#unidentified black baby

[giantkillerjack]

Watching the Junji Ito Maniac episode "Mold", and as far as I can tell so far, it looks like it's based on the visceral terror of real life black mold taking over your house until you can afford to fix it or move

and frankly literally nothing else scary needs to happen this is the scariest story he's ever written

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Bruce knew immediately that it wasn't his son. Even if the glowing neon green eyes weren't a dead giveaway, Tim would never move like that. He was clumsy and uncoordinated in a way a normal teen would be, not at all like the trained fighter that he actually was.

Next was the voice. It was nothing like Tim's, and Bruce was surprised that whoever this kid was - because that definitely sounded like a kid - actually thought anyone would be fooled by this. Oh well, he wanted info and wanted to make this kid squirm a bit as punishment, so why not bring out Brucie baby and tease him a little?

"Tim dear, why are you still in the office? I thought I told you to go to bed early tonight! You're going to pass out again!"

The kid wearing Tim's face looked alarmed for a bit. Once Bruce had mentioned passing out and he took the opportunity to shuffle the kid towards the door while his guard was down.

"Wait! I need to get-"

"Whatever it is," Bruce interrupted, "It can wait till tomorrow."

The kid slumped a bit and pouted, but otherwise made no attempts of escaping as Bruce led the fake Drake to the elevator, however the moment they got into the car "Tim" blacked out in the passenger seat and didn't wake up for three hours. All tests showed that this was the real Tim, so what was happening?

Tim awoke with a gasp on a couch in the manor.

"Tim," Bruce began, already getting up from his place in the nearby armchair, but before he could speak, Tim croaked out, "Possessed"

"What?"

"Possession. He was after the device that was powered by the unidentified green substance we found."

Aka Danny tries to steal back his parents' dangerous stuff only to be stopped at the last minute.

Repeatedly.

Danny doesn't even know what half this stuff does, but he's not too keep on finding out, thus trying to get them away from the humans

[leonsdolly]

Tammy Faye

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Synopsis: In which you love Leon so much, you'd do anything for him.

CW: nsfw 18+, angst, obsession, depictions of murder, subby Leon, oral (m receiving)

WC: 4.4k

A/N: inspired by Tammy Faye by Nicole Dollanganger !

Red, black, red, black! Your hands are painted with the brilliant scarlet hue as you scrub them vigorously under the freezing tap water. You glance up at the filthy mirror to catch a glimpse of yourself. Black streaks of mascara trickle down your cheeks, mixing with the blood splattered across them like unholy rouge on a Venetian mask. You force a smile through the cracked exterior. Pierrot gone rogue. If he’d stabbed Harlequin eighteen times in a truckstop bathroom less than ten miles from Raccoon City and made sure to pose him all special for a handsome cop to find.

It’s as if all you see these days are red and black. How you long to catch a glimpse of the blue that swirls your lover’s eyes. The faint baby blue shadow you had applied that morning was a poor substitute. You screw your eyes shut and try to picture the particular shade of cerulean that you live for. His lovely face is overtaken by the gut-wrenching smell of copper and mildew as you open your eyes and continue scrubbing at your flesh. No matter, you’ll see him soon. For now, you focus on washing away all evidence of your inundating love. You scrub harder and harder and harder. Jesus, how much blood could a girl hold?

After what feels like eons under the flickering fluorescent light, you turn the rusty faucet off and smile widely at your reflection again. If Leon were to see you now, would he be enraptured by the way your thick mascara coated lashes frame your teary eyes like a doll that’s been trapped in an unopened box, forced to watch the most heartbreaking scenes play out through the unrelenting acetate sheet? You shake your head forcefully, expelling those thoughts out. The cops will be here soon. A twinge of giddiness zaps through your heart at the thought. He’ll be here soon.

You reapply a fresh coat of red lipstick - Dior, of course, before taking one last look around the dingy restroom. It’s filthy, but it was your personal respite for the past few hours. You wrinkle your nose at the row of grotesque urinals lined up against the dirt encrusted wall. They were filled with mysterious liquids that made your stomach churn. Thick reddish-brown goop that lay still with unidentifiable objects submerged within like a bog in Hell. Who would even think of doing something as disgusting as sticking their hand in? You turn away and push the door open to be greeted by the warm summer air. The night sky looms over you, a black sheet covered in stars that twink and blink and wink down at you as if to say “your secret’s safe with us.”

While this truckstop is gross, its beauty lies in the fact that it’s tiny and desolate as hell. Sure, the city is less than ten miles away, but the dense forestry surrounding the Arklay Mountains provides some coverage along the highway, shielding this particular stop from careless eyes. If you weren’t careful, you could miss it altogether unless you paid close attention to the fading signs. And because this was in the middle of nowhere, there weren’t any workers manning the facility at night. You wink back up at the stars and circle around the bathroom towards the gaggle of deserted semi-trucks, towards the one with its back door unlatched and open for all to see, towards her. 

She sits up unnaturally, thanks to the crate you had propped up against her back. The emptiness of the semi’s trailer looks as if it’s about to swallow her for all that she’s got like a black hole. The shadows of moths fluttering against the lights dance over her, contrasting the stillness of her features. You tilt your head as you cross your arms and glare up at her. You’re still prettier, right? Her skin has taken on a sallow tone that appears even more unflattering in the harsh fluorescent light. Her hair is tangled and matted with blood. The black blouse she wears is torn and looks even darker with the stains covering it. You gently smack your lips, feeling the satisfaction of freshly applied lipstick. The whore got what was coming. 

Gone were the nights of crying on the kitchen floor as Tammy Wynette played from another room. Gone were the days of having to excuse yourself in the staff restroom at the station to wipe the raven smudges away from your eyes. Gone were the moments of sheer exasperation and disgust as you watched her touch his uniform clad shoulders and lean in close to let him brush his lips over her own.

You pull your dainty white lace-trimmed gloves out of your pocket and slip them on before padding over to the lonesome payphone. You deposit a quarter before carefully dialing the three digits that would summon your lover like Beatrice descending from Paradise.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’d like to report a dead body at the old truckstop about ten miles south of Raccoon City.” Click.

You put the inky black phone back on the receiver before smiling uncontrollably. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as the anticipation of seeing him very soon washes over you. You love him so madly, you’re convinced the only way out of it is 500 mg of midazolam, 100 mg of vecuronium bromide, and 240 mEq of good ol’ potassium chloride.

The dense forest behind the truckstop beckons you with open arms, and you oblige. You skip over to a spot that will allow you to have a front row view of what’s about to transpire while keeping you hidden among the foliage. From here, you can see the girl sitting up with deadweight limbs like a marionette being forced upright with invisible strings. The strings are in your hands, but you were forced to seize control of them from her. Who knows what her influence would have done to Leon?

A bat of her clumpy lashes here, a hand on his firm shoulder there, and your Leon voluntarily hooked himself onto the strings, dancing to the tune she hums from her spot in the dingy break room. You suppose you can't fault him entirely; it's in his nature to grin bashfully and gaze at a woman who fawns over him with lovesick eyes. After all, that's what you love about your sweet rookie cop. Sweeter than candy floss, tantalizing in every aspect like a perfect little peach ready to be plucked from Eden. He just needs to realize that you had always been leaning against the counter of that break room, observing the two with astute grace.

“Excuse me, could you point me in the direction of the chief’s office?” You dissolved.

The first words he had ever uttered to you solidified that you wanted all his words, and you would give him yours. You can’t even remember what you had responded with, lost in the tranquility of his eyes and splendor of his smile. You didn’t miss the way those eyes softly ran over your cream silk blouse, caressing and thumbing over the first few buttons for a peek of something more, something buried deep within your soul. Those lips pulled back to beam at you, beckoning you to press every part of you onto them until you shed black tears from a warmth you weren’t accustomed to.

You hear the sirens approaching from your protected spot, silently thanking nature for watching over you while the love of your life approaches.

“Come get your gift, sweetheart,” you murmur. “It's all for you, everything I do…”

Your heart thumps faster as the sirens scream louder and louder until they reach the truckstop. The slam of car doors echo throughout the otherwise silent night air as the officers’ frantic voices jumble over each other. You hold your breath as you identify your darling's voice among the two; your heart is about to blast off for the moon, leaving a red heart-shaped chemtrail behind it for all to see.

Some tinkering with flashlights and crackle of walkie-talkies, and there he is.

Leon rounds the corner to face the semi’s trailer, face going slack as he takes in the stage you set for him. He stands transfixed before her, immobilized like he’s now the one behind the acetate sheet. A pretty Ken doll, waiting for someone to tug at his strings.

His partner, Officer Redfield, flanks the semi as he joins Leon. “Fuck.”

Officer Redfield wastes no time in flinging open the car door and jamming his button to radio dispatch while his partner pales in the moonlight. You can't really make out what he's saying to dispatch but the terms “DOA” and “requesting units” and her name float over to you. When dispatch has confirmed that backup is on the way, Officer Redfield walks over to Leon and hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Kennedy.”

Leon shakes his head, a little dazed, a little frantic, but pretty just the same, and your thighs clench together. “How could this have happened again, Chris?”

Officer Redfield sighs heavily as he gazes up at the displayed corpse with unease. “I don't know. Goddamn it…”

He says something about how great of a colleague she was and how the entire station would miss her, but you can scarcely hear him over the blood roaring in your ears. Your beloved had asked how something like this could have happened again. Again. He knew. He was at least putting the pieces together. Your cheeks hurt from beaming in the shadows of the foliage; he was acknowledging the gifts you had bestowed upon him. A girl from a coffee shop whose smile drew him in like a shrimp to an anglerfish. A brute of a man who dared to connect his fist to such a lovely cheek during a drunken brawl at a bar. Both posed for his lovely eyes only, their last moments entombed in the polaroids tucked away in your desk drawer.

I’ve done it again, you silently mouth to him. I’ve done it again.

He doesn’t show up to work the next day. Or the day after that and the day after that and the day after that, and your organs fail.

An entire week passes, leaving your heart to writhe in agony from his absence. You stare forlornly at his empty desk from your own, shuffling papers mindlessly and feeling your hand twitch towards the letter opener whenever Chief Irons walks by - the bastard was the one who granted your darling “time off” to “process his emotions.”

A feeling of solemnity looms over the entire station as it whispers in hushed tones about who could’ve ripped away its beloved receptionist, a young woman who was in the prime of her life. The collective mourning is enough to make you want to vomit all over her desk, covering the slab of wood in your spite. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

You skim your fingers over the mahogany surface of Leon’s desk, feeling every crevice he feels as he hastily writes up reports and laughs at the other officers’ jokes like an angel breathing life into humans formed from dust. You long to see his splendorous face again, long to hear the stumbling of his words as his superiors tease him, long to inhale his reassuring scent as you brush past him to heat up your food in the break room. 

“You friends with him or something?” Officer Redfield’s voice shatters you out of your reverie with a jolt. 

“Oh, um, kinda…” Your voice softens at the question. Were you friends? Absolutely not. You were something better.

“Well, a few of us are gonna take him out tonight. Try to cheer him up after everything that’s been going on. Hell, we all need to cheer up. That last one hit way too close to home, especially for Kennedy.” His expression grows solemn. Three unsolved murders in such a short amount of time doesn’t necessarily boast confidence in the local police department. “You should come.”

You’re hesitant to respond. While your instincts are screaming at you to politely decline the invitation and instead observe the gathering from afar, a part of you realizes that you’ll get to be close to him. The thought makes you flutter like a little lacy thing in the wind that’s been pinned to a clothesline for as long as it can remember.

“I’d like that, thanks for inviting me.” You beam up at Officer Redfield. “You’ve all worked so hard. You deserve to relax as much as possible.”

“I don’t know about that.” A heavy sigh escapes his lips, and it looks like he wants nothing more than to tip his head back and let the whiskey slide down his throat, burning and clawing and gnawing at his esophagus until his vision turns black. “That’s three families who are cryin’ themselves to sleep, wonderin’ why this is happening to them.”

“Right.” Your eyebrows raise together in a display of faux sympathy, and your lovely mouth twists in a way that one could interpret as a pout of sorrow.

Where was the collective empathy when you were crying yourself to sleep every night while he was undoubtedly hugging her to his chest as they slept peacefully without a care in the world? Where was the justice in forcing yourself to be satisfied by your own fingers knowing it was a poor substitute for the heavenly cock filling her up? Where was the sense in any of it?

You slip back into an easy grin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Raucous laughter and clinking of glasses and billiard balls missing their shots surround you as you enter a bar that’s rather homely in its own way. Your nerves are powerful enough to puncture flesh as you had primped and fussed over your appearance beforehand. This is your first outing with Leon, and you know that looking like anything less than Aphrodite’s descendant is not an option.

You see him before anyone else, just the way it’s always been. A modern-day Adonis standing unsuspectingly among the mediocre. His beauty wafts over to you like the aroma of honey and vanilla and brown sugar brewing on a stove, sweet and utterly tantalizing. It wraps itself around you, commanding you to drink it in until you relinquish all control. You’ve already given it all up for him. Gazing at him like he’s your cult leader, ready to usher you into the New World where it’s just you and him and no one else. You’ll do anything to preserve that world.

