#we got those scary blue eyes

[sammjammin]

he's is just like me fr

I've never drawn them before, but I'm going to start doing more adventure time / fionna and cake stuff soon because I just got into the fandom :)

[chuluoyi]

✎ mission: baby steps !

- gojo satoru x reader

the three times gojo tried to make his baby love him (and how he miserably fails)

genre: full crack, dad!gojo being a sore loser, your baby being mean (he only wants peace, really), and obviously, fluff !!

note: a little thing for father's day ehe <3 i know i said i'll work on smut in the polls next but uhhh, this comes first ok?! :') i just love the idea of gojo vs baby don't mind me *sobs* and all the scenario here come from the tiktok/reels you've sent me!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

There are many things that come with being a jujutsu sorcerer, and when you are Gojo Satoru, those things seem to be multiplying like bunnies.

This essentially means less time with his wife and baby. Look, he could finish missions fast, but when sent to other cities, even he couldn't abuse his teleportation powers all the time to return to Tokyo.

And so, as much as he hated it, he couldn't fault his baby boy for forgetting him.

"Look, it's papa," you rocked your son with a smile, consoling him as he wailed right after Satoru held him. "Don't cry, don't cry! Papa just got back from a long mission, he's not scary!"

"Is he scared of me?" Ouch. The thought prickled him. It somehow felt sourer than seeing Principal Gakuganji's face.

You hummed, seemingly (or comically?) deep in thought. "Hmm, in baby's point of view: a big, bad man suddenly picks him up, of course he's scared."

"I'm not a bad man!"

Okay, he wasn't having this. Satoru adored his baby to bits and he would want him to at least know it. It's settled then—he would be taking paid leave just to spend some time with his baby.

This would be his mission for the next three days!

DAY ONE

The day started off great. Baby Gojo was relatively calm, a bit fussy here and there but Satoru could definitely handle him.

"Look, a plane is coming!" he said playfully, moving the spoon in the air to attract his baby's attention. "Open your mouth wide!"

Baby blinked at him with the straightest face ever. His two blue orbs were the very same as his father, and yet they held disinterest so great that it was a wonder Satoru didn't notice.

He then playfully smooched baby's face, but he scrunched up, cringing in response.

And later, another achievement unlocked: Satoru successfully got his son to sleep for his afternoon nap!

"You're so cute, sigh." Satoru poked his baby's cheek lightly. "You look like me, but when you sleep, you totally look like your mama..."

He might not say it out loud, but one of his favorite sights lately was seeing you sleep next to your son. Both of you looked so precious and vulnerable, so alike, and it made him warm.

And whenever he looked at this little creation between you and him, he also got the urge to poke him so bad.

So he did. Only this time, he poked him a little too hard.

And how wrong that move was.

His son immediately cracked his eyes open, his lips quivered, and then his whole face scrunched up, followed by—

"WAAA!"

"Oof! Wait— I'm sorry!"

Long story short, he refused to be held in Satoru's arms, so you took over and your husband could only watch you with dissatisfaction.

"Won't you let me hold you?" he asked despondently, pulling up a pitiful face and batting his eyelashes. "I have the warmest hugs! Mama can vouch for that!"

"Satoru, he doesn't want you."

DAY ONE RESULT : FAILED

DAY TWO

Okay, his baby would love him today. Satoru was sure of it.

He had ordered this baby ride-on toy via home shopping and not only that, he would play with him!

"Here we goo~! Honk! Honk!" Satoru steered the little vehicle with his son at the backseat, hyping him up and even made a weird sound that was supposed to resemble a... train?

You watched them both, giggling. Your husband looked positively ridiculous as he was too big for the small vehicle, but still persisted in entertaining your clueless baby behind him. "Oh my, Satoru, you're trying way too hard."

"I have to!" he retorted, sending pout and a glare at the same time. "You can't hog him all the time, he's my son too!"

"Well, good luck~ as it happens, your spawn isn't easy to impress."

"Just so you wait—!" Satoru begrudgingly shot you a look, eaten up by your taunts, not noticing the wall in front of him. "By the end of today, he'll��� whoaaa!"

He was about to crash into the said wall, and you were prepared to jump to save your baby first. But then, Satoru did the next best thing to stop it—jumping out of the ride-on, rolling onto the floor... and crashing into the bookshelf that some of the things fell. "Ow!"

"Are you okay!?" you immediately picked up your baby before checking him over. However, Satoru's eyes were transfixed on your shared munchkin.

"Meh heh~"

And you too when you heard it— your baby was wiggling, all smiles, seemingly amused by the sight of his papa lying there pitifully. Satoru was aghast.

"Y-you have no filial piety!"

DAY TWO RESULT : FAILED

DAY THREE

Today, Satoru had gotten inside the playpen and brought a bunch of toys, planning to entertain his son with all of them.

"C'mon, don't throw that!" he pursed his lips when his kid flung the lego away. "Don't you want to play together with me?"

No. As if saying that, the baby crawled away from him. He seemed to have a target in mind though.

"Oi, what are you doing?" Satoru was puzzled, but he was in for a surprise when the child rose slowly.

"Oh, you're pushing yourself up..." he stated, observing how the baby, still wobbly, clutched on the edge of his playpen for support.

A huge grin spread across his face then. "Aww, look at you!" he gushed with pride. "You can stand already! Ooh!"

And suddenly, the sight tugged at his heartstrings. This was the first time he had ever witnessed such a milestone. He wasn't here when he first started teething or crawling, and now that he was here when his son was standing... he wanted to see more of this.

"Now, can you take a step?" Satoru moved closer to him, and the kid turned to him with those clear blue eyes and a little frown, seemingly unsure. "Go! Go! Come to me!"

He didn't think he would actually try to walk. But he did as baby let go of the support, alas suddenly he slipped—

And fell flat on his face.

"—! Are you hurt?!" Satoru immediately plucked him off the floor, horrified, and pulled him close when the baby started to sniffle. Soon, he began to wail inconsolably.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—!" he didn't even know why he was apologizing, but seeing his baby so frightened made his chest tighten. "Stop crying, oh wait—let's find mama!"

You were engrossed in your evening TV series when Satoru came barging to the living room with your poor son while being hysterical. "Help him!"

"What happened?!"

"He fell! He fell!"

Of course, your main concern was to comfort your baby, and so you reached out to take him from your husband's arms, only that...

"Huh...?" even Satoru was stunned when his son clutched onto his shirt, continuing to cry but refusing to let go, burying his little face into him.

Suddenly, he felt warm, he felt needed, and most of all, his desire to protect him was so overwhelming that he couldn't help but squeeze him closer.

You looked between the father and son, feeling giddy at the sight.

"He wants you," you finally smiled, patting baby's back. Satoru glanced between you and his precious pumpkin, seemingly taken aback as he blinked several times. When the fact sank in, he felt like a mush and pressed a kiss on his head.

The clown was convinced that his kid hates him and you are the savior. So, the fact that this little innocent being wanted him to comfort him... it made his heart flutter.

"Sorry, kid," he sighed into him, smushing his face to his little one's. "Don't cry, yeah? You're making me sad too."

"Satoru... are you getting glassy-eyed?"

"...am not!"

DAY THREE RESULT : DUBIOUS OUTCOME

"He's asleep..." you placed your baby between you and Satoru on the bed later that night, he was now so peaceful, out like a light.

Satoru turned to face you and the baby, looking at both of you with a yawn, but a soft smile lit his face when he saw how you pecked his son's cheek lightly.

These three days made him almost forget that curses still existed out there. Spending time with his son blurred that fine line between reality and a perfect daydream.

"He is still so little, but he screams so loud," he mused, poking the baby's cheek gently. You swatted his hand away, worried he might poke too hard again.

"You keep teasing him, that's why."

"—? He keeps playing me, is why!"

You two burst into quiet giggles then, and you couldn't help but reminiscing about the journey from when you first found out you were expecting, through the first ultrasound, and all the way to delivering your son.

And it seemed like Satoru had an inkling of what you were thinking when he suddenly blurted:

"Thank you, for everything you do," he whispered then, his eyes crinkled so softly at you.

You playfully huffed to hide your misty eyes, and in that moment, Satoru knew, that you too were glad for this life you two shared.

. . .

And that, in and of itself, was enough for him to thank all the stars for bringing him to meet you in that most beautiful spring of 2006.

Epilogue

It was morning, and baby was awoken by... sounds.

He looked to the side to find his mama there— your hand on his tummy to prevent him from rolling.

And then he turned to the other side to find his papa... who is perfectly still, but emanating this low sounds with each breath he took.

The longer he heard it, the more irritated your munchkin felt. So he rose, put his fists together, and came down on him—

Whack!

"—?!" Satoru groaned when something hit his face, and he opened his eyes only to see his son readying his punch again—

"W-why are you hitting me!" he was mortified. "H-help! Sweets, wake up! He’ll murder me!”

OVERALL MISSION RESULT : FAILED

[lemonlover1110]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀…

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Sukuna comes to terms with the idea of having a daughter with you.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, creampie, pregnancy, slightly ooc but still a misogynist, fluff at the end

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna squints his eyes, looking down at you as you knit something for your baby girl. There’s no way of actually knowing the sex of your baby, but something tells you that you’re expecting a daughter. Sukuna negates the thought, assuring you that you’re carrying a son. He can’t possibly have a daughter, he’s always saying something along those lines. 

“Just making a little something for our child.” You inform him, and Sukuna frowns. Your child is not going to wear something so pink because they’ll be a boy, Sukuna is sure of it. He snatches the cloth out of your hand and tosses it.

“Why pink? Are you saying we’re having a girl?” Sukuna questions, and you cross your arms. You look up at your husband, mad that he's tossed your hard work to the side. 

“You have pink hair, Suku… Are you a girl?” You cock your eyebrow, and he’s not amused. He crosses both pairs of arms, rolling his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t associate colors with a certain gender because you are right, he does have pink hair… But he also knows that you’re making a pink blanket because you think you’re having a girl.

“Make a blue one.” He orders, and you glare at him. You shake your head in response, you’re not making a blue one. He grits his teeth, grabbing the blanket that he just tossed to the side and shredding your hard work to pieces. 

“Keep an eye open tonight, because when you least expect it, I’ll strangle you.” You warn him, and you’re dead serious. It’s clear that you’re carrying his child, you’ve never threatened to kill him before. 

“If you even come close to it, I think I’ll fall more in love with you.” He chuckles, walking away, leaving you alone with your own anger. You let out a yell, cursing at him because the twinge of fear that you had for him completely faded a couple of months ago. 

He holds no threat to you anymore. Sukuna wouldn’t have done anything to you anyway, since he hates that he loves you so dearly, but the realization that you carry his child and he’ll do no harm to you really gives you much more power and comfort. Sukuna finds humor in a very nonthreatening person, threatening to do something to him; especially when he knows that you can barely lift yourself up anymore.

He knows that you won’t even come close to succeeding in hurting him, and he laughs in amusement at the mere thought. But you’ll get him back, you know you will.

“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” Sukuna asks as he watches you get ready to go out. You never invited him anywhere, so he was shocked to hear that you weren’t at home. He isn’t well liked in public, there’s just something about being huge, having four arms and being extremely scary that people don’t like. Sukuna can kill anyone without a second thought. 

“I thought so too before someone ruined the blanket that I was making for my daughter… So I had to get the materials to make it again.” You tell him, and Sukuna nearly gasps when you drop the d word. You’ve always refused to call the baby your daughter since you have no idea what the sex is, but it seems like you use it to piss him off. You click your tongue when you notice his reaction, “What? You’re so overdramatic. You’ve killed for fuck’s sake, why is saying daughter so scary to you.”

“Because we’re having a son!” He yells, getting defensive about it. You don’t understand why he gets upset at the mere suggestion that he’s having a daughter. Before you got pregnant, Sukuna never seemed to care about the gender of a hypothetical baby– Although you shouldn’t be shocked since your husband isn’t exactly the most fair when it comes to different sexes… Sukuna is a misogynist, that’s what you’re trying to get at. He treats all humans with the same disdain, but particularly women. It seems that you’ve forgotten because he doesn’t treat you the same way he treats everyone else.

“Sukuna, we’re having a daughter.” You reiterate, and you watch his eye twitch. You’re doing it to piss him off, he knows it, yet it’s working. “You wanted a baby, Sukuna. You knew there was no guarantee that you’d be having a son, but you still decided that you wanted one. You can’t cry about having a daughter.”

Sukuna takes a deep breath, surprisingly managing his anger well. He decides to leave the room, leaving you alone to do whatever the hell you want. You fuel his anger even more, yelling at him, “And don’t come back until you fix your attitude!”

You stare off into the distance, your hand resting on your bump. You begin to wonder what Sukuna will actually do, and you can’t do anything but hope that he’ll come around to the idea because you know Sukuna. He isn’t good whatsoever, he won’t hesitate to hurt her, even if she’s his own flesh and blood. You’re not sure you could stay by his side if he were to do anything, but you wouldn’t really have any other option either.

You decide to go to sleep, because thinking about it further won’t really help you in any way. You delude yourself, thinking that he’ll come around to the idea.

