its glove, looking down at his bare palm. 

“…You think this is all some joke, don’t you?” Tim mutters, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Toby doesn’t even turn to look at him. 

“W-Why are so damn u-uptight, old man? It’s not—grrrk!—it’s not like I d-died. Psuedo-immortality, r-remember?”

“But you could’ve. You know at the end of the day you can’t really trust anything that monster gives you. It would kill you in an instant if it felt threatened or betrayed.” 

“T-The fuck is your— i-is your problem?!”

Suddenly Toby isn’t all smiles anymore. His head jerks to the side violently, pulling a sickening pop from his neck. Tim is used to these mood swings, but that doesn’t stop the heavy tension that settles over the room. 

“Y-You’re always on my back about something, a-aren’t you old man?!” Toby hisses. Tim’s ungloved hand squeezes and flexes at his side. 

“You a-always got something to say about m-me, or what I—fucker! shit!—what I-I think, you can never j-just let me—“ 

Toby is cut off as a high pitched cry is violently forced from his throat, making his body spasm as it dissolves into an animalistic moan like neither of them have ever heard. It feels like every nerve in his body is seizing, splitting apart and contorting under his skin. He almost screams at the feeling, but he can’t manage it. He’s choking on nothing.

There’s a sickening squelch as something is ripped from the back of his skull, and he falls forward onto his hands, dizzy and struggling to breathe. 

“W-What…what the f-fuck…was…”

He can’t even finish the sentence between his inability to process the unnatural sensation that just overtook him and the indescribable feeling still rippling through his body. 

Slowly he cranes his neck to look back up into the mirror. Instantly his eye is locked onto Tim’s, but he isn’t looking back. He’s staring at something else. 

He follows Tim’s gaze down slowly, swallowing thickly with a sudden nervousness. His eye widens as it falls on the thing that has captivated Tim‘s gaze: 

His ungloved hand, the middle and ring fingers now dripping with blood and viscera not his own. 

No. Fucking. Way.

“Did…d-did you just…”

Tim doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to. 

For the first time in a long time, Toby is still. His twitching and jerking ceases, his face halts its uncomfortable wrenching; He’s still, and soundless. 

There’s a beat of silence where they both just stare at Tim’s bloodied hand, neither of them moving an inch. It’s like time has stopped in this instant. Toby can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his brain. Something in his chest is twisting and turning with a burning emotion he can’t quite place yet. 

He doesn’t even have time to process the sudden movement before Tim has plunged his fingers into the wound once again. 

This time Toby is forced to watch his reflection in the mirror as Tim violates the gorey cavity, thick digits rooting around inside his head and shooting a new sensation through him with every touch. His entire body stiffens, his mouth falling open involuntarily as he loses control of it. He can feel his senses being reduced to mush as he groans, the endless sound falling from his lips in unintelligible waves. It’s mindless, desperate babbling, but he can’t do anything else. 

Toby watches the depraved scene in the mirror until his eye starts to roll back in his head, further than it should be able to. Tim watches the hazel iris recede until only white is left. Only then does he finally give some reprieve, yanking his hand back and shaking off the chunks that come with it.

Toby’s head bows towards the ground as he catches his breath, his entire body rocking as he heaves desperately for air. He’s too preoccupied to notice the way Tim is leering down at him, his breathing now hot and labored. 

“…How did that feel?” 

Toby sneers at the question, not looking up. 

“H-How did it feel?! You’re d-digging around—shhhh!— in m-my fucking brain, d-dipshit, how do you— d-do you think it f-feels?!”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I know it doesn’t hurt, so how does it feel?” 

For some reason, Toby doesn’t have an answer to that. He wants to snap back with something witty and biting, to tell him it feels like Hell and back and if he doesn’t stop he’ll scatter his brains next, but…

That wouldn’t be the total truth. 

“…It…I-It feels…” He stammers, unable to find the words. He sits back up on his knees, locking eyes with his partner in the mirror. Tim is silent. He’s anticipating the rest of that sentence. Toby thinks for a moment, a series of tongue clicks in an odd rhythm sounding as he pauses. 

“…It…I-It wasn’t bad, if that’s w-what you’re looking for.” 

Tim’s breath hitches. 

Only Toby could hear a sound so small, yet so telling. 

He has to push this further.

“A-Actually it was kind of…k-kind of good, y-you know? I-I don’t know—rrrngh!—how to explain it, but i-it just…it’s like n-nothing I’ve ever f-felt or imagined, I-I—“

Toby cuts himself off with a gasp as Tim grasps his hair tightly. His other hand moves to his belt. The sound of the metal buckle makes Toby shiver. 

Tim leans down a bit, speaking lowly to his partner. 

“Keep talking.” 

Toby’s stomach flips. 

Tim’s not giving him a choice.

“I-It’s like…fuck, it’s l-like every muscle in my— in my b-body is spasming like c-crazy,” Toby continues, watching with crazed eyes as Tim slides the belt from its loops. He grits his teeth as it clatters to the ground. 

He doesn’t want this to stop. 

He has to keep going. 

“I-It’s like f-fire under my skin, b-but I can’t feel t-the burn…” 

Tim’s hand moves to the fly of his jeans. 

“…I-I lose all control of m-my body, I can’t—fuck off!—I-I can’t even think, i-it just all turns i-into gibberish…”

Tim tugs down his zipper, and Toby can see his twitching bulge straining against his boxers. 

“…It’s l-like I can feel myself l-losing my mind, and I c-can’t do anything— d-do anything about it, I c-can’t even p-put—put it back! put it back!—put together a sentence…”

Tim hooks a thumb under the waistband of his boxers. He starts to push them down. 

“…F-Fuck, Tim, I-I wanna feel it again.” 

Toby clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the moan that threatens to break free as he watches Tim’s erection spring free from the confines of his clothes. He’s thick and uncut, throbbing with rabid need. Toby shudders as his partner lets out a relieved groan, breathing hard under his mask. 

“S-Shit, Tim…y-your—your cock! your cock!—n-no! I mean you’re—your cock! your cock! fat cock!—dammit! I-I didn’t mean to s-say that—!”

“I’m taking you up on your offer, Rogers…” Tim growls, cutting off Toby’s attempt to explain himself. He grabs Toby’s head with both hands, fingers digging into the front of his wound on one side and the gash in his cheek on the other. This time Toby doesn’t bother to stop the moan that crawls up his throat as he feels Tim’s cock rut against the back of his head.

“…I wanna give this new hole of yours a proper fucking. What do you say?”

Toby can’t see Tim’s mouth, but he can tell he’s smiling from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners behind his mask. Toby groans at the thought. He can’t stop the crooked grin that spreads across his pale face like butter on a hot pan.

“P…P-Please, Tim,” He whispers, and he knows he’s hit a nerve when he feels Tim‘s grip tighten for a moment.

“…Please what, Rogers?” 

He figured he wouldn’t get it that easy. 

“Please, Tim,” Toby continues, sucking in  a breath and swallowing his pride, “I-I want you t-to fuck me, please—“ 

Tim ruts against the back of his head again, barely brushing his wound. He wants more.

“P-Please, fuck, I-I’m—need! give it!—I’m begging you! I need it, I-I need you to fuck m-my brains out, please!” 

Tim shifts his hips. He’s lining up at the opening. 

It’s working. 

“Please, please, p-please, Tim, I-I want you to f-fuck my brain! I n-need to—fffuck! fuck! fuck!—I need t-to feel it! Please, dammit, j-just fucking—!”

Toby doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. 

Tim shoves himself inside the bloody cavity without warning, forcing Toby’s brain out of the way as his cock enters. The scream that rocks Toby’s body is as lustful as it is carnal and gruesome. He reaches up on instinct and grabs Tim’s wrists, not trying to pull his hands away but holding on for dear life before he loses the ability to move at all. 

“You broke so easy,” Tim sneers as he bottoms out, talking over Toby’s uncontrollable moaning, “What would the others think if they saw you begging for dick like a whore on the street? Huh?!”

He punctuates his sentence with a sudden rut of his hips, making Toby yelp and his body jerk. His nails dig into Tim’s arms, and the pain is delicious. 

Tim studies the scene before him in the mirror. 

It’s disgusting. It’s horrid. He can see the tip of his leaking cock resting inside his partner’s skull. 

He doesn’t want this to end. 

He’s going to relish this opportunity, every sickening moment of it. 

“What would they think…”

Tim starts to pull back, breath trembling at the slick noises from the movement.

“…If they knew I had you whining for me like a dirty fuckin’ sissy?!”

He pushes back in with even more force than before. Blood is forced out the front of the wound, dripping down Toby’s face and onto the floor, leaving a red trail on his skin. His meaningless babbling is music to Tim’s ears.

Again Tim pulls back, faster this time, and pushes in again. He watches Toby’s face in the mirror as he finds his rhythm, completely enamored as it contorts with overwhelming sensations that no human should ever experience. His mouth is hanging completely open, his tongue limp and lying against his chin as he pants and wails desperately like a dog in heat. He’s starting to drool from the lack of muscle control.

There’s something about watching Toby quite literally lose his mind at his hand that makes Tim feel like God. 

“You know, I like you a lot better when you can’t run your mouth,” Tim says with a chuckle. He digs his fingers into the front of the wound, groping around in the cavity and feeling the pulsing meat shift under the pads of his fingertips.

“You’re lucky I’m not gonna tell anyone about this, not gonna tell the others you’re a nasty fuckin’ faggot who’s so desperate for dick you’d take it in your brain…at least someone’s finally making use of the lump of meat in your head, eh?!”

He pulls Toby’s skull back on his cock hard and fast, fucking into the hole with more fervor than he thought possible. His arms are bleeding now from where Toby’s nails are digging in, his knuckles locked up as his motor function is ripped to shreds. 

Tim’s eyes trail down the reflection as he thrusts, down to Toby’s body and stopping at the tent in his pants. There’s a painfully obvious stain on his groin now where his erection is straining against the denim of his jeans with wretched need. His precum is leaking through the material in viscous waves, a constant stream of shameful arousal. It looks like it hurts, like his zipper is about to burst, but Tim has no interest in granting him even that small mercy of freeing his hard-on. 

“Damn,” He mumbles to himself, watching the liquid pool where the tip of his partner’s cock pushes against his pants, “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just tolerating it to see how far I’ll go, you’re getting off on this shit! You’re a dirty fuckin’ boy slut!” 

He’s getting mean, meaner than he really needs to be, but he doesn’t care. Toby might not even be able to hear him, and even if he can, Tim’s not going to waste this chance while his partner can’t snap back. 