You make your way over to the group, greeting them and exchanging pleasantries before ordering your own drink. He’s leaning haphazardly on the edge of a pool table, and you casually stand by him, gripping onto your glass with trembling fingers.

He looks rather exhausted. Faint shadows encircle his eyes, and his blonde hair is a little mussed. His clothes are slightly rumpled, and he looks glumly at the tequila in his hand. His cheeks are painted with a subtle flush from the alcohol. You try not to reveal the utter state of adoration he’s put you in as you speak up.

“How are you, Officer Kennedy?”

He throws you a sidelong glance, and you catch it with bambi eyes. “I’m… hanging in there, I guess. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

You feel as though he’s taken an ax to every single appendage as you giggle softly and tell him your name.

He gives you a small smile as he nods at you. “I see you in the breakroom a lot.” His smile heals the bloody mess he just made, regenerating your wounds until you feel whole again.

“I do too. I’m really sorry about what you’re going through. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.” You tilt your head sympathetically to show him you really care about his well-being. The angle also shows off your good side.

“Thanks,” he sighs. “I don’t know how something like this could’ve happened to her. Been beating myself up all this time wondering what I could’ve done to prevent this from happening. I don’t know. Sounds kinda crazy, but the other two cases we had felt pretty c-close to me too… You think I’m being real self-centered for that or something? It’s only my first year on the force, and I-I’m trying to process all of this. S’a shitty feeling…” His lets his drunken ramble fade away.

“I think you’re a good and kind person who is just trying to make sense of some horrible events that have happened.” You gently touch his arm as a way of offering comfort, and the feeling of his skin underneath your fingertips evokes an overwhelming surge in between your legs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Officer Kennedy. You can’t blame yourself for anything.”

He blinks back tears that are starting to brim along his heavenly lashes, and your clit throbs underneath your dress. 

“I really appreciate that.” He smiles at you again which brings forth another wave of sticky arousal in your panties. “And Leon’s fine. Don’t need to do any of that ‘Officer’ stuff with me.”

“Leon.” Your favorite word in the world rolls off your tongue with practiced grace. He doesn’t need to know that you cling to the two syllables every night with frenzied cries as you try desperately to make yourself cum.

“Leon, what do you say we find somewhere a little more quiet? It can get pretty rambunctious and overwhelming in these places…” You lean in closer to gaze up at him underneath your pretty lashes, allowing your carefully selected fragrance to pull him under the depths of your desire, a siren calling out to the shipwrecked prince.

He lets out a stutter as the alcohol-induced blush dusted over his nose and cheeks intensifies further. It’s enough to put a Botticelli painting to shame.

“S-somewhere quiet would be good.”

You give his arm a gentle pat before leading him outside where the crisp night air kisses your faces, giving two lovers a proper welcome. The back of the bar is relatively secluded, and there is a small wooden bench that you promptly perch yourselves on. For the next minute or so, the two of you sit in silence. Your heart is about to blast off towards the moon as the realization that he’s here with his thigh pressed against yours hits you hard.

“Thanks for listening to me back there,” he finally murmurs with his eyes cast downwards. “I don't really want to get into that with the others.”

“Why not? They care about you, and want to make sure you’re okay.” I’m the only one you need, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.

“To be honest… I don't want them to think that I can’t handle myself. That I’m still just a stupid weak rookie who can’t compartmentalize his emotions like a real man.”

“Oh, Leon…” Darling, sweetheart, baby. “You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You’re a talented cop and a great person. You feel everything the way you want to feel. No one’s judging you or looking down on you for it. Trust me on that.”

You’re so caught up in reassuring him that you don’t realize your hand has floated up to cup his cheek until he stammers something unintelligible. You let your thumb rub soothing circles on his soft skin as you continue.

“I mean, anyone can tell how kind and sweet and smart and skilled you are. You have the respect of everyone at work, including mine…”

His flustered expression causes your breath to hitch as you gently brush his bottom lip with your thumb. You could write poetry inspired by the way his lips curve into a shy smile, pulling his faint dimples out of their slumber and letting sweet nothings be whispered to them under the moonlight.

“You want me to make everything better, baby?” You let your murmur be as soothing as possible, an elixir that promises to heal the broken man before you.

He nods bashfully as your forehead touches his. You let your hand fall from his face, and he whines softly at the loss of warmth, and as much as you’d love to mentally record the sound so that it’s playing over and over in your brain for those unfulfilling nights on the kitchen floor, you swallow it up with your own lips.

Your first kiss is what people go to war for. As your lips move together in tandem, you’re overcome with nostalgia for a time when the aroma of freshly baked apple pie wafts through the home and neighbors wave to each other over their white picket fences and Leon comes home with a twinkle in his eyes as he kisses you and the bundle in your arms.

This is why you did what you did.

He whimpers into your mouth as the kiss grows deeper. His hands roam down to your waist, squeezing gently at your sides as you let your tongue intertwine with his. You move your lips south, along his jaw and towards his neck where you set up camp. He lets out a whine as you press your lips particularly hard against the sensitive spot by his throat, taking care to pay attention to the two little moles peeking back up at you.

“P-please…” He gasps at another scrape of your teeth against his delicate skin.

“Just leaving a few marks to remember me by,” you coo. “Making my pretty boy even prettier.”

To your delight, his hips shift uncomfortably at your words. You lower your hand to meet his crotch, gently palming the growing bulge underneath his jeans. His head tips back, proclaiming open season on his throat to which you attack with vigor. Your thighs squeeze together as your lover pants towards the moon. You’re so focused on making your pretty boy feel good with your soft rubs and passionate kisses that you’ve scarcely paid any attention to the soaking gusset of your panties.

You slowly but surely lower yourself to the ground, internally cringing at the feeling of dirt on your knees. Oh well, it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever gotten on you. You perch yourself in between his legs and fumble with his belt buckle. His head returns to its original position as he gazes down at you with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes.

“Y-you don’t have to.”

“I want to, baby. I said I’d make everything better, right?”

“Mmm, yeah.” 

He sighs as you successfully unclasp his buckle and shimmy his hardened cock out of his boxers. You preen at the sight - it’s pretty, just like the rest of him, and weeping for your attention. You gingerly take it in your hands, marveling at the girth as you stroke it up and down with slow movements. He whimpers at the feeling and involuntarily bucks his hips up so that he fucks into your hand. You let him do this a few times before deciding enough is enough.

“What do you want me to do, sweet boy? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Your m-mouth,” he whispers.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” you tease as you hover your lips over the head.

“Want you to put your mouth on it,” he says, sounding more brave. How cute.

You hum in approval as you plant a kiss on the flushed tip of his cock which elicits the sexiest moan you’ve heard from him all night. Your hips roll against nothing, seeking pleasure for the ache in your cunt, but you force yourself to ignore it. You can’t be selfish tonight.

You softly lick at the sides before working on enveloping his length with your warm mouth. You bob your head up and down, relishing in the heavenly noises escaping his lips. You savor the taste of him as you slowly lift your head off to suckle at the tip before diving back in again, letting each inch tease against your throat. Your cheeks hollow out as you gaze up at him through your mascara covered lashes, letting your eyes go hazy with pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he heaves as he grips onto the hem of his shirt for an anchor. It’s all too much - your puffy lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth, the black tears trickling down your cheeks as you take him in for everything he’s got, the way you’re massaging his balls to heighten his pleasure. “I’m gonna-”

You pull all the way off, and you swear he almost cries.

“P-please, keep going. Please make me cum, I was almost there…” Tears bead along his lash line, and he desperately reaches for you. Your heart swells as you feel your emotions crash over you at the sight of the man you love crying for you to make him orgasm. How far you’ve come since those melancholy nights on the kitchen floor.Their sacrifices weren’t in vain after all. 

You smile up at him and proceed to pleasure him in the way you can - the way he deserves. The lewd slurping sounds you make fill the air, and he tries not to thrust harshly into your mouth, but it’s all too overwhelming when you’re sucking his cock like it’s your favorite thing to do in the world.

He throws his head back and lets out a high-pitched moan as he bursts into your waiting mouth. You swallow his load, savoring the taste of his cum and trying to commit the feeling of it all into your memory. You pull off of his softening cock and press kisses to his twitching thighs as you observe his blissful state. His chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath. His cheeks are as flushed as ever and a bit of drool has escaped onto his chin. 

“Th-thank you,” he breathes.

“The pleasure was all mine.” You help him get fully dressed again and capture his lips in one more kiss.

“Do you maybe want to come over tonight? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to… I-I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.” His eyes are begging, and who are you to deprive them of their desires?

“I’d love to.” You smile sweetly at him and take his hand to lead him to the car, winking up at the stars as you do.

[pablitosgf]

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — jb05 !

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — jude bellingham x fem!bestfriend!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ! — in which an old lady mistakes you and jude as a married couple, leaving you with many thoughts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! — nothing!!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! — no because this took me 3 days to write… anyways… Y/N/N means your nickname <3

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ! — writing

You lay in your bed, bored, to say the least. Today, you had no plans at all, and all your friends were busy. Including your best friend, Jude. Apparently, he was going to be babysitting his nieces, you knew he was good with kids but told him:

“If you need help just tell me, okay?”

You were no stranger to his nieces, after all, you were like family to the Bellinghams. Knowing his aunts, grandparents, cousins, and nieces and nephews. They treated you as family and you reciprocated that.

Of course, when Jude heard you say that he instantly replied with an “I don't need help, I'm good with kids.”

You laughed it off, knowing he’ll need help at least at one point, but you didn't say that to him. So now, you still lay there bored as ever. Watching as the warm sun seeps into your window, casting an orange hue on your body as you look at the window. You could hear the low voices of your phone lightly exuding music from its speakers, making the surroundings more tranquil. You observed as people walked around your neighborhood, immediately thinking that you should too.

And just as you were going to go on a walk, a vibration came on your phone. Inside, you hoped it was Jude so you can prove him wrong, saying that he did need help from his best friend. A smile played on your face as you thought about it, you extended your hand for the buzzing phone, producing noise as its laying on your sheets. Instantly your eyes darted to the contact name, you smiled even harder.

Judith.

A silly nickname you called Jude, eventually making it his contact name after he mentioned it. You brought your phone to your ear as you press the green button, and his voice bleeds from the phone's speakers. Some unidentified shuffling came through and some giggles and laughs. A grin tints your face.

“Okay, you were right I do need help…” Jude sighs.

Your chuckle fills the whole call, “Of course you do. Send me the location.”

He says a quick okay, ending the call fast. You flitted to grab your car & house keys before strolling out the door. The fresh breeze wafts into your nose as you inhale, making you feel serenity. You made your way to your car, clambering inside as you wait for it to start.

And when it starts you make your way through windy roads and scenic views. England wasn't always thought of as the most beautiful, but it definitely had pretty sceneries.

You eventually made your way, moving toward the entrance of the house. It was for sure one of the prettier neighborhoods around here, not to say your neighborhood was the worst, but this one was definitely better. Your arm extended, folding into a fist as you knock on the black wooden door.

Patiently you waited for your best friend to open the door. You heard some noises from inside the house and footsteps gradually become louder and louder like a crescendo. Click! Was the sound the door made as it opened ajar. A toddler peeking through the black door. Immediately, you recognized who it was.

“Hi Nalia, where’s Uncle Jude?” you asked, tilting your head. She looked back, and Jude came into view as he scrambled to the door with another baby, who you also recognized. You chuckled, seeing as the other baby, Jazelle, was wrapped around his waist. Sweat beads fall down his face.

“I’m right… Here,” he said, panting.

“You look…” you began, looking at him up and down. His shirt was off, revealing his muscles, and overall he looked disheveled. But somehow he still looked perfect as ever. “Like a mess.”

He chuckled, “I know, anyways come inside. The girls want to go to the park.” he gestured for you to enter, closing the door after you did.

“I'm gonna go shower and change, take care of these two, please.” he put Jazelle down after planting a kiss on Jazelle and Nalia, running off to what you assumed was the bathroom.

You nodded and kneeled down to the two of them with a warm smile, “Do you, girls want to play while we wait for Uncle Jude?”

The girls responded with an excited “Yes!” jumping up and down. A cordial smile rolled down your lips as Jazelle and Nalia dashed to their playroom. You watched as Nalia passed by Jazelle, and you let out a chortle. Everything is a competition if you have siblings.

You finally made it to the playroom, and damn it was very nice. Nicer than whatever you had in your childhood. The playroom was littered with toys, some that you recognized, some that you didn't.

You look at the kids, playing Barbies with each other. You rest your head on your hand with a smile adorning your face as you sat down on a little chair. Their little voices and giggles overwhelm your ears and the smile that once adorned your face was even more brighter. Some day, you wanted a husband and a happy family. But for right now, you were fine being alone.

If you were going to be honest, watching Jazelle and Nalia play Barbies together made your baby–fever rise. You’ve always dreamt of kids and honestly, you didn't mind having a baby currently. You didn't get how people resented children because all you wanted to do was hug them and hold them in your arms for hours.

You were too stuck in your thoughts to realize Jude finished getting ready, “Hey, we should go to the park now.”

