#totally polar opposite

[nhaneh]

Bards discussing finer points of poetry, with @eriyu's Ehryu Raav.

[diltonsstrangescience]

In 80-ish years of comics, I’m 100% sure that a body-swap plot has happened before. Probably several times. Here’s my take on it.

(It does occur to me that Sabrina could also be responsible for this sort of thing. Magic or science, take your pick. Science is unexplained and limitless enough in their world that it may as well be magic. Don’t tell Dilton I said that.)

[wormy-worm]

ok u know what maybe if the world isn't ready for sunrazer post that means that the world IS ready for Amoveous siblings post. This is Milo and Enho and theyre my DARLINGS and i love them SO MUCH. i have. SOOOOOOOO many thoughts abt them but after the previous post massacre i do not really feel like typing all of that xoxo love <3

[crackhead-running-around-town]

Meister and a weapon!

Might as well hop on the bandwagon....

Weapon: @sintarija

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Okay okay while on the topic of dreamtale I need to say something that’s been on my mind for years

In the wording of the original comic, it something along the lines of “Nim created Nightmare to be Dream’s total opposite”

And it was the wording of total - might’ve be polar - that juts made me think

wh

Why

When

Huh

I cannot express why it makes me so confused and slightly annoyed properly but it bothers me so much

it's most likely because of the language barrier but that's a little funny LOL

[heart-wit-strength]

Wenclair sasharcy becoz I'm obsessed with both

Taglist: @reyraccoon @stormy-space-jellyfish @yourpersonaltimebomb @darcysd20 @cynthiacoven @banyanas @lili250307

[beldaroot]

nezha is so funny bc he’s like “I’M NOT A SHAMAN!!!” and then proceeds to describe how he is, in fact, a shaman lol

[lastoneout]

listen, I’m a simple bitch, I see two characters who argue constantly and I think “what if they kissed?”

[certainkindofscientist]

ANOTHER one?????

[coldgoldlazarus]

Plus in my experience, half the time it just makes it worse and I just shut down entirely, because I feel like there's no concievable way on earth I'm going to be able to make the normal deadline, let alone the accelerated one, so I just wind up Stuck. So even if I for some reason felt like the constant stress would be worth the functioning, it still isn't anyway because it has a 50/50 chance AT BEST of actually working or just fucking me up worse for no actual gain.

But yeah, even if it was actually consistently successful, it still wouldn't be worth it anyway from the burnout speedrun.

There's a bunch of adhd advice out there that's like "people with adhd tend to work better under deadlines due to the anxiety so here are ways to artificially induce a stress response in order to get you to get work done" and it's like well what if I don't want to be stressed out all the time in order to function

[festaventurine]

oh right. lapis relights was a thing, huh.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

thinking about LOGAN HOWLETT – 18+

mdni, fem!reader // wc: 506

With Logan, sex is either one of two ways. It’s either quick and rough and hateful, or it’s the polar opposite: slow and gentle and loving. It all just depends on how self-loathing he feels. How much he’s had to drink.

Today, it was the latter. 

He hovers above, caging you to the mattress, one arm bent beside your head, supporting his weight – the other extended down to one of your thighs, thick fingers pawing at the chub, keeping your legs open. 

His cock is heavy as he rocks into you, the slow, unrushed pace letting you feel all of him. Letting you satiate your every need. The deep, irregular pumping of his dick leaves you gasping for air – leaves you grasping at the skin on his back. The sheer thickness of cock hazing and blurring any cohesive thoughts in your mind.

The hand on your thigh moves to the side of your face, large, hairy hand clasped to your cheek – keeping you there. His palm is warm over your jaw, loose hold tilting your head back, making you look him in the eye as he fucks into you with that same mind-altering, leisure rhythm.

Strokes are slack, unrushed, the full length of him consuming you in a way so intoxicating, so fulfilling. The grinding into your cunt knocking broken, choked-out noises from you.

His thumb hovers over your bottom lip, the pad skimming over the plump of it – the act itself dominant and assertive. His gaze remains locked on you below, eyes following the movement over your lips, watching those tiny microexpression-like reactions splay across your face.