He ruts his hips more intentionally, trying to hit every spot he can. He’s catching on to patterns, that certain touches here or there make Toby twitch or jerk or yelp involuntarily. His eye has rolled back in his head almost completely. It looks agonizing, and it only makes Tim thrust faster. 

“Then again, in that messed up little mind of yours I bet this is nothing. You’re so used to gettin’ beat on this practically soft to you, ain’t it?! Or did your old man slam your head into the concrete too many times for you to know the damn difference?!” 

Tim’s practically screaming at him now, drool running down his chin and neck as he loses himself to the pleasure. It’s unbearably hot under his mask, but he can’t bring himself to release his death grip on Toby’s head to take it off. 

“I should’ve put you in your place a long time ago, lord knows you’ve needed it for who knows how long!” 

Tim angles his hips upward a bit, brushing against a certain spot that makes Toby tense and cry out suddenly. The thing Tim notices most, though, is the way Toby’s cock twitches in his pants. It spurts just a bit, not climaxing yet but getting dangerously close. The stain on the front of his pants is only growing with each passing second that Tim violates his brain.

“Oh, you really are disgusting,” Tim huffs, “You’re really about to cum in your pants, and I haven’t even touched your cock? That’s pathetic, Rogers.”

Tim angles his hips up again just to watch the precum gush from his partner’s tip, his stomach flipping in his gut at the thought that Toby is so, so damn close, but he can’t beg for more or touch himself or even move at all. 

“Nngh…Like hell I’m gonna let a little bitch boy like you cum first, though.” 

He takes a moment to adjust his grip. He’s preparing for the last stretch. 

The speed of his thrusting increases tenfold, completely losing all sense of rhythm. He can feel the pleasure taking him over, melting his resolve and screaming at him to go, go, go, just keeping going, go until you can’t anymore, and that’s exactly what he intends to do. 

“You better take all of my cum, Rogers,” Tim growls through gritted teeth, “Though I ain’t exactly giving you a choice, am I? You’ll take it whether you like it or not…” 

He hasn’t looked away from Toby’s face in the mirror. The sight of it twitching and frozen in a state of screaming ecstasy is like a horrific work of art. Tim’s never going to forget it. He won’t forget any of this. Every second is burned into his brain, and he’s more than happy to keep it that way.

The gory cavity is carved into the shape of Tim’s cock by now, each thrust only feeding the growing puddle of blood and viscera on the ground below Toby. That stain will stay there forever, Tim thinks. A permanent reminder of the debauchery the two of them are so gleefully partaking in. The idea of someone else finding this old house scattered with bodies, walking around and not even knowing the half of what these walls have been subjected to…

God, that’s good. 

The knot in Tim’s stomach starts to tighten. 

He can’t hold on for much longer. Neither can Toby. 

Tim angles his hips in that special way again, hitting that sensitive spot over and over and over again with each frenzied thrust. Toby’s practically soaking himself now, so close to the edge but not quite close enough to fall off, though he runs the risk with each passing second. It’s barely a matter of time. 

Faster, faster, faster, that’s the only thing Tim can think. 

More, more, more, that’s all he can think about.

Faster, faster, faster, more, more, more, more, more more more moremoremore—

“Shit!” 

Suddenly Tim throws his head back with a wild noise, his cock releasing without warning into the bloody cavity he’s been so graciously desecrating. At the same time he brushes that spot again, and it’s finally enough to give Toby his release, too, only a second later. His cum soaks the front of his now completely ruined jeans, the shameful stain running down his groin and thighs. The scream he lets out as his climax rocks his body will haunt Tim’s dreams. 

Tim’s thrusting doesn’t slow to a stop until it feels like his balls are empty. Only then does he finally go still, allowing himself to breathe. He looks up at the ceiling as he pants, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as his orgasm gradually washes away.

Finally Tim allows his fingers to unfurl, releasing Toby as he pulls his cock from his ruined skull. It comes back soaked in blood and sticky with viscera, taking a few chunks with it. He tries to step back, but Toby’s still gripping his wrists.

He manages to shake him off, only for Toby’s body to go completely limp and fall forward, face first onto the dusty wood floor and into the puddle of mixed bodily fluids. He twitches a bit, but doesn’t move or show any signs of life beyond that. Anyone else would think he’s dead. 

“I’m not falling for that again,” Tim mumbles with an eye roll, using his discarded glove to wipe off his now flaccid cock before tucking it back into his boxers and zipping up his pants. 

He crouches over Toby, grabbing his hair and forcing him up from the floor back onto his knees. All Toby can manage is a pathetic groan. Tim studies his partner’s fucked-out face in the mirror for a moment, watching as the blood and seed lazily roll down his cheek and chin. He can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“…Anything to say for yourself?” Tim asks teasingly, shaking him a bit.

The only response he gets is the sound of gagging as Toby retches. Tim barely moves back in time to watch him cough up a horrible concoction of blood, cum, and God knows what else without being in the splash zone. 

“Goddammit, watch it!” Tim scolds cruelly, “If you hurl on my new boots I’m leaving you like this.” 

He at least has the decency to let Toby finish before scooping up his limp, helpless body. He carries him under his arm like a log, not taking any care to be gentle.

“I’ll get you back home to Eyeless,” Tim mutters, “He doesn’t ask too many questions, and he’ll patch you up good ‘til you’re all healed…” 

Tim tries not to think too hard as he carries his partner out of the house, away from the crime scene and into the endless wooded darkness. 

All is quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Tim’s heavy steps on the dry leaves. That is, until what Tim thinks is a muffled giggle sounds from his partner. He stops and looks back, but there’s no more noise. 

Dammit, he thinks. 

Neither of us are going to be forgetting this. 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

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[gildedphoenix]

During the great depression, somebody made a wish. Fueled by desperation, powered by the pure dumb luck of being in the right place at the right time to be heard by an ancient Djinn (it was totally Desire) with a sense of humor. 

After the wish, everyone had a red string hanging off their left pinky. It dangled down a few inches and then just faded into non-existence. Nobody knew what it was for a few years but then stories started coming out. People finding their perfect match after feeling a tug at their string and following it. The string would twist and twine and lengthen as you got closer to your fated mate, your strings eventually connecting together. 

Most people’s strings just hung limp. Maybe listing in one direction or another. But 8 Billion people in the world and only one is your soul mate? Most people didn’t meet theirs. It was true that your soulmate was always within 10 years of age as you. But 10 years older to 10 years younger still gave you a 20 year range to work with. Everyone’s string appeared by the time they were 10. Some babies were born with their string already spun, a small red thread fading off into a wisp after a scant inch. 

Nowadays, it was common to go on a “string chase” vacation after graduating high school. Some people were close enough to their soulmates that they could just follow the leadings of their string, which would become longer and more opaque the closer you got to your mate. If your string gave you no leads, there were all kinds of "methods" to help pick which direction you should go.

Tucker and Sam were determined to go on string chase journeys post graduation. Tucker because he loved the excitement of an adventure, Sam to find someone who would truly understand her.

Danny was not so hopeful. At one point they'd all agreed to go together, but Sam felt like she was being led to the west coast while Tucker was just going to start in Metropolis, the nearest big city and go from there, hopping the next train out of town after a few days if he still had a slack string.

After a lengthy discussion of pros and cons, they decided that Tucker was more likely to get himself into trouble than Sam, so Danny found himself packing light and on a Greyhound to Metropolis. It was a shitty trip. Objectively the worst way to travel. Walking, or even hitch hiking would have been more pleasant. The bus was late. They had no way of making their connection in Chicago, and the vent fan in the bathroom was broken, making the bus reek of sewage.

Danny has shit luck and just doesn't believe he'll ever find his soulmate. The universe just doesn't like him that much.

Jason has, somehow, always had a leading direction on his string. When he was younger, there was nothing he could do about it. And now he had baggage and didn't want to pursue romance or relationship. (Even though he's a total sap for soulmate meet stories)

While in Gotham, both their strings keep tugging and lengthening and then falling slack again.

----

I know this isn't much but I promised myself I would post whatever I had and it's almost 1 am. So there. There's that fucking thing. I'll try to flesh it out more tomorrow, Enjoy red ♥️🧵♥️

[nonnieapple]

Afk journey, Sinbad, trans male/gender neutral reader, nsfw fanfiction. (I love this man very much)🤍

⛈️☂️Hook, Line, and Sinker☂️⛈️

• (Sinbad x trans!male!Reader)

• r a t i n g: e x p l i c i t • 4 1 4 0 w o r d s

• p o s t e d: 01.11.2024🌧️ navigation

n o t e: sinbad is so hot, i wish men were real :( s u m m a r y: sinbad walks in at the worst possible time, and the following events complicate your relationship further.

It was nearing night, and the hamsters were fast asleep as well as most guests of the inn. 

  When Sinbad walked into your room, you were staring out of the window with a wistful look, like the look his mothers had when they gazed out at the sea, remembering their husbands, lost forever to the fog and unrelenting waves. He wondered who you longed after, if anyone. Maybe you longed for home. Or for something he couldn't possibly imagine. 

  Before he closed the door, you broke the silence. 

  "You dare disturb my rest?"

  Even turned away, you heard him. Your voice sent tingles up his leg. The room veered towards cold, the windows open, making the curtains flutter like sails. 

  "You're really living it up in here," Sinbad remarked, inviting himself to sit down on the fancy armchair flanked by another and a couch in the west of your room. 

  He hadn't ever been in it yet, and he was sure you wouldn't mind if he just sprawled out a little, he stretched, his boots hitting the leg of the short table. Lit candles sitting upon golden thrones flickered on it. Two glasses and a bottle were there as well. 

  "As I should, I was to have a vacation, and I'm still getting it, Cedartown or not." You made your way to the couch, your visage somewhat blurry from all the glamour swallowing up your form, the air around you swaying. 

  If he looked at you too long, he could see something was terribly wrong. It was not something anyone could notice at first, or at second sight, only those looking for it might begin to pull at the thread. He stopped examining you. He wasn't sure what he'd find. 

  You were like the fog that had almost killed him- leading him in mental circles until he went mad trying to get himself out of it. 

  Sinbad's leg jerked when you approached. You stood, close, your robe made of small, black, and knitted net. It should've revealed everything you wore under it- instead, everything around your chest and hips darkened and blurred. 

  The magic that wafted off you made his head spin. Or maybe it was that he drank too much. Sinbad sighed shakily as you ghosted your touch over his face, your eyes sharp and inhuman. The next second, they turned warm. 

  "Did you drink that swill again? Here, drink something good for once." 

  He barely caught the bottle you threw into his arms, and he thought, somewhat incredulously, You're too kind.

  But, really, Magister- I don't know what to think of you. One second you wanna kill me and the next you're my savior. 

  I'll never know who you are, will I?