A large pair of arms wrap around you, waking you up from your slumber. Sukuna does it to try and be romantic, but he nearly suffocates you. You slap his arm, telling him, “Loosen the grip–”

He loosens his grip, which lets you know that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Thankfully. Sukuna would never do anything to harm you, but sometimes you swear you don’t know him much. It’s very rare when you get a heart to heart with Sukuna where he actually talks about him, he usually prefers to listen to listen, and to threaten anyone in the stories that offend you in the slightest.

“Can I say something without you getting mad?” You begin, still half asleep. Sukuna furrows his brows. Due to his lack of answer, you decide to speak, “You’re overreacting.”

“I just don’t know what I’d do with a daughter.” He confesses. He doesn’t know how he’d handle her, how to treat her fairly, how he would– He doesn’t know how he would do anything. He doesn’t know what being a woman entails so he won’t know how to teach her anything. He wants to teach her how to do everything. 

“Everything you’d do with a son.” You reply. You really doubt that your child will be raised to have great morals, so there’s no point in really raising them differently. “Sukuna, how will it be different?”

“How will it not be different?” He sounds offended. There’s nothing similar between men and women. Sukuna’s hands go to your bump, his hand caressing it. “But for my heir, I guess I can make an exception.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t make a fuss over the possibility of having a daughter?” You ask him, and his silence gives you an answer. Yes, Sukuna is fine with it, as fine as he can be at least.

His hand goes under your nightgown, caressing your thighs. You feel Sukuna kiss the back of your neck, and you squeeze your thighs, his large hand stuck between them. The man rarely touches you nowadays, seeing you as fragile as ever. You don’t know about the sudden change, but you certainly don’t mind.

“What changed in you?” You ask him as his hand goes up to your panties. He pushes them to the side because last time he tore something of yours, you got too mad at him so he’d rather not risk it. His fingers run through your folds before going to your clit, and you bite your bottom lip due to pure excitement.

“Was thinking about how I’d be nothing without you.” He confesses, letting you know that he didn’t come to terms with having a daughter– Sukuna is a man that fears nothing, at least that’s what you thought up until now. He fears losing you. It’s your issue… You’ve never paid attention to the love in his eyes when he speaks to you or about you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you mean to him. “Then I remembered how gorgeous you look carrying our son.”

“If you say that again I’ll–” You begin but Sukuna is two steps ahead of you. He pushes two large fingers inside of you. You can’t help but moan, covering your mouth immediately. One of his hands pulls your hand away, even in the dark he knows what you do. After all, you’re not just getting to know him, but he’s getting to know you too.

“Did I tell you to be fucking quiet?” He asks through gritted teeth. You have to be quiet at other times, like when the baby gets here and you risk waking them up. Now, if any of the servants hear, that’s their fucking problem. “Be loud, my love. Remind everyone who you belong to.”

“They know.” You tell him, which is quickly cut off by a moan as his fingers move faster. You feel his thumb graze your asshole, teasing you before he pushes it in. “Suku–”

“You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He ends up laughing. You never do because he’s just too much for you to handle. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot. You shut your eyes, quickly succumbing to pleasure. You’ve missed this feeling so much, and he refuses to give it to you.

Sukuna loves when you turn into putty by his touch. It takes practically nothing to work you up, and you begin to squeeze around him. He smirks, knowing that it takes nothing for you to be practically screaming his name. Sukuna speaks into your ear, “Already so excited for me? Do you want more?”

“I need more.” Your voice sounds so demanding and Sukuna laughs. Another hand goes under your nightgown, his fingers focusing on your clit. You loudly moan his name as it all gets too much for you to handle. 

“Is it too much?” He mocks you as your orgasm builds up, until you finally reach your peak, your legs shaking. Sukuna takes his fingers out, shoving the fingers that were in your cunt into your mouth, making you gag. 

Sukuna lights a candle, providing some light in the room. You sit up, getting on top of him, undoing his robe. Your body yearns for more, and he smirks since he knows it. You lean down, your lips going on his, your tongue entering his mouth and pressing against his own. When you pull away from the kiss, you mutter, “I’ve missed you.”

You raise yourself, aligning the cock on the top with your pussy before slowly pushing yourself down on it. You take a moment to adjust to him since it’s been a while since the last time you’ve fucked her. You begin to bounce on him, and Sukuna spits in his palm, grabbing the cock on the bottom and teasing your asshole with the tip.

Sukuna holds you down when he begins to push the other tip in your asshole. Even though you’re expecting a child together, you’re still loud when he fills both of your holes. It’s too much for you to handle at first, but throughout the time you get used to it.

“Tight little cunt–” He groans, and he never thought that he of all people would end up touch deprived. But then he got too scared to hurt you in any way when you knew you were expecting, so he stuck to… Nothing. To suppress his dirty thoughts. 

“Move.” You order, too tired to continue. Sukuna begins to move for you, thrusting slowly in and out of you. He continues at the pace you had set. 

“Is it good? You’re making a fucking mess.” He says as he picks up speed. You throw your head back, one hand going down to play with your clit as he thrusts in and out of you.

“It’s so fucking good–” You answer. You’ve been needing this every single fucking night, and you’re lucky to be receiving it now. He’s finally giving into your cravings. 

“You just love being filled up like a little slut, don’t you?” Sukuna’s hand goes up from your bump to your mouth, shoving two fingers into your mouth again. He feels the vibration of your moans through your tongue before you begin to twirl your tongue around his fingers. 

Sukuna loves the way you take in his cocks, smiling at you at how well you take him– Of course he wouldn’t tell you though. Your hands go to his chest, using it for support as well as subconsciously digging your nails into his skin. It stings for him, but he can’t help but love it.

Sukuna does you a favor, his fingers rubbing your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, 

A second orgasm overtaking you. Sukuna feels you squeezing on both of his cocks, feeling himself get weak. 

“Suku–” You loudly moan as you reach your second orgasm. Sukuna mocks you for it.

“What? Can’t handle it?” He asks, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He’s losing control, his thrusts getting sloppy. It’s been so long since the last time he did this– And when he finishes, he fills both of your holes with so much cum, and you swear you’re in heaven because there is no better feeling than this. 

When he takes his cocks out, so much cum drips out of you. You end up falling on his chest, him wrapping a pair of large arms around you while another fixes your clothes. 

“This is a nice way to apologize for misbehaving.” You comment, and Sukuna scoffs.

“Who said I was apologizing?” Sukuna is frowning, and you lightly smack his face which pisses him off more. He holds your hands so you don’t try to do anything more with them.

“I’ll take it as an apology.” You tell him. Sukuna wants to laugh, but he manages to keep a poker face. He grabs you up by your hair, putting his lips on yours. 

“It was not an apology, woman. Shut your mouth.”

Bonus:

You swear that hell is freezing over because what the hell is the scene you’re witnessing. You’ve never seen Sukuna like this… You don’t think you are supposed to see him like this.

“Who’s a headstrong girl?” Sukuna is putting on a baby voice for fuck’s sake. For a daughter that he didn’t want. Your baby girl laughs, and he falls in love all over again. She’s just so fucking perfect– With her little eyes, her little nose, her little mouth, her four little arms, her soft pink hair. She’s everything to him.

“Do you need anything, Sukuna?” You approach them, but Sukuna pays little attention to you. He keeps looking down at his daughter who lays on your bed. She’s in need of a nap but Sukuna doesn’t like putting her to bed because she’s boring then.

“Yeah, how do I order another one of these?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Of what?” You respond, wondering what the hell he talks about.

“Another daughter.”

[slvttyplum]

what was supposed to be a fun haunted maze turned into something much more sinister, with your mouth being filled to the brim with cum while your pussy was being stuffed while you moaned around the dick that was in your mouth, the tip of the dick hitting the back of your throat every time. 

you knew it was a bad idea to wander around this maze by yourself, but you wanted to prove a point to your friends that you could get to the end before them because of how it was organized, which you did, but the reward wasn't quite what you imagined. 

two figures stood only a few feet away from you, almost hanging above you, making it much creepier. not too much light illuminated off their faces, but light blue eyes caught your eyes. before you could even put words into your mind and speak, they were already in front of you. 

a laugh sliding past your lips as you clutch your stomach once you got a good look at their faces, of course. 

"thing one and thing two, god, how couldn't i recognize those eyes?" laughing more but quickly stopping when you realize they weren't laughing; instead, suguru pulled and tossed you over his shoulder, slapping your ass, walking into a dark corner with only a slither of light. 

that's when this sticky mess started, stripping you of all your clothes and wasting no time to start using both of your holes, and that's when you realized the creepy attire they had on. 

satoru's face covered in white and messy colorful paint all over his face, mixing in the way a clown would have it. suguru, a funny cliche, had a ghost mask on, but with his long hair, he wasn't hard to recognize. 

as scary as the costumes and atmosphere were, you were still wet, almost slipping out your panties yourself if suguru didn't slide them off first, his mouth latching onto your clit while one of his fingers slid into you. 

satoru putting a hand around your neck and slowly sliding his dick in your warm, wet mouth, a soft moan sliding past his lips as he closes his eyes, emerging himself in the pleasure you were so quick to give.

everything felt so fucking good and oddly comfortable to be outside in a maze, until you realized there were two blankets covering the surface, a smile forming before satoru pushes himself further in your mouth and suguru adds a second finger, curving them as he slides them in and out. 

suffocated moans struggling to erupt from your mouth as they continued, satoru already releasing one load in your mouth and no plan in stopping any time soon; he only got more rough. squeezing his hand around your throat and suguru flicking his tongue against your clit. 

he needed more, adjusting himself and quickly sliding his pants and briefs down, lining himself up to your dripping core and sliding himself in, a moan sliding out. pushing your thighs up as he pushed deeper inside of you. your moans were trying so hard to come out, but satoru was working overtime in your mouth.

gargling on his cum and suguru pushing his load deep inside of you, a long drawn-out moan coming from him, continuing to give you deep strokes. you felt too good for him to stop, satoru feeling the same time. 

both of them stuffing your holes back to back, endless pleasure and ecstasy, your eyes rolling to the top of your head. what felt like hours of this, it finally stopped. laying there for a moment before you felt something warm being rubbed against your aching core. 

looking down and giggling, watching suguru with his pulled-up mask wiping you down, satoru leaning down and giving you a kiss before walking off. 

"we don't forget the freak shit you're into; we just wanted to beat someone to the punch."

[thylacines-toybox]

Hey, I found a beanie boo that I liked the design of but I can't stand those giant uguu eyes. Do you think it would be possible to replace them with smaller safety eyes akin to the old beanie babies? If yes, do you have any advice?

I was gonna answer this in a normal way, but then I got curious about trying it for myself and thought I might as well demonstrate!

So, I went and picked up a guy from the supermarket. The selection there was pretty barren today but I found a decent test subject:

Eye replacement procedure below!

(First of all, to my friend who loves beanie boos, I am so sorry for this lmao)

So! First I opened up the closing seam on his back. However, I found an extra mesh barrier inside! Clearly this is to prevent bean escape since this is the most likely seam to accidentally pop open through play. This would be a bit annoying to work around so I just sewed it back up and went in the back of the head instead…

Opened and unstuffed the head…

…And turning it inside out to get to the backs of the eyes. Whoa, these plastic washers are the biggest I’ve ever seen!! Cutting through them will take some work!

Please be very careful of your fingers cutting through these!! Be careful not to cut the fabric around the eye too, but mostly be careful of yourself!

Anyway grrrrrrr attack attack slice slice grrrr

They’re out! With a little glue I think the washers would be able to hold on perfectly well again. I’ll keep these eyes to reuse on something where they’ll be a bit more proportional!

The washers on these eyes are particularly cup shaped, fitting around the back of the eye and holding the fabric tightly against them. Now that the eyes are removed, this has left imprints on the fur!

Plenty of brushing and rumfling will help to fix the creased and flattened areas of fur, and wetting the fur or gently steaming over a hot cup of water should help too. It might take a little time!

(Also, I did make a little cut in the cheek while removing a washer, oops! No worries, that can be stitched up.)

Now we can try on a few new eye styles! Restuff the head for now so you can see how they’ll look.

I have a few sizes of solid black, from teeny dots to absolute tbh creature…

These blue eyes were a little scary… no thanks!

I even have some glittery ones like the original, but smaller! Pretty nice actually!

And even some googly eyes hehehe!

But my favourite eyes were some basic 9mm black ones! They are placed a little funny here, but the position will change a little bit…

The holes left by the original eyes were very big, so a couple of stitches are needed on each one to tighten them up to fit the new eyes. I stitched the top outer corners, to move the holes down and inwards a bit. If you wanted, you could even sew them closed completely and make new eye holes elsewhere!

Unstuff again and pop those new eyes in!

Restuff! You might actually need to add a little extra stuffing, as the fabric not being so pulled around the eyes any more will mean it is a little ‘baggier’.

Then sew the head closed again and that’s about it! The fur is still a little creased around mine, but I’ll keep working at it and it should become less visible.

To add a tiny bit more shape to the big round head, I also did a touch of threadsculpting. I ran a thread from the corner of each eye to below the chin and back, just pulling the eyes in a tad more. You might decide you don’t need this!