But during those moments when he looks away, they’d be on some other part of you, on another part of your body – eyes taking in the lewd image of you underneath him. Gaze darting over your chest, taking note of the soft bounce of your tits – his steady thrusts knocking them in gentle circles.

Though, he can’t help but touch them, the hand on your jaw moving to the swell of one of your breasts, large palm rolling over it – thumb teasing at the nipple, swirling the mound with featherlight touch.

And when that time comes when you both meet your end, only then would he make some more noise – deep grunts and groans muffling between the close distance as he cums into you, the guttural sounds making up for the previous irregular moments of quiet. 

While he eases himself from you, he brushes over your cheek – the act soft and sweet as he leaves the warmth of you, the comfort of you. Sliding on his jeans, he makes his way over to the dresser – pouring himself a drink and lighting a cigar. His eyes focused on you from across the room, not shying away from your glances. 

You couldn’t help but stare, especially now when he exudes nothing but sheer manliness: his v line prominent above his low hanging jeans, happy trail beaded with sweat, and most importantly, the best sight of all: his glistening toned chest.

okay cool got that outta my system, totally normal now. also kinda hate this? but was the first thing I wrote properly in over two weeks so yay

[katsukistofu]

it took me by soap-rise

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words — fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.

Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasn’t your type. 

Which one, was something he’d never even bother to consider. He’s ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows he’s well-liked, and it’s not just his ego talking.

Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasn’t lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.

Not that he cared. 

Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-n’-half bastard’s name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.

Again, he really couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

Not like he’s been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.

Katsuki also hasn’t been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat. 

Of course, that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.

“We should work on the script first!” You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.

It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but what’s really bothering him is that it’s not. He’s not sure when that started happening.

“It’s better to prepare the interview questions we’re going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.”

He snorts. “What are we, some ditzy news report crew? We’re not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.”

You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand. 

Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what you’re about to ask.

“No.”

“But Mr. Aizawa!” 

Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs. 

No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him. 

“What, you’re chickening out?”

You ignore him. “Can I please switch partners?”

“No,” Aizawa deadpans.

“But—“

“No. One more word from either of you and you’re getting zeroes.”

The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.

“When you’re a pro, you don’t always get to choose who you team up with.” 

Aizawa rubs his temples. 

“And you’re supposed to be my top ranking students. You’re not first years anymore, so act like it.”

You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes. 

“Yes Mr. Aizawa.”

From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips can’t help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time? 

Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.

‘Fucking teacher’s pet.’ He mouths with a smirk.

‘Asshole.’ You mouth back.

Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you. 

This was going to be a long week.

It’s the day after the group project was assigned, and you’re still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush. 

Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy that’s laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever? 

Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?

Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.

His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now.  

Well, towards everybody except you. 

Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.

One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.

Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.

Pink house slippers slap against the floor’s carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.

You’re slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside. 

With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.

Too familiar, for your liking. 

But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.

Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.

Okay technically it wasn’t yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. You’d claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year. 

So basically, it was yours. 

And you definitely don’t remember that bastard ever using it until today.

A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all. 

The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.

Hold on.

What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?

The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion. 

And was that your fucking body wash he’s using?

You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you. 

But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.

Because why the fuck was he using your L’Occitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?

Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway. 

Oh my god, it is him. 

Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.

The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you weren’t about to be a doormat. 

You cross your fingers and pray that he’s wearing clothes.

“Bakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.”

He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. “Picking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than tha–”

Bakugo is then sharply cut off.

By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.

He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.

You accidentally make contact with his eyes.

The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.

Bakugo smirks. “Wasn’t nearly this focused when we were working on our project.” 

An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound. 

He’s never seen you this flustered before.

It’s kind of cute, he admits this time.

Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands. 

“That’s um, that’s mine.” You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didn’t you put a shirt on before coming back?

His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. “This?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he says disbelievingly. “Don’t see your name on it.”

You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? “It’s mine, okay? Just give it back.”

Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s trying to make sense of.

And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive. 

“That’s funny.” 

You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and you’re about to yell back ‘what is?’ and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower. 

“Because this is mine.”

You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what you’re hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.”

You can’t help but stare at him incredulously.

“I don’t think I did.” Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice. 

“You—You use L’Occitane?”

He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.

“Dude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.”

He snorts. “Fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.”

“Five in one? Are you stupid?”

“Apparently! But—Oh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.” You groan. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why were you looking?” 

“I can’t help it! They’re distracting me and—“ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.

“Distracting you?” His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops. 

“Um.” Fuck. Where did that even come from? “I meant, uh.”

“Trying to take it back now?” He smirks. “Coward.”

“I am not a coward!” You glare at him. “And I’m not feeding into your ego.”

“You just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.”

Okay, so you’re just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you can’t even deny it.

“Creep.”

You huff. “Okay fine, I’m a creep. Just give me my body wash back.”

“Told you,” he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. “It’s mine, dipshit.”

“Wha–” You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier. 

Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment. 

There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy. 

As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.

Was it too late to call in sick for today?

Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat.  

“You’re so stupid.”

You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. “Shut up! I’m going to pretend like it never happened.”

Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. “Good luck with that. But hey,” He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. “Isn’t this the most progress you’ve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.

After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows. 

“I mean, you’ve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.”

Warmth rushes up your neck as you’re reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.

“I can’t help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then we’re always arguing. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“I know.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Woop woop. 3A’s own live little romcom.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Okay, but after I finish this soup.” He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him. 

”If he didn’t like it though, he would’ve told you by now.” 

You can’t help but perk up at that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He spoons the soup into his mouth. “Oh. This is good, why didn’t you get any when we were in line?”

“...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.”

Hitoshi sighs. 

“For your birthday, I’m going to admit you to a mental hospital.”

“It’s not that bad!” You insist and he snorts derisively. 

The both of you know you’re lying.

The ride to Katsuki’s house after class is awkwardly silent.

Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives you’ve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.

The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.

“I’m standing.” 

Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small ‘thanks.’ So skittish today.

He’s not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him. 

You’ve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.

Almost.

He hides a sly grin. It’s all his fault you’re acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

You’re putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.

Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.

"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.

With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.

Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.

The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.

He loves this song.

"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"

You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."

He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.

"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."

The expression on your face is priceless.

Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.

Except of course, you do the unexpected.

You giggle at him.

He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.

"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."

"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"

"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"

He scoffs. "I do not."

"You totally do."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"

You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.

"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how I’m becoming a work of art.'"

The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.

"Huh. Guess you know your shit."

You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"

He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.

"I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."

Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."

He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.

Mitsuki’s face greets the two of you as she opens the door.

“Katsuki! You're here early—oh!"

She spots you. 

“You’re one of those cute maid girls from last year’s cultural festival!" 

Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denki’s suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugo’s role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. “Yes ma’am.”

“I didn’t know you were Katsuki’s girlfriend.”

“What?” Your mouth drops. “Oh, I’m not—“

“You brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.” Mitsuki scolds in her son’s direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes can’t resist trailing over to see his reaction.

"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."

Oh my god, was he blushing?

Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.

His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."

You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."

"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.

Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.

So this is where Bakugo grew up.

There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.

The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.

Okay, you’re the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.

Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his mother’s and occasionally his father’s responses on his laptop.

It’s funny, the way you think he doesn’t notice your shivers.

"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"

He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.

You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.

"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.

You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"

"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."

“No, I don’t need it—!” You're cut off with a sneeze.

He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.

“It’s sexy to see you prove me wrong.”

His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.

“You’re so fucking weird.” There’s an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason. 

"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.

“Shut up.” Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. “Fucking baby.” 

“You're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."

There's a groan from him. "No you didn’t.”

"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."

Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."

"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."

He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"

You were not expecting that.

The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."

"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.

Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.

"Yes."

Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.

"YesIwantyoutokissme!"

"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.

It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.

His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.

"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.

"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."