You nodded as you watched Jude playfully tickle the kids and pick them up. Your heart was beating faster than normal… Something you’ve never felt with Jude. Deep inside you knew what these feelings were, you knew it all too well. Maybe, it's just a one–time thing. The next time you hang out with him it’ll be all back to normal.

“Hey, Y/N/N ready to go?”

Your head whizzed in his direction, and both of the girls were strapped on his hips. A blush tinted your cheeks, he was wearing a goddamn compression shirt.

“Y–yeah! Let's go ladies and gentlemen!” you chuckled, getting up and walking towards the entrance.

Walking out of the house, you all advanced to the cars. “We should probably use your car… It has the booster seat things, right?”

Jude nodded, “Can you take my keys and open the car?”

You reach into his pocket, searching for the keys. As soon as the car keys meet your hand you take them and unlock the car.

You settled down on a bench, watching as Jazelle and Nalia play on the playground. You monitor them carefully, you didn't want their parents blaming you and Jude for getting their babies hurt.

And just as you were about chat with Jude an old lady walked up to the both of you. “You guys are a really cute couple! I remember me and my husband at this exact playground watching our kids. Are those two cuties yours?” she pointed to Jazelle and Nalia.

“No–”

“Yeah! They are.” Jude smiled, slinging his arm around your waist which struck an uneasy feeling to settle in your stomach.

It wasn't like the bad uneasy though, it was the uneasy where you had so many butterflies in your stomach to the point you just wanted to kiss them in the face. Like… Like a crush.

“They really do look like Dad don't they?” the grandma chucled, glancing over at the sisters.

You chuckled along with her, “They really do! I was hoping that they looked like me, but as soon as I saw her the first time out of my womb I was like ‘Uh oh, she doesn't look like me!’”

You all erupt in laughter, “I get that… All my children look like my husband it's crazy!” the grandma said.

You both awkwardly smile at her, “Anyway, you two have the cutest little family. I wish you two a successful marriage and a happy family!”

You both let out a thank you and as soon as she walks away you both look at each other, exploding in laughter.

But one thing you didn't notice, was how he kept his arm around your waist, and you didn't say a single word about it.

And one thing is for sure, you went to bed thinking about Jude.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Night We Met | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Would you like to be sad? Great!

This literally consumed me last night, I could not stop working on it.

Warnings: blood, reader injuries, anxiety / panic attack, guilt, hella angst

Bucky appeared behind you in the bathroom mirror, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. One moment, you were alone- and the next, his stormy eyes burned into yours. He moved so silently through the apartment you shared, his winter soldier training rendering his footsteps imperceptible. He stood stone still in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, a large file-folder in hand. Something about him was off, sharply disjointed. His breath was erratic and labored. His jaw tense. 

“Bucky, baby…” you turned to face him, abandoning your make up. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was angry- or maybe he was heartbroken. He wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that a violent swirling of unidentifiable, painful emotions tore through his chest time and time again. He almost couldn’t breathe. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He forced the words out. They were cold. Sharp. He didn’t elaborate or give context. Just stared at you, despondent. Gutted.

You quickly rose from your seat in front of the vanity, “Tell you what?” You took his free hand in yours, “What are you talking about?”

He extended the folder in your direction, motioning for you to take it. But you didn’t. You didn’t have to. An incident report number sat listed on the outside of the folder- you’d recognize that number anywhere. 

The world around you seemed to spin ever faster as the silent moments passed. The file shook in your trembling hand, it’s massive pile of papers nearly falling to the floor. “I can- I can explain, Buck…” Your breath was sharp, shallow. “Just come here. Come sit with me, okay?” You tried your best to tug him toward the bed, but he resisted. He remained rooted in place- either unwilling or unable to move with you.

“Buck, I’m sorry- I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you. Ever. But I didn’t wanna upset you and…” Your voice wavered. Tears welled in your eyes. They made tracks down your cheeks, ruining your freshly applied foundation. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest. I just didn’t know how to tell you. And then it was too late. I’d waited too long. And I didn’t-”

Bucky held up a hand, silencing you. “I don’t understand…” he said after a long, painfully silent moment. “You met me before you met me…” The shame was almost unbearable- he feared he might drown in it. “But you still wanted to be with me?”

You nodded.

“How? How- how did you overlook who I was?” His words came out frantic, panicked. “And why? It doesn’t- it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I don’t know what happened-” He took the file from your hand and gave it another once over, “it says you redacted almost every detail- every detail of what I did. But here- right here…” He pointed to one of the only sentences not marked out with thick, black lines. “Look at that.”

You eyed the large, black, block letters, the letters you’d seen a hundred times before:

Agent 1209 suffered nearly fatal injuries. 

J.B. Barnes AKA “the Winter Soldier” responsible.

He wasn’t mad- or maybe he was. But not for the reason you thought. 

Tension weighed down the air around you. Bucky stared down at the words on the page, reading and rereading them until he thought he might be sick. 

“Buck… can you talk to me?” 

His voice came out quiet, strained. He struggled for air. But eventually he found the strength to utter one sentence, “I almost killed you.” 

The file slipped from his hands. Papers floated to the floor and formed a pile at your feet, the thick, black lines staring up at you from the carpet. And then Bucky’s knees buckled. He sunk to the ground, creasing and crumpling the papers and their redacted words. 

You met Bucky on the floor in an instant, taking his face in your hands. You knew him well enough by now to know what came next. And though you couldn’t stop the impending panic attack that loomed on the horizon, you could at least help him through it. 

“Can you look at me, Buck? Can you focus on me?” You swept your thumbs over his cheeks slowly, gently, until he finally met your gaze. “Hey, that’s great. Now stay here with me, okay? Stay right here with me, baby.”

Bucky thought he might die. His heart punched against his rib cage, his blood roared in his ears. Dread and panic sat on his chest like cinderblocks, weighing him down. He couldn’t find it in him to make his lungs expand. Beads of sweat formed across his forehead; his mouth ran dry. This was it for him.

“You’re gonna breathe with me, Buck. Just like we always do.”

But he simply shook his head. 

“Yes- yes, you can, baby. I know you can.” 

And though it seemed impossible, Bucky kept tempo with you. He breathed when you told him to, exhaled on cue. You whispered praises and assurances between breaths. And finally, the color returned to his cheeks. His chest no longer burned from lack of oxygen. And the shaking in his hands slowed- it didn’t disappear completely, but this was a start. 

“Okay, let’s talk,�� you said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Come here- come sit with me.” With a gentle tug, you brought him closer. He matched your stance, his back resting against the bed. He kept a hand in yours, too scared to let go. But deep down, he knew he shouldn’t be allowed to touch you. 

“Tell me what happened- please, tell me what I did…” he said. “I need to know.”

This couldn’t end well. You knew it. You knew he’d hear your story and immediately implode, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. It seemed like the epitome of a bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen. 

“Please.”

But you owed him the truth. 

“Okay, um…” You swore to take this story to your grave, to let it die with you. No one- especially not Bucky- needed to know what happened that night. But the desperation in his voice, the pleading in his eyes, won you over. “It was around the time of Project Insight. There was that fight on the bridge- the one with you, Steve, Nat and Sam.”

Bucky nodded. 

“And Hill knew it was gonna get ugly at the Triskelion. Shit was about to hit the fan- she knew lives would be lost. And so, she sent some of us- agents who she knew for sure weren’t Hydra- to secure locations. I ended up in a house near the outside of the city.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand increased in pressure. He found himself on the edge of his seat, as though he were watching a stressful movie. Only, it wasn’t a movie. This was his life- your life. And he knew he was about to have his heart shattered. Irreparably so. 

“I was there with a few other agents, people I’d worked with for a while. We’d only been there a few hours when I woke up to this… this sound.” The memory made you shudder. You shut your eyes and shook your head, forcing the images to dissipate. But the sound still reverberated inside your skull. “I went to go check it out and I found one of my fellow agents. She was um, she was on the ground. Her throat slit. She was still alive but making this- this gurgling sound. She was choking. Aspirating on her own blood.”

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek as you thought back on your coworker. Your fellow agent. Your friend. Alana. She was smart. Strong. Funny. You liked her, trusted her. And you watched her die. 

“And I got caught up with her, you know? I couldn’t save her, but I couldn’t just leave her there. I couldn’t let her die alone. So, I sat with her until she stopped, um…” you cleared your throat. “Anyway, it was the right thing to do. But not the smart thing. Cause I was a sitting duck. I was an easy target. I should’ve made it my mission to find the others. I should’ve gotten out of the house. I should’ve called for backup or pulled my gun. But I didn’t.”

Bucky wanted to hide. He wanted to run away and never come back. He couldn’t believe he’d saddled you with such trauma. Such pain and anguish. When the two of you met, he fell for you instantly. He promised himself that he’d treat you with only love. Gentle hands and kind words. He’d never hurt you, never make you cry. He just didn’t realize he’d broken that promise before he even made it.

“But by the time I realized that I needed to move, it was too late.” You took pause. Reliving this memory wasn’t your favorite past time, but telling Bucky seemed like the very worst possible option. He was going to hate himself for this. He was going to spend the rest of his life punishing himself, self-flagellating until he died. 

“Tell me,” he almost begged. “I need to know.”

You turned to him, eyes glassy with tears. “Why, Buck? Why do I have to tell you?” Your voice broke, “I know how you’re going to react. I know you’re gonna feel terrible. You’re gonna hate yourself and treat yourself like shit. Why do you want to know?”

“I have to.” His voice was even, firm. “I have to experience my own memories vicariously through other people- through the eyes of those I hurt. I have to feel what they felt… because I couldn’t feel anything.”

You brought a shaking hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He was so good. So sweet and thoughtful and kind. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“That’s why I have this file, doll. I have a lot of them. I need to know everything I did.”

You nodded. You could never know what his experience was like. You’d never understand how it felt to have decades of memories missing from your mind. Ripped from you. Erased. And though it seemed like a terrible idea to divulge the details of what happened that day, you obliged Bucky’s request. 

You started slow, “I was sitting there with her, and something hit me in the head. It made me dizzy. And then there was a hand in my hair.”

Bucky grimaced.

“My hair was in this person’s fist, and I got dragged down the hall. I’m honestly surprised I don’t have a bald spot.” Bucky didn’t laugh at your joke. “Um, anyway, I didn’t feel my head hit the tile, but it did. Hard, apparently. The pain was delayed for some reason. It hit me a moment or two later. And then everything kind of went red? And I didn’t know what was going on. It took me kind of a long time to realize that I was bleeding- that I had blood in my eyes.”

Bucky rubbed a sleeve across his face, soaking up the tears that welled in his eyes. 

“I fought back. The med team said I had a lot of defensive wounds.” You eyed the scars littering your hands and forearms. The scars you’d told Bucky resulted from cooking accidents, thorns, and cat scratches. 

“And then I remember… I remember choking. I couldn’t breathe. Cause that um… that hand was around my neck. And there was a knife in my chest. My head was pounding, and my chest felt like it was on fire. This warm rush kind of coated my body- I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was blood. Everything was red still, but I remember these-” you didn’t want to say it. “These eyes. The bluest eyes I’d ever seen. And then I guess I blacked out.”

Bucky thought he might black out, too. Knowing that he’d treated you with such violence, such utter brutality ripped him to pieces. It carved through his flesh and bone, down into his very soul. He’d never forgive himself.

“I woke up, and I was still at the house. Still bleeding. One of my other agents was on the floor next to me- he was dead.” A burning sensation flared inside your nose as more tears formed. “But he always kept his phone on him- always. I had to rummage through his pockets to find it. It was weird- doing that to a, um, a dead person. A dead friend. But I used his phone it to call Hill. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.”

Things fell silent and stayed that way for a long time. Bucky knew that if he broke down, you’d end up comforting him. And that simply wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve to be comforted, to have you treat him with kindness. Not after what he did to you.

But he couldn’t hold the emotion back any longer. It came at him with full force, throttling his insides. His hand shook in your grasp. His broken sobs filed the room. And though his voice was weak, you heard him muttering apologies. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He nearly drowned in his remorse, in his guilt.

“Breathe, Buck. It’s okay…” you squeezed his hand and pressed kisses to his knuckles. “It’s all okay.”

The overwhelming urge to hold you eclipsed Bucky’s every thought. It was a deep-seeded need, a desperation. Feeling your warm body in his arms- your heartbeat, your breath fanning his skin- was all he needed. Holding you. Knowing that you were okay, that you were alive. It was the only cure for his heartbreak.

But he knew better. Who was he to hold you? To touch you with the same hands that once tried to end your life? It wasn’t right. He would’ve pulled his hand from yours if your grip weren’t so strong. 

“Can you come here?” You gave his hand a small tug, “let me hold you for a while, okay?”

Bucky shook his head.

But you knew exactly what to say to get your way, “Please, baby? It would make me feel better.” 

How could Bucky say no to that?

You laid down on the floor and pulled Bucky with you, positioning his body atop yours. His head rested on your chest, your arms curled around his body. And though you’d been the one to almost die by the Winter Soldier’s hand, it was Bucky who needed the comfort. Needed the love. 

“You know I love you, right?” you asked as you held him tight. “You know that I trust you? That I’m not scared of you? I’ve never been scared- not of you.”