And there we go! Hope you’ll try it yourself!

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DPxDC Nobody Knows Au Pt 3

Parts 1 and 2

They both fall silent and stare. 

That's an answer to one of many questions they've been asking themselves for years, isn't it?

Their best friend disappeared, and it wasn't abduction or murder. It was an escape.

“You guys don't have contact with Jack and Maddie, do you?”

Tucker swears there's a record scratch in his brain.

Sam gapes. “You mean your parents?”

Danny smiles, small, grim and humorless. “Jack and Maddie.”

Jesus Christ.

Sam glances over at Tucker and they exchange a look. Tucker knows they've been feeling a shared guilt for a long time, feeling like they didn't do enough. They had suspicions about something fucked going on in Danny's home life since the beginning of freshman year, but they never blew the whistle about it.

Rationally they know it wasn't their responsibility. All of Amity had suspicions - someone should have called CPS, and it shouldn't have been a couple of kids. A goddamn adult should have stepped up.

It doesn't keep either of them from feeling like they failed their childhood best friend.

“Considering I've spent the last four years suspecting they killed you and chucked your body into the portal to hide it? Hell fucking no, Danny,” Sam asserts.

The set of Danny's shoulders relaxes significantly. “Good,” he breathes. “Good. Please keep it that way.”

“What the fuck was going on in that house, man?” Tucker asks, a little sick to his stomach. He knows right away he shouldn't have asked.

Danny's expression shutters into something polite and pleasant to hide discomfort, and he immediately starts ‘casually’ gathering his papers and computer into his bag.

“Listen, I'm really happy to see you guys - seriously. I really should get going though, I-”

Sam reaches out and snatches him by the scruff of his shirt before he can even stand up all the way, yanking him back down into his chair.

His dumbfounded expression makes Tucker snort a laugh, so familiar and puppy-like. Danny is still all big blue eyes and nearly visible question marks when taken off guard. Tucker missed that face.

“You're not going anywhere until we get your phone number,” Sam argues, not a hint of wiggle room in her face or tone. “We'll get lunch or something, all three of us. Go to the mall. We're living in the same city, you know I'll hunt you down.”

When Danny hesitates, her face and tone melt into something softer.

“Please, Danny. We miss you.”

Danny melts a little, sighing and smiling. “...yeah. Yeah, I missed you too. I've missed you guys so much.”

“So?” Sam prompts, holding her hand out.

Danny huffs a little laughing breath and fishes around in his pocket, unlocking his phone and plopping it into her hand. 

His nails are black and green. Gradient.

Tucker doesn't know much about nails, but he knows there's a difference when Sam paints them and when she splurges for acrylics.

“Are those professionally done?” he asks, bemused. Danny had never expressed an interest in that kind of thing as a kid. It's kind of cool to see signs that he's, like…growing into himself.

Danny shrugs, and it feels good to see that he doesn't even seem to consider Tucker might give a shit in a bad way.

“I'm on my hot girl shit,” he deadpans, and Sam nearly drops his phone with the force of her startled laugh.

Tucker snorts. “Oh, well about time.”

“Hey!” Danny protests, offense fake and eyes dancing. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing! You had a glow up is all.”

Danny snickers and kicks him gently under the table.

“Okay, dick.”

It's like they never parted at all for a moment.

“Here, Mr. Hot Girl Shit,” Sam says, handing Danny his phone back. “I put our numbers in and sent a text in a group chat so you can't forget to reach out. I'm serious, Danny. We missed you, don't disappear. It was scary enough the first time.”

Danny grimaces, at least looking genuinely apologetic. “I know. I'm sorry. I really do need to get going today, though. I've got an appointment.”

“What kind of appointment?” Tucker asks.

The grin Danny gives him is mischievous and has a few teeth sharper than he remembers there being. 

He breezes past them and out the door with an impish response of, “Hide and seek with furries.”

Part 4

Masterpost

[bunnys-kisses]

hi bunny! May I request a s'more,honey cruller and banana bread with a side of juice and earl grey for Franco Colapinto? Thanks love 🥰

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? hit up the menu! there's tons of things to order! i write for a variety of fandoms! so please check out all the details, i'd love to hear from you! this is my second franco fic, the first one went over well, so i wanted to write more haha! i hope it's amazing and thank you @reddingtxn !!

s'more: "the accent gets to you, doesn't it?" + honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes." + banana bread: "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." + juice: cockwarming + earl grey: big cock served by franco colapinto (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, cockwarming, teasing (clit play), big cock!franco, dirty talk,

you wished franco gave you the heads up when you first got intimate. while you had been with other guys before, franco was your first serious relationship so you wanted it to work. but how was it supposed to work when you saw his cock for the first time.

eight inches was something you could visualize

he ran his fingers through your hair and smiled at you, he had already perfected the kind of smile that would make anyone swoon, "i forget how small you are sometimes." and that started your training towards getting more familiar with franco's size.

you swallowed as you sat there in his bedroom a few days later. you both had the time off because he had to go for racing and you were back at school. his goal was to get you used to the feeling of his cock before he left. and that wouldn't be achieved through a quick fuck, it had to be slow.

"such a beautiful girl." he said as he approached you in just his briefs. they were dark blue with white at the waistband. he crawled into bed with you and his dazzling eyes gleamed at you, "i know, i know. i promise it's not as scary as you think. you did so good the first time, taking me in your throat like that." his words curled in your mind. you hated that in a way he had such an effect on you.

"franco." you arched your back a little as he laid himself on top of you. his kisses were scattered across your chest and you moaned a little louder. his hands wandered your sides and you felt hot all over, a flush of heat through your body with anticipation for what was to come.

"the accent gets to you, doesn't it?" he laughed even as you pushed his face away in protest. but he kept those arms around you lovingly for a moment longer. he then sat himself up against the headboard of the bed and got his briefs off, "now, come on, beautiful. i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." his words made you shudder in the best way possible.

you pulled of your panties and bra before you got over to him. you swallowed when you got close enough to his cock. you took a moment to lean over and kiss his length which made him shudder. that felt good. he grabbed you by your hips and got you straddling his waist. you were facing the television at the far end of the room and away from him.

"i thought we were fucking?" you asked.

he kissed the back of your neck, "no, no. not in that way, i want you to get comfortable with my size before i leave. so you're going to cock warm me while we watch a movie tonight." he smiled before he sank you on his impressive size and watched you arch your back a little from the feeling.

it was a bit of a pain, but franco's kisses softened the feeling as you got yourself seated on him. you could feel it so deep inside of you. you could feel him in an intense way as he lazily wrapped an arm around you.

you relaxed a little while he looked around you to choose a movie to put on. you rested against him, only to tense up with his hand started to play with your clit. you moaned a little.

"shh, shh." he said, "i want to watch the movie. keep quiet, okay?" and felt you squirm a little against him which only excited him more. his cock twitched inside of you as you moved your hips a little. he held onto one of your hips while he continued to tease your clit.

"franco. honey." you swallowed, feeling the heat bloom in your cheeks. everything felt a little hotter all of a sudden, a rush of pleasure through your body as your boyfriend of the past little while played with your clit with a skilled precision. it made your heart hammer a little, the flush of heat through your core. of course franco knew exactly how to make you crumble.

"shhh, movie's starting." he said as he relaxed further against the headboard and wrapped one arm around your middle while his other hand played with your achy cunt. when you made too much noise, he simply shushed you. him doing that only emboldened the heat between your legs.

the stretch wasn't painful when he rocked his hips a little against you. he felt you close to him and it felt like a certain euphoria. you moaned a little bit and he leaned in a little further against you.

"franco." you swallowed quietly.

"mmm, beautiful. don't make me gag you, your panties are right there." he mused for a moment. the movie played in the background but, you ended up turned around and facing your lover. your cheek against his chest as his cock remained in you.

he kissed the top of your head and tried to play with your clit some more, but you were too close to him to get his hand back between your legs. so both arms were soon around you as he moved his hips a little bit. it was hard to deny the feeling, even with minimal movement. he was feeling the heat between you two.

"i can't take it anymore." he groaned as he rocked his hips against you gently. the pleasure was flooded in your brain that it didn't take long before you both came. first you, then him. it left you breathless with his heavy breathing against your back. the movie long forgotten.

you honestly didn't even know what he put on, but the pleasure clotting your brain was more important. you kissed him gently and he groaned into the kiss. eventually you just laid against him once more. letting the pleasure wash over both of you.

"do you think it'll fit easier now?" you asked.

he shifted a little and said, "not too sure, we might have to do it again." there was heat in his words and it made you excited to become more familiar with your boyfriend's large cock.

[bi-writes]

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

[kendyzzlewp]

The Right Decision || ART DONALDSON

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pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to a big scary decision but it’s okay because Art supports you. no matter what.

tags: married art, working mom female reader, they have kids, basically the conversation that tashi should’ve had with art when he wanted to retire lol

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“I have to tell you something but I don’t want you to get upset. Just listen.”

Art looks away from the tv, his mouth falling automatically into a frown. You stand next to the couch, your fingers fidgeting with your wedding ring. A habit you picked up on when you first got engaged.

“I might cry,” you warn, already feeling the tears sting the edge of your eyes. “But it’s not because I am sad or anything. I just have anxiety.”

His frown deepens and he instantly turns off the television, giving you his full attention. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

With a heavy sigh, you drop down onto the couch next to him. “I’m struggling at work,” you admit, the embarrassment creeping behind your neck like a tick. “I can’t do it anymore. The demand, the constant traveling. It’s keeping me away from you and the boys. I hate it.”

Art scoots closer to you, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We hate being away from you too.”

“I want to be home,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I want to be here for them. I feel like I’m missing out in everything. I want to be a good wife and a good mom. I want to cook dinner and help with homework. I want to clean—god I miss cleaning.”

Art chuckles quietly, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Baby, I-“

You cut him off because you already know what he was going to say. That you should’ve quit that job the moment you found out you were pregnant. But you weren’t a quitter, you saw things through to the end but this… this was just too much.

“Yes, I know,” you say quickly. “I should’ve quit years ago but I just didn’t want to take advantage of you. You trained so hard to be where you are. I’m not entitled to it just because I’m your wife.”

You could feel Art tense beside you, he couldn’t understand how you could think that. With a gentle touch, his fingers grab your chin, forcing you to stare into those ocean eye that made you weak.

“You are the mother of my children and the love of my life,” he firmly states. “You are entitled to every part of me. You took care of me, held it down for us when I first turned pro. Let me take care of you.”

Cue the waterworks. You always told him that if the tennis thing didn’t work out, he could look into being a writer. The sincerity in his voice, the love in his eyes, the kindness of his touch really made you fall in love all over again.

“We have more money than we know what to do with. If it quitting your job brings you peace, then do it. Be a stay-at-home mom or get another job if it’s what you really want. And please, cook for us again, I don’t think I can keep eating dino nuggets.”

A watery laugh escapes your lips as you grab the bag of his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The sounds of tiny footsteps, thundering down the hallway capture both of your attentions. Your twin boys, Jackson and Eli, burst into the living room.

They are the perfect mixture of you and Art. Their blonde curly locks, your skin tone, his stunning blue eyes and your nose. You couldn’t help but to stare of them in slight awe, eternally grateful to be able to be their mom.

“Mama, look!” Eli exclaimed, climbing up onto your lap. “I drew a dino.”

You took the paper in your hand, gasping dramatically. “Wow, this looks so good bear.”

Jackson, the more reserved of the too, quietly climbed onto Art’s lap. He snuggled into his chest. “I drew something too,” he says, handing a paper to Art.

Art shows you the paper with a fond smile. “Wow, buddy. Is that our family?”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, you, me, mama and Eli.”

Your heart swelled at the picture perfect moment. Sitting there basking in the love of your family you realized the decision you had to make. It wasn’t a hard one at all.

“I have some great news,” you say as the four of you cuddle closer. “Mama is going to be home all the time now.”

Eli jumps excited on your lap, his eyes wide and curious. “No more trips?”

“No more trips,” you confirm, ruffling his hair.

Jackson lifts his head from Art’s chest. “Really?”

Art smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Really,” he confirms. “Mommy is ours now!”

The boys cheer, jumping from the couch and pulling your hand. Both of them babbling excitedly about playing and painting and snacks. You turned to look at Art, smiling widely.

“Thank you,” you say, tears threatening to fall again.

He smiles, tilting his head. “No, thank you.”

[sparrowlucero]

So what do we think Beebe's fish were then? I heard tell that the sailfin might have been a squid and that the angelfish was probably a comb jelly, but what about the giant dragonfish or the rainbow gar?