  His eyes skimmed over the label. Dark liquid sloshed within darker green walls. "Woah! Fancy stuff. It's actually red."

  The wine he was used to at most establishments was pale, watered down to save costs. You shrugged. You must've been used to good wine, good food, good people. He envied you. 

  "It's from an... old friend."

  The way you said that with so much hesitance made his heart drop. 

  "They must be rich."

  Sinbad popped open the bottle and poured himself some. He might as well indulge, and your room was a good place to do that. Upon second thought it might be questionable. 

  He had to hold back on drinking. He couldn't afford to do something stupid.

  "Beyond that, and a massive drunkard I could never deny, but as I don't drink I have no use for his gifts." You took up the whole couch, propping up your head with a hand, the other playing idly with the belt of your delicate robe. 

  If he was to be mean, he'd liken you to a fish caught in a net, but he couldn't lie, you were more of a siren. 

  You hummed.

  "I guess I could have a glass."

  You poured yourself nearly half the bottle, and swallowed a third of the glass, drinking like a fish. He struggled not to gawk at you. 

  "Old friend... bet you have plenty of those. Not like it bothers me," he tacked on at the end, scratching at his scalp lightly. 

  The fireplace crackled and sputtered red. Strange, it gave off no warmth. Was it magic? Sheesh, what about you wasn't magic? 

  The rug beneath his boots was sure real, and a real good rug, too. If he were to get piss drunk he'd choose the rug over the street to pass out on. Oh, there were even pillows on the floor. Perfect. 

  "I mean it. We were friends, he isn't an old flame- as far as I know."

  As far as you knew?

  "You sure about that?" He raised a brow. 

  "Quite. Though one actual old flame, I wonder how she's doing. It's been a while, I last saw her in Holistone, it has been months since then. Damn Hogan for sending me on this "vacation", now I'm stuck in the middle of the sea with no idea when I'll see him or Valen. He should've gone with me."

  Pushing aside his slight offense at the Rustport slander, you had mentioned General Hogan and Valen a few times. One was a Magistrate and, guess what, General of Holistone, the other some swashbuckling knight who, as he understood it, was hitting on you. 

  "Well, I'm glad he didn't."

  "Hm? Why is that?" You smirked, your eyes glimmering like the wine you swished in your hand.

  If Sinbad was pale, you would've seen his face lose color in an instant. 

  "I mean- I meant- he would've drowned in his armor, is all! It would've been worse than what happened to Chippy." 

  He drank quickly so he couldn't see your gloating expression.

  "You're holding your glass like you're throttling a neck." 

  Even if he drank and drank, he still heard your voice, and if he plugged his ears, you'd get into his mind, too. 

  He couldn't tell if that was a way to hint at his discomfort or point out his terrible manners. 

  "I'm not much of a wine drinker."

  You, on the other hand, held your glass between your thumb and forefinger ever so lightly. That fucking hand was calling him poor just at a glance. 

  "This better?" He emulated the way you did it, though it was nowhere near as graceful. 

  "Much better. The wine compliments your shirt." 

  The red, satin shirt, an illusion you cast, felt good nonetheless, and the wine was divine. It was bright, just sweet enough, and with a hint of berries and zest. It tasted more like the few fruits he had tried than the usual- as you put it- "swill" he drank. 

  It settled warmly in his chest, with the occasional sour tingle in his cheeks. 

  Sinbad didn't want to leave your room. It was fancy, and more importantly, it had wine AND you. 

  "How've you been?" You said between sips, your expression softening. 

  "Good. I've been spending a lot of time poking around the ship, avoiding going to Brineville so I don't have to explain myself. Things are better than before I met ya, anyway, I can finally do what I want, and... everything's so calm." 

  It was strange to not have to think about every little expense anymore for the village now that no one threatened its safety, and he was essentially a "hero". Sure, he still had to make money somehow and Rustport was as rusty as ever, but so much had been lifted off his shoulders. 

  By you, no less. 

  He'd said he'd repay you. That nagged at his mind sometimes. What could you possibly want? 

  It was nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be worse than what he had gone through. 

  "Planning on leaving soon?" 

  If he wasn't mistaken, he saw you frown ever so slightly. 

  "Not yet. I've got a lot to do here before I leave. What about you?" 

  You threw back your head and let your hair spill over the edge of the couch. 

  "You know, been here and there, helping people as I do, went fishing with my familiars. I like helping people and spending time with them but I do need alone time." 

  That was why the hamsters were in another room. Sinbad had to admit, they were cute and had grown on him. You truly were the most precious thing he had ever found washed up on the beach. He'd be no one without you. 

  "Are you leaving soon?" 

  You shook your head. "I want to stay a bit longer, until you leave, I suppose. I won't have much to do then. I'm dealing with people's problems rather quickly." 

  Of course, you weren't staying only for him. You were busy. 

  "I'm glad you're staying a bit longer." He couldn't imagine being without you now. You were the closest friend he'd had. Everyone wanted something from him, and you had asked for the least, always generous, if quirky. 

  You smiled, returning his giddy expression, which he hadn't noticed himself pull. 

  He felt his face get warmer. Must've been all the wine. 

  He and you listened to the crackling of the fire, finishing your glasses. You lounged like a cat. You were the image of peace when you closed your eyes. He rolled up his sleeves, feeling somewhat hot all of a sudden. He waited for you to kick him out, it'd happen sooner or later.

  You watched from under your lashes. 

  "I was surprised that you had tattoos, though they are common here," you said. 

  He had helm tattoos on each forearm. "Funny story, I got them when I was drunk, like, extremely. I don't remember where or how exactly I got them." At least they healed fine and he had not felt much pain. He hadn't felt much at all.

  "They suit you well." Your eyes lingered for a while. 

  "I have more that you haven't seen." He smirked, putting on that smooth-talking persona again. 

  "Although tempting, you won't smooth-talk me, Sinbad," you said sternly. 

  He sighed. A guy had to try. You were so damn hard to scam and trick, it was annoying. You were one of the only people immune to his charms. You were looking at him like he was a helpless animal. Again. 

  Instead of words of pity, he was hit with: 

  "You look upset. Mope in another room, I'm exhausted," you said, yawning and turning away from him unceremoniously. 

  He left with a huff. 

  "Good night to you too, Magister Merlin." 

  ...

  "Good night." 

  He should've been asleep.

  Sinbad crept across the hall towards your newly luxurious room, careful not to make a sound, like he was escaping from a dungeon (like he had many times). 

  Sinbad cracked open your door. Strange, he left it unlocked, he thought. The room was dark and silent except for the sounds of the breeze coming in through the windows, like breaths.

  You seemed to be asleep, as far as he could tell. He was sure he had heard something from your room. Maybe it had been the wind.

  "Magister?" he said into the black, closing the door behind himself. It was not entirely dark, he noticed as he moved towards your canopy bed, as there was a lone candle burning close to the window. 

  The fireplace had no remains of smoldering wood. 

  The windows- they were closed shut. The sound was not from there. Had it been the draft instead? If this was how noisy the good rooms were, he'd go complain to Bols later. 

  Sinbad pushed past the closed curtains of the canopy bed, the fabric heavy and lush, a velvet he hadn't even dreamed of touching before, with much trepidation, his heart tense, ready for a beast to lunge at him any moment. 

  He didn't see what happened, it happened swiftly, the shape in the bed shifting loudly. The sound of the breeze halted. 

  "Ah, Sinbad. I was just thinking of you," you said, and it was undeniably you, your voice quiet yet clear, a little exasperated, your breathing so shallow he would've believed you if you said you had run around the whole of Rustport in a minute. 

  He would've believed you if you hadn't been in your bed all this time.

  "Why aren't you asleep?" he stammered with wide eyes, gaze lost as he adjusted, making out your fuzzy shape. It was leaner than usual. He sensed none of your usual glamours on you.

  "I could ask the same of you." 

  He leaned his knee on the bed, and you moved away. 

  "Some noise woke me up, and I thought it came from your room. Was I right?" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, seeing that you lay rigid and didn't want him to come near you. To him, it seemed that something had happened, and you were uncooperative as to what. 

  One of his jobs was to get information. Clearly, he wasn't much good at it with you around. 

  "Did something happen, Magister? You're worrying me." His brows lowered over his honey-brown eyes. 

  "You didn't knock. You should leave my room." The light brightened against your face. Your skin was dewy and your hair was disheveled, the bedsheets in disarray. You were a mess. 

  The Merlin, a mess? 

  "I did know- and- you can't kick me out again!" He leaned over you as you leaned against cushiony pillows.

  You pushed on his chest to get him away, your hand hot and humid. 

  "... Are you dense or what?" you snapped. "What do you think I'm doing in a dark room, alone, in my bed, gasping for air?" 

  His face transitioned from bewilderment to horror. 

  Oooh.

  Embarrassment hit him like a wave. Holy Tritonus, he had heard you moaning. In this case, he was dense beyond belief. And the reason you were recoiling wasn't because something was wrong, it was, because, well. He chose the worst possible time to intrude. 

  And the reason your frame seemed leaner now was because you had no glamours concealing your body indeed, and no clothes besides that robe. He could see your bare skin between the fabric you held together with a tense hand. 

  He had trouble not looking. And it wasn't the wine, that had long left his system. 

  "Shit, I... I didn't..."

  He had no excuse, and so close to you, caging you in, neither of you could escape, captured in the world's most awkward stalemate. The words drowned in the depths of his mind.

  "You said you were thinking about me earlier. Do you mean...?" he trailed off, his voice mumbling and strained. Everything felt like a dream. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't frozen. 

  "I left the door open for you. I didn't expect you to come." 

  Sinbad's breathing had accelerated. He had already had thoughts about you. He couldn't possibly resist anything you asked him to do. That hint of servitude remained in him, and he was all eager to please. 

  "I'm here." He tried to smile, but it came out rather strained. 

  You pulled him in by tangling your hands in his freshly dried hair. Your lips were one push away. 

  He had already gotten ready for bed- his skin infused with whatever fancy soaps he managed to snatch this time. It mixed with that woody scent of a faraway home that clung to you no matter how many times you got drenched with rain or seawater. 

  "So?" 

  He felt your every breath. Berries. 

  "So..."

  You kissed him first. 

  You were far from a reserved, shy mage. You nipped at his lip and broke the kiss just to piss him off. 

  He cursed like the sailor he was. Next thing he knew, his boots were lost in the dark along with his scarf (it felt like sacrilege to wear it during this), his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned by your nimble fingers. You traced over the anchor tattoo between his collarbone and shoulder. 

  That wasn't how he expected you to find it. 

  Your hips were fuller than they appeared, filling him with thoughts he couldn't possibly speak, and your waist was small, perfect for holding when he-

  Your chest wasn't quite... flat. That made him stop. His silent question hung in the air. 