Bucky nodded. But tears still fell from his eyes, dampening your shirt.

“I trust you with my life, Buck. I love you- I’ll always love you. Nothing will ever change that.” 

Bucky couldn’t comprehend your words. How could you love the person who killed your friends? The person who tried to kill you? The person who beat you, strangled you, stabbed you? It made no fucking sense- not to Bucky. 

“Honestly, I’m just glad you’re not mad at me,” you said after a while. “I was really nervous there for a second- I thought I was gonna lose ya.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, finding comfort in the fact that Bucky wasn’t mad. That he still wanted you- even after you’d kept such a massive secret from him.

Bucky lifted his head. His desperate eyes met yours, “How could I- of course, I’m not mad at you.” After everything he’d done, you still worried that you were in the wrong. That you were the bad guy in this scenario. Bucky couldn’t understand it. “I’m just confused- I mean, why the hell aren’t you mad at me? Why- why do you trust me? Why are you even with me?”

Bucky’s words came out in a hurried scramble. And if you didn’t set him straight, he’d be lost yet again in a deep pit of despair. “Bucky, baby, that was one time. And it wasn’t your fault- you had no choice. You didn’t know what you were doing- you weren’t you.” It was simple to you. Straight-forward. Clear-cut. Obvious. “I could never hold a grudge against you for something you had no power over. ”

Bucky didn’t seem convinced. 

“Plus, I went to therapy,” you laughed.

Bucky thought long and hard about what you said. God, you were so kind. So understanding. But he had stray thoughts. Questions. “But when we met again- after that- why were you so nice to me? Weren’t you nervous?”

You shrugged. “A little- but just because my subconscious was trying to protect me, you know? It was instinct- not something I felt. Just my nervous system trying to do its job.” Bucky’s eyes grew sad- sadder than before. “I knew I was okay, though,” you said, quelling his pain. “I knew you were safe. That you were a good person.”

He stared at you wide eyed, still in disbelief. You allowed him to be your friend. You spent every day with him, talking and laughing and bonding. You made his birthday special, you ensured he didn’t spend the holidays alone. And you immediately accepted when he asked you out. 

“Thank you for giving me a second chance…”

“I didn’t see it as giving you a second chance- you didn’t need one. You didn’t need to redeem yourself,” you said. “I don’t hold it against you, Buck. I never have.”

He dragged his lips across the scar on your chest- the one you told him came from fighting Thanos’s army. “So, this… this is from me.” He ran his fingers over it a few times before running his hand down your arm. “And these,” he paused eyeing the myriad of scars littering your arms and hands, “these are from me, too.”

“They’re from that night, yes.”

Bucky took his time. He worked over your skin, treating each mark with care and attention. He kissed every scar and whispered his apologies. He was sorry for the pain he caused. The blood he spilled from you body. The nightmares he gave you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Buck. I was trying to protect you-”

“Don’t, baby. Don’t apologize,” he met your lips with his in a long, tender kiss. “I understand.”

You nodded. 

“I’m sorry for what I did. I’m so sorry for hurting you.” He sighed, “never again.”

“You’re forgiven. You’ve been forgiven- for years, Buck.” You pressed a peck to his lips and shot him a smile, “Okay, now we’re both done apologizing. No more, or we’ll be here for the rest of time.”

Bucky laughed against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your scar. “Okay, deal. I love you.”

“I love you, Buck.” 

The two of you laid there a bit longer, coming down from the pain and anxiety. You held him close; he littered your skin with kisses. You knew he’d live with the guilt forever. That he’d always keep your story in the back of his mind, allowing the pain to infect his psyche.

“And hey, just so you know,” you whispered, “I haven’t thought about that night once- not since we became friends.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve always seen you for who you are, Buck. Not who they made you out to be.”

Bucky felt his heart rate slow. His anxiety receded; his breathing evened out. And with you there by his side, he let go of the guilt. He let it slip through his fingers and fade away. He wasn’t going to let it take up valuable space in his soul, not when that space could be filled with your love.

———————————

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[leaawrites]

Gurllll drop the Noel fic rn pleeaaassseeee I need it I’ll even bark for it wroof wroof wroof ggrrrr

Willing

Noel Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: in which, she's willing to go through things, he never thought anyone would wanna go through for him.

Warnings: this is pure fiction, age gap, there is a child involved in all of this, (really) bad accents

Wordcount: 1.1k

Notes: I am halfly scared of you, anon, and halfly you are just comedy gold and I love you. If you want more Noel fics, send request if you have any and I'll try to work through them as quick as possible. (Liam or Damon as well.)

Masterlist

The little pads on the wooden floor woke her before she heard the little whimpers coming from beside the bed. With eyes closed she listened to the footsteps and the creek of the door as it opened like it always does, the quiet of the night making it grow louder than normally.

Opening her eyes with it, she saw the little girl pouting at her, with her bottom lip covering half her chin and streaks of tears running down from her eyes and onto the little flowered pyjama she was put into before bed. Purple flowers now seeming dark blue or even black.

“Hey, baby,” the woman cooed, sitting up and taking the small hands that were outstretched her way to pull her up into her arms. Slowly slipping out from under Noel’s arm that previously was lazily laying over her waist with a gentle grip on her skin. The spot where it laid being squeezed whenever something happened in his fantasy world to make sure she was still by his side. “What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t yet properly talk, only point and cry and whimper. Incoherent words lapping over unidentifiable sounds and morphing into a strange mix of gibberish and English those around her tried to understand. That were the only ways of how she could survive in this world. This world of monsters under beds and empty plates.

The child stopped crying at the attention, but her eyes were red and hurting. She tried keeping them close to keep the pain away but it didn’t help, it still hurt her no matter how hard she squinted her blue eyes shut. Putting one hand on her little stomach she tried making her understand. More whimpers leaving her mouth, more pain entering her eyes.

“Hun’ry,” she slurred with a tired voice, though Y/n knew that the moment she’d put the lights on that child would be wide awake.

Nuzzling her head against Y/n’s neck, wetting her skin with tears and salvia, chewing on the fabric of the white top, the small pleads for food were muffled now. Only heard as a hint for the woman to know what she wanted. Her small blue eyes were watching the man laying in bed disappear into the shades of the night until his silhouette was fully gone and replaced by a door, which was moving up and down as the little girl was being bounced on Y/n’s hip to calm her down, making her go quiet and not wake Noel, who was still sound asleep, in bed.

“Mama didn’t fed you right, huh?” she asked as she sat her down on the counter and started heating up the milk that was stored in the fridge. “You were already asleep as I got here, I couldn’t look after you as she brought you over.”

The baby laughed looking at the now pouting face of the older girl. Her eyes drifting over to the microwave and how the bottle inside of it turned in circles like a carousel they were on at the Christmas market a few months prior. The low humming sound filled the room, making the silence seem less foreign. Usually the house was filled with music and talking and laughter. Only after midnight it got quiet for once.

“I never thought I’d find myself here, with a baby and in love with a man 20 years older than myself. You’re not my baby, but I still wouldn’t trade you for the world. Neither would your daddy, you understand that? You are so loved, no matter what happens back at you mother’s place, alright?” She leaned closer, watching the girl’s pupils widen with every word, taking them in and saving them somewhere far away in the back of her mind so she could remember them even in years time. She wasn’t sure if the words reached anyone, but at least they reached herself. “You are not defined by the people you are made up from.”

The microwave dinged and the girl laughed as she felt tickles on her feet.

“I love you so much.” With a kiss on her head, the little girl was left sitting in admiration and hunger. Taking the milk, now warm and good for her to drink, out of the microwave, she turned around again, starting to fed the baby how it was supposed to be.

When she still pouted at her after getting her food, Y/n looked at her in a jokingly annoyed way. Scoffing and tsking her in playful admonition. “What do say, do you wanna sleep in a bed with me and daddy?”

At the furiously nodding head of the 2 year old in her arms, Y/n started laughing quietly. Turning around as the little girl was stretching out her arms towards the bedroom, assuming she already knew who was waiting, Y/n didn’t expect Noel leaning against the doorway, watching the pair with a content smile on his face. A little startled at the sudden figure in front of her, Y/n breathed in sharply, holding her chest as she recognized him.

“Shouldn’t you be sleepin’, little one?” He asked, taking the baby from her arms, as she nearly wiggled herself out from Y/n’s hold on her. “As should you.” His eyes were now focused on Y/n as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“You don’t expect me to let my favourite human being starve, do you?” She pouted at him, as did the little girl in his arms.

“Now you both look dissapoint’d a’ me, how you expect me to sleep well with that though’?”

“Hold us close and we might forgive you,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and stepping closer.

“What a terrible terrible punishment,” he mumbled, leaning closer and kissing her lips, his hand lingering in her waist.

“Let’s get back to sleep, huh?” Y/n proposed, looking up at him and then to the girl, stroking her cheek as she was sound asleep against Noel’s shoulder.

Without an answer, he took her hand in his and guided her towards the bedroom, shutting off the lights in the process. Both laid on their respective sides, turned to each other, the child in their middle, softly watching her breath in and out, a sweet look in both their eyes. His one hand moved from moving the hair out of the child’s face to holding Y/n closer, while his other hand was held tightly by his daughter.

“I never thought anyone would actually be willing to go through all this,” he confessed into the night, making her eyes fly from the child’s face to his, watching her already.

“You don’t even know what I’d be willing to go through for you,” she confessed alongside him.

It was the truth though, no matter how silly it might sound. She loved him in a way she couldn’t possibly explain to anyone who has never gone through love like this.

[sucrealacreme]

Supe Busters - Soldier Boy x female reader

Chapter one

Summary : Vought has many secrets, project W is one of them. What happens when said project turns against them? 

You dealt with supes on the daily. I mean, it was truly your only job. Vought called you a villain, a criminal, Atomeris they called you. A supe who has been brainwashed all of her childhood by both her parents and an anti-supe cult. 

They made up fake stories about you. Built a whole new you. You weren’t the kind nurse anymore, no, you were this evil witch who should be burned at the stake according to them.

 Each time they called you evil, criminal, an animal, you wanted to cry. You just wanted to help people by bringing justice to those who felt superior to the law. Those who could hurt people without consequences.

Your very first supe was Icy BABY. An ice controlling woman who caused multiple deaths by making huge and shampooing spickes of ice everywhere. Vought said it was to stop a robber, or a murderer, you couldn’t remember what they came up with. 

But you knew why she truly did that. She just thought it was fun. Simple as that. The cunt thought it was funny to see inferior beings die so easily. So you did what you had to. 

During one night, you and your team of other fucked up supes tracked her down and beat her up down before you did what you do best.

Months ago, you got your hands on compound V. You studied it days and nights to be able to control it. The blue liquid was a weirdo really. It had so many different molecules it took you almost two months to finally crack it's nature. And with it's formula now printed in your brain, you could now separate it from blood. So to put it simply; you could unsupe supes.

And that's exactly what you did to the Elsa wannabe. It was truly a sight for sore eyes to see her try to attack us with her now weak force and speed. 

That night wasn’t just to serve justice. No. It was to prove a point, to warn Vought that from now on, their toys weren’t as invicible as they once were.

“Fucking cunt I can tell ya” said the black haired man to Hughie. “Yeah well Soldier Boy did scared the living shit out of him. Can't blame him for running away right?” Butcher looked at him like he grew a second head. The other man started to feel anxious under his hard stare and could feel himself starting to sweat.”The only thing I did was telling him what I would do to him if he wouldn't give us their damn locations” “Oi for fuck's sake. You threatened him to punch a hole where his dick was and to use it like a fleshlight”

“And I meant it” said the tall, green-eyed man before leaving the room to smoke a good ol’ joint.

“We lost our only suspect linked to this shit hole and we have yet to find any like places where those people could be hiding and the both of you are fighting for shit” Hughie was now not only anxieuse but angry at the situation. I mean, they’ve been looking for weeks for those people and the one guy who could have helped them get a connection left in the middle of the night. “He’s gonna act right from now on I can tell you that much.”

“Oh yeah? How do you fucking know Butcher?” said Hughie “It’s either that or he's going back to being the sleeping beauty

waiting for his bloody prince. I'll contain him from now on, like a god damn mommy birdy” Butcher said with his signature smirk

“Your words not mine” said Hughie, pointing at him while leaving the room.

“There was an explosion today at Times Square Ashley. It allegedly happened when two unidentified people attacked our New-York mayor out of nowhere. Many are injured and even worse, there have been fourteen deaths. Now, some say it was a terrorist attack, others some sort of uprising super abled villains. What do you have to say to those people?”

“Well Cameron, we are scared to announce it was in fact some sort of twisted version of supes who caused  those deaths and injuries. Now, if supes were included as part of the US military, those tragic events wouldn’t have been. You see, the American government made an atrocious decision three years ago. He decided that supes were just entertainment, and not valuable defense assets. So now we are facing situations like this. Where criminals think they can do whatever they want and not risking anything because well, no ones gonna stop them they’re super abled!”

“That’s tragic Ashley. Now, what can us patriots do to change this situation?”