For those not in the know, in the 1930s, biologist William Beebe (who you (read: I) might know as the guy who predicted microraptor) and engineer Otis Barton (hollywood actor?? and designer of fucked up submarines and "jungle spaceships", ok otis) got into a fucked up submarine and went to the bottom of the ocean off the coast of bermuda (in what, iirc, was the first study of deep sea fish in their natural habitat), where he described several fish unknown to science. None of these fish have been identified since. (Side Note: to continue off of "audubon was unfamiliar with the bald eagle" in my last post, this one also has a theory I find a bit silly in "perhaps they just hallucinated fake fish from oxygen deprivation" despite both witnessing the same fish and a lot of his scary book about the dive that you can read here including many lucid observations of known species. It wasn't like he got down there and only saw weird fish and nothing else) The fish in order: Three-starred anglerfish, Abyssal Rainbow Gar, Pallid sailfin, Five-lined Constellation Fish

and yeah I do see why people think these might have been invertebrates mistakenly identified as fish. In his book, Beebe holds off on describing unfamiliar fish if he didn't see them well, but, you know, those little gars really do look like squid. I personally think the most likely one to be a real fish is the angler, since he saw it closely and was able to note several physiological differences in jaw structure that distinguished it from other angler fish.

The most notable one is the "Untouchable Bathysphere Fish", a giant 6 foot long dragonfish (largest known dragonfish is about 2 feet long):

Several minutes later, at 2100 feet, I had the most exciting experience of the whole dive. Two fish went very slowly by, not more than six or eight feet away, each of which was at least six feet in length. They were of the general shape of large barracudas, but with shorter jaws which were kept wide open all the time I watched them. A single line of strong lights, pale bluish, was strung down the body. The usual second line was quite absent. The eyes were very large, even for the great length of the fish. The undershot jaw was armed with numerous fangs which were illumined either by mucus or indirect internal lights. Vertical fins well back were one of the characters which placed it among the sea-dragons, Melanostomiatids, and were clearly seen when the fish passed through the beam. There were two long tentacles, hanging down from the body, each tipped with a pair of separate, luminous bodies, the upper reddish, the lower one blue. These twitched and jerked along beneath the fish, one undoubtedly arising from the chin, and the other far back near the tail. I could see neither the stem of the tentacles nor any paired fins, although both were certainly present. This is the fish I subsequently named Bathysphera intacta, the Untouchable Bathysphere Fish.

I believe this solely because it's really cool Though I want posit a theory I've never heard before: it's almost never remarked upon that he discovered these weird fish over a live (now lost media that no one is searching for, get on that) NBC radio broadcast. Maybe he just made up some cool sea monsters with a big climactic sea serpent for said broadcast, both because I would totally do that if it were me and also so he had a good excuse to sign off and get the fuck out of this situation:

[sunlightmurdock]

Trick or Treat! | Firefighter Bradley

spookweek masterlist | firefighter bradley masterlist

Prompt: handing out candy | joining firefighter!bradley at the station to hand out candy to the neighbourhood kids!

warnings: pet names babe / baby, no use of y/n. .word count: 0.7k

Your heels clack along the walkway, past the clumsily carved, flickering Jack-o’-Lanterns. Ghosts with jagged edges and wide smiling faces with wonky eyes, all courtesy of the gang at Station 86.

Your lips twist, almost a smile, finding the precise attempt at a mustache’d face along the left row. Just then, you hear your name from across the lot. The classic red doors of Station 86 are pulled wide open, and Bradley is hustling his way towards you from the back.

“Baby, you made it!” His arms are loaded up with those giant bags of Halloween candy, the largest you can get. As his mouth stretches into a grin, you can see that there’s something different about his usual smile.

He drops the Halloween candy, still bagged up, onto the large fold-out table where two of his buddies sit and continues his path toward you.

“Are those fangs?” You wrinkle your nose, taking in the usual things you find most enjoyable — those fitted pants and the blue of his tight t-shirt against his tanned skin, the red of his suspenders straining against his thick shoulders — and the oversized plastic fangs in his mouth.

He beams, nodding his head as he reaches for you. “What, you don’t like them?”

Next comes the dive forwards, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist and securing you to him as he gnashes the stupid silicone fangs against your neck playfully.

Just as his wandering hand creeps towards your ass, he catches a glance at his next round of trick-or-treaters rushing along the sidewalk toward the station.

“Thanks for coming, babe. Here,” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and ushers you towards the fold-out table, acknowledging his colleagues. “We’ve got it from here, guys.”

He had told you it would be fine if you had wanted to head home after work. His shift finishes at nine, and then he’s all yours for four days — starting tonight with a scary movie marathon. But, for now you’re happy to share him with the rest of the neighborhood.

Superheroes, ghosts and witches bounce along the walkway with grins on their faces, calling out your boyfriend’s name. With the class field trips to the station, and the station’s regular trips to the school, Bradley has plenty of pint-sized admirers.

Up in front of the mob are two first graders, sprinting ahead while their mothers chat behind.

“Not you two again!” Bradley mocks disgust, wrinkling his face in abject disapproval as two girls, one wrapped in toilet paper and the other wearing a bedsheet with eye holes in, rush him, plastic buckets for candy in hand. They giggle through their costumes as they come to a halt in front of him, looking up at the towering man. Their class had visited the day before yesterday, and the siren had frightened the two of them so bad that Bradley had broken out the Halloween candy a little early. “What do we have here? — A ghost and a…?”

“I’m a mummy!” She declares excitedly, waving her bucket at him.

“You’re a what?” He paints on his best look of fear and takes a dramatic step backwards, earning himself another round of giggles from the two girls. “What brings you all the way out here, little Mummy?”

“Candy!” Her friend answers for her, which they both find equally hilarious.

Bradley settles to his knees, keeping up the dramatics as more children crowd around him. He’s a natural, having them bursting into fits of laughter as he hands out chocolates and lollipops and other small bags of sugar-coated goodies.

You’ve been down to the station plenty of times, and been involved in plenty of events with them. This has always been more than a job to him, and you know he’s proud of what he does — you’re proud too.

But, even after all this time, there’s something about the fact that all of the neighborhood kids not only know his name, but clearly adore him so much, has you grinning as you help him pass out treats.

He catches you, draping a heavy arm around your shoulders during a rare break between herds of kids. Turning his face towards yours, he kisses the top of your head softly.

“Really, thanks for coming — I love having you here.” He murmurs, squeezing softly at your shoulder. “We’re about finished. You have a movie in mind for us to start with once we’re home?”

Just something scary, you think, already looking forward to the comfort of hiding your face in his chest and pretending that you can’t hear his heart beating just as fast as yours.

…

[killertoons]

I've got ideas and a theory for the recent welcome home updates (10/18/2024)

Walk with me-

So that short story alone already showed pulling ideas from Edgar Allen Poe with the tell-tale heart and the cast of amontillado

(I wouldnt be shocked if they reference other Edgar Allen poes works like the raven soon but that's me cheating to peek at clowns kofi and I won't speak further on that-)

Basically Sally is doing a rendition of the tell-tale heart and poppy got cast....only she doesn't want to be involved. It's a scary tale, and for those who didn't take advanced English

The story of the tell-tale hearts about a man so absolutely freaked out by this old man's eyes to quote

'I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture- a pale blue eye, with a film over it.'

So the man sets out to kill him, does so by lurking in the dark for 7 straight nights till finally the 8th night he finally does so, dismembered him and hide the pieces under the floorboards!

But when police came to investigate...he could hear both but a beating heart under the floors and from his guilt he admitted to the murder and ended the tale with

'"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!- tear up the planks!-here, here!- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

So already Sally doing a rendition of this tale is wild already as I imagine it's been changed to be more family friendly for the neighborhood, but poppy isn't up for it.

And Sally's sad about it! And of course the neighbors all know why poppy actually didn't wanna do it. And Sally trying to be a good friend realized the play scares her so they gotta do something to let poppy have her cozy state of mind away from anxiety

So they form their plan-

To cask of amontillado her into her house, brick by brick.

Another famous story by Edgar Allen Poe, that one is about a guy luring someone he had a dispute over into a cellar and bricking him up down there to rot.

It's a revenge story, one we have no details other than a man was wronged (we never learn the reason) his anger and vengeance taking center stage.

Through the entire story time, the neighbors are supposed to be following a book along as a read aloud story but they keep breaking into separate lil conversations or making quips to each other... Till the end where audio is lost on the rest of the story after poppy was bricked away.

However...

Because we have the secret website we can check there and what's found was....worse

Poppy in the dark of her barn and something is lurking with her in the dark.

By the end someone gets her out but the sounds of the people aren't named... although they sound familiar to us

I could say what we were all thinking and state the obvious "oh those must be the puppeteers! That was poppy's puppeteer having a freak out moment-"

Which I personally agree but there's more to it.

Do y'all know how big birds puppet works?

It's one person in there, with a screen to tell you where to go and a script taped inside while they maneuver around like this!

I imagine poppy is the same way since she's based design wise off big bird

Now with this in mind, add how hard it is to move or see or perceive where you are in general in that suit. How clasterphobic your gonna be if you can't get out!

I get clasterphobic trying to get out of a dress that fits too tight at the store, I can't imagine how scary this would be especially if your on your own in the dark room as well!

with only your lantern to read your lines and something to occupy yourself- maybe knitting as it's a hobby you picked up-

When you hear breathing that's not yours. From within the suit. A suit that's JUST big enough for you, mind you.

So it be impossible for anyone else to be breathing...only you forgot someone.

The puppet suit itself...is breathing.

And there's scratching at the door, something else is lurking in the dark with you but you can't see it. You can't get out, the suit can't leave but your mind is stuck the doors open but in another world it's closed and sealed-

But I'm getting ahead of myself

What is said is...what if that IS poppy reacting in the dark to something...but also it's the puppeteers reaction to poppy as well. They share a mind and A space for a moment in the dark where their fear matches them and it doesn't break till the door opens and the puppeteers talk..

I think the horror is going higher as both sides are gonna start interacting more and more with each other..

[absdoll]

oh my godddddd i just read your sub!Abby fic and i'm just thinking of a fic where reader 'doms' Abby but really she's just letting you have your fun and we all know who's still in charge :) oh my god i'm losing it please i just know you would make it so hot,,,,,,,, omg i'm giggling and twirling my hair

yesyesyesyesyes ♡ 💗💕 exactly nonnie ! <3

cw: ice play (almost) , dom!abby , daddy kink lol

“hands behind your back.” you sternly say to your blonde girlfriend, who is manspreading in front of you on your shared bed, you stood between her muscular legs.

“yes ma’am” she giggles back at you, totally taking this seriously, and pins her hands to the small of her back.

you roll your eyes at abby and puff out your chest, “what’s funny? don’t make me get rough with you.” you warn her.

“not funny baby, just cute.” she bats her eyes up at you, making your tummy explode with butterflies.

abby is always in charge. sex, plans, grocery lists, cleaning, abby is always the one handling everything. and as much as you love being under her control, today you wanted to give her a chance to relax and be tended to. but it’s abby, and abby won’t let that slide.

you point your finger to her broad chest, “lay back.” abby raises an eyebrow at you, following your orders. “you’re liking this, aren’t you princess?” abby teases.

“yeah, i am, princess” you tease back. abby can admit that she finds it hot how you’re being so demanding and tough, she knows at any second though she can bend you over her knee and you’ll be a whimpering obedient mess like you always are, but she’ll let you have your fun for now.

you pick up a cup that’s to your left, swirling around the melting ice cubes in it. abby’s gaze shifts to your hand, still shaking the cup. “baby…” she nervously breathes.

“i’m gonna take off your pants, okay?” you slide her grey sweatpants down her legs, biting your lip at the sight of her blue boxers, removing those too.

you plop an ice cube in your mouth, but abby abruptly grabs your jaw. “spit it out.” she demands. you shake your head out of her grasp, spitting the ice cube on her chest. “tss-ahh! what the fuck!” she hisses.

“i’m in charge, remember? don’t interrupt me again.” as you reach for the cup, abby has decided she’s had enough of this.

the burly blonde sits up, sliding her boxers back up to her waist. you watch as she blatantly disobeys your orders.

“here’s what gonna happen my sweet girl. you’re gonna lay down, take off those cute little panties, put your hands behind your back, and sit pretty until i tell you you can move, got it?” she hovers over you, awaiting your compliance.

“b-” you try to regain your “control” you had just a minute ago, but abby’s patience is long gone. “nuh uh baby, all i want to hear from that little mouth is yes daddy.”

abby walks out of the room, leaving you to process what’s about to happen. you do as you’re told because abby can get scary when disobeyed. her blue crystal eyes get dark, almost stone grey.

you’re naked, hands flat under your back, thighs pressing together trying to relieve the uncomfortable sensation pooling down there.

the door creaks slightly, abby’s tall build standing in the doorway, arm resting on the frame above her head. “aww good girl.” she smiles at you.

her strap is tucked in the band of her boxers, the black silicone tip peering from the top. “and good girls get rewarded, yeah?” she walks towards you, eyes locked with yours.

“spread your pussy for me doll” she coos, eyes widening at your milky cream dripping down your thigh.

abby slaps your sopping pussy, letting a long string of spit land on your throbbing nub.

“you ready?” she smirks, positioning herself at your center.

💕 @whore4abby @enbesbians @hersweetheart @picklesarenice69 @abbystoy ♡

a/n : HI MY BABIES OH MY GOD I MISSED U ANGELS SO MUCH ♡♡ feels like i haven’t written in years , ik u lot are patiently waiting on dealer!ellie & i promise promise promise she’s coming soon 🎀💕 enjoy this fun req i got awhile ago , sorry it took me so long nonnie !!!