[mad-hunts]

the amount of people that matilda actually let in to catch a glimpse of what was the closest thing to being the 'real her' — and by that, i mean sometimes even she herself didn't know who she was, really — was so little thus far... it could be counted on one hand. for also like barton, matilda had this ability to 'chameleon' her way into people's good graces by telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, and being exactly what they wanted her to be in general. though that was mostly when matilda was 'procuring' victims for herself; so around people like jervis, she acted as close as she could to her actual personality with the added condition of not allowing him any room to quote unquote 'figure her out.'

matilda didn't exactly want the other to know exactly who she was after all. doing that would be compromising the one advantage she seemed to have over jervis, just in case he got any weird ideas that he wanted to turn on her, or her father: and that was the quality of being unpredictable. while this was something she did consciously, though, matilda also found that she did or said things that came from an actually authentic part of her deep down inside. which therein, she supposed, lied a paradox. people always liked to compare her to her father as he always seemed to operate under the same confusing logic; but matilda liked to think she was more than just a copy of him despite her adopting a good amount of his behaviors.

matilda found herself humming along to a jazz song that she'd heard a band playing in a dance hall while her and jack were out on a 'night on the town.' they were just planning on passing by it until her younger brother stopped to listen to it when the trombone player came on. they were really good but still, the place was mostly deserted. so jack saw it fit to tell matilda they should go in there. which, indeed, they did. it was strange for someone to tell her that she'd been a part of making someone's day but that is what one of the band members told the both of them at the end of their set. she'd expressed that it was really nice to see people dancing to their music again.

and even though it was a small thing, it stuck in her mind like glue for some reason. matilda had actually gotten the number of the trombone player as he invited her to go to their next show and jack had teased her endlessly about it for the rest of the night. 'he was making such big googly eyes at you, sis — so now you have to go and see him the next time they play or you're gonna make him completely devastated.' it made matilda feel like a normal human being for a moment. something she hadn't felt in a long time, and that she liked. matilda simply blinked down at the peeling skin on barton's hand then. the trombone player, ramses, was in new york city now as part of a tour after being discovered and she was stuck here.

killing people. matilda inhaled sharply as she tried not to think about him anymore, and sat next to jervis, though with enough distance between them that she wasn't in his 'bubble.' she had once been told that she was off-putting by someone at gotham university and that was the whole reason why they left her to do all the work on their group project. for a moment, matilda wondered whether jervis felt the same way about her and if he had the choice, he'd rather be dealing with her father than her. but she shut down that thought upon seeing the thumbnail of the video. it was crazy what they were showing on this news channel when they supposedly wanted to be taken seriously.

this thought made her laugh as the broadcast showed those two god awful pictures of them, as if they hand-picked those just because they made them look as unhinged as possible. coughing, matilda nodded in response to jervis's questions before saying, ❝ yeah. i mean, if i didn't know any better, i'd say you'd done something personal to these news-people and they picked these photos purely out of spite. ❞ she cleared her throat before she could no longer hide her laughter and did so in her hands. ❝ oh, my god. it's funny because i actually know the story behind that photo of dad and it is... just, ❞ matilda didn't have the words for it at the time, so she simply made a 'chef's kiss' gesture with her hand.

when the time for the so-called 'character witnesses' to make their statements, she listened to the ones regarding jervis and appreciated them as one might appreciate a movie that was 'so bad, its good.' though the ones talking about her dad were somehow even worse... at least, in her opinion. there was a farmer on there who was actually partially telling the truth because barton had found himself taking shelter in the hayloft of that man's barn, but he clearly had a few screws loose by the way he stretched the scenario on the other half of things. and his southern accent just made things a bit more funny. 'so, this one afternoon en october about two years ago, aah went to go check own the chickens en mah barn. which is just something i do every day as a part of mah routine, you know? but... '

but this guy proceeded to say that he found this weird blonde man in his hayloft that looked like he'd just come out of the movie 'carrie' with how much blood he had on him. and that he was convinced barton was a cultist because he kept on murmuring something in tongues, when matilda was pretty sure he was probably just speaking in french. another one of the 'character witnesses' was someone who fit in the category of wanting their fifteen minutes of fame however. it was a professor that barton had once, after all, but she'd gotten all of the details about barton's appearance wrong and so the reporter had to correct her about it while trying not to laugh. this professor then said she'd seen him following her for a long distance once before saying he must've been doing it because she was a 'christian woman,' and she'd seen him reading a 'devil's book.'