“Thank you for asking Cameron. Well, you can join the “Supes are our best defence” protest this friday at 2 pm in front of the White House. For our watchers outside of Washington, Vought is ready to give away plane tickets at a low rate price for those who wanna join. We thank you for your support.”

“Thank you Ashley for this strong speech.”

“Alright who did this.” Said Florence, a woman part of your team who could control airwaves like light and sound and all of that.

“I don't think it was any of us Flo, why would we attack the mayor? It's against our own values” Orleta, fastes woman in the world, said with an anxious laugh.

“Oh you think it's all a fucking joke now uh don't ya Orleta? You know, you might be physically fast but mentally you're fucking sl-”

“Alright, alright let's all calm down,  I'm sure if someone here did this they had a reason. Now, whoever did this please come forward and explain to us the reasons behind such violent actions” said the group leader, Evangeline. Evangeline was kinda like homelander, minus the maniac part. She wasn't as strong nor as fast as him but she could still fly, laser people and all that. A magnificent woman. She was like a patient leader to all of you. Evangeline used to be a preschool teacher before this whole mess. None of you really know much about her except that. Magnificient, but mysterious.

“As anyone thought that maybe it’s Vought who’s trying to make us look bad once again? I mean they do it all the time and we did in fact get a rise in popularity with the whole Silver man mess…” you said, unsure of your theory. You weren’t sure of it but it would make more sense then one of you to kill innocents. Something you straight up fight agaisnt.

“Yeah I agree now that would be way more plausible then one of us doing it. I mean we kill supes, not civilians” that was Florence. She was your best friend. Together, the both of you could take down 5 supes at the same time. You were one of the deadly duos in the team.

“Yeah exactly, that’s their job not ours,” said Oletra now relieved that everyone calmed down.

“Alright then. It’s settled. It was once again Vought. Like usually.” Evangeline then left the room her heels clicking on her way out.

“We found something,” said Annie entering the living room of her appartment with Hughie.

“Oh thank God cause we lost the guy”

“What guy?”

“You know the with like metal powers and all?” Said Hughie with a nervous smile

“You lost the fucking silver man?” she said, in disbelief that under three hours The Boys could lose such a valuable asset.

“Yeah but you know now we have a new track, yayyyy” the man tried to loosen the tension

“Yeah ok anyway. We think the team, oh what's their name again”

“Illusion?”

“Yeah them, me and Kimiko found one of their guys entering some weird facility. When we entered there was only a locked door. We didn't try to force it open or anything we were only two. They're probably like thousands there.”

“Oh that’s good, that's really good Annie. Butcher's gonna want to Kiss you” said Hughie while laughing and kissing his girlfriend. They finally found something and this time it couldn’t escape.

A/N : So that was it for part 1, hope yall liked it 😊

A/N 2 : So this is the second version. If you saw something else, it's normal I changed à few things 😊

@demodemo909

@weaponxgames

[apoemaday]

Field of Skulls

by Mary Karr

Stare hard enough at the fabric of night,    and if you're predisposed to dark — let’s say    the window you’ve picked is a black postage stamp you spend hours at, sleepless, drinking gin after the I Love    Lucy reruns have gone off — stare

like your eyes have force, and behind any night’s taut scrim will come the forms    you expect pressing from the other side.    For you: a field of skulls, angled jaws and eye-sockets, a zillion scooped-out crania.    They’re plain once you think to look.

You know such fields exist, for criminals roam your very block, and even history lists    monsters like Adolf and Uncle Joe who stalk the earth’s orb, plus minor baby-eaters    unidentified, probably in your very midst. Perhaps    that disgruntled mail clerk from your job

has already scratched your name on a bullet — that’s him    rustling in the azaleas. You caress the thought, for it proves there’s no better spot for you than here, your square-yard of chintz sofa, hearing    the bad news piped steady from your head. The night    is black. You stare and furious stare,

confident there are no gods out there. In this way,    you’re blind to your own eye’s intricate machine    and to the light it sees by, to the luck of birth and all    your remembered loves. If the skulls are there — let’s say they do press toward you against night’s scrim — could they not stare with slack jawed envy at the fine flesh that covers your scalp, the numbered hairs,    at the force your hands hold?

[darshy]

(sun and moon ((and maybe our son)))

tw: miscarriage

2017

Suguru stares at his ceiling. The rolling sound of the hamster wheel fills the silence. Julius Caesar. What an active little thing.

His eyes find the cage. The hamster appears to be running for its life.

How simple life would be: to run in circles and think that you are escaping.

There are more and more curses appearing each day. Suguru is getting tired. Satoru just seems to be over the moon—maybe because you’re gone.

It’s a good thing, Suguru wants to believe, that your absence will be beneficial in the long run. But so far, the side effects are a lack of sleep and quite a bit of silence.

”Suguru! Look at this bug I found! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns to Satoru’s direction. Perhaps ‘silence’ isn’t the correct term. And well, there is no possible way that ‘peaceful’ is the word for it either.

”..It’s odd that it’s orange.”

Content.

”Don’t discriminate him..!”

No, that’s not right either.

Dissatisfaction. 

“Leave.” 

Suguru remembers it like it was yesterday.

“Huh, what?”

His heart racing and squeezing and thriving.

”Leave me the hell alone. Get away from here.”

Your lips twisting and thinning and cracking.

”I don’t..understand. Oh, is this some kind of joke—“

His eyes squinting. Your eyes flitting.

”I am going to kill you.”

He remembers your silhouette backing away quickly, near akin to the sun running from the moon.

”I will kill you.”

He remembers your tears dripping to the floor.

”Please.”

He remembers you.

And, really, it’s always been the moon scaring the sun away.

Suguru is such a liar. To himself. His family. Satoru. His hands itch as he types into his computer with vigor. His eyes dart and squint at street names and Facebook profiles.

He’s a liar because he wants to find you. Not seek you out, not even talk to you. He just wants to find you. Know you’re safe. Know that he’s not in reach of you.

A few clicks later and he’s finding your address and where you’re working at: Exotic Strip Club, Friendly Girls! He frowns at the name, his gut wrenching. He wants to puke but holds it down. Julius Caesar sprints from behind him—he can hear the squeaks of the wheel.

Suguru clicks on a picture of you. It’s your high school graduation photo. You had braces on then—bright blue and clunky—and fat Chucks that increased your height by one and a half inches. The photo is endearing.

His cursor slides to a newer photo of you. You’re dressed in baggy jeans and a thick sweater. Another’s hand is on your left shoulder, but the person is cut out of the photo, unidentifiable.

After that, there’s a picture of you standing in front of your new apartment, open for all to see. Suguru tastes the bile crawling up his throat in waves before he makes it to the bathroom.

In the quiet moments of his life, the man finds himself thinking about his baby. It would be a boy, most certainly, and it would look like you. He would want the baby to look like you because you’re you and Suguru is just Suguru. He’d want the child to be beautiful.

Maybe the boy would have black hair—he’d be born with a head full of it—and long legs. Tall for his age. He’d grow into a prodigy, have brains and a nice taste of humor. Suguru would want him to have your stupid humor and your dumb laugh and your teeth. Maybe the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the way your nose flares. He wouldn’t be you at all, but he’d be comparable, the closest any being would ever be to you.

Suguru wouldn’t want the baby to be like him.

And he thinks about it in the shower while watching the blood from the day’s battles wash down the drain. He thinks about your face twisted into a look that doesn’t suit you. A rage in your eyes but also a heartbreak. Your hands hold your stomach. Not in tenderness, but in grief.

Suguru thinks about the baby the two of you would have had if not for him.

Again, he’s a liar. He just wanted to know where you were, not find you in person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.

(But is it? Stalking your ex—is that what you want? Keep her tied to you, force her open, and take out all her insides? Take everything you want? Need?)

You're sitting in front of him. Oblivious. Reading out of a newspaper (despite your phone sitting right next to you) and sipping out of an oddly shaped mug. All of this is you. And Suguru thinks he wants it again.

You stand up, stretch, glance in his direction (his heart palpitates), before trekking out of the café. He follows, a wool hat over his head and a black coat tight around his shoulders in a quick attempt to hide himself. The whole plan was rushed; one moment he was feeding Caesar, the next he found himself catching your eyes in a coffee shop. And he doesn’t even like coffee. 

Besides that, why are you on this side of town? Why are you in town? You shouldn’t be—you must know there’s a chance that your estranged husband lives here. That you used to live here. You moved away for a reason. Why come back? Why?

(For a moment—just for a fraction of a second—Suguru thinks that you came back to him with some kind of twisted news.

He thinks you want him.)

The questions are answered as you make your way to a familiar street but it’s not Suguru’s. Instead, it’s your best friend, who he assumed he already silenced and ended your connections to each other. Well, clearly not as he watches the two of you hug and kiss. Soon, you make your way off of the doorstep and into the house.

On Suguru’s way back home, he kills twenty curses, two of which bear the slightest resemblance of him and his struggles.

Gluttony and obsession.

The sun is gone and the moon controls the sky.

He wants you.

[soledadcatalina]

[id: a series of sketches featuring kim kitsuragi and his parents. the first is a sketch imitating a family photograph of his mother and father sitting on steps outside. kim's mother is holding a bundled up, baby kim in her arms, his father sits next to her with his hands clasped over a crossed leg. the caption underneath reads: "Photo of an unidentified Seolite family." the next two sketches are loosely drawn portraits, the first of kim's father: who has short slicked back black hair, rectangular glasses, and a stern expression on his face. the third sketch is of kim's mother whose hair is styled in a short bob, she raises her brow with a slight smirk. the final image is kim at different ages of his youth: as a baby holding his mothers hand, a four year old draped in a pilot's jacket, and as an eight year old, glasses clad and scowling with a shaved head. text pointing to his head reads: "Caught up in a head lice scare (didn't even have any)". ]

im always a sucker for thinking about what any particular character's parents look like and im so curious about kim's

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Smoke and dust rises from a 7-story residential building after being bombed into the ground by the Zionist occupation army in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City on Friday.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

"ISRAEL'S" GENOCIDE CONTINUES FOR ITS 203RD DAY AS HEATWAVE BAKES PALESTINIAN TENTS IN THE GAZA STRIP

On the 203rd day of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 5 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 51 Palestinians, mostly women and children, while another 75 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

A brief heatwave over the last several days left Palestinian tents, gathered in the city of Rafah by the tens of thousands, baking in the sun, raising temperatures in encampments and causing cases of heatstroke among the displaced population, with particular concern among children and the elderly.

Safety measures were advocated by the Palestinian Civil Defense, who called on the civilian population to drink plenty of water, to keep ventilation moving through tents, keep children out of the sun, and to cool their bodies with cold water.

Additionally, the Civil Defense called upon the World Health Organization (WHO) to intervene to save the lives of Palestinians by finding alternative places for the tents of displaced families.

Due to the heatwave, at least one case was recorded of a Palestinian five-month-old baby girl dying from heatstroke in a hospital in the city of Rafah, in Gaza's south.

In other news, according to local paramedic and civil defense personnel who worked on the recovery of more than 392 bodies discovered in three mass graves at the Nasser medical complex, located in Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, said they had suspicions that some of the victims recovered had been subjected to the theft of their organs.

According to civil defense crews, of the 392 bodies recovered, at least 165 remained unidentified and could not be identified due to the mutilation of the bodies, as well as the removal of identifying signs on the bodies, while others showed signs of torture and were shackled with restraints.

“They found some bodies with their hands tied, the abdomen open and stitched in a way that contradicts the usual methods of suturing wounds in the Gaza Strip, which raises suspicions about the theft of some human organs," a crew member with the local civil defense crews that worked on the recovery said.

“The body of a citizen was also spotted wearing operational clothing," the crew member continued, adding that “the body of a girl with her arms and legs amputated was spotted, and she was wearing operating room clothes. This raises doubts about her being buried alive."

The crew members also said they'd witnessed some of the bodies with their hands bound with plastic ties, who were wearing the white robes of a patient from the Nasser hospital, while the dead also had gunshot wounds to the head, which raises questions about open field executions of innocent patients and displaced Palestinians.

The decomposing bodies were discovered at depths of as much as 3 meters as bodies were piled upon one another, while many bodies were found in shrouds of black and blue, unusual colors among the local population, which were made of nylon bags.

This further raised further suspicions that the goal of the occupation forces, which buried the murdered patients and families, was to increase heat on the bodies in order to speed up decomposition in an attempt to hide the occupation's crimes.

The Palestinian civil defense considered that all the evidence gathered at the mass graves indicates that the Israeli occupation committed crimes against humanity at the Nasser complex, and also carried out extrajudicial executions on the hospital's campus as part of the Israeli occupation's genocidal intentions in its war on Gaza.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation furthered its genocidal aims with its continued bombardment, blockade and starvation of the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, with the 203rd day of the genocide marked by intense airstrikes across various sectors of the enclave.

In just one example, an Israeli occupation drone bombed a horse-drawn carriage in the vicinity of the Indonesian Gaza Hospital in Beit Lahiya, in Gaza's north, killing a Palestinian citizen and wounding at least two others, while Zionist occupation warplanes bombed a Palestinian house in the same neighborhood.