  "I'm trans," you said, amused at how he was surprised by you again and again. You had hidden your chest to a point where he couldn't have guessed. 

  He had never been with someone like you (in any sense), but he didn't mind. 

  Your chest was soft, each breast perfectly fitting into his hand. At each caress and pull you reacted accordingly. It was his turn to be amused, and he was enjoying it immensely. 

  Your face and voice did not falter, the only thing betraying your feelings being your shallow breathing. Would your breaking point be easy to reach, or would he reach his first? 

  Goosebumps raised on your thighs when he felt them up with his calloused fingers. Only the richest of the rich could have pristine hands in Rustport. Sinbad spread your legs with little resistance from you, his hand wrapping around most of your thighs' circumference. 

  His hand dipped between your legs. You were wet, the wetness covering parts of your inner thighs. The hotness ignited a fever in him, a fever he hadn't felt in a long time, and never so strongly. Most of his prior fucks were hookups, and sometimes, to get out of uncomfortable situations in his jobs. They didn't happen often and he hardly looked forward to them. With you, he could hardly stop his hands and other body parts of his from thrusting right into you. You were by far the hottest guy he'd been with.

  At the rough touch on your clit you jolted with a soft sigh, your legs closing on instinct, but they were stopped by Sinbad being in the way. 

  The thought crossed his mind that you were surrounded by others from all sides, and at any second, anyone could walk in. He didn't mind- he liked a bit of danger. 

  "How are you feeling?" he whispered close to your ear, hand exploring all the places that could feel best for you. He would make sure you'd remember this as a positive memory, and even if you left and never saw him again, the scene would stick in your mind.

  "I've been better," you said with a shortness of breath, but impressively coherently.

  "Don't you think this is a bad time for jokes?" Would you still talk like that if he filled you up? Would your face still be so serene? 

  "It's a perfect time for-" he interrupted you as he slid his finger over your clit over and over again, making your legs tremble and your brows lower. He might've not been experienced, but he was a quick learner.

  After he got you to a point where you were panting and your pulse hammered relentlessly, he lowered his finger to your entrance, teasing it. You covered your mouth. A thin string, like fishing line, followed his hand as he withdrew. 

  Sinbad began with one finger, your tight walls even hotter than your wetness. Fuck. It felt amazing on his fingers. It might've made him cum instantly if he tried fucking you like that. 

  "Relax your muscles, there's no need to be tense," he said soothingly. 

  You visibly stopped straining and let him push his finger in fully. It circled your smooth cervix. You were pretty shallow inside. 

  He was clueless at that point, unsure of what to do for you. 

  "Curl your finger towards yourself."

  Now you were the one close to his ear, leaning on his shoulders so he could have better access and less lewd sounds would be heard. 

  When he curled it as you said, he felt a spongy tissue that gave way under his prodding. You bit into his shoulder with little regard for how much that shit hurt. It would leave a mark, or even better, a scar. Yay. One more to the arsenal. He would have a hard time explaining that one, as it was in a visible place between his neck and shoulder muscles. 

  He groaned at the pain, pulling you halfway onto him. One hand of his rubbed your clit, and the other, inside you. You must've been leaving a hickey judging by the slight tingle on his neck. It made him harder than he already was. 

  Feeling every little groove inside and outside you couldn't be replicated by just ramming his dick in, and he thanked you that you had made the choice, since he was unwise- in general. 

  "What would your love-struck Knight think, Magister?" He pressed his lips into your shoulder. Slim, but surprisingly muscled from carrying every situation you got into on your shoulders. 

  You'd look good on top of him. With other people, his mind veered into nonsense and mundane thoughts of what he'd have for breakfast. Right now all he could think about was you, you in every way, in every angle, his. Everyone was right- he was greedy. Just not about money. 

  "Getting fingered by someone you met, what, a month ago? If even that?" Sinbad smirked, making sure you saw his expression. You bit your lip and gazed at him like you were oh so woeful. Would you tell the Knight what you'd done tonight? He didn't care if you did or not, but if you did, Sinbad would've loved like to see his face. 

  "He'd be jealous, I bet," you stuttered out with each thrust and curl of his finger, and when he added a second, you were reduced to adorable huffs and sighs, far from the virtuous Magister Merlin out in Rustport streets, a man of class and poise. A man who was now gasping for air with Sinbad's fingers deep in his cunt.

  He kissed from the swell of your chest, up to your collarbones and neck. You were not a man, not a human, you were a dream, a fog a foolish sailor like him would lose himself in.

  Screw him trying to make you never forget him. He'd never forget you, as he fell for you hook, line, and sinker, a fish falling for bait. He would never find someone like you. Someone who so easily saw through his tricks and had him willingly serve. 

  He could do it every night, sneaking in, fucking you whichever way you wanted him to, and acting like nothing was afoot. 

  You got him. 

  He kept gently fingering you as you gasped in an orgasm, one quite notable, your body going soft against his, your skin sticky and heart pounding. 

   What he had done felt automatic, like his body wasn't entirely his, his rhythm mechanical in nature, following your every whim and whine. He had just gotten you off, willingly, giddily, even, and enjoyed it. 

  That had been a first for him. 

  The first thing you said to him once you regained your breath and composure was: "Go wash your hands." 

  What a sweet way to snap him out of it. 

  It was fortunate that you had a bathroom attached to your bedroom. He didn't feel keen on doing a walk of shame through the halls. 

  The mirror revealed to him how hard you'd bitten him, leaving not only a hefty tooth mark, but even a hickey, too high for his scarf to hide. He cursed you inside his mind. All things considered, it was expected to have him do whatever he wanted to you, not the other way around. If you told him to jump into the sea right this second he probably would've done it. A flush was blooming across his face, not too obvious, but there. 

  You were next in the bathroom, and when you returned, Sinbad was on your bed, grinning. He did not budge a muscle.

  "You're not kicking me out again, Magister. This handsome face needs its beauty sleep." 

  "I'll allow it," you said, tucking yourself in on the other side. Sinbad lay curled to take up as little space as possible. It wasn't exactly comfortable. You neared him, tugging his arms around your back, and you entwined under the thick blanket. 

  Hook, line, and sinker. 

  He didn't want the morning to arrive and so cruelly take you away. He'd savor every moment he had with you. For once in his life, he did not feel bound to you by duty, but by the call of his heart, similar to how he felt about the sea. Like the sea, you'd pull him in, and keep him wallowing in feelings so alien. 

  Did you know what you did to him? He didn't need you to. He just needed you close. 

  "Good night," he said. 

  "Seriously this time?" 

  "Seriously, I promise." 

  The lone candle flickered out.

[sorrelchestnut]

Birds on a Wire, Lucanis/f!Rook, 4/?

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Rook's grown considerably less resistant to his blandishments since those early midnight meetings; these days luring her into a nap is as simple as climbing into bed and asking her to join him for a while.  Lucanis waits a few minutes to make sure she is well and truly out before rising to retrieve the luggage left outside the door by a soft-footed servant - along with a second bag of elf-sized clothing in a variety of what he assumes are current fashion in Antiva, so clearly someone did their due diligence on Rook's pack already.  He ferries the whole lot of it inside to pile on his desk and unpacks their bags into the wardrobe, knowing damn well that the maids will come along tomorrow and do it again to their satisfaction.  It's for his sake, really.  Trying to remind himself this is where he's supposed to be.

(never happy here. not like THERE. why did we leave?)

The Lighthouse was never theirs to keep, not really.  Even Spite must know that.  Either Lucanis would die pitting his blade against the gods-

(mine, mine, mine!  they cannot have you!)

-or they would triumph, and live, and then leave.  That was the deal.  Lucanis delayed as long as he could, but the vacation was always going to come to an end at some point.  He was always going to come home.

(tears in dark corners. old misery in stone. this isn't home.  this is a prison!)

Perhaps, but it is one that Lucanis walks into with his eyes wide open.  This is his responsibility, his contract.  He cannot be other than what he is, other than what has been made of him.  He can only hope, with a desperation that borders on fervor, that the burden will not prove too great to be shared.

(yours.  mine.  OURS.)

“How many new outfits did they foist on me?”

Lucanis doesn't start at the welcome intrusion of Rook's sleep-roughened voice: she's always had a sense for his darker moods.  “Only three so far, but I wouldn't be surprised to find a few more slipped in tomorrow.”

“Please tell me at least one of them is in something other than black, blue, or gray.”

Silently he holds up the black tunic he was folding.  “This one has some gold braid.”

“S'pose they tried, at least.”  In the mirror he watches as she pushes herself to a sitting position against the headboard, sleep-rumpled and bleary.  “How long was I out?”

“No more than an hour.  We still have some time before dinner.”

“Do I need to dress up?”

“Tonight, no.  Tomorrow, when Catarina is back…”  He clicks his tongue in a wordless shrug.  “Maybe we visit the markets tomorrow?”

She snorts.  “Do your worst, pet.  Long as I keep my sword, I'm happy.”

“Oh that's not a concern.  A Crow without a blade is worse than naked; it's like bringing a dog to the dinner table.”

He waits for her to say the obvious - I'm not a Crow - but she only hums in vague acknowledgement.  “My favorite people,” she says around a yawn, and stretches extravagantly, undershirt riding up at her tanned belly.  “Alright, I'm up, I'm moving.  Let's do this thing.”

In Lucanis's experience, most people who need to declare that they are awake are several steps removed from actually being so.  Rook, ever contrary, is up and out the door before Lucanis can finish dressing for dinner.  Rolling his eyes - does she even know where the kitchens are? - Lucanis lets Spite follow the scent of her soap through the back hallway into the library, where he finds her wandering the lower balconies with her hands firmly tucked into her pockets.

“Looking for something in particular?”

“You know me, dove, not much of a reader.”  There's some kind of tension in her voice, some minute thread of unhappiness whose provenance he can't quite identify before she shrugs it away and smiles at him.  “Just went the wrong way is all.  This place is a bloody maze.”

(closed doors. boarded windows. doesn't want you to see.)

Lucanis can't imagine what Rook could possibly be ashamed about in this house.  Nevertheless, it is not something to be picked at and unraveled here, where any watchful eyes could see, so he only says, “All the better to trap the unwary,” and comes up behind her to put his hands on her hips.  “That would be less of a problem if only you'd stop running off.”

Rook shifts her elbows to make room for him to rest his weight against her back the way she likes, caging her in against the balustrade.  “Yeah, but then you'd think I was a fake again, might need to call Emmrich for an exorcism.”

(hands still in her pockets.)