but of course, in reality, this book was literally just the mysterious stranger by mark twain. matilda could hardly contain herself at that, as well as that jervis was a puppet. thus, she felt it was necessary to take a drink of water to stop herself from waking barton up. matilda was nearly tearing up by how badly she wanted to laugh but couldn't, ❝ ooh, my god. that is never going to get old... if i could, i would put that professor's quote and that quote about you being a puppet framed on the wall. ❞ she snorted through her nostrils then and ran her hands down her face to try to regain her composure. the whole thing was just so ridiculous, it was like they were in an episode of the twilight zone, or something. matilda let out a 'phew' sound once she was finally able to gather her bearings once more.

she nodded, ❝ pretty much, yeah. anyways, i hope you ejoyed that as much as i did, because we probably could all use a little more humor around here. ❞ matilda's eyes flitted from the other to her phone screen as a barely audible chime wrang from it. she went to check her notifications then and squinted at what she saw, before looking back up at her father. all it was was a news alert that the police were offering a cash reward for any information people may be able to give them on either barton's or jervis's location. which, in theory, could be bad. though no one else knew they were here to her knowledge.

matilda's heart nearly jumped out of her chest then when she saw that barton was starting to vomit while laying on his back. there was serious danger in that, so she ran over to the bed to flip him on his side and that way, barton wouldn't aspirate. it was all stomach acid but if he breathed that in it would still be very bad. ❝ jesus christ — i'm sorry, matilda. that was so gross and i got some on you, ❞ yeah, he did, matilda thought as she looked down at the now ruined undershirt to her tux. she could hardly be mad at barton though when he sounded like he was about to cry in that barely audible voice of his. wait, he was about to cry?

god's, barton was burning up. and he had a history of getting slightly to moderately delirious depending on how bad it was. matilda was able to tell this by laying the back of her hand across his forehead. barton maneuvered himself into sitting on the bed and matilda threw off whatever covers were on himself while she struggled to figure out what to do. ❝ yeah, you just stay there while i go get a thermometer. ❞ she looked over to jervis in the corner then and mouthed the words 'he is as hot as an oven. i am calling someone.' with that, she went into the kitchen-like area, leaving jervis alone with barton. the doctor cleared his throat then and closed his eyes after briefly looking at where jervis was. ❝ ugh... well, it appears as if you two are buddies now. did you tell my daughter you have synesthesia yet? ❞

This struck a nerve, all right.

Jervis kept his eyes on Matilda as she flitted from one spot to the next, trying to read her, to gauge what was really going on beneath that cool, collected exterior. She was like some storm he could never predict—one moment, raging and untouchable, the next, calm and almost… kind. Her moods shifted like the tides, and it made her hard to trust, hard to pin down. That bothered him. It gnawed at the edges of his mind, poking at old wounds, stirring up old fears.

He supposed it made sense, though, that she’d be like this. After all, Barton had the same unpredictable streak, that same capacity for both violence and unexpected kindness. Maybe it was something in their blood, some shared trait that made them swing between extremes. Jervis wasn’t sure if it was comforting to think of them as merely human, prone to the same fluctuations and inconsistencies as anyone else, or if it just made them all the more dangerous.

Still, he couldn’t shake the unease that lingered in the back of his mind. He’d spent too long surviving on suspicion and caution to let his guard down so easily. He eyed the water bottle again, then glanced at Matilda as she busied herself with tending to Barton’s wounds. She moved with a kind of precision that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing, every action deliberate and controlled, even if her emotions weren’t always so steady.