At the same time, Israeli occupation artillery forces shelled the northern neighborhoods of the town of Beit Lahiya, as well as shelling several neighborhoods in the eastern sectors of the northern Gaza Strip, while Zionist military and armored vehicles fired live ammunition near the northern border of the Strip.

The slaughter continued with an Israeli airstrike which targeted a residential home belonging to the Shawa family in the Al-Rimal neighborhood, west of Gaza City, killing at least three civilians, including a woman and her child.

Meanwhile, several others were wounded in the strike, rescued by civil defense crews from under the rubble of the targeted house. The martyred and wounded were taken to Al-Ahli Arab Hospital, the last functional hospital in Gaza City following the destruction of Al-Shifa medical complex in the Al-Rimal neighborhood.

Zionist warplanes continued the bombardment by targeting residential structures in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while another residential building was targeted on Al-Wehda Street in the city's center, killing a civilian and wounding a number of others.

In yet another Israeli atrocity and war crime, the Zionist occupation army bombed a gathering of aid workers in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood, west of Gaza City, resulting in the martyredom of 8 civilians.

The occupation also bombed the Al-Safa Mosque near the Al-Sanafour Junction, in the al-Tuffah neighborhood, while intense Zionist firebelts targeted east of the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood in Gaza City.

Israeli war crimes continued when an IOF reconnaissance aircraft fired a missile in the vicinity of the Indonesian Gaza Hospital, in Beit Lahiya, murdering three children.

The Zionist army continued its massacres of Palestinians in the central Gaza Strip as well, with heavy bombardments targeting the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, as well as the Al-Mughraqa and Al-Zawayda areas, further displacing thousands of Palestinians seeking safety from the occupation's bombing, while also packing even more civilians into Gaza's southern city of Rafah.

Israeli artillery shelling also targeted the Nuseirat and Al-Bureij Refugee Camps, while occupation fighter jets bombarded and destroyed countless homes and businesses in the Al-Maghazi area.

IOF warplanes further targeted a civilian house north of the Nuseirat Camp, resulting in the death of a woman and injuring several others.

Zionist forces committed another massacre in the bombing of a residential home in the Al-Bureij Camp, killing and wounding a number of civilians, while occupation artillery shelling on the Wadi Gaza Bridge killed another four civilians.

As though the slaughter wasn't enough, local civil defense crews recovered the body of a civilian found buried under the rubble of his home following an Israeli bombardment yesterday in the Yabna Refugee Camp, in the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, while the body of a small child was found under the rubble of the Kordi family home, which was previously destroyed a month ago in a bombing that martyred 11 civilians.

A Palestinian fisherman was also killed in an Israeli attack while working off the Mediterranean coast of Rafah, in Gaza's south, while a civil defense crew recovered the body of a martyr from under the rubble of the Jouda family home, previously bombed by Zionist forces last Saturday.

Civil defense teams also recovered the body of Ahmed Abu Hassanein from under the rubble of his home following an Israeli airstrike a day ago, while the body of a young girl was recovered from under a house that was bombed and destroyed by occupation forces about two weeks ago.

The Israeli occupation army also bombed a residential building in the town of Khuza'a, east of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, killing 5 civilians who were taken to the European Gaza Hospital in the Al-Fukhari area, southeast of Khan Yunis.

As a result of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the local population has risen yet again, now exceeding 34'356 Palestinians killed, including more than 14'690 children and 9'680 women, while another 77'368 others have been wounded since the start of current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

April 26th, 2024

#source1

#source2

#source3

#source4

#source5

#source6

#source7

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the mad cultist composer. ﹚:  rishen 9948v .𖹭 ݁

. . . if he can't have you baby no one else in this world can !! 🍒 : “ I need you at my side — where I can see you, feel you. please, my dear. let me take care of you. ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 9948v

꒰ species ꒱ blood cultist, necromancer, cultivator

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ mexican-indian

꒰ age ꒱ 25

꒰ gender ꒱ genderfluid, amab ( can physically switch )

꒰ mbti ꒱ intj

꒰ alias ꒱ 

the cursed, the scarlet sanguinist, the glitch, the scarlet thorn, the scarlet sentinel, the disappointment, the copycat, traitor, supernatural lynche

꒰ story ꒱ 

a flick of the wrist, the splatter of blood.

is he writing his compositions or casting another ritual?

rishen herrera, otherwise known as the scarlet sanguinist. a blank and blunt individual. often found silent and staring with those beady scarlet eyes of his. a cultist known for his callous ways and the monotone expression he keeps throughout them.

while his hands know many melodies and vast horrors, he is also what one would call a tracker. mercilessly hunting down his own kind when given the order.

in his personal time he serves the primordial rhytaari himself — yet something else brews beneath the surface. a slew of unidentified rituals and vast measures taken; eggs broken and heads stepped. but for what?

what does it even matter? it’s not as though he is even himself half of the time. an ever-shifting face to versions of himself across the multiverse

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

maroon eyes that either strike admiration or fear into people who dare gaze into them, enhanced sometimes when his scleras have black veins in them. usually after post ritual or during divine connection

medium-length, fluffy and curly dark brown hair that tickle halfway down his neck and frame her already beautiful face perfectly. and when the sun is out and the brightness of it hits

has beautiful bronze skin, that is adorned by beauty spots on the left side of his face and along his forearms.

has a very androgynous face that leans more towards feminine features rather than masculine, yet you see the clear features there as well. his face is a combination of soft and sharp edges and corners

lots of red and black makeup, often wandering with puppy-liner and dark red eyeshadow, with a lighter red, but still dark, lipstick. with a subtle blush.

has a vermillion mark on his forehead. complementing his makeup and facial structure.

stands at the height of 5’10” ( 177cm ) with an slender body

sometimes wears henna on his hands, with intricate designs and artistry, he either does them himself or he borrows a hand from a certain verseless jìngyí.

veins glow deep red when magic use, and if overexerted the hue will brighten gradually.

tiny ruby jewel on his tongue that shimmers gently whenever it catches the light.

carries standard lobe piercings with a helix piercing on his right, often with rubies inside of them into them.

has a beautiful nose ring that connects to his right earring, and sometimes he switches it out for more detailed ones depending on the events.

labret piercing to sit there perfectly on her pretty soft bottom lip, designed as a gold strip with small red jewel in the middle of the upper part of the piercing.

gold rings cover his fingers, thin and thick, while bangles upon bangles cover his arms and wrists, shining in the reflection of the sun and when his veins glow.

wears lots of red and black clothes, which range from an elegant style, to a more casual to traditional styles from her cultures, at times, it is also in a mix of modern and traditional.

typically switches between genders whenever he feels like it, and is able to alter through spells.

 

꒰ personality ꒱

considered the silent type, he’s more of an observer than anything else. quite reserved

monotone, he’s not one to change expression often. is considered to be quite blank and also has a dry tone to the way he speaks

has a sort of effortlessness to him — as though he doesn’t quite care about the world around him or how he does things

speaks in a rather blunt, but quiet manner. some might see him as soft spoken but that is far from the case

teaming with sarcasm and quick wit

easily agitated, does not show it however. he must remain in control of himself

if he does joke, he has a rather dark sense of humour

a bit of a perfectionist admittedly

often referred to as heartless or even callous. he is unafraid to break a few eggs or step on a few heads. to those that know his reputation, he is said to have no care

can be envious at times, not that he actually shows it

rather cunning and able to deceive easily

merciless in his work and some aspects of his life. he has been said to have turned off his emotions. can be a tad bit sadistic

unpredictable, and willing to do whatever it takes to complete his goals

push him far enough and he’ll go erratic

the voices —

his personality may shift slightly depending on which rishen variant he glitches into ( refer to strengths )

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

at times he falls himself falling into awkwardness when he wishes to be verbally affectionate. he wants to love bomb you and he tries to, but he sometimes doesn’t know how to, sometimes he also gets worried he may overwhelm you if he does — will try his very best to make sure you feel good always.

though in contrast to that of the above, he is very physically affectionate. he prefers expressing verbal affection through nicknames, and give physical affection to you to show all of his love for you.

the second you join him in bed at night, he all but clings onto you to fall asleep comfortable, and doesn’t want you to leave the bed too early in the mornings. he will miss your warmth and touch, and get a little moody as well possibly.

will cook for you whenever he has the time and will assure that all of the meals you get are nutritious and are ones you enjoy. just so that he can see you happy and at ease after long or hard days.

casts spells on you so that he knows where you are. . . he cannot help it, he is paranoid about your safety. he has lost too much to just let you wander alone, and oh he only hopes you do not think anything of it other than him wanting to keep you safe.

enjoys asking you riddles and confusing questions, it’s one of the way he messes with you. if you get it right he’ll sometimes reward you, which can be through a large assortment of affection. such as giving you kisses, sweets, trinkets, food, even more physical affection.

will paint henna on your hands, so you both have matching patterns. also because he loves to hold your hands and watch the patterns interlink and let people know you are hers

and oh this woman will stare at you for hours, ever so lovingly and with adoration. even when you catch her looking, you watch her melt, not physically, but through the softness of her stare. like you are made of the purest kind of happiness to her.

not only is he possessive, he’s paranoid. he can and will have a meltdown if he can’t get a hold of you and doesn’t know where you are, and in very severe times, he has kept you at home for a few days. assuring doors and locks are sealed shut.

secretly has sanguinist marks on you. . . he needs others to know to back off and not touch you. you are his, as he is yours. and he will not tolerate at all if anyone touched you.

will fight tooth and nail to keep you safe. you are the one who will actually drive him insane — it’s a price he’s willing to pay. especially because a particular phantom keeps stalking around every corner the two of you are. he needs to keep you close and safe. he has to.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

sanguinist magic: a magic that flows from copper resentment himself and allows them to cast an array of spells, perform rituals and create defensive/offensive attacks

sanguinist necromancy: able to puppet people on the brink of death and the dead as well ( granted their soul is still nearby )

blood magic: don’t spill blood around a sanguinist. other than being able to harness it into dangerous attacks, high-level sanguinists can also manipulate a being through their blood

dark magic: knows various spells, rituals and curses in regards to dark magic

cultivator magic: born a cultivator, he is able to use cultivator magic; purifying, seals, rituals and other mystics

glitches: he has a special quirk. . . he is able to glitch into different versions of himself across the multiverse. mimicking both their appearance and abilities. he could be rishen 781, 209, 1311, 9948e and so many other rishens. . .

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

over-exertion: can tire himself out immensely with his magic

glitches: he does not have full control of them and it can spiral out of control

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

jìngyí verseless: complicated, bad terms

alessio 209: complicated

zhào hàoyŭ: enemy

zhào talisen 164: close companion, ‘god’

alessio agresta 164: close companion

alessio agresta arias 9948e: enemy

rishen aryielus 9948e: enemy

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he is known as the scarlet sentinel because he works as a ‘supernatural tracker’. being forced to hunt down his fellow supernaturals. not that he seems to mind.

context: in his world ( verse 9948v ), supernaturals are discriminated against and governed to such a degree that those that ‘hide’ or are considered ‘wanted’ are hunted down by law officials or other supernaturals that are coerced into it

plays the violin

he is a sanguinist, which is a group that serves copper resentment

he often composes music in his spare time ( sometimes he does so with blood )

has an incredibly big sweet tooth

quite well-known within the realm of abhorration

when he glitches into one of his variations, he becomes an exact replica of them, however with his own thoughts and quirks still

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH7: Back in the present, Nero, Sephiroth, and Cloud go to the grocery store.

rating: mature (for now) CW: implied/referenced incest

(right after Deepground Flashback Part 2. maybe i should start properly numbering these)

EDIT: I PROPERLY NUMBERED AND LINKED THEM YAYYY

🕷️🪽🥀 the Valentines 🥀🪽🕷️

Nero had never been to a grocery store, but he knew of them conceptually. Not that he had any burning desire to experience one firsthand, now, but Sephiroth made it clear he didn’t have a choice, and told him to go get ready. 

With as bad a grace as possible, he went upstairs and came back down again, dressed in some of the clothing the obnoxious blonde man purchased for him. In the face of Nero’s utter indifference and flat refusal to choose anything for himself, Cid had evidently decided the young man’s theme color would be purple, and made his selections accordingly. 

Thus, Nero now wore a dark-purple hoodie, black, acid-washed motocross jeans, purple converse high tops, and a black turtleneck, to hide the Shinra-made restrictive collar, which supposedly prevented him spitting out clouds of people-eating darkness miasma, or at least reduced the ability somewhat. 

“Ah-guh!” the hyper-alert noise machine announced, over the shoulder of the little blonde (as Nero uncharitably thought of Cloud, despite the fact that they were the exact same height), alerting everyone to Nero’s entrance. 

He shot the baby a glare, then his eyes fell on Sephiroth, and his lip curled. “Why do you look like that?”

“Keeping a low profile,” Sephiroth said tranquilly.

His boyfriend smirked. “Meaning, he’s the most famous war-criminal in the world. He can’t be seen in public looking exactly like his wanted posters.”

The hitherto silver-haired giant was dressed in his usual white v-neck t-shirt and black jeans, with the addition of a leather jacket, but his long hair had changed to jet black, and his eyes were now crimson, like those of the rest of the Valentines. With their coloring coordinated, Sephiroth’s resemblance to Vincent was downright unnerving. He looked even more like him than Nero did.