Lucanis noticed that too.  He slides his hands from her hips to her tattooed forearms, playing his fingers along the bones of her wrist.  “Mm, can't have that.  This many books?  He wouldn't come out for a week.”

There's a pause, where he worries he might have misread the source of her upset - and then her hands come up to twine with his, and her muscled body goes lax against him.  “You'll have to invite him then.  Give Manfred a break.”

“We'll do that.  Bellara, too.”  Lucanis hooks his chin on her shoulder and sighs.  He could stay here for hours, he thinks, just like this, and not count a second of it wasted.  Even Spite grows quiet if it means listening to the sound of her heart.

Still: “Come now, querida.  I know you must be starving.”

He can feel her smile against his cheek.  “You knew what you were getting into when you signed up to feed me.”

“I believe House Dellamorte is up to the challenge.”  With the greatest of reluctance, he unpeels himself from her back, and offers her once more his arm.  “Shall we?”

[laurenfoxmakesthings]

ID: A thread of tweets by PinkRangerLB, a trans lawyer, that say the following.

"We in the LGBTQ+ community must understand that our dead were real people. Vital, awake, worlds unto themselves, like us. They didn’t live and die for the sake of our learning, but they have a lot to teach.

I want to tell you about Hart Island and hope in the darkness. /1

When I say they were real people I mean I do not believe they are necessary sacrifices, or that our dead paid a cost for us. They loved, they feared, they had favorite TV shows and candy bars. They were here and it will never ever ever be okay that they’re gone. /2

They’re not symbols or metaphors. They had books to write, vacations to take, meals to cook, and the world would be better with them still in it. We aren’t enriched by death, but we can stand in their shoes and see the future. /3

Hart Island, if you don’t know, is where New York City buries bodies that aren’t claimed by a licensed funeral director. At the height of the AIDS epidemic funeral homes were urged not to embalm AIDS fatalities. /4

In New York, as elsewhere, stigma toward the queer community was at a level that even now it can be difficult to remember. Many queer people who died of AIDS had been disowned by their birth family because of their identity, their HIV status, or both. /5

To make matters worse, their partners and found families had no rights to their medical care or their bodies after they passed. The hateful families that could claim them often didn’t, and the families that loved them were powerless to see to their wishes. /6

You can read more about all this at the memorial’s website, here:

hartisland.net/aids_initiative

/7

You can feel their weight, can’t you? The absence is heavy. And it’s important we understand that weight, because it’s a flat fact that current attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, trans rights especially, will kill people. There will be more absence, and it is not okay. /8

And when we say we have hope we are not saying it’s okay that they will be gone.

None of this ignores intersectionalism, higher rates of infection in targeted communities, death rates higher still. When I say things *can* get better I am not ignoring that improvement favors /9

the privileged.

Things got better. ACT UP and other activist groups organized and gained ground through community building, mutual aid, and grassroots action. Culturally, the tide began to turn. Federal action by Reagan and then Clinton contributed very little /10

(and in fact often caused harm). Direct action by activists galvanized AIDS research and the tide turned with very little government help.

In New York City, the death rate for HIV/AIDS patients fell by 62% from 2001 to 2012. So here’s what I’m saying. We’ve been seeing /11

an escalating backlash against LGBTQ people for years now. It gets very easy for us to come to expect the worst case scenario. Trump won, states are attacking trans kids, Roe was overturned. So now we say WHEN the Supreme Court overturns gay marriage, WHEN a national /12"

abortion ban passes, WHEN trans healthcare for adults gets criminalized.

And don’t get me wrong, those are all very real threats. We have to fight like hell. I am not pretending that times aren’t dark, that people won’t die, or that it will ever be okay that our people will /13

suffer and die. But things can, and do, get better when we fight, when we look after each other. The tide will not inevitably turn, but *we* can turn it. We can say that when the wall finally fell, our hands were there, pulling it down brick by brick. /14

And those we lost, if we remember them, honor them, we are their hands too. /15"

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

✧*̥˚ my muses, acquired like bruises *̥˚✧

a collection of my fics inspired by taylor swift songs/lyrics, in honor of the release of THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

JOEL MILLER

cruel summer | au | explicit | chapters: 6/6

Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise. He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

↳AO3 | Tumblr: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6

crimson red paint on my lips | post-outbreak | explicit | connected work

Joel Miller is an asshole. You should have known better than to show up at his door with your lips painted red. Connected to me and the devil and marked me like a bloodstain

↳AO3 | Tumblr

marked me like a bloodstain | post-outbreak | explicit | connected work

You save Joel’s life when the two of you are attacked on a smuggling run. He has an interesting way of saying thank you. Connected to crimson red paint on my lips and me and the devil

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karma is my boyfriend’s dad | au | explicit | connected work

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him? His dad, Joel Miller. And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

↳Tumblr

in a feud with her neighbor | au | explicit | connected work

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

↳Tumblr

bonus scenes: in a feud with her neighbor | au | PG-13 | connected work

Fluffy bonus scenes for "in a feud with her neighbor" as suggested by anon!

↳Tumblr

toyin’ with them older guys | au | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller is the grumpy bartender and owner of your favorite bar near campus, where you attend trivia every Tuesday night. Thinking there’s no way Joel could return your feelings, your friend suggests trying out Tinder. But when you bring them to the bar for a date, they keep leaving mid date with no explanation. Maybe there’s something Joel isn’t telling you after all.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

help me hold onto you | post-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

Joel always tries his best to keep his mind from wandering to its darkest corners, but occasionally, the frayed threads holding him together with sloppy stitches start to unravel. Sometimes you need to give him something to hold onto.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

seven | post-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

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the last great american dynasty | au | explicit | one-shot

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up. He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream.

↳Tumblr | AO3

TOMMY MILLER

wrong place, right time | pre-outbreak | explicit | one-shot

What if Joel didn’t answer Tommy’s call from jail? And what if the waitress he’d been defending that night bailed him out instead?

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JAVIER PEÑA

i can see you (javier peña's version) | au | explicit | one-shot

When Javier Peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge. Good thing you know Javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.

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FRANKIE MORALES

my tears and my beers and my candles | au | explicit | one-shot

It’s been a bad week and you just need to have a good cry. You didn’t expect Frankie Morales, best friend and unrequited crush, to crash your pity party. He’s got some interesting ways of making you feel better. Maybe it’s not so unrequited after all.

↳AO3 | Tumblr

invisible string | au | explicit | one-shot

After fifteen years, the invisible string that ties you to Frankie Morales pulls you back together

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MIGUEL O'HARA

i can see you (miguel o'hara's version) | au | explicit | one-shot

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man. But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

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EDDIE MUNSON

the mark you saw on my collarbone | vampire au | explicit | connected work

A snippet of life with your human and your monster. A oneshot in the bat out of hell series

↳AO3

[ernmark]

Juno Steel and the Case Closed (part 1) reaction

It's been a while since I've done one of these, hasn't it?

But it's the last episode, and I wanted to be here for the end. So if you'd like, some thoughts and theories under the cut:

It was a solid choice to have Nureyev go-- to make this final story about Juno and his world and his life, rather than specifically about their relationship. But also, the choices made around Nureyev's leaving-- holy shit.

Because here's a man who's spent the last twenty years entirely defined by his relationship with one man, and now he's cut loose and of course he's flailing to re-establish himself in a different orbit. And you can hear it in his voice, where it rises into something halfway to panic (amazing job, Noah Simes), and you can feel exactly how horribly wrong it's going to go if he goes down that road. And then there's Juno, who's healthy enough to be the voice of reason, even when it hurts him? Who makes it clear he's willing to wait until Nureyev is ready for him? Oh my god, that's perfection. (And Nureyev going maybe back to Brahma-- my little fanfic writer heart did a leap there). Nureyev may very well be back next episode (I suspect he will, if only for the final moments), but I really like this as an ending of their arc-- not the neatly laced up riding off into the sunset together, but looking forward to that sunset and being actually ready for it when it comes. It makes my heart feel so good.

--

And from that happy moment, to have Juno go back to Hyperion, to his office, and immediately start slipping back into his worst self? Oh, that's too real-- in a way that I am very happy with. Because he isn't 'fixed'. Juno 'born-a-sad-baby' Steel won't ever be 'fixed', not by romance or a vacation or a wonderful new family dropping him reminders of how much they love him. What's wrong with him isn't something that can be fixed-- but this time around it's different. This time around, when he yells at Rita she stands up to him (with a small, tremulous voice, because goddamn standing up to people you love is terrifying). I am so proud of her for that, and of him for backing off. It takes a palpable effort for him to rein himself in, but he's making that effort-- and he knows how, in a way that I don't think he did in those early seasons. It's a choice he's making, over and over again, just like it's a choice he makes to keep replaying Jet's wisdom instead of drowning his misery in tequila.

(Another kudos there: that Juno's problem isn't addiction, not the same way it is for Jet-- alcohol isn't a problem for him when things are going well, but it's easier to retreat into a bottle than to deal with his feelings. It's a distinction you don't see very often. Honestly, the way this show has dealt with addiction has been really refreshing to see.)

I've said from the beginning that one of the things that really drew me to this show was how it handles Juno's depression-- as a genuine mental illness that's an inherent part of him. And it's enheartening to see him struggle with it, but now be able to reach out for the tools and the support he needs. And that support doesn't have to be Jet literally talking him away from the bottle, or Rita or Nureyev petting him and making him feel better. He can reach for the pieces of them that they leave behind. And he can wish the Ruby 7 a good journey home, and send Nureyev to find himself, not without pain and grief, but without completely losing himself to it.

That kind of story gives me so much more hope than any kind of 'happily ever after' ever could.

--

And then the designated mystery, which has me so freakin' excited:

Nightmare.

She is the culmination of so many plot threads that I've been picking up on for so long and I'd completely forgotten about, and I am so freaking excited to see it.

I was in such a rough place emotionally when we last visited the most obvious of those threads, I genuinely don't remember if I posted meta about it or not, but it definitely struck some bells:

When Juno rescued Rita from Dark Matters, the safehouse she was in was described as being full of items that were clearly meant for a child. At the same time, Sasha was having Rita destroy all evidence of her own life so thoroughly that not even Rita herself would be able to find traces afterward.

It seemed most obvious to me that she was hiding a child (one that, I didn't realize until Juno remarked on Nightmare's area code, could have been hidden in the suddenly repopulated New Town without anybody asking inconvenient questions about who she was or where she came from). Also her taking care of a child would explain her ever-escalating reactionary tendencies-- she certainly wouldn't be the first parent who descended into authoritarianism in a misguided attempt to protect someone.

So some theories about who and what Nightmare is:

Alessandra's daughter is the most obvious, of course. (I still hold onto that theory that Sasha was either the Worst Client that Juno told Alessandra Strong about, or else that Sasha was the cheating spouse in that story.)