[holylulusworld]

Sewer Rat (1)

Summary: He broke your heart. Now he must pay for it.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, former Mobster!Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, scared reader, Bucky is scary as shit, mentions of a breakup, Tony is the worst in this (sorry), mentions of groping

Sewer rat masterlist

He leans back in his expensive leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other. The kingpin of his own castle of blood, fear, and power smirks at you because you hit the bottom.

Coming here was your last resort, and you’ll do anything he wants.

He knows it. You know it. His men aiming their guns at you know it.

James Buchanan Barnes. Cold-hearted and calculating boss of the most feared organization in town. Well, except the one your boyfriend leads—or rather ex-boyfriend.

“What can I do for you, doll?” He clings his pinky ring against the glass filled with the most expensive whiskey a man can buy for money. Bucky watches you with those cold steel-blue eyes, making you shrink into yourself.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “I need your help.” You bite your lower lip, chewing on it. “I think you already heard what happened.”

“Oh, that—” He smirks while his eyes are glued to your trembling lips. Bucky enjoys your predicament; you’re sure about it. “It spread like wildfire that you are no longer Tony Stark’s arm candy, doll.”

“I wasn’t his...” you trail off. Bucky is right. After what happened a few hours ago, you know you were never more than a body he could use. A pretty thing to dress up and show off to his friends and allies.

Bucky takes a small sip of his drink, humming as the amber liquid burns on his tongue just right. “You were only his pretty doll to play with,” he insists as you drop your gaze and nod. Beggars can’t be choosers, so you’ll just let Bucky throw everything he wants your way. “Now that he’s done playing, he tossed you onto the street.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, and take one step toward Bucky, causing his men to unlock their guns. Your body goes stiff, and you hastily lift your hands in the air. “I-I…” You whimper in fear.

“Guys, relax,” Bucky laughs. “We checked her on weapons, didn’t we?” He quirks a brow and looks in Steve’s direction.”

“Rumlow did,” Steve replies, and goes back to watching your every move.

“Hmm…yeah,” Rumlow replies. He licks his lips as you drop your gaze. “She was soft and warm but not armed, boss.”

Bucky makes a face but doesn’t say a thing. Rumlow can get a bit handsy when it comes to pretty ladies. He doesn’t blame him, though. “So, no weapons, gentlemen. Please relax and secure your guns. I’d hate to shed her blood.”

“Got it, boss,” the men murmured in unison and secured their guns. “What are our orders?”

They expectantly look at Bucky, awaiting his orders. He leans forward, eyes glued to your exposed legs. Bucky licks his lips before he washes the taste of victory down with the rest of his whiskey.

“I want her to tell me what happened tonight,” he smirks and winks at you. “Come on, doll. Amuse me.”

“He kicked me out,” you stubbornly glare at Bucky. He’s enjoying this a little too much. “You already know that, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky’s features darken. He slowly rises from his seat to stalk toward you. Bucky grips your face with his metal hand, making you whimper in fear.

“If I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me. Tell me every little detail, Y/N.” He leans closer to breathe in your face. You can smell the alcohol he drank and his cologne.

“He told me to leave, believing I am cheating on him,” you splutter without thinking twice. If Bucky wants to know every detail, you’ll give him the full heartbreak experience. “I tried to tell him that it’s not true, but Tony wouldn’t listen. He saw me with an old friend and assumed the worst. That old friend is in town to get married. He asked me to meet up with him to catch up. I used to work at the library with him.”

“What else?” He whispers in your ear, almost gently. If not for his metal hand holding your chin in a tight grip, you’d believe he’s a gentle man wanting to flirt with you. “Doll. I want to know everything.”

You sniffle. It’s so hurtful to repeat the words Tony threw at you after he dragged you out of the showers. Not half an hour ago you made love, and then he kicked you out of his life.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

“I want to hear everything, or you can go out there and try your luck,” Bucky growls in your ear. “I’m waiting. Time is running out on you.”

“He called me a sewer rat, and that he regrets bringing me into his life,” you choke out a sob, remembering the hatred in Tony’s voice. “He said that it would’ve been if he left me out there for dying.”

“And he just did that, didn’t he?” Bucky steps away. His hand drops from your chin as you look at him with watery eyes.

He’s not wrong. Tony pushed you out of his house in nothing but a towel. You barely had the time to grab your bathrobe before you ended up on the sidewalk in front of his house.

Bucky’s eyes drop to your bare feet. Now dirty and full of blisters. You had to walk toward the next house, begging them to allow you to call someone for help.

None of your so-called friends answered. Suddenly you were dead to them. You left the house, sitting on the sidewalk, until a black SUV stopped right next to you. Calling Bucky to beg him for help was your last resort. You remember his number because Tony saved it under “the devil.”.

“So, you came here to ask me for help?” Bucky laughs in your face, but you can’t find your situation funny. “You got that I’m your sugar daddy’s enemy.” He quirks a brow when you stubbornly lift your chin and glare his way.

You square your jaw before you nod. “I know you hate each other and that you’d love to take over his empire.” You smirk now as you get something out of the pocket of your bathrobe. “If you promise to help me get revenge on him, I’ll help you bring him down.”

You throw Tony’s little black book in Bucky’s lap. “What’s that?”

“A list of people he pays to look the other way,” you take a careful step toward Bucky. “This is a pledge of our confidence, and such a pledge is justified only if you do your part too. If so, I can help you bring him down.”

“How?” Bucky smirks as he thumbs through the little black book. “You were his bed bunny, not his right-hand man.”

“Oh, didn’t you know that men love to talk about business in bed? During sex, after, or while I suck them off?” You snap at Bucky. “Tony is very talkative, close to an orgasm, or after. All men are.”

“You’re a little vixen, huh?” Bucky seems to be amused, but his mind is running a mile in a minute. If you know more about Tony’s business, Bucky could easily take one of his biggest enemies down. “What do you want in return?”

“You will protect me until I’m back on my feet. I’ll need a little money to leave town and start anew somewhere far away from here. Whatever you do to Tony, I don’t care because I won’t be around when it happens.”

Bucky looks at the little black book again. He heard about it through the grapevine. Tony Stark is an old-fashioned man in many ways. He loves technology but doesn’t trust it enough to save his contacts on his computer.

“If you can deliver me more information, you’ve got yourself a deal, doll,” he holds out his hand, smirking as you reluctantly shake it. “Steve, make sure that Natasha gets my new informant new clothes and toiletries. Rumlow, tell the maid to prepare the guestroom next to my bedroom. Y/N and I have a lot to discuss, gentlemen. Please leave us alone now.”

The men leave the room without a second glance. Only Steve, Bucky’s best friend since childhood and the most trusted man, stays put.

He watches you with interest as you stand next to his friend. Lion with its prey. Steve thinks to himself. He pities you because you have no clue what you got yourself into.

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[dcxdpdabbles]

If possible could you do the Batkids summoning the Ghost King on a dare?

It starts with Tim because most insane things do. Kon had sent him a link to a trend, asking him to try it the next time Young Justice got together.

He made the mistake of clicking on the link while sitting near his siblings in the gaming room. The audio is also on full blast because he didn't realize his headphones were out of battery.

Thus while waiting for his turn to play Mario Kart, a loud male moan echoes from his speakers. Tim freezes in his seat, staring at his phone in horrified betrayal, as seven heads snap in his direction.

"Ugh, Timmy? Those are videos you should be watching alone" Dick says with half a teasing smirk. "I know you're growing up and are curious about-"

"It's not like that! It's a summoning circle!" Tim yelps, turning the phone around. On his screen, five male teenagers sit in a circle, each holding hands. Moaning. The caption reads, "Summoning the Ghost King! What's your offer?".

"What the hell?" Jason squints as the teenagers in the video burst into laughter. They jeer and taunt each other good naturally, indicating the random moaning was in jest.

"Oh, I know that trend!" Cullen chirps from the floor. He's been hugging the bowl of chips all night, laying down on his stomach to keep it guarded from the others. "Basically, you try to summon the Ghost King by offering something random. Guess he doesn't respond to human sacrifices or the typical stuff, so people have been getting creative. I once saw a group of girls who burned their training bras and offered the King the ashes. The point is to pick the weirdest thing you can think of."

"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard. We have to try it." Steph announces, standing up. She pushes the coffee table out of the way. The rest of their siblings, who weren't as into the speeding game, perked up in interest. "What do we need?"

"Um," Tim scrolls through the comments. "We need four never before lite candles, each placed in the positions of the four directions. We have to sit crossed leg in a circle holding hands and call out to the King with a poem, and at the end, we make our offering."

Harper springs up. "I got some candles! Do they matter if it's scented?"

Tim checks online. "It's not recommended, but it's fine if they are."

"This is idiotic! Attempting to make contact with the Ghost King is far too dangerous. I shall take no part in this foolery!" Damian cuts in, face twisted into a- surprisingly- nervous frown. His hands are clasped tightly over each other while his eyes roam the room looking for unseen threats. If Tim didn't know any better, he said the brat was scared.

"Aw Dami, if you don't want to do a summons, we can play the game of life or something. It's okay to be scared of ghosts" Dick says, placing his hand on the kid's shoulder. He was obviously trying to comfort the kid but it has the opposite effect.

"I am not scared of a mere ghost!" Damian hisses. "I am merely stating we should not bother forces well out of our leagues!"

Jason snorts, planting himself on the ground as Harper returns. She had four different color candles, purple, blue, black, and green. After consulting with Cass- a human compass-she placed them facing the east, west, south, and north.

"Why did you make that disgusting noise Todd?" Damian demands narrowing his eyes at the striking man.

"Just admit you're scared of ghosts, brat. No one is going to judge you for it."

"I said I was not scared of a mere ghost. The Ghost King is far more powerful then-"

"Alright, alright. Damian is too much of a scary cat to play, but who else is in?" Steph cuts him off, a knowing glint in her eyes. The youngest flushes angrily before he marches between the green and black candle and sits with his legs crossed. A nasty scowl is playing on his lips, likely not noticing the high-five Jason and Steph share for getting him to join.

Cass gracefully falls right next to Damian, offering the younger boy a small. His scowl lessens just a little. Cullen crawls his way over, pressing the bowl of chips to his hip protectively once he's sitting up. He ended up between the green and the purple candle, offering Cass a smile. Harper lands next to Cullen, cracking her neck as if preparing for a fight.

Dick does an unnecessary flip over the couch to take the place between the purple and blue candles. Next to him, Steph sits, her knee bumping the blue candle slightly. Jason struts over to sit next to Steph right between the blue and black candle. Duke shares the space with him, giving just a slightly nervous chuckle as Tim and Babs push the black and green candle apart a little to squeeze into though Babs remains in her chair.

"Alright, so the person with the candle on their right side has to light it. Do it at the same time. Once that happens, we join hands and do chat about the poem. Says only one person has to say the words, but if you want, I can send the link in the family group chat so we can all say it?" Tim waits to see them consider it, but Cass excited nodding has him copying the link he found on an online forum. A few dings go around the room as everyone checks their phones. "Now we have to decide on a sacrificial offering."

"We should do our most embarrassing secrets," Jason suggests.

"No, no, our fabulous hair!" Dick perks up, flipping said hair in a dramatic flair.

"It has to be something we all share," Tim says, eyeing Duke's short hair.

The other teenager makes an offended noise. "My hair is fabulous!"

"We offer the gay." Cullen cuts in. The rest turn to look at him as he wiggles his fingers. "Ohhhhhh! We're all fruity~! Spooky!"

"Babs isn't," Dick puts in only to see his best friend shake her hand in a so-and-so motion. He gapes at her before throwing his head back and laughing "We really do flock together!"

"So we agree? The gay?" Tim tries to say seriously, but his lips are twitching too much, trying to suppress a smile. There is agreement around the circle. He gives on a single node before passing around the matches Harper had brought. "How are we going to do this, though. Do we just shout, "I'm gay," or are we giving material things?"

"Let's write our gay awakening on a piece of people," Babs suggests grabbing her bag from where it hands on her chair handles. She tucks out a spiral notebook and a few pens. "I read that summoning needs something physical."

Everyone agrees as they pass along the notebook, writing down their awakening. Tim raises a brow at Damian's "Jon Kent" but doesn't call him out for it. After all, Conner Kent goes under his little brother's writing in his own writing.

He does wonder who Danny Fenton is, but knows better than to ask Cass about her life before the manor.

"Okay, let's do this! On the count of three- one-two-three!" Tim calls, watching Damian, Harper, Steph, and Duke simultaneously lite at the candle. They all hold hands, reading off phones that are prompted up by either their legs or kickstands on cases.

"We call upon the Undead King,

The one who bridges the realms,

The one who wields the Ring,

The one who will lead dies and breathes!"

There is a moment of silence where Tim swears he feels a slight shock along his fingertips, but it passes too quickly for him to care. Seeing as he is the ring leader, he calls out to the air. "Oh great King of the Dead, my siblings and I offer you a list of our gay awakening!"

"Stop, stop!" The youngest yells, leaping to his feet. His eyes are wild, scrambling to a far wall like a cornered animal. "No! He's coming!"