“Look at your brothers, Ollie. They're almost as pretty as you,” Cloud cooed to the baby, who gurgled and drooled about it.

Nero gave a ‘hmph’ and went to lean on the wall, with his arms crossed, unconscious of the fact that this was among his father’s most characteristic behaviors, and one highly recognizable to his associates. 

Cloud and Cid looked at Nero, then at Vincent, then at each other, and had to cover their mouths to stifle laughs. Vincent appeared bewildered and asked what was so funny, which only made them laugh harder.

Before the young men could depart on their errand, there was the ordeal of transferring the baby from Cloud’s arms to Cid’s, which took a measure of sleight-of-hand and trickery, and to which she took great umbrage. She made her displeasure known by turning bright pink from head to toe and howling like a banshee, despite Cloud’s assurances that he’d be back soon.

“Nero,” Vincent said, as the three young men walked out the door. 

Nero stopped and turned back sullenly, prepared for the highly unsurprising lecture about behaving himself and not harming civilians and blah blah blah. 

Vincent, however, failed to produce the expected admonitions. He only pushed something into Nero’s hand. It was a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses. Nero looked down at them and back up at the man, in blank perplexity.

“It’s bright outside,” Vincent said simply. “The polarized lenses help.”

Then he turned around and went back in the house, without another word. Nero stared after the man, as the door swung shut, muting the baby’s raucous wailing inside.

His vision went red, teeth clenched tightly and hand shaking, around the black sunglasses, as a big, ugly knot of pain and rage and other unidentifiable emotions surged up in his chest, choking him and making his eyes sting with tears. 

He wanted to smash the stupid things to fragments, hurl them at the door and scream curses at that man. Rip open his bleeding chest and force his so-called father to look at the mangled insides of the ruined creature he brought into this world, and then tore away from the only person in it that he’d ever loved. 

Then the cold reason of his dark side rose up, black flowing into red, and cooled the rage. Calmed the storm. Reminded him of his objective and the tasks before him. He needed to gain these people’s trust, if he was to get back to Weiss. Childish outbursts would only hinder his purpose. Patience. Patience.

“Nero, are you coming?” Sephiroth called out, drawing him from his ruminations.

Nero shoved the sunglasses onto his face, to hide his pink-rimmed eyes, and stalked gloomily to the vehicle. 

The little blonde had arrived on a motorcycle, but that was an impractical means of conveyance, for their errand, so the three of them were to drive to town in one of the many vehicles that belonged to the Valentine-Highwind household. 

This one was a small work truck, with a pickup style bed and cab that technically seated three. Technicality butted heads with reality, however, when Sephiroth was one of the three involved. 

Cloud was driving, since neither of the others had a license, and Sephiroth’s six-foot seven-inch frame was already pushing the limits of the truck's capacity, even in the passenger seat. As a result, Nero wound up packed like a sardine into the middle seat, between his ostensible elder brother, and his brother’s former-nemesis-slash-current-boyfriend. 

He very quickly began to suspect this was some method of psychological demolition. Because, if the entirety of the prison system had coordinated its efforts, it could never have contrived a more devilish torture for him, than this exact situation. 

Not only did Cloud drive like a lunatic, causing Nero to be constantly bumped and jostled about between the two, but Sephiroth kept reaching over him, to fiddle with the radio dial, simultaneously invading his personal space, and causing all kinds of disjointed snippets of songs to blare briefly from the vehicle’s speakers. 

Finally, much to Nero’s relief, Cloud smacked Sephiroth’s hand away. “Cut that out. I’m driving, so I get to pick the station. Besides, you have the absolute worst taste in music.”

“I do not,” Sephiroth contended.

“He does,” Cloud intimated to Nero. “He was raised on nothing but classical music, for optimum cerebral development, and now he’s taking revenge by soaking his super-brain in the most atrocious, top-forty pop garbage imaginable.”

“The music you claim to prefer is full of screaming, and instruments that sound like rusty bandsaws,” Sephiroth put forth. “I simply do not enjoy music with such an aggressive sound and violent themes.”

“Said the most violent man on the planet.”

They went on like this for the remainder of the drive, with Nero seething silently between them, his eyes squeezed shut behind his sunglasses (for which he was very grateful, now), and darkness tendrils stuffed into his ears, against their affectionate banter.

At long last, they arrived at the grocery store. It was a massive, fluorescent-lit, commercial monstrosity, that a corporation had christened Mid-Mart without a hint of irony. They paused, just inside the entrance, and Sephiroth tore the grocery list into three parts, handing a piece each to Nero and Cloud.

“We can get this done more quickly and efficiently if we spread out,” he explained. “Everyone take a basket, gather your items, and we will rendezvous at the Mt. Nibel Dew display, in thirty minutes. Understood?”

Cloud returned a jaunty salute, and before Nero knew what was happening, he was handed a red plastic basket with black handles, and then left on his own, in a grocery store full of innocent, unarmed civilians. Him. The known terrorist, official enemy of society, and former de-facto leader of Deepground. Like his custodians were mentally deficient. 

Luckily for them, now was not the time to make a move. He had his own plans, and no intention of playing his hand, just yet. Storing the sunglasses in his hoodie pocket, he studied the list of items, and began the daunting task of searching for them, in the glossy, chaotic fever-dream that was a modern grocery store.

Shopping was not as difficult an undertaking as had it seemed, at first blush. The aisles, though arranged according to no logic decipherable by man, were labeled with their general contents, and items tended to be grouped together with other, similar items.

Following this pattern, he quickly gathered the first several things. Next, his list had ‘maple syrup’ and ‘strawberry jam’ on it, which were in the same aisle as breakfast cereals and granolas, but not the peanut butter or honey. 

As Nero turned into the aisle, he encountered the little blonde, choosing canisters of something called ‘rolled oats.’

“Hey,” he hailed, as Nero approached. “Finding everything ok?”

“Yes,” Nero answered, putting a jar of strawberry jam into his basket. “It isn’t a particularly challenging task.”

“So, um. Sephiroth told me a bit about you,” Cloud ventured. “What happened with your brother, and all that.”

Nero’s crimson eyes flickered to his face, then away. “And?”  

“And…nothing. I’m just sorry you had to go through that. I know what it’s like to lose your only family member.”

Ugh. Concerned sympathy from a fellow griever. Nero was repulsed by this kind of thing. He knew how to shut it right back down, though. “Weiss is more than just a family member. He is my lover.”

“He’s…what?” Cloud asked, confused.

“Weiss is my biological half-brother. He is also my lover,” Nero said slowly, pronouncing every syllable clearly, as if defying Cloud to take issue with it.

Cloud balked, blindsided by his frank assertion. “Y—you mean…”

“Yes. I mean exactly that.” Nero narrowed his eyes and tilted his head questioningly. “Is me sleeping with my brother—the only person who has loved me and taken care of me, in my entire life—somehow stranger than you sleeping with the man who burned your hometown to the ground, and murdered your mother?”

Cloud’s golden brows lowered angrily, but he swallowed whatever sharp retort was on his tongue and took a deep breath, before he answered. “Look, I didn’t mean to come off like I was judging you. I don’t know about your relationship and it’s none of my business. I was just caught off-guard, is all.” 

“I am not offended, I was merely illustrating a point,” Nero said serenely. 

“Which is?”

“The heart can be neither ruled by law, nor governed by reason. Thus, reason and law have no place in the dominion of love, which will reign over a man’s heart, one way or another—whether it is as a ruthless tyrant to a captive slave, or as the benevolent sovereign of a willing subject.”

Cloud blinked. “Uh…”

“Pickles.”

“Huh?”

“Pickles are the next item on my list,” Nero clarified. “Do you know where they can be found?”

“Right. The ones Cid likes are pickled cucumbers, in the refrigerated section, with the cheese and cold snack foods. The ones Vincent likes are Chinese-style pickled vegetables, which are in the international foods section, on aisle thirteen.”

For the briefest moment, Nero’s curiosity got the better of him and he paused. “Is he—”

“Half Chinese. Grew up bilingual. That’s why everyone in the house speaks Mandarin. You didn’t wonder?”

“I don’t bother myself about what others are doing,” Nero replied, with a haughty toss of his head. “If learning languages amuses them, then so be it. It’s nothing to me.”

“Maybe you should try learning a little, too,” Cloud suggested. “It’s part of your family’s heritage.”

“Those people are not my family,” Nero said icily. 

“Yeah, sure,” Cloud snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you don’t know them as well as I do. Once they’ve decided you’re one of their own, they won’t ever give up on you, no matter how much you kick and scream. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Nero gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, well, thank you for the sage advice. If you have nothing further to add, I am going to collect the rest of the items on my list.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Cloud feeling flustered and annoyed, and rather glad to be rid of the intractable, unpleasant young man, who seemed so much older and wiser than himself, but was actually several years his junior.

In aisle thirteen, where all the Asian foods were grouped together in one section, Nero found the pickled vegetables, without much trouble. To his exasperation, however, there were spicy and regular varieties, and no one had specified which was wanted. 

On the other side of the aisle, as he was deliberating, there was a woman near a partially filled cart, with a girl of around two years old, sitting in the child seat. The woman was talking on her cell phone, whilst perusing the products on the shelves, with her back to the child. 

As such, she failed to notice that the little girl had got loose of the safety restraint, and was reaching for something on the shelf, stretching her little hands out further and further, till all of a sudden, she toppled out of the seat, headfirst.

Quicker than sight, Nero’s darkness tendrils shot out and caught the small girl, just before she cracked her skull on the tile floor. He was setting her gently back in the cart, when the mother turned around and let out a bloodcurdling scream, dropping her cell phone and snatching up the child. The child, startled by the scream and being yanked around so abruptly, immediately burst out sobbing.

“My baby!! Help! Help!!” the woman shrieked. “This monster is trying to take my baby!!!”

Nero sighed and placed the jar of pickled vegetables (spicy variety) in his basket, now deeply regretting that he hadn’t just let the child fall and break its stupid neck. 

Meanwhile, footsteps came clattering from every direction, as the store employees, manager, security guard, and curious onlookers stampeded over to see what the commotion was. Fortunately for all of them, Sephiroth and Cloud arrived faster, and got between them and the extremely volatile bio-engineered weapon, in a purple hoodie.

“What’s—what’s going on, here?” the rather portly manager panted. “Ma’am, are you alright?” 

“He’s a monster!” the mother intoned, clutching the bawling child to her bosom. “He tried to snatch my Sally, right in front of my face! He grabbed her with these horrible tentacle things, like some kind of demon!!”

The gathering crowd turned on Nero, muttering and glaring at him, with open hostility and disgust. There were cries of ‘damn freak!’ and ‘arrest him!’ 

“Everyone shut up!” Cloud bellowed, in his rather impressive command voice, giving the manager and security guard (who were already sweating, looking up at the towering Sephiroth) a jolt. “Did anyone here actually see what happened?”

There was general murmuring from the crowd, but it was apparent that no one had. 

“I saw!” the mother said furiously. “I already told you what happened! Were you not listening?”

“Ah…ha. Let’s not be hasty, ma’am,” the security guard attempted, in a conciliatory tone. “Is it possible you saw wrong, or—”

“Why are you questioning me instead of arresting this man!” the woman interrupted. “Look at him! Look at his eyes! He’s clearly dangerous!!”

“Nero, what happened?” Cloud asked, while the manager and guard were attempting to soothe the woman.

“Didn’t you hear?” Nero sneered. “I’m a dangerous freak. I tried to snatch a baby with my monster tentacles.”

“That attitude isn’t helping,” Sephiroth told him, in an undertone. “If the police get involved and assault charges are filed, you’ll be in violation of your house arrest, whether you’re guilty or not.” 

“Fine,” Nero sighed, as if he was being sorely put upon, and pointed to the mother. “That idiot was on her phone, not paying attention to the child. It fell out of the cart. I caught it, before it landed on its head, and put it back. Then she started screaming nonsense at me and making a scene. In hindsight, if she’s going to raise it to be another fool like herself, it would’ve been better to just let it crack its skull on the ground, and end its misery.”

“How dare you!” the woman scolded. “You’re calling me liar and victim blaming?! And wishing harm on an innocent baby?!”

“Sir, this store has security cameras, correct?” Cloud asked the manager. “Shouldn’t a review of the feed clear all of this up?”

“Ah…ah, yes! In my office. W—we can look at the footage in my office,” the shiny-faced, balding man stammered, nodding like a chicken pecking rice. 

The woman tossed her head. “Hmph. I know what I saw, but fine. It’ll just prove I’m telling the truth.”

“Right this way, right this way,” the manager said, directing the involved individuals toward the back of the store. “Gerome, disperse the, uh…other guests, please? Thank you.”

The security guard waved people along, as the group followed the harried manager back to his office, which as turned out, was a rather tight squeeze, for five adults and a baby. Everyone wound up inelegantly clustered together, over the bank of monitors, while he scrolled back through the international foods aisle footage, to a few minutes ago.

The video showed the incident more or less as Nero described it, save for the fact that his darkness tendrils didn’t show up on cameras, so there was a bizarre moment when it looked as if the child stopped its fall and hovered in midair, then floated back into the cart, of its own accord.