Jervis found himself wondering what she made of him. Did she see through his caution, his wariness? Did she know how he hesitated to trust the water she’d given him? It wouldn’t surprise him if she did. Matilda seemed the type to understand the darker parts of human nature—after all, she lived in those shadows herself, and the butterfly sword on her person indicated she herself was no stranger to violence. He could respect that, in a way. It was twisted, sure, but there was a certain integrity in it. It was a far cry from the deceptive kindnesses of others he’d encountered, those who smiled while slipping a knife between your ribs. Matilda’s honesty, brutal though it might be, was something Jervis could understand, even if he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust it.

As she sighed and turned Barton’s hand over, Jervis caught a glimpse of the raw, peeling skin where the chain had bitten into flesh; goose pimples prickled across his own skin as the ghost of her fingers trailed along the lines of his palm. It was a stark reminder of the violence that had brought them here, and Matilda’s calm, almost clinical demeanor as she tended to Barton made Jervis feel a strange sense of disconnect. Here was someone who could compartmentalize, who could push aside the emotional fallout of their actions and focus on the task at hand. But then she broke the silence, her tone shifting to something lighter as she pulled out her phone. Jervis watched as she crossed the room to sit near him, just close enough to share the screen without encroaching on his space. It was a small gesture, but it made a difference. It made him feel like she was trying to include him in something, like she was offering a bridge between them, however tentative.

When she handed him the phone, Jervis hesitated for a moment before taking it, the warmth of her hand lingering on the device. Her words were casual, almost teasing, as she explained her original intent to show the video to Barton. There was no bitterness in her voice, no resentment. Just… acceptance. It was a simple statement of fact, and somehow, that was what really got under his skin, what he truly didn’t get.

How could she be so accepting of this, of everything? The violence, the madness, the constant danger. How could she still find a way to laugh at the absurdity of it all when it felt like the world was always on the verge of caving in? He glanced down at the video, just in time to catch the mugshots: him and Barton, plastered up on the screen like some low-rent Bonnie and Clyde. That’s when he almost lost it—because they really had chosen the worst photos possible. Barton looked like he just rolled out of bed, barely surviving some week-long bender, and Jervis himself appeared to be auditioning for the part of “Most Disgruntled Librarian” with a black eye to boot.

God help him, he couldn’t help it; he snorted. It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. Here they were, labeled as ‘dangerous’—and he supposed they were—but the picture they’ve painted? It’s so far removed from the truth it’s almost comedic. All the same, Jervis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, trying to push down the mix of shame and anger bubbling up inside. This was how they saw him—how the world saw him. Just another broken piece of the puzzle, just another madman to be feared and avoided. But Matilda? She coughed to cover her laugh, and in that moment, he almost envied her. Though there was something almost… playful about it, too. He glanced at her, catching the small, amused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Christ, they always manage to make us look like a couple of lunatics, don't they?" Jervis muttered, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and sardonic amusement. "Not that they’re far off, but still…” His words hung in the air, more for his own benefit than Matilda’s, as if he needed to hear them aloud to process the irrationality of their situation. Half an attempt to engage and half a way to vent, though they barely registered with him as they left his lips. And as the video continued, Matilda fortunately kept her word, fast-forwarding through the monotonous parts — skipping the drivel that passed for analysis — and pausing only when something particularly ludicrous surfaced. The screen flickered with the faces of so-called 'witnesses,' each one more eager than the last to spout their fabricated nonsense. Jervis’ patience was already worn dangerously thin, and yet, there was something almost cathartic about it—watching these idiots make fools of themselves while pretending to know anything about their lives.

The first glimpse of the self-appointed 'character witnesses' was some pimple-ridden bloke who looked like he hadn’t left his mother’s basement in years claiming Jervis once glared at him at a bookshop, and some woman with more makeup than sense insisting she could "just tell" by his eyes that he was pure evil. What utter gobshite, he thought, the senselessness almost too much to process, and yet, not worth the effort to truly be outraged about. He had bigger things to worry about than the rantings of people who were clearly in it for their own fifteen minutes of fame. Their words slipped through his mind like water through a sieve—one ear, out the other, leaving only the residue of irritation behind.