Nightmare could be Annie Wire's daughter-- assuming that Annie survived the factory, grew up, had a child of her own, and then died for real this time, leaving her grieving sister to raise her niece.

Nightmare could be Annie Wire herself-- dead, kept in stasis, revived by Dark Matters technology, and then whisked away to the safe house.

Nightmare could be a clone of Sasha and/or Annie. Honestly, not digging this theory, but I might as well throw it out there.

Nightmare could herself be a Radical, not unlike the Ruby 7, who's taken on Sasha's appearance and stayed that way ever since (after all, Sasha would have been at just about the right age when she was recruited by Dark Matters)

From a narrative standpoint, I'm most fond of the idea of Nightmare either being Annie or Annie's daughter, personally. Because that's literally the second mystery we were given, and it was pointedly never solved. As much as I like the idea that some mysteries just aren't and you have to make peace with that, I'm a big fan of long games like this, and of tugging on threads from the beginning of a story when you're wrapping up the end. That's especially true for Sasha's arc closing here, back in Hyperion City. Sasha's voice was one of the very first that we heard in this series, and Sasha's trajectory has always been a funhouse mirror version of Juno's. She's always been an integral part of his story. It seems fitting that her story gets wrapped up alongside his.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hero with Phoenix powers, die and comes back every time- and villain, someone who killed him once, now cares deeply for him and hates everytime he has to "clean up the mess" of hero when he comes back. (Taking care of him as he slowly heals)

U amazing, I feel scared to send a ask sometimes because I feel like I'm annoying so I hope I'm not annoying-

Undoubtedly, the worst part was the burnt skin. Regenerating took time and it was a messy process. But what the villain loathed the most was the burnt skin that healed and needed over a week to thread itself back into an acceptable state.

It was so bad, in fact, that the hero could only lie in bed in agony. Touching the bedsheets was painful and not even cold clothes could help them.

Talking was difficult for the hero, so the villain didn't force them. At first, it had been an uncomfortable silence but after the third death, the villain wasn't bothered by it anymore and the hero didn't seem to be either.

And now the villain was staring at the great hero, gasping for air as their back rose and fell with every breath being taken in. The skin on their back was red, partially burnt, partially open and no matter how much time the villain put into research, no treatment was helping.

"It's a natural process," the hero had said once. "No matter how many times you google 'burnt skin treatment,' it will never give you the result on how to fix me."

But that wasn't really what the villain wanted, now was it? They wanted to make it easier. The hero didn't need repairment. Not at all.

It was the first time that they were at the villain's place. Usually, they managed to get home in time but last week had been anything but pretty. It had been a violent death. Slow and bloody. A cut throat.

The villain didn't want to think about their limp body in their arms. They'd spent hours trying to wash the blood out of their and the hero's clothes.

"Do you need anything?" the villain asked quietly, too afraid to raise their voice. As if by doing that alone, they could hurt the hero's fragile body.

The hero didn't answer and the villain didn't hold it against them. Existing was probably too painful for them right now anyway and the villain already regretted that they had asked.

So, instead of bothering the hero any more, the villain decided to make lunch. Despite the state of their body, the hero had to eat something.

The villain turned around and took a second to collect themselves. However, when they finally felt ready to leave the hero to themselves, the hero moaned their name.

It sounded raw and forced and at first, the villain doubted that they had heard anything at all.

"What?" they asked gently, turning around.

And then, again, the hero mumbled their name, their actual name which had been given to them by their mother. They had never mentioned it, had never revealed it to the hero.

"Hey, relax," the villain said. They knelt beside their bed. "Don't..."

"My first death..." The hero turned around, made a grimace out of pain and finally faced the villain. They shared a gaze and the villain didn't quite know where to place themselves within the deep abyss of the hero's irises. "Car crash."

"You don't have to tell me this, please just rest," the villain said. Sometimes, the guilt would come back up. But the villain tried to make up for that with their actions, tried to help the hero as best as they could.

But really, how could you ever apologise for killing someone?

"A car crash," the hero said again. "I was alone. I died alone."

They took in a deep and painful breath.

"Being a hero...I..." The villain didn't know what they wanted to say. "It's hard..."

"I know, I know. Maybe you should take a break for a while. You need your rest and this isn't helping you. You need a vacation. You need time for yourself, even after you've healed."

"No, I...I was so alone. After a while I wanted..."

"Hey, relax, it's okay, you-"

"I wanted to kill myself," the hero confessed. And for the split of a second, the villain's world crumbled and fell into insane chaos. They forgot how to breathe, forgot how to think properly. They were there physically but not with their head and somehow they got extremely mad at the hero.

"What are you talking about?" They tried to clear their head but that was impossible.

"I...I couldn't die, so I...tried everything. I'm sorry, I didn't want to, I couldn't live like this, I couldn't be so ugly-"

"Oh god," the villain whispered and they were sure they were going to break down any second. "You dumb hero, are you out of your mind?!"

"I have you now," the hero whispered. "I want to get better, I swear."

"You're not leaving this house for a long time," the villain said. Their hands were shaking.

"Please," the hero said. "Don't be upset."

But how could the villain not be upset when they were the one falling for the hero?

[sincerely-astra]

If you also write yanderes, can i request yandere Mukuro Ikusaba (danganronpa) with the ultimate jeweler? That makes jewelry and gives just for her? Thanks!! ❤️

☁️Yandere Mukuro Ikusaba x Jeweler Reader☁️

Thanks for the request, and I do in fact write yanderes. :))

⚠️WARNING: Mentions of killing and general yandere content!⚠️

You and Mukuro met awhile back, when she joined the Fenrir Mercenary Group to be exact.

Mukuro was doing her daily patrol around the base, making sure there were no threats, and that’s when she saw you… lost and injured.

You were a tourist who had unfortunately gotten lost from your family and landed up near the Fenrir base, prompting a hostile interrogation from Mukuro.

After she made sure you weren’t a threat, she is quick to take you back to the base to patch your injuries up. Effortlessly carrying you bridal style.

Her hands were steady and deliberate as she places bandages on your knees, arms, and anywhere else that might need them. You can imagine her surprise when after she put the first aid kit back, she sees you holding a blue braided bracelet.

She hesitantly held it in her hand as you explained it was a thank you… Her fingers graze the soft thread, eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

From then on she was hooked to you, even if she didn’t realize it at first.

Since your vacation still wasn’t over, you would visit Mukuro whenever you could, joining her as she patrolled the area or did any of her regular duties. Those moments were probably the happiest Mukuro’s ever felt, just being by your side made her feel so weirdly giddy… A very new feeling for her.

Alas, good things never last, and she was called up by Junko to continue their despair plans. Leaving a very distraught Mukuro to say goodbye to you…

No matter how much time has passed since that day, Mukuro made a silent vow to never take that bracelet off. Never once had she stopped thinking about you either.

Junko and her kept working on the Tragedy, and eventually learned of Jin Kirigiri’s plan to seal all the students inside of the school for their safety. And of course, as fate would have it, you were one of the students.

You were an exchange student who came right before the tragedy occurred. Mukuro didn’t even realize you would also be sealed with all of them until you had transferred at the last minute, in a way, it was an immense relief and one of the worst things that could’ve happened…

You were safe from the tragedy, but not safe from the killing game… Something Mukuro helped to create and yet desperately wants to shelter you from.

The chance of you surviving even the first few trials was low, and Mukuro didn’t want to risk that chance, but as always, she was far too conflicted to disobey Junko.

So you stayed in the killing game…, not without Mukuro keeping an eye on you though. Sure, she had to act the part of Junko, but that wouldn’t stop her from being near you at all times.

She was the first to introduce herself to you and would more often than not, scare anyone else who wanted to talk to you off. You would have to rely on Junko then…, you would have to rely on her.

Did I mention she’s totally in love with you? Sure, she might’ve been interested in you long before the killing game, but getting to be so close to you has really shown her how much she likes you. You are the only sense of relief she gets from Junko, the others, the tragedy, all of it, you get her.

She even tries to subtly give you information on how to stop this whole killing game… even though you don’t get it most of the time and it earns her a look from Junko, she still does it as she wants you to be safe.

Any piece of jewelry you give her immediately either goes on some part of her body or in a special box. She cherishes every piece with her life and will gladly listen to you explain all the different types of jewelry, different materials, and anything else you can ramble about.

It’s honestly the one time she’s glad to be Junko because she hide her obsession interest in you under the guise of her being a fashionista.

She will also totally freak out if she either loses or breaks a piece of jewelry you give her. She might be weirdly silent and seemingly calm, but internally she is losing it.

If she somehow manages to tell you she lost/broke it, no matter how much you try to console her, she will just keep apologizing. Losing or breaking one of them is like losing/breaking a part of you.

Speaking of your jewelry being a part of you, she will go into your room in the middle of the night to admire you and steal some of your jewelry, nothing big, but just whatever can fuel her desires.

God forbid anybody tries to flirt with you, she will be having a word with them.

It’s so weird how the person who was just flirting with you the other day has woken up with a ton of stab wounds…, thankfully no one died! (She totally wanted to murder them, but it would conflict with the killing game-)

Mukuro does not trust any of your classmates in the slightest, she just knows they want to hurt you and she won’t stand for it! (She’s delusional)

And yet…, she was right. She managed to survive being attacked by Monokuma and overheard Sayaka’s (Sorry girl-) plan to murder you after the motive videos were released.

Mukuro was less than thrilled with that to say the least…

Less then thrilled, as in she doesn’t hesitate before murdering Sayaka, even though it lead to a pissed Junko. Throughout the whole game she watched how in love Mukuro was with you, and although that usually gives her a great opportunity to inflict more despair into the world, Mukuro messed with the killing game.

Junko didn’t hesitate before trash talking you as soon as Mukuro went to her, not sparing any insult or jab she could make at you.

Now, normally Mukuro would just have to grit her teeth and bare this, after all, she has always obeyed Junko. But this time…, hearing her trash talk you when she knows how wonderful you are, how good and pure of a person you are….

She couldn’t stop herself from attacking Junko.

It’s not that this was a total surprise to Junko, but she honestly couldn’t believe the gull Mukuro had to attack her for you of all people. What happened to loyalty!?

It was harsh and difficult fight, Mukuro was the ultimate soldier after all, but Junko was also the ultimate analyst. It took a long time before Mukuro was ultimately able to catch Junko off guard and land the final blow.

A devastating end to the Despair Sisters, and yet an ending Junko was actually thrilled about.

Mukuro wanted to say the death of her sister saddened her, but that would be lie. She was no longer a threat to you and that was all that mattered.

…

The others were a different story though.