"Coming out the closet, like mama, I like boys, I like pecs

Like the arms when they flex!" Stephs suddenly sings, swaying in her seat. Everyone laughs before joining, and Tim wonders if they should have recorded this when suddenly Damian shrieks.

"Damian, who-"

The candles' flames all turn green as a haunting voice echoes through the room. "Your sacrifice has been accepted."

Tim's mouth drops open as the flames rise into the air forming a portal of liquid green. Familiar green. No wonder Daimain had been so scared. That was Lazarus Pit water. This meant this was the real deal, not just a random trend popularized by stupid teenagers.

Leaping Lizards Batman.

"What-what do we do!?" Cullen yelps as a burst of wind rips around the room, throwing everyone back. A laugh that sounds far too much like the Joker is heard through the portal as everyone tries to get into a fighting position with the wind pushing against them.

A head of snow-white hair peaks out and they are greeted by a laughing teenager. "A gay awaking sacrifice list! That's hilarious!"

"Who are you!" Tim hears Jason demand over the howling wings.

Another laugh, but this time, it sounds like clicking ice cubes is a response. "I'm Phantom!"

Tim has a second to see, wide green glowing eyes before the ghost reaches down, snatches their list, and zaps away.

Cass falls to her knees with a look of horror. "They know"

"I told you this was idiotic!" Damian screams, shaking so hard he looks like he will burst into tears in only a few seconds. Dick rushes over to him, pulling the sniffing boy into his arms. "We must never do this again!"

No one knows what to do in the wake of actually succeeding in calling the Ghost King or watching Dmaian cry from fear.

A ringtone plays from Cass's phone, breaking the ill silence. Tim catches a glimpse of "Danny" with two little hearts before his sister grabs the cell and leaps through an open window with what could only be a squeal.

"What the fuck just happened?" Cullen asks, but Tim can only offer him a shrug.

[shibaraki]

THE ARSONIST’S LULLABY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: the theory is everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. a symbolic, younger version of the self that can still be saved.

dabi comes home with what seems to be a sleeping four year old in his arms and the look of a man who has just seen a ghost.

tags: GN reader, reader is a civilian, sorta established relationship (dabi is paranoid and allergic to labels), accidental child acquisition, angst and fluff, pre LOV (like right before), alludes to past canon child abuse, dissociation, family feels (dabi shithead big brother tendencies)

wc: 8K

“What the fuck—”

“Don’t,” Dabi hushed you frantically, far more frayed than you’ve ever seen him. Affronted, you open the door wider all the same, allowing him inside.

He’s careful with his movements as he kicks off his boots and ducks into the living room. The lump bundled in his jacket does not stir. Dabi lowers to a crouch and settles a young child on the sofa cushions. You note the deliberate care in which he slides his arms out from beneath the boy's body.

The coat lapels have slipped to reveal a child that can surely be no older than four years old. Waxen skin, full cheeks and a wind bitten nose. Most notable is the red hair, thick and fanning across the decorative pillow in undefined waves.

You feel inclined to tiptoe as you approach. Navigating the short space cautiously, knowing where to set your feet; avoiding the creaky floorboards you’ve long since memorised. Dabi lets out a shuddering breath and slumps back against the coffee table. Not once does he look at you even as you enter his vision.

Knelt at Dabi’s side, you evaluate the things laid out before you. The air remains tepid. There are no remnants of smoke clinging to his clothes. Your gaze sweeps over his body. He isn’t running hot, and the sutures aren’t weeping. Not a blood stain nor a burn mark to be seen. He is simply frozen, staring down at the boy.

The child, too, is unscathed. Under a thin T-shirt his small chest rises and falls. He wears an expression that can only be described as tranquil. Part of this disturbs you, and tempts you to poke the kid, if only to make sure he isn’t a doll.

You brush your knuckles along his jaw. The kid runs cold but he’s warmer than expected after being rushed through the late evening streets without sleeves. No shoes on his feet either. Odd, considering his socks are clean.

There are a million questions clamouring in your head that you lose the opportunity to ask—that all lead to a single, heartbreaking answer—because the little boy stirs at your touch. His eyelids scrunch together as if to protest his own consciousness, then gradually open, irises as blue as early spring periwinkles peeking through slits.

Nausea grips you. A dark amalgamation of anger, anxiety, confusion and jealousy knotted itself deep in your gut. Those eyes—eyes just like Dabi’s, staring back at you, head tilting with a blank expression.

You take far too long to notice that he’s stopped breathing. Stuck in place, likely frightened to be somewhere unfamiliar, crowded by people he does not know. “Hi there sweetheart,” you say, willing yourself to smile reassuringly. “I know this must be scary for you but I promise you’re safe. We won’t hurt you”.

At that the little boy puffs up. “I’m not scared!”

Dabi scoffs. He hasn’t looked in the boy's direction since he woke up. You nudge his side, brow furrowed in disapproval. “Good. 'Cause you've got nothing to be scared of,” you tell him, glare softening as it slides back to the couch. “Do you think you could tell us your name?”

The silence is oppressive. You’re stared at as if you were a battle to be conquered. You sigh, “Alright. You don’t need to tell me. Stranger danger, right?”

Oddly enough, the boy doesn’t appear disturbed about his surroundings at all. You’d prepared yourself for tears, or some wailing. Instead he casually pushed himself upright into a sitting position and stretched his short arms high over his head, as if waking from a routine nap.

You draw air through your teeth, gasping as his shirt lifts with the stretch and reveals his belly. Dabi’s jaw winds at the sight. The air around you expands, thick with ephemeral warmth. He’s considerate to keep it there, boiling violently under his skin. His reaction nags at your conscience, and you want to grab him when he stands to walk away, but you’ve no choice but to prioritise the situation in front of you.

There are burns around the child’s midsection. Mottled pink and swollen. He rejects your touch as you reach out to examine him further. “You’re hurt, kiddo. We can help. Let me—”

“No!” he yells. You startle at the genuine heartbreak in his voice. He scrambles down and shoves past you. Rabbit footed, he sprints to the bathroom and slams the door. You strain to listen, relieved that he does not turn the lock, and debate going after him. Something about that childlike anger is deeply familiar.

Ice crawls through your chest; it’s a dread that lingers in your periphery yet evades perception the longer you try to put a finger on it. You throw another glance down the hallway as you stride toward the genkan. “Dabi,” you call firmly. His hands, bloodied with the runoff dirt and ash, continue scrubbing at the sole of his boot in an almost mechanical fashion. “Touya,” you try again, quieter, exercising caution when wielding that name. And his movement stutters. “You can’t just—go! Not now. He’s badly burned. Where did you even find him?”

You’re patient as he exhales a harsh breath. He seems to grapple with his thoughts, a distant look in his eyes. Seeing him so unsettled is scaring you. “Does it really matter? He’ll probably be gone soon,” he mutters. A wave of defensiveness on behalf of the poor child bubbles to the surface. But before you can argue, he is tugging his cleaned boots on with sudden force.

Dabi stomps to settle the heel and pulls open your front door. It rattles on the hinges. A cold evening breeze billows into the apartment and bites at your bare arms. “I’ll be back later. Just pretend he’s not here,” he grunts. “He won’t notice the difference”.

“Wait, baby—!”

And he’s gone again.

You smother the frustrated yell that follows into your hands. There’s a faint sense of abandonment on the fringes, creeping in and forming a lump in your throat. Dabi always had to run first. You rub at your eyes until the sting disappears and exhale until all the air in your lungs is gone, taking with it your frustrations.

Somehow the hallway stretches that much longer. This time you press weight onto the old floorboards and hear them creak, making your presence known as you approach. There’s no noise behind the bathroom door. Your fingers curl around the handle but a gut feeling begs that you pause.

The soft knock of your knuckles to the frame echoes through the apartment. “It’s me,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, little guy. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain…”

Your ears prick at the quiet movement inside the bathroom. The latch clicks as the handle turns and you move away as much as the narrow space can afford, the front of your sweater bunched up in your fist; it mirrors the child’s own stance, shifting in place gripping his shirt.

Now under the cheap flickering light you notice an uneven patch of white in his hair. There is something uncomfortably broken about him that you can’t place. A dissonance between his outline and the world, as though he were a pencil drawing in a watercolour canvas.

“M’not little,” he insists with a stomp, looking like he might cry. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m a baby”.

“Alright. You’re not a baby, you’re a big kid,” you settle on your knees in front of him, lowering your voice in a way a child might consider more ‘grown up’, “But I still have to make sure you don’t need a doctor. So is it okay if I ask about the marks on your tummy?”

This time his reaction is far more subdued. Exhausted from his earlier anger, maybe. Or resigned to the fact that you will not let the injuries go. He jerked his shoulders and crossed both arms, staring down at his feet.

“Has someone been hurting you—did they do that to you?”

The kid huffs, indignant. “No,” he mumbles with a pout. Your eyes follow his fingers where they begin to anxiously clench and unclench. “My quirk…”

The admission is clearly difficult for him, like he has to force the words out of his mouth. You unfold your legs from beneath you and dip to try to meet his eyes, “Your quirk hurts you?”

“Not all the time!” there’s that flash of emotion again, racketing through him like thunder. If he were a kitten you think all the hair on his body would be on end. “If—if I train more I bet it wouldn’t,” he sniffs. “But father told me I can’t do that anymore”.

“Oh,” you’re taken aback at the mention of another father figure. You feel a growing dislike for the unknown man. “Well that’s kinda silly. How will you ever learn to use it safely if you don’t practice?”

Finally, the boy’s glassy eyes snap up and meet your own. He’s practically glowing; awestruck, as though you’d turned his entire worldview on its head with just a few words. “Right, right?” he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet. “I’m gonna be the bestest, strongest hero. Better than All Might!”

Your thoughts stall, reaction delayed. Only Dabi would bring home a kid who loves heroes—that is if they’re related at all. You find it hard to believe. Those eyes do not lie.

“That right?” you let yourself be influenced by his enthusiasm and mirror his grin. Whatever Dabi did or did not omit it’s not the kids fault. “Well, I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines. How about that?”

“Yeah! You’ll see!” your heart clenches at the sight of his little leg stomping excitedly as he rubs at his eyes. A hiccup wracks his body. Telegraphing your movements you rest a hand at his back, rubbing back and forth to calm him. Such an extreme response to such a simple praise.

After some gentle cajoling you manage to get him to sit on a stool in the kitchen with some apple juice that you miraculously had in the fridge. Your eyes linger on the glass in his hands as you apply the medicated cream to his stomach, barely big enough to hold it.

You exhale, fingers pausing by his waist. The sight is hard to swallow. The tissue is smooth to touch and irregularly shaped, as though the scar had outgrew the initial wound. Even as you reached the inflamed sections he hadn’t so much as flinched. Again you're reminded of Dabi, his impassive expression perched on the edge of your bathtub, skin swelling around his sutures, a merry scarlet waterfall weeping from the exposed wounds.

“Where did that man go?” he asks, pulling you from your reverie.

“Ah, he needed to go get something,” the lie is unconvincing even to your own ears. Discomfited, you clear your throat and add, “You can call him Dabi when he’s back”.

You search for his discarded shirt while he tests the name with his own voice. Small mouth shaped around the syllables, da-bi, and spitting it out quick again, dabi. “That’s right. Dabi. You like his name?” the kid staunchly shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes. He pushes it back with both of his hands.

“S’dumb,” he says. The bluntness makes you laugh.

“I bet your name is cooler, right?” that catches his attention. He nods once with a firm hum. “You wanna tell me it now?”

Your efforts seemed to fall flat. The child would not tell you his name; during the numerous attempts in the hours that followed, you got the sense that he couldn’t tell you. And he would get this odd look about him, as if it was you asking that was confusing to him. As if you should already know.

Far more concerning to you is that he never asks to go home. Not once does he mention his mother or father of his own volition. After countless questions you can discern that his knowledge is strangely limited. He seems frozen in time, with no real memory of how Dabi found him.

The hours pass uninterrupted when your curiosity veers away from his circumstances and closer to him. To things he loves, and the like. You carry him on your hip, surprisingly light, and settle him back on the couch as he rambled about Caped Kid and Supertoon and the old All Might animated shorts that you forgot even existed. He kicks his feet along the cushions excitedly when you find some pirated clips online for him to watch.

By the time Dabi comes home the kid has fallen asleep, right back where he first left him. Your arms cross over your chest, the earlier anger rising once more, but something about his expression wills you to temper it.

Dabi is wet through. Soaked to the bone, clothes hanging on his frame. Black streaks are running down his cheeks, and despite your disappointment you hastily tug your sleeve over your hand as you start forward, bringing it up to dab away the dye before it seeps into his sutures.

It’s a relief that he doesn’t flinch away. Not even as his gaze drifts to the TV, which has automatically started up another All Might clip. No vitriol comes. A warm, savoury smell fills your senses and you notice that he’s carrying a plastic bag.

“Brought food,” he rasps. You look back up and meet his eyes, unnerved at how far away he sounds.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Casting a final glance to the young boy on your couch—laying suspiciously still—you wrap fingers around Dabi’s cold wrist and coax him into the kitchen. He sets the food on the counter and in letting go the plastic handle is left upright, misshapen from the responsive heat of his quirk.