“Ma’am, is that satisfactory?” Sephiroth asked, looking down at the woman, who was packed in between himself and the manager.

The woman’s lip trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “I—I thought…I just saw tentacles grabbing my Sally, and this man with scary, red eyes. I can’t be blamed for thinking the worst, right?”

Sally, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying all of the excitement, very much, and was busily yanking on Sephiroth’s long, inky-black hair, with both tiny fists. 

“Sally, no—we don’t pull hair,” her mother chided, gently prying the baby’s hands open. “Sorry about that, she grabs everything these days.”

“It is quite alright,” Sephiroth replied mildly. “My little sister is about the same age. I have to wear my hair in a braid at home, unless I want it all to wind up in her mouth.”

“Oh, I can imagine, with long hair like yours. That’s why I’ve cut mine short. It’s just easier that way,” she smiled, softening at finding common ground with another (sort of) parent. Then she hesitated, glancing awkwardly at Nero. “Look, I apologize for overreacting. We keep hearing these horror stories about people coming back from the frontlines deranged and with all these horrible mutations, and attacking people right in the streets. I lost my husband to the war, and Sally’s all I’ve got now. If I lost her too, I just—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Nero, however, was looking the other direction, studiously ignoring the conversation.

“All’s well that ends well, so there’s no sense in dwelling on it,” Cloud answered for him. “I’m sure we’d all just like to finish our shopping and get home.”

After the woman and baby had gone away, the manager apologized and sweated profusely, at the three gentlemen, for a few more minutes, and even went so far as to offer them a twenty percent discount on all their purchases today, by way of compensation for the trouble, though it looked like it cost him a pang to do it. 

“So. Your first foray out of the house, and you saved a baby from getting seriously injured,” Cloud remarked to Nero, as they drove homeward, a little while later. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Nero scowled, behind the dark sunglasses that he’d put back on, the moment they exited the store. “I acted without thinking. Needless to say, I won’t be making such a foolish error again.”

“Our father will be very pleased to hear of your good deed,” Sephiroth put in, looking exceedingly smug. “It seems you’re already making progress toward becoming a productive member of society.”

Nero crossed his arms disconsolately, shrinking down in the cramped middle seat. “I hate this stupid family.”

“It’ll grow on you. You’ll see,” Cloud chuckled, as he swatted Sephiroth’s hand away from the radio, yet again. 

NOTES:

Sephiroth picture: user screenshot by MrsPika with a mod for black-haired Sephiroth. No idea what they used for the eyes when ollie says "ah-guh" that's ollie for "er-ge" which is mandarin affectionate for "second elder brother", pronounced like "ahr-guh"

LINK TO CHAPTER 8

[onenicebugperday]

@anthropobscene submitted: here are some beings I saw this summer in Massachusetts, US. ID welcome but not essential. Thanks!! 💚

A VERY excellent group of pals! They are in order: a rabid wolf mother and her one million babies, a large and beautiful yellow garden spider, unidentified jumping spider, a great spangled fritillary, a pure green sweat bee, a black swallowtail, a clearwing sphinx moth in the genus Hemaris, and some very cute and tiny but unidentified butterfly chrysalides :)

[needcake]

@hetaberia-week

Day 1: historical .

.

1539,

Lisbon

A man in his crew had made a comment that had stayed with him hours after they had reached the capital. In fact, Portugal was still thinking about it when he finally left the Casa da Índia and crossed the short distance to the Ribeira Palace, walking up the stone steps in the winding staircases, nodding at the palace staff that passed him by and greeted him demurely, and, being himself clad in black, it had taken him a moment to realize everyone was too.

No bad news ever comes unaccompanied, his crewmate had said, and Portugal was still thinking of that when he opened the door to the King’s private drawing room, finding him with his eyes red-rimmed, clutching a letter to his chest in anguish. The Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, his younger sister, had died in May, he said, her last pregnancy had robbed her much of her strength, the child had not survived either. Portugal still smelled of gunpowder and ash, he could still feel grains of Indian sand inside his boots, but his eyes were lost on some unidentifiable corner of the King’s private drawing room as he sat down before his desk. They never lived long, did they. He had held her as a baby in his arms, had seen her learn her first words of his language, had attended her wedding, had visited her children. Their lives went by so fast, not like his.

There would be a funeral and the King wanted him to accompany him, Portugal did not think to say no. He was tired, battered, hurting, ears still ringing from cannon blasts shot across the Indian coast by Ottoman ships into his fortress in Diu, wearing months of a siege they had at great pains finally won. No bad news ever comes unaccompanied, and he found himself on a carriage a few days later bound to Granada, crossing the border with his shoulders heavy with padded fabric, his hair combed and clean, golden rings on his fingers.

The husband, the Holy Roman Emperor, was not there when they reached the church. Unable to bring himself to say the final good-bye to his beloved wife, he had instead sent his son in his place, his first-born and only surviving son and heir, and the boy stood, stone-faced and ashen, accompanying his mother’s coffin into the small, packed full church alone.

How small he seemed at that moment. And Portugal would never forget that image, of the boy entering the church behind his mother’s casket, his posture stiff with grief, dark clothes too heavy, golden fleece too garish. It would be the last time he ever saw him as a child. Once the ceremony was over and the body was buried, the son would leave the marble grounds of that church forever changed. No bad news ever came unaccompanied.

From across the entrance to the church while the crowd dispersed, surrounded by a group of nobles and high-ranking clergymen, Spain spotted him and excused himself to come to him, the pull on the bottom of his stomach becoming stronger the closer he came, recognizing him as an old soul like himself, despite him being so much younger.

“We did everything we could to save her,” Spain said, taking Portugal’s numb hand between both of his in a comforting gesture.

It should be the other way around, Portugal thought, looking at his young face and red-rimmed eyes. It was Spain who had just lost a Queen and an Empress, Portugal had lost her long ago, the moment they had sent her away to be married in a political alliance, but Spain had just lost a companion, an advisor, a friend. Portugal should be the one comforting him.

What an odd creature this boy was, he thought, observing the brown curls that framed his youthful face, feeling the calluses on his fingers from handling sword and quill, looking into his olive green eyes that so reminded him of someone else.

Portugal laid his other hand on top of theirs.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said, earnestly, and Spain’s composure cracked, his chin trembling as he turned his eyes down to nod at the ground, sniffling.

And how odd, he thought, how so very odd, that his first instinct had been to pull him into his arms, even though he didn’t.

--

Notes: Portugal is coming home from the Battle of Diu (1538), only to discover the Holy Roman Empress, Isabella of Portugal, had died in May, 1539.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Smut (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

a night’s interlude (ao3) - symmetricdnp

Summary: The tour is taking its toll on Phil, and he doesn’t want to admit it.

A Nun and A Priest: You Get Me Closer to God (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: When Dan dresses up as a sexy nun for Halloween in America, he finds himself longing for a sexy priest.

Appreciation (ao3) - epsilonfive

Summary: "Shut up," Phil says, not looking away from the screen. "I have an actual week of stuff to sort through, and unless you want to take over, I'll just--" Phil stops short as he comes to a point in the footage where his ass is center view.

"Uhhh," Dan begins, wetting his lips as his cheeks heat up a little. "I can explain that, actually,"

"Mmhm,"

Beetles Bath And Beyond (ao3) - Lizzyboo

Summary: Phil just wanted a relaxing bath. Just wanted to soak in the warm water for an hour, listen to some music and read some Buffy comics. What he didn’t want, however, was to have his bath with a million beetles surrounding him from all sides, turning his relaxing time into an actual nightmare.

Lucky for him, he had a boyfriend who just knew how to make everything better.

Black Nails and Thick Thighs (ao3) - phandomsub

Summary: When Dan grows his nails out to paint them it sparks a chain-reaction of fantasies in Phil’s head.

Business and Pleasure (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: Dan and Phil are both extremely popular porn actors. They’ve worked on almost every scene out there, but never with each other. Until now.

But Tonight, We're Something (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: In which Dan and Phil are nothing. If anything, they can’t stand each other. But they’re nothing. Even if every time they see each other, they end up having sex.

Caught (ao3) - hygge

Summary: Just because they weren’t together anymore didn’t mean that Dan couldn’t read phanfiction while he got off, right? Or at least that’s what he thought before Phil walked into the room.

Come Light Me Up (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: The clothes sharing, Dan being a teasing little shit, Phil might be slightly narcissistic or just horny with feelings fic you didn't know you needed.

Danisnotadom (ao3) - Sinninghowlter

Summary: Dan's not a dom. Everyone swears up and down that he is, insists he is domming his boyfriend and is too good to take it in the ass.

Phil's not a sub. Everyone thinks he is, everyone thinks his baby is in charge. What they don't know is his hardcore boyfriend is actually a princess.

fade to black (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: That’s the thing about Phil. He’s a tease.

or

films, flirting, and other things that start with f.

familiar faces (ao3) - watergator

Summary: there's a handsome tesco delivery man standing in phil's doorway and he can't figure out where he recognises him from. until he does

First (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: Phil is a little nervous about his first time with Dan. Dan is too, but it's hard not to be nervous when they care this much.

Fuck Away The Pain (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Phil’s boyfriend cheats on him leaving him a mix of sad, angry, and a million other unidentified emotions.Luckily Dan was always there for him.

He Toss My Salad Like His Name Romaine (ao3) - Emejig16

Summary: Dan is very curious about rimjobs, but won’t tell Phil that he wants one, until Phil finally suggests that they try it out.

Her / Awakening (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Dan feels drunk on a feeling of awakening; sexual, but also something else, something unnamed.

How To Be A Sexy Nerd (ao3) - adorkablephil (kimberly_a)

Summary: “If you want something, just do it, Phil.”

Just Say Yes (ao3) - intoapuddle, jestbee

Summary: Before Phil turned thirty, he'd thought that he'd spend his milestone birthday somewhere upscale, classy, perhaps by spending way too much money on food that wasn't nearly as nice as just ordering in pizza. But one friend in particular, had other plans.

Maybe (ao3) - dvp_95, intoapuddle

Summary: They’re only friends but when Dan wants more, Phil gives it to him.

nun as good (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: It’s so stupid and silly, and it’s just them in their messy kitchen, but Phil has been on edge ever since Dan first came into the kitchen in that outfit.

oh you got me shaking (ao3) - chickenfree

Summary: Usually if the models talk to him, it’s just – them asking questions, Phil joking about how he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, even as he directs them.

They don’t try to argue with him, usually.

Pastel Shirts and Otis Redding (ao3) - Colourful Shakespeare (blue_popolo)

Summary: Dan isn’t gay, he isn’t straight either, and there’s a cute boy with glasses and a fringe coming over to talk to him. His names Phil and he smiles and laughs and is clumsy, he makes Dans insides twist and curl into butterflies. Suddenly Dan isn’t interested in the sport involved in the Sports Camp.

Post-Tour Agenda (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: They had lots of important things to do after the tour. Like sleep, for one. And sex. Also five months' worth of laundry. And what better way to decide who had to do laundry other than a sexy dan vs phil!

Potroast (ao3) - dickiegreenleaf

Summary: In which Dan is very serious about his pottery studio, pinch pots are vaguely made, and Phil just wants to ogle his boyfriend.

ring my bells (ao3) - schnaf

Summary: You try to hide it

I know you do

When all you really want is me to come and get you

Safe (ao3) - TearDrop1234

Summary: Phil is in a mood and works his way through it with a naked Dan.

saturday (ao3) - werebothstubborn

Summary: the 100 percent accurate account of how phil's fwiff came to be

(i was there)

show you my appreciation (ao3) - t_hens

Summary: Dan makes a surprise purchase after he notices a certain something catches Phil's eye in the costume store

sister daniela (ao3) - idkspookystuff

Summary: the aftermath of the baking video

Something New (ao3) - benotafraidofwriting

Summary: Dan wants Phil's help when trying something new, but can Phil keep his feelings for his best friend at bay?

Sunshine (ao3) - thewakeless

Summary: Summer sex (with consequences)

The Boy And The Builder (ao3) - intoapuddle, jestbee

Summary: Dan is stuck in a house full of builders feeling sorry for himself. Until he meets Phil, that is...

The Great Unexpected Daddy Kink (ao3) - idkspookystuff

Summary: Dan, Phil’s wonderful, amazing partner of 10 years and change, sometimes suggests things he wants in jest.

or

the one with self discovery, insta comments, and three thousand words of feelings dump and smut

The Locker Room (ao3) - thewakeless

Summary: Dan and Phil meet and fuck in the University showers.

Tumblr's recommended Debauchery (ao3) - Septic84

Summary: A weekend away to explore each other.

This is all sex. Check tags, please.

Under My Skin (ao3) - americanphancakes

Summary: Dan gets a tattoo. He really, really enjoys the experience. A lot.

with the lights out (ao3) - irrationalqueer

Summary: Dan’s been purposely brazen and provocative since basically the beginning, comfortable in the knowledge that his body and his whispered words can make Phil hot, keep him interested. But Phil’s been kind and sweet and thoughtful and when he flirts it just feels like honesty.