It had been days after the Junko incident since Monokuma had moved, he just sat in the gym with that creepy smile on his face… Even touching him didn’t do anything! He was just lifeless.

Everyone was confused on what to do exactly…, was the threat over? Could they go home?

They all decided to try and investigate, maybe this one of Monokuma’s tricks? It really started to kick in that something was wrong when they saw Sayaka’s body on the floor of her room…

Everyone, including you, were starting to freak out. No one knew who exactly killed her, but they all were very aware the killer was standing amongst them.

Although the two biggest threats to your safety were out of the way, Mukuro couldn’t help but worry. With everyone freaking out and accusing each other, she knew very well that you could be accused and hurt by the others.

So, she did the only thing she knew how to do, the one things she was good at.

One by one, people starting disappearing. It started with Toko, then moved onto Makoto, and so on. Eventually, you and Mukuro were the only ones left… Leaving you incredibly traumatized and paranoid that you could be next, and leaving a very happy Mukuro.

It took so much bloodshed, and yet you were finally safe. You were safe with her in the confines of the school without another person in sight.

She tries to help you calm down by comforting you and distracting you by helping make jewelry, although she is truly awful at it. Whatever helps take your mind off the current situation, she will do it.

She also gets to finally take off her disguise as Junko and gets to be herself, a total shock to you but also strangely nice to know there was one person you could “count on.”

She would never tell you the atrocities it took to make these moment happen between the two of you.

You guys spend the rest of your lives at Hope’s Peak Academy and Mukuro and eventually works up the courage to confess to you. And in your current position…, you had to accept it.

Sometimes she wonders how it’s possible she could like someone so much.

A/N: Hopefully this is okay, I don’t write yanderes often so I’m kind of bad at it-

[thesoftboiledegg]

OK guys, I have a confession to make today: I am a dudebro. The tech geniuses in my Elon Musk discord sent me here to infiltrate Tumblr. I chug a Toxic Rick energy drink every morning even though it makes my bones rattle and spiders crawl at the edges of my vision. I go to Birdrick threads on Reddit, comment "is rick gay," get two downvotes and leave. Every day, I pray that Rick will say "I'm not arguing, I'm explaining why I'm right" in the show so that I can point at the shirt that I'm wearing with the same phrase on it and say "Haha, it's official now! You to want hear me say it out loud? Huh? You want me to throw that badassery right in your face? Fuck up my McDonald's order one more time, and it's coming at you!" Do it, Rick. Do it for me.

I've jacked it to Rick a few times, but I only did that because it was funny. In fact, it was funnier than everything in seasons 4-6 combined. I think that Rick and Morty has been the worst shit on TV since season three, but I haven't stopped watching it. Instead, I watch every new episode and make rage-fueled videos in my $1,000 gaming chair. This week's topic: Rick and Morty has gone woke. What was up with that joke in season five about the cops being racist? The cops aren't racist! They kill ALL races equally, Jesus Christ.

Anyway, back to Birdrick: I KNOW that Birdrick is platonic because I tell my male friends that I love them all the time. That's not romantic. In fact, I say it while looking directly into their eyes, thinking about all the great times that we had together, thinking that they should leave their bitch of a girlfriend because I know more about Rick and Morty than she ever will. I think about how hilarious it would be if we went on a long vacation and shared a hammock and watched the sun set, the light glittering on the waves as insects start to hum in the grass. Haha, it's all a joke, bro.

Once, I was DJing in a club and trying to figure out how to play Kanye West's entire discography at once when a guy handed me an acid tab with Morty's screaming face on it. I flew off into outer space and floated around until Rick picked me up in his ship. We made out for a while so that he could teach me how to make out with all the hot alien babies on Neptune. Of course, I already know how to make out with babes because I kissed a chick wearing a Rick and Morty hoodie once. She was clearly shit at it because I didn't enjoy it, and I should have known better because girls, queers and Tumblrinas don't actually like Rick and Morty. They just pretend to like it because they want male attention.

Oh, I'm sorry--CIS male attention. Is that woke enough for you? And by the way, libsharts: Rick is a CIS MALE. I would know because he runs around naked in every other episode, and I made a compilation of every scene for hard evidence. Cry about it all you want, but you're not going to win this debate. No one's looked at Rick Sanchez naked more than me!

Anyhoo, Rick called out the woke crowd in the season one classic "Raising Gazorpazorp," which brilliantly deconstructs feminazi bullshit, especially Rick's speech at the end. Something about Rick's voice really sells it. Something about the way it's so gravely but familiar at the same time, like rain hitting a tin roof while we're sipping iced tea on the porch. Do you ever feel like you're only going out with girls because all your bros are doing it?

HAHA uh, Birdrick is a sack of puke and just the thought of it makes me shit rage diarrhea. (Uh oh, was that too CRUDE for the purity police? Well, get used to it, because I have to.) If I ever see a Bird Person cosplayer on the streets of LA, I'm going to hit him with my Tesla, killing him instantly. I'm hoping that it might explode a little bit for maximum damage. In fact, I'm just going to program my Tesla to hit every pedestrian that resembles a human-sized bird. It's in Elon Musk's genius hands now!

So what the fuck has happened to Rick and Morty? That show was great before they hired women writers. I'm pretty sure that they hired a bunch of queers, too, because only a gay man would come up with that suit and tie he wore in season six. He looked way too good in that outfit. Which one of you homos designed that shit? Jesus Christ, get out of the writers' room and let the straight men take control again. If I ever win a giveaway or something and get to visit the studio, I better be surrounded by men!

Season one was just winner after winner and winner. We need to get back to the original show--the REAL show--where Rick was a cool-headed and rational scientist instead of the weeping "wah wah I'm so sad morty" baby we're stuck with now. I would know because I'm basically the real-life Rick. I say what I want, when I want. Don't like it? Too bad. You just don't want to hear the truth. Rick Sanchez walked so that white men with beards could run...to their Teslas and run over Bird Person cosplayers, killing them instantly.

And Rick USED to tell the truth. Love is a chemical reaction, nothing means anything, existence is pain, marriage is bullshit (ESPECIALLY when you're married to a female), everyone's too politically correct now, it's stupid that we can't call stuff "retarded," "PICKLE RICK!!!!!", focus on science, girls are too sensitive about everything. Wubba lubba dub dub! Shit, what does that mean again? I'm so used to saying that at parties when someone hands me a Rick and Morty bong and I just smoke whatever's in it because that's what Rick would do. I think I smoked oregano a couple of weeks ago. My nostrils have been burning ever since, but I'm sure it's fine. Nothing can kill a man who pounds Toxic Rick energy drinks!

Haha, wouldn't it be funny if I left the last two words off that last sentence? That would be the funniest shit ever. I'm crying with laughter!

People didn't understand Dan Harmon's genius when they whined about the show, and it apparently made him so depressed that he gave up and surrendered to the woke crowd. Christ, I hate the Internet. I only get on here to check Reddit, scroll through Elon Musk's Twitter feed and see if Dan Harmon updated his Instagram. He reminds me of Rick a lot. They're both geniuses, but the major difference with Dan Harmon is that he's got that scraggly beard. It's probably scratchy when you make out with him. I took a bunch of molly at a party once and kissed a guy who looked like a lumberjack because I thought he was a lady lumberjack, and his beard was pretty scratchy. I said "Wow, that's what kissing Dan Harmon is like!" And he said "Want to go back to my place?" And I said "Fuck no, you're not ACTUALLY Dan Harmon." LOL!!!!!!!

Remember when I mentioned McDonald's at the start? I've been in Mickey D's this whole time, and if you're wondering how I had time to type this, it's because the 16-year-old fucktards behind the counter don't know what they're doing. (And yes, I'm getting McNuggets! Haha! #szechaunsauce) Rick wouldn't put up with this shit. Not only is he a badass, but he's got badass friends all over the galaxy who would back him up. I had a dream a month ago where Rick was hanging out with these buff guys that were probably his personal bodyguards. Some weird stuff happened, and when I told my therapist about it, she said "It sounds like you had a dream about Rick having sex with a group of men," and I said "No, I didn't," and she said "You just loudly and audibly said that you had a dream about Rick having sex with a group of men," and I said "Haha, I was manipulating you! I'm a master manipulator like Rick! It was a social experiment! What made you think about gay sex anyway? If I said 'And then Rick got gangbanged by a bunch of dudes' and you immediately thought 'Wow, it sounds like you had a gay sex dream,' that's on you, honey! Hear me? THAT'S ON YOU!!!'"

So, uh...

Let's close this off with a classic: Wubba lubba dub dub! Haha. Anyway, since you Tumblrites love analyzing every frame of every episode because it makes you feel like you "get it" (spoiler alert: you don't), why is this GIF so hypnotic? I've been watching it for twenty minutes and can't figure it out.

Lord have mercy.

[goodsoldier-nothing]

untitled demon!dean fic for early s9

It wasn’t what he expected – he doesn’t know what he expected. From being a demon, that is. Of course, Dean had thought he knew evil. He’d even tortured souls in hell, studied evil under the best and excelled at it. Started to delight in it. But even that was different than truly becoming it. 

He can’t pinpoint it, when the once steel-solid barrier between good and evil started to wear through. It began to thin before purgatory, he knew that for sure. Was it in hell? Was it even earlier, his deal at the crossroads?

What he does know, when he finally made it through to the other side of that steel turned to mesh, was that the biggest difference was the freedom. His tie to humanity had been frayed before, but he’d hung onto it like some addict scrounging to get a hit of love, brotherhood, peace, worth. When the thread finally snapped he didn’t know what he ever needed them for. He could remember those concepts, but they were utterly empty and meaningless, humorous to recall how much stock he once put in them, as if they mattered. It was so easy to write that note and leave with Crowley. He didn’t give it a second thought, except as he and Crowley laughed later, imagining Sam’s reaction when he’d found it. 

No, he’d realized the rest was enough: the anger, the misery and self-destruction. They were self-sustaining, comforting. The fear was gone too: there was nowhere further down to fall. Self-hatred could blanket him, he could let it lead, he could destroy everything, make it worse. He could derive satisfaction from taking it out on whoever was in his way, and the aftertaste, the ghost of guilt, was the cherry on top. He wasn’t afraid to feel those things now, they delighted him. 

He wasn’t afraid to feel anything. That is probably the biggest difference between what he’d thought demonhood would be like and reality. There wasn’t any lack of feeling. Maybe for some, there would be, if they hadn’t had much of it before they turned. But that had never been Dean’s problem. 

For the first time in his life he’d fully reveled in the anger, let it take him over. Allowed himself to think the worst thoughts and believe them, say them and enjoy the reaction. Mom is dead because of Sam. Dad brainwashed them. Their fight has always been pointless.