He inhales, readying himself to speak, but you gently interrupt, “I think you should shower first. Change into something comfortable. I’ll… I’ll serve the food”.

Dabi sighs but slinks away to the bathroom at your suggestion. You watch him bristle and glare halfheartedly at the head peeking up from behind the couch cushions and the boy shrinks back. Not a moment later the door slams and he flinches, chubby fingers clutching tight to the upholstery.

“Is Dabi mad?” the small voice asks. Sullen in a way that draws you closer to comfort him. Your hand comes to rest on the crown of his head, petting him now that he’ll let you.

“No, no,” you demurred. “Well. Maybe he is, but he’s just having a lot of uh, big feelings”.

“Big feelings,” the boy nods. Then he peers up at you searchingly, “…Is he melting?”

Having expected him to ask literally anything but that, you give a soft laugh. “Dabi isn’t melting. It’s the colour in his hair. He painted it and if it gets wet it washes out, like you saw”.

“Oh”.

The kid is calmer now, no longer ready to bury himself between the cushions. “He brought food back. Smells like curry,” you tell him. “Want some?”

Returning to the kitchen after an enthusiastic ‘yes’—pushed out between a big yawn—you unwrap the takeout boxes and begin to portion them. Dabi finished his shower, dressed in the loose fitted sweatpants and t-shirt you kept for the nights he felt comfortable enough to stay, and accepted the plate you put in his hands.

Together, you eat around the kotatsu in relative silence filled only by the limited ramblings of the child Dabi brought home. He’s the type to express things with his entire body, the type that cannot sit still, and you find yourself shooting Dabi the odd furtive glance, worried he might snap, almost daring him to try.

But Dabi does not snap. He doesn’t look at either of you. You note the tension in his shoulders, winding tighter with every mention of the word ‘hero’, and how his fist clenches and uncurls, knuckles white where the blood recedes. He keeps his head down, forearm curled protectively around the food on his plate as he eats, and doesn’t say a word.

You’ve never met anyone else who can so readily act as though they’re unfeeling. The embodiment of feigned indifference. Dabi was so confident in his detachment, with the scathing comments, comfort in violence and purposefully unapproachable demeanour, but you knew what lie underneath; you can tell when it’s an act and when it’s real, and right now he’s never been more transparent.

The boy starts to droop into his food some time during the next Caped Kid episode. Your hand shoots out to cup his chin when his head wobbles on his shoulders, close to using the rice as a pillow. “He’s all tuckered out again,” you comment aloud, licking your thumb to wipe at the sauce around his mouth. “Can you take the—?”

Dabi is already standing, stacking the plates atop one another without so much as trying to be quiet. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, seeking strength, and tuck the little boy to your front, hoisting him back up into the couch. He stirs and blinks around the room as though seeing for the first time.

“It’s alright. Go back to sleep,” you whisper. He yawns, jaw stretching around such a tiny squeak that you can’t help but to kiss his hair.

Dabi is standing at the sink, back turned to the dirty dishes and leant against the counter. Your eyes meet, but you pointedly look away and say nothing as you step forward to gather the empty takeout boxes and throw them out.

He speaks, if only to fill the silence, “I shouldn’t have walked out”.

It’s the closest to an apology you’ll probably ever get. “Y’think?” you hesitated for a long minute, speaking only as you sensed his presence at your back. “Actually, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Really, your relationship with Dabi has always been chimerical in nature. Some strange patchwork attempt at being human. You fucked, kissed one another at the door, shared parts of your lives that you wished you never had. Labels only drove him away, like identifying the thing you’d woven together would bring it to actuality, make it corporeal, ridding you of plausible deniability.

It was never a question why he brought the kid here. This is where you play house, after all. Dabi’s shoebox apartment was empty, simply a place to go when he wasn’t out doing who knows what, like a waiting room. A space between spaces. Yours was far more appropriate for a child, and you’d thought that maybe—he chose to trust you enough, to finally ask for help, rather than doing it out of convenience.

Heat soaks through your shirt as his mottled, slender hand settles on your waist. You turn on your heel to face him directly, resolve weakening at the careful squeeze of his fingers. You sigh, palms brushing featherlight up the uneven flesh along his forearms and follow as he retreated backward to lower onto the nearby breakfast stool.

“I was hit with a quirk on my way back”.

“What?” your inner conflict falters. Concern superseding your anger you cup his jaw to tip his head back and side to side to get a good look at him. “When? Are you hurt?”

Dabi snorts, relaxed by your gentle countenance and fretting. “Not now. Earlier. Some middle schooler without a handle on her quirk yet. Quit fussin’, I’m fine,” he continues and shakes free of your hands, so you settle them on his shoulders. He walks his fingers behind your knees, cupping the back of your thighs, uncharacteristically restless.

“It’s where the…“ his jaw clenched and he pressed his forehead hard to your stomach, burrowing into the fabric. Anticipation grips your lungs when he doesn’t immediately explain.

“Talk to me,” you run your fingers through his hair and they come away stained black. “How did—what does the quirk do?”

“Fuck, I hardly had time to ask about specifics. The stupid kid knocked into me and suddenly I had my arms full,” Dabi’s snarling dwindles. He licks his lips, hesitant, and casts his eyes to the narrow space between your bodies. Quieter this time, “It’s where he came from”.

You register his words. The realisation slides through you with sharp clarity. It swells in you, all encompassing and painful, like love and heartbreak at the same time. “He’s not yours, is he?” you say, reminiscent of a whisper. “He’s you”.

“My inner child. Some pseudo bullshit like that,” Dabi supplies, as though the distinction was important. He looks up, the column of his throat pressed to your sternum, and your chest loosens a little, some of the fear ebbing. “Did you seriously think I knocked someone up?”

“Plausibly, what else was I supposed to think?”

“Not that,” he scoffs. “Either way, I don’t know how long we’re stuck with him”.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s a burden,” you frowned. Dabi’s eyes squint, and he makes a low, dubious noise. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”

“Didn’t want you to know,” he shrugs. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. This is hardly the first time Dabi kept something from you. “Thought I could make the kid keep his mouth shut about my family”.

Inwardly you think he needn’t worry about that. They were as secretive and stubborn as each other, in that respect. Hell, it took Dabi three years to give up his name and that was only because he’d been delirious at the time.

“But you left anyway”.

“He woke up,” Dabi says, like that was enough explanation. You give a commiserate nod, cradling his rough jaw, because maybe it is. “Needed to blow off some steam. Figured I might look for the twerp that caused all this but she’d probably run if she saw me again”.

“Don’t tell me you scared the poor girl shitless?”

“Alright. I won’t tell you,” he snorted, biting at the heel of your hand when you mutter his name disapprovingly.

“So we just wait for him to go?” you brush the remaining skin between his eye and his cheek with your thumb, following the curve of his sutures. “Maybe it is psychological then. Make your inner child happy and the quirk might cancel out sooner”.

There’s something dark in Dabi’s expression when his mouth pulls wide into a smarmy grin, eyes burning as his fingers dig into your thighs. “Looking to rehabilitate me, sweetheart?”

You soon put that to rest, guiding him into a kiss. His grip falls slack, and then returns, more needy than dangerous. Dabi’s lips pressed back, insisted, softer than you thought possible. “Course not,” you murmur, admiring the resentful flush on his face as you draw back. “Maybe I like you as you are. Just a little”.

“Bad taste,” he breathes. His nose scrunches the way it always does when he’s feeling too much, and you kiss that too. You recognise Dabi’s flaws for what they are, and you’ve given yourself to him knowingly. Even so, in the confines of your mind, you do wish he might’ve had the chance to be something better.

This inner child incident could be a small step. You don’t expect his perspective on society will change; he could learn compassion and forgive himself for whatever led him here. But what exactly is an inner child?

The theory goes that everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. A symbolic, younger version of the self that can be talked to, supported, and guided—that can still be saved.

Dabi informs you with great reluctance that this little Touya was probably closer to five years old, and stuck in the time right after his first brother was born. You never knew he had siblings.

“Did something significant happen around that time?” you worry at your bottom lip, glancing out toward the living room, shrouded in darkness now that the TV has switched to standby. “Do you remember what you wanted most, from before?”

You hear your name. You’re startled by the intensity in Dabi’s stare, unyielding and sharp. A primitive part of you wants to shrink back from it. “Don’t push it,” he says.

It was on the tip of your tongue to remark something equally catty. Instead you swallow. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you muttered. Through trial and error you’ve already memorised the ley lines that make up Dabi’s boundaries and know well enough that prying too far into his past, or encroaching on his future plans, is a hard no-no.

“We’re going to need a cover story for him if he’s here longer than a day,” you continue, a smile creeping in alongside your teasing inflection. “Guess you’re a dad—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dabi grimaces, skin taut around his scars. “If it comes to it, say he’s my nephew”.

“You’re no fun,” you concede. “Fine. Uncle Dabi”.

The discussion leads nowhere in the end. Dabi is unwilling to delve any further into his childhood and you know a losing battle when you see one. You turn your attention to the sleeping arrangements, and decide that it would be best to roll out your spare futons in the living room, just in case something happens.

And Dabi, despite his objections, despite puttering around with pillows under each arm and cursing under his breath, throws them down and sprawls out across the blankets. You feel his stare as you move Touya—as you’ve taken to calling him in your head—from his resting place to the space between your bodies.

Touya isn’t yet the light sleeper you know Dabi to be. His eyes shift behind closed lids and his lips curl in momentary discomfort but he doesn’t wake. “Does he have to sleep there?” Dabi all but sneers when Touya curls into your warm chest, much the way he would like to.

“Aw. Don’t be jealous,” you pillow Touya’s head on your shoulder and reach across to take Dabi’s hand, entwining your fingers through stubborn means. “He’s just a baby”.

A fresh wave of heat ripples around your hands and Dabi’s grip is solid, as though you’ve been soldered together. “He’s not a baby. He’s already five,” he mutters with a faraway look in his eyes, indifferent to the callousness in his words.

Your palms kiss and you aim for a lighthearted tone, “Stop being a dick. You’ll have me to yourself again soon enough”.

Dabi grunts and some of the tension is relieved from the atmosphere, his face thrown into stark relief by the sliver of moonlight flooding through your curtains. Not for the first time, you wonder if he feels the after aches of childhood—if the hollow inside him felt that much deeper now that Touya was out here, safe in your arms—and suddenly holding his hand is not enough.

You entangle your legs and distract yourself with the feel of his boney ankle. Some things are better left unknown, you reason. A mantra that encompasses your relationship. Better not pick and prod. You’ve done quite enough of it already, more than you’re entitled to. Sometimes you worry that one day you’ll unravel the wrong thread and he’ll never stop bleeding.

Touya clutches tighter to your shirt. Kicks a tiny foot against your pelvis in protest of the movement, surprisingly hard. Dabi snickers at your restrained groan. “Guess you’ve always been a restless sleeper”.

“That's what you get for giving him my spot,” Dabi says, the beginnings of a smile in his voice. “Was worse when I was a kid”.

“Clearly. A fly could sneeze and wake you up,” you remove the heel from your stomach and let it tangle with the blankets. Touya suddenly flips onto his back, arm cast out toward Dabi, not far from smacking him in the face. “Atleast he feels safe, I suppose”.

The night settles, your apartment alongside it. Walls quietly groan as the wind picks up a fraction. “We should take him somewhere tomorrow,” you think aloud, staring at the hairline fracture in the ceiling. “The arcade, maybe?”

“Now why the fuck would we do that?” Dabi’s voice is lower, muffled, and a quick sidelong glance confirms that his mouth is half squashed into the pillow, fatigue starting to weigh on him. “Don’t even have clothes for him”.

“Kano-san might let us borrow some,” you offer tiredly. Though your neighbour's four children were all over five years old you had no doubt she kept hand-me-downs. “It’s not fair to just keep him holed up til he disappears”.

“I refuse…” Dabi mumbled. You snort, resting your chin on Touya’s crown, swaddled by warmth. Shadows creep in and blur the edges of your vision. You’re gently coaxed into sleep, final thoughts being the hope that Dabi would still be there tomorrow.

What you receive is far more. Where soft moonlight once drifted in through the cracks, harsh sun is striking through the dim room, right against your closed eyes. You flinch away from it, turning into your pillow. Half-awake, you aren’t quite in and not quite outside yourself, but you are conscious enough to hear Dabi laugh at your displeasure.

The weight in your arms is gone. Pawing at the yawning emptiness, you abruptly sit up and whip your eyes around the room. They land on Dabi, who is laid on his back and surrendering to his current predicament. He pointedly avoids acknowledging it.

Time stretches thinly as you take in the scene. At some point in the night, Touya had made his way over to Dabi and laid himself on top of him. Chubby cheek squished to Dabi’s sternum, lashes fluttering as he dreams. Fleeting, you consider that he may be trying to crawl right back into him.

“G’morning,” you sigh, blood rushing to your limbs as you contort and stretch. Unable to resist, you shuffle across the futon and press yourself to Dabi’s side, nuzzling into his shoulder. You tilt your head up to find Dabi looking down at you. “Kiss?”