Beside him, Matilda’s smirk grew to “cat that caught the canary” proportions as she paused on a particularly ludicrous claim—that he was actually a puppet for a secret society… it was infectious, and for a moment, Jervis found himself smirking too, even with the gnawing frustration that simmered just beneath the surface. "Really?" he muttered, half to himself. "What a sorry lot… They’ll believe anything these days." But the words were more of a reflex, a way to acknowledge how asinine it all was without really engaging. It felt almost like a bad joke—one he was too weary to laugh at but not quite angry enough to fully reject. Besides, these people had no idea who he really was, no understanding of the things that had shaped him, the struggles he had endured. They were content to paint him as a villain because it was easier than seeing him as a person. It was easier to believe that monsters were born, not made. It made them feel safer, more in control of a world that was anything but. It was infuriating, but what could he do? This was how the world worked. Truth didn’t matter—perception did.

Jervis handed the phone back to Matilda, his expression a mixture of bitterness and wry resignation. “They’re all the same, aren’t they?”Nonplussed, he reached into his pocket, removed his lighter and the bag of weed. Smoke curled from the joint as he took a practiced breath. For a brief moment, the tension that had gripped him since they arrived at the warehouse began to loosen its hold. He found himself easing back against the wall, his shoulders relaxing as the ridiculousness of it all took center stage. It was hard not to get caught up in the shared absurdity, to momentarily set aside his anger and exhaustion. It was a small moment, a fleeting one, but even as he thought it, that little voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning. Don’t get too comfortable. Don’t forget who she is. Who you are.

Jervis glanced at the girl, wondering what it would take to really crack that shell of hers. To see what was underneath the calm, underneath the dark humor and the sharp edges. Was there anything more, or was this all there was? Was Matilda just another mirror, reflecting whatever the world threw at her, never letting it leave a mark? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He knew better than to voice those thoughts aloud.

And so, while he allowed himself to enjoy this moment, he kept his guard up, wary of the storm that he knew would eventually follow the calm. Because if there was one thing Jervis Tetch knew for certain, it was that nothing good ever lasted. Not for him. And certainly not in a world as twisted as this one. Maybe, just maybe, that was something he could learn from her. From everything that had transpired since the moment he and Barton were apprehended.

Provided, of course, he didn’t let her or her father kill him first.

[pxison]

Send Me 💬 + a Name and My Muse will Talk About That Person

@chatcambrioleur​ asked:  💬 + Nami for Ichiji and Niji 🙃

Ichiji visibly struggles to keep a neutral face when all he wants to do is smile. This woman has done so much to get him to where he is in terms of emotional development and in a way he is grateful for that. For not having to go his entire life not feeling whole.

“Nami huh? I don’t know what it is about her that makes me feel so warm but she does and I only want to be closer to her damn the consequences. There isn’t a whole lot in this world that would keep me from her unless certain factors play a part in separating us.” He frowns then at that thought. They were lucky to stay together despite obstacles, but their situation was still a dire one that could fall apart at the seams at any moment. And he hated to think of it further so he won’t. He’d rather bask in the all encompassing warmth that was her.

Unlike his brother, Niji dons a much more twisted grin that would curdle the insides of any that saw it. Nothing good came from such an expression, and many had paid for it over the years of being the nearest victim in prince Niji’s sights.

“That hot navigator chick, Nami was it? Yeah, I’m into her, and I think the feelings mutual.” Mutually opposite that’s for sure. But Niji was only ever taught to continue pursuing those that refused him as after all, what lowly woman could possibly have enough sway over a man such as himself to be able to deny him anything? If he wanted her body, he would have it in time no matter what his older brother thought.

“She’ll crack soon I can feel it. Once Ichiji grows tired of fucking her I’ll have my turn and then she’ll wonder why she hadn’t dropped that prissy prick sooner. Either that, or I’ll have to get a little creative, and that sweet tangerine cunt will be mine yet.”