Yes, he was worthless and unlovable, violent, alcoholic, a toxic piece of garbage. He wasn’t even afraid to let everyone see it. He deserved to die, and he’s dead. Yes, he was out of control – a demon has no use for control. He loved the pain of a hangover, the crunch of a bone beneath his fist, the slice of the blade through his flesh.

It didn’t feel good, it didn’t need to. He had no use for good. 

~~

Dean doesn’t know who his brother or best friend think he is. But, back under the weight of humanity he craves connection with them, and their approval, so he might as well try to ‘relax’, ‘heal’, or at least pretend either of those are possible for him. As if he hadn’t just been completely consumed in evil, as if he has earned any sort of healing or vacation. Oh well. Put on the sunglasses, drink the beer slowly enough. Both things make it easier to pass off his laugh and smile. He can tell it’s working, a bit. Sam is sinking deeper in his chair, sitting next to the guy that tried to drive a hammer into his skull a week ago. 

He remembers exactly how it felt, being a demon, but what he can’t conceive of any longer is how he was able to do it, to lift a blunt instrument to the kid he once raised, with every intent of driving it into him as hard as he could.

Barely under the surface Dean is vibrating with the need to get back out there, destroy some sort of evil, if not the one he actually should. (Himself. But it would cause Sammy too much pain, again. They probably wouldn’t even let him, he’s fooled both of them into thinking he is worth loving. And he can’t even bring himself to show them the truth, that’s how despicable and selfish and weak he is, because he needs them, and wants them to know he loves them, for all the good it does them. So he’s back to dragging himself through.) 

When Sam agrees to go hunt some werewolves, it’s the most relief he’s felt since feeling the holy water hit his human face. 

[4ragon]

For the fic asks 👀 tell me more about the narumitsu wedding fic

Okay. Alright. This bitch has been rattling around in my head for so long, and I'm really worried that it's become too ambitious and is ballooning to have too many plot elements when I actually start getting it down on paper, but AT THE MOMENT

the idea is that this takes place about one year after Vacation All I Ever Wanted. It's going to bounce around between a lot of different plot threads in the lead up both big and small. Miles and Phoenix will of course be the biggest part as they try to get through the wedding so they can finally just be married damn it, but I also want to feature:

Franziska von Karma, the co-maid-of-honor, who is struggling to make this wedding the most perfect wedding that has ever existed, which is getting more and more difficult due to the two terribly uncooperative grooms and the fact that her most important role has to be shared with the likes of Maya Fey. (Will this turn into FranMaya content as well? We shall see.)

Klavier Gavin, who is so excited to have his boyfriend back from Khura'in for a bit because long distance relationships are hard and Apollo is acting a bit strange and distant.

Apollo, who is so overwhelmed with living abroad that he is maybe three inches away from a full nervous breakdown during his boss's wedding.

Nahyuta, trying so hard to make a better impression on Apollo's "other family" after AA6, because he suspects that they all sort of hate his guts. He of course gets some help from Athena, who is incapable of not trying to help, and Blackquill, who is incapable of not trying to make Nahyuta's situation So Much Worse.

And also like. You know. So many other characters at this wedding. Larry throwing the worst bachelor party known to man. Lang trying to convince everyone that putting some extra 0s at the end of his invitation should let him bring all his men. Just. As many side plots as I can. It's too much but GOD do I want to make this fic happen.

[melonthesprigatito]

Melon Ranks Sprigatito Plushies (But Only The Ones I Own Sorry)

BOOTLEG SPRIGATITO

Face Leaf Pattern Thing: Embroidered Edges

Eyes: Fully Embroidered

Neck Leafs: Two Strips of Fabric

Cheek Fluff: Strips of Fabric

:D or :3 Face: :D

Ears: Flat and floppy

Huggability Rating: 2/10 (This thing is stuffed like a rock, man.)

Overall rating: 3/10

Overview: Probably the worst plush you could get. The colour is too... radioactive, the tail is sewn on upside down in a way???? (that little tuft is supposed to be pointing upwards), the legs are weird., it's head is very flat. This plush is very obviously based on the official art and was made long before we ever saw Sprigatito in 3D (I got mine in May 2022) so it's flat out missing things that aren't visible in the official art like the paw pads and the leaf on the back of Sprigatito's neck. But this one is the OG Melon and my profile pic and I took it on vacation with me so I can't fault it too hard. :)

JAZZWARES/ WICKED COOL TOYS SPRIGATITO

Face Leaf Pattern Thing: Embroidered Edges

Eyes: Fully Embroidered

Neck Leafs: Strip of fabric on top of stuffed thing

Cheek Fluff: Strips of Fabric

:D or :3 Face: :3

Ears: Flat but stuffed with plastic card

Huggability Rating: 3/10 (Stuffed like a brick and the ears are firm and pokey. I'm sad :c )

Overall rating: 5/10

Overview: The dime a dozen Sprigatito plush found in pretty much every single toy store and supermarket that sells toys. No need to order online which is a plus. Got a nice subtle snoot to boop. Because the front neck leaf is stuffed, it sticks out. They don't let you see the back of it in the toy store website reference images, which I thought was weird until I bought it. The back is where it all falls apart. The back neck leaf isn't a single piece, it's too halves sewn together for some reason???? Which causes the seam allowance to make it crinkle up. The tail is the worst I've ever seen on a Sprigatito, at least the bootleg made AN ATTEMPT to look like the official art. The tail is a very narrow carrot shape with a tiny, barely noticeable single fabric triangle for the tuft. Yikes. Though it is made by a third party plush company so I guess the quality not being perfect is to be expected. Jazzwares does other Pokémon that look a whole lot better.

OFFICAL POKÉMON CENTER KEYRING SPRIGATITO

Face Leaf Pattern Thing: Printed on

Eyes: Fully Embroidered

Neck Leafs: Strip of fabric on top of very loosely stuffed thing

Cheek Fluff: Strips of Fabric

:D or :3 Face: :3

Ears: Firmly stuffed with embroidered inside detail

Huggability Rating: No/10 (Good luck hugging something that can fits snugly into the palm of your hand. Maybe hold it like an ice cream)

Overall rating: 7/10

Overview: So smol. 🥺 Perfect for slipping it into your pocket and carrying it everywhere. You're better off not using it as an actual keyring though. Just keep it as a cheaper, minature version of the standard Pokémon Center Sprigatito. The plastic loop is awful, it opens too easily so your Sprig could get lost in the wilderness without you knowing if it actually was put on your backpack. I just cut the keyring off and by that I mean I spent 20 minutes persistently sawing through plastic with fabric scissors so I could attach a normal metal key ring to the loop. Also the back neck leaf is LITERALLY handing on by a thread. It's held on by a single stitch. I get its a small plush, but come on, really????

OFFICIAL POKÉMON CENTER POKÉDOLL SPRIGATITO

Face Leaf Pattern Thing: Printed on

Eyes: Fully Embroidered

Neck Leafs: Strip of fabric on top of very loosely stuffed thing

Cheek Fluff: Not felt! Sewn piece

:D or :3 Face: :3

Ears: Firmly stuffed

Huggability Rating: 7/10 (SQUISHYYYYYYYYY)

Overview: Gonna come right out of the gate and say I really hate this trend of the Pokémon Center just printing on details (i.e the face leaf) instead of embroidery or different coloured fabric stitched on. It reminds me of that £2 Judy Hopps plush my mom bought for me years ago that had the clothes printed on instead of fabric pieces. And that plush was a bargain bin thing that was SUPPOSED to be lower quality. Not a fan of spending £10-15 plus £5 shipping on a plushie with printed details. I just think it looks cheap and I wish they put a little more effort into some of their plushies. It looks like it could be washed away if you put it in a washing machine.

Other than that, BABYYYY!!!!!!!! KITTY!!!!!!!! A BEAN!!!!!!!!!!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟIT'S SO FUCKING CUTE LOOK AT THAT FACE OH MY FUCKING GOD. Doesn't have paw pads though. :c BUT IT'S A TOO PURE FOR THIS SINFUL EARTH I WANNA GENTLY HOLD IT FOREVER 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

BUILD A BEAR SPRIGATITO

Face Leaf Pattern Thing: Embroidered Edges

Eyes: Fabric with embroidered edges.

Neck Leafs: ALL LIGHTLY STUFFED

Cheek Fluff: STUFFED

:D or :3 Face: :D

Ears: Stuffed but not too blocky. Very close to ingame model

Huggability Rating: 1000/10 (HELP I'VE BEEN STUCK HERE HUGGING THIS PLUSHIE, I HAVEN'T SEEN MY FAMILY IN TEN YEARS)

Overall rating; 9/10

Overview: Some may hate Build a Bear Pokémon for their chubby proportions but I think this is fucking PERFECTION. No more strips of fabric, every single part is stuffed, the nose is some sort of plastic thing with a fuzzy texture, maybe the muzzle it's on is sticking out a little too much but for once the head ISN'T crammed full of too much stuffing! I think it's close to life size too? Probably. I haven't compared it with Sprigatito's official height yet. AND ITS GOT PAJAMAS. AND A CAPE. THAT FITS ONTO MY EEVEE AND GLACEON BUILD A BEARS TOO. Truly it must be Arceus' gift to the world. If you're willing to give your wallet a sucker punch to the stomach,

BUY IT, GOD DAMN IT, BUY IT

If you want to

[oldfashionedmorphine]

i hate to think the worst—like i really feel guilty for not having more faith or something but my mind has jumped to the worst conclusion—cause it often does, for some reason idk…

my brother is an alcoholic and I suspect he relapsed again. i have my reasons for thinking this—has to do with my sister in law mostly and i won’t explain all the details, but she’s done something incredibly out of character and won’t answer my texts and i have this feeling it’s because of him somehow… since last year i was visiting the two of them and he got super drunk (honestly i get comments on my story about how the alcoholism is depicted realistically yet i often feel i’ve toned it down a lot… chalk it up to people reacting differently to substance abuse though… but my brother turned into a totally different person—scary even with some of the shit he was muttering under his breath and how he was shouting aggressively at people on the street and in cars that night) but long story short, he couldn’t remember anything after a certain point that evening—i had to recount the events to him because she wouldn’t… she was done with him and i really thought they were going to get divorced—somehow they got past it (which i’m sure was mostly because of their son) but the thread keeping them together seemed very fragile ever since and i just have this suspicion something went wrong over a fourth of july week vacation they took—anyway she hasn’t responded to my last text which is unlike her and some other stuff and i texted him today and no response… they would only ignore me if it was bad…. but also i really hope this is just me jumping to terrible conclusions but after what i witnessed last year and recent events, it’s hard not to.