“Your breath stinks,” but he kisses you anyway. His own is hardly better. You nip at his lip, licking over the faint sting and drawing back before he can reciprocate.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” his hands gesture toward the lump on his chest, “until this shit happened”.

“Now he’s taken my spot”. You could point out that Dabi had every opportunity to move the boy through the night, or however long he’d been there, but didn't. “Though it makes sense he’d want to be near you”.

“He doesn’t want anything. He’s not real,” Dabi drawls. He’s betrayed by the arm that supports Touya from beneath as he sits up exceedingly slowly, the other holding the back of his head. Dabi pivots the small figure into his lap, acting like a cradle.

Limbs akimbo, Touya lies on his back, mouth open and ribs expanding with each breath. His clothes are askew. Shirt ridden up his round belly, loose pants bunched up at the knees. To your relief the burn marks look no worse than the day before.

“Even though his body isn’t suited to his quirk, he still…” your voice is but a murmur as you sit up to trace a fingertip over the swell of his pink cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy”

Dabi held the toddler delicately in his arms, a fraction away from his body, and paled whenever he stirred a little. You see how his pupils soften, tension seeping from his shoulders bit by bit. “Or maybe he’s just stupid," he rasps.

“Well, many heroes are both of those things,” you offer, mouth curling as you hold Dabi’s half lidded gaze. His mouth presses thin so as not to give you the satisfaction of making him smile. When your attention returns to Touya an unfamiliar quietude comes over you.

“Last night,” Dabi starts. “I left because I thought it would be harder”.

You pause, peering up from the little boy curled in his lap. “To what?”

“Not to hurt the kid,” he says, quietly. “Or you”.

Then Touya sputters a first, clean breath, breaking into a drawn out sob that drags you from processing what that could mean. Dabi grows tense and your hand flutters across Touya, rubbing over his chest as you coo and hush. The louder he cries the stronger the tremor in Dabi’s hand becomes.

“There there, little guy. We’re right here,” you slip an arm around Dabi’s back, and suddenly your murmurings begin to soothe Touya’s distress. Red rimmed eyes squint up at you. “Did you have a nightmare, buddy?”

“Heroes—” Touya eventually hiccups and jolts. Frustrated he hits himself, face twisted in devastating anger. “Heroes don’t—have nightmares!”

You move to still his fists but Dabi beats you to it, fingers circling a pair of wrists and holding them firmly. “They will if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

“Really, Dabi,” you admonish, pursing your lips at him. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out in response. Muffled giggling fills the room and you realise it’s coming from the bundle in his lap.

Dabi looks as if he’s been struck. A finger pokes at the skin above his puckered cheek. “Dabi made an ugly face,” Touya grins.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi growls and leans forward, spine bending uncomfortably just to get into the boy’s personal space. “Well I’ve got bad news for you, kid”.

Whatever the desired effect, Touya’s chime-like laughter only doubles, and while watching their interaction you feel warmth ignite behind your breastbone.

Not long after, you return from Kano-san’s upstairs apartment with a cotton sweater, discoloured patches sewn onto the elbows, and a pair of pants. They’re size five yet too big for Touya, so you roll them to the ankle. “How’s that?” you ask, getting to your feet. “It’s not itchy on your burns, is it?”

Touya wriggles. You’ve come to learn that he really can’t sit still, especially when you’re fussing. “No,” he says, flapping the sleeves that fall over his hands, silently asking that you roll those up too. “Where are we going? I want to train!”

“No training inside. You’re going to set off my fire alarm,” you reply, absentminded as your fingers gently fold back the shirtsleeves to his wrist. “And we’re going to try the arcades first. You can beat Dabi at all the games”.

“Yeah!”

“Fat chance,” Dabi calls from the bathroom. Light footsteps echo through the hallway and his voice grows louder. “We’re not going anywhere near Musutafu,” he adds, shucking on his dried black coat over a plain t-shirt and jeans that may as well have been painted on his legs. He pulls something out from his pocket and throws it, “Put that on him to be safe”.

You catch the lump one handed, bringing it down to inspect it. A beanie hat. “Is that really necessary?” you murmur, releasing your grasp when Touya decides he wants the hat for himself and stretches it haphazardly over his head.

Dabi rounds the couch and hooks his chin over your shoulder, watching the kid struggle. “Can’t have him being recognised…” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching at a thought that suddenly crosses his mind. “Or maybe we should. Hey, kid,” Touya’s head whirls around the room in search of Dabi, vision blocked by the beanie. He pushes it up above his eyebrows, periwinkle eyes peeking beneath.

“Wanna go to my old house and scare someone?”

Touya’s lips thin and his nose crinkles, managing to look down at Dabi despite being so much shorter. “Heroes aren’t ‘posed to scare people,” he argued.

“Whatever. This guy isn’t good,” Dabi huffs, wincing at the click in his knees as he crouches in front of the boy to fix the hat seam, and Touya positively preens under Dabi’s direct attention. “This guy hurts people. Hurts his family. Probably deserves it, right?”

You watch in disbelief as Touya hums and begins to consider it. “Okay that’s enough,” you circle and coax them toward the genkan. “We aren’t scaring anyone. We are going to the arcade and we’re not going to cause trouble. Yes?”

Dabi and Touya share a long, knowing look. You can’t say you’re unhappy that they’re connecting—they’re unbearably cute when standing side by side, dithering as you slip on your shoes. “Yes?” you repeat yourself with more emphasis.

They nod in tandem.

“Good. Now who is holding my hand?”

Daylight feeds in through the sparse grey clouds, upper wind guiding them east where they darken, likely raining over another part of the city. The pavements are wet, rainwater fed into the uprooted cracks. A couple smile at you as they pass. It is rare for anyone to glance your way when Dabi’s at your side. He knows the image he projects and he likes it that way. But today, with Touya in the middle holding one of each hand, you paint a far lovelier picture.

You think you must look like a family on the outside. It’s nothing you ever imagined for yourself. Especially not with Dabi, who was seemingly hell bent on getting himself arrested, or killed, in his spare time—not that you knew the finer details, but you weren’t dense.

“I can feel your street cred depleting,” you quietly tease as you stop at a pedestrian crossing, bridging the gap while Touya is preoccupied with counting down until the red man turns green. “Uncle Dabi”.

Dabi’s upper lip curls and he lurches half a step, as if to attack you, and you pull away laughing.

Your neighbourhood doesn’t see much in the way of funding, or heroes, and that truth is reflected in the surroundings. Buildings half constructed, shutters down, people lingering on the streets. Touya presses a hairsbreadth closer to Dabi, sensing how eyes turn to him, and you catch the way Dabi squeezes his small hand in response.

“Scared?”

Touya straightens, “No!”

Dabi snorts, “Thought not”.

The arcade isn’t far. Well beyond its years, an old musk clings to the carpets despite the open windows. Light bulbs flicker here and there. You can taste electricity buzzing in the air. The machines are outdated, but they work. High pitched, quick paced music paces from all directions. If you had to, you'd describe it as the embodiment of sensory overload.

As luck would have it Touya recognises most of the games, having been released around his time. He steps on your shoes to watch raptly while you try to win him a prize on the claw machines, and he kneels at your feet to steal any ticket away before you can grab them.

He frees himself of your grip the moment he spots Crimson Fighter. You sidle up beside Dabi as if to shield from it all. His knuckles brush the back of your hand and you smile to yourself. So starved for affection yet so intensely humiliated by it—that and the fact that he cannot seem to let Touya out of his sight, only a few feet away.

You loosely entwine your fingers and he relaxes. “Not gonna play another round with him?”

“Why don’t you?”

In that instant you hear the repeated call of your name. Touya bounces from left to right, waving you over. “Look at me! Come watch!” he beams. “Look at me, I can win!”

Dabi’s fingers flex, tighten, digging crescent moons into your knuckles. You shoot him a worried glance but the light in his eyes has dimmed once again, and you tug him over towards Touya like a kite on a string, keeping him tethered until he returns from whatever memory he’s lost in.

“I’m looking, I'm looking,” you titter, standing behind him and tilting to watch the screen. Dabi’s presence lingers. Your heart pangs when Touya stands on the tips of his toes to reach the controls. He picks the Endeavor avatar and the game opens up onto a floating platform, All Might standing at the other end.

“Fight!” Touya whispers in sync with the narrator, mashing all the buttons without direction or strategy. He clicks and clicks and clicks until Endeavor’s quirk bar is maxed out and he releases; pixelated flames burst across the screen, doing significant damage to All Might but not enough—and too much to himself. The Endeavor avatar drops to his knees, overcome by dehydration and exhaustion, defeated by his own flame.

Apparently brought back to the present, Dabi laughs.

“No…” Touya’s eyes grow round in disbelief and then harden. He kicks the machine with as much force as he can muster. Before he can do it again you’ve wrapped an arm under his armpits and herded him outside. “Let go!”

“Absolutely not,” you grasp his elbows and settle on your haunches. Touya turns his head away from you in dramatic fashion. “That isn’t okay. These games belong to someone else. They’re not yours to damage”.

“Shouldn’t’a picked Endeavor,” Dabi remarks.

Your neck aches as it snaps up to glare at him. “Not helping,” you hiss through gritted teeth. He puts his hands up in a show of surrender and you inhale until your lungs feel tight. Exhale.

Touya has fallen suspiciously quiet, chin tucked to his chest, and thankfully nobody inside noticed his brief outburst. “Hey,” gently, you run your palms along his shoulders. “Talk to me, kiddo. I promise you’re not in big trouble”.

Your ears pick up fragmented parts of his mumbling, “Lost… M’weak… Endeavor… stronger… not ‘posed to lose”. Something about his reaction is both fragile and momentous, and with Dabi nearby your instincts are telling you to tread carefully.

“Hey, listen to me. I don’t know much but I do know you’re not weak,” you begin to smooth down his sweater, and fiddle with the seam of his beanie while you talk—fretting, admittedly, and determined to wipe the heartbreak off his face. “You’re the strongest little dude I know”.

Touya sniffs, unconvinced. He waddles further into your embrace and you take it as a win “Gotta be stronger than All Might”.

“One day you could be,” you reason, gathering him against your front and hoisting him up as his legs wrap around your waist. A firm body stands behind you. Dabi is closer than anticipated and you falter, meeting his half lidded eyes. Reality stomps over the little charade you’ve created—recalling that the boy in your arms, so desperate to reach the pinnacle of heroics, will one day be Dabi, the self proclaimed villain.

“Y’know, even All Might didn’t become the number one hero until he was twenty,” you tuck a wayward curl back into Touya’s beanie and use your sleeve to wipe his damp cheeks. “He had to learn to control his quirk and get through hero school, just like you will. It takes time”.

“R—really…?” you’d be remiss not to notice the hope in his voice as he fists at his sweater, stretching the fabric further. “But I need to be strong now,” he insists thickly, a fresh round of tears at his waterline.

Dabi steps closer as more people pass by, nudging you into a dead end alley. There’s heat emanating from his skin, making ripples in the air. You hold his gaze with purpose, turning until Touya is once again enveloped by your bodies, and the boy instinctively reaches for his adult counterpart.

“You are strong,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to Touya’s temple. “Wanna know what Dabi and I were talking about while you were sleeping this morning?”

Touya’s mouth quivers, sneaking a furtive glance. He nods. You narrow your eyes at Dabi, try to tell him that this could be it, and he relents, accepting the weight as it is passed to him.

Touya settles in his arms. “We…” Dabi’s jaw ticks. There’s a depression in his cheek where the inner flesh is held between teeth. “We said that you’re brave”.

You circle your arms around his middle, around Touya, and rest your cheek on his shoulder. Touya blinks in awe. “Brave?”

“Brave for trying so hard to reach your goal,” Dabi continues. The harsh edge to his voice has puttered out into melancholy. “Even when it hurts. Especially then”.

“I am?”

“You are,” you murmur, cradling the back of Touya’s head. There’s an odd sheen to his skin. Translucent, almost. Your heart jolts. The quirk was wearing off. Conflicting emotions swell in your chest, leaving you torn. “That takes courage. I heard heroes have that in spades”.

Eyes bright and wide, undoubtedly that of a child, Touya looks at Dabi, and Dabi looks back. “You’d be one of the good ones, kid,” he rasps. It comes like pulling teeth but he means it, and Touya must know—the quirk must hear the sincerity, because the little boy beams and the air tastes sharp. He lights up, eyes first, like dusk catching on stained glass windows, robin egg blue overcast with shades of pink, heat suffusing through his bones until—

Your fingers enclose around the limp fabric of Touya’s beanie. Dabi shudders an exhale. The patched sweater falls limp over his crossed arms.

“That… worked?”

Dabi’s mouth opens and closes, lips shaping around words he doesn’t know how to say. You cannot read his expression at all. You yourself can hardly register Touya’s absence, left like a bruise that you just know is going to start aching the second the adrenaline wears off.

“I guess it did,” he finally agrees, quietly. Not quite whispered, but his voice carried no strength. Through the discomfit cuts an abrupt, shrill beep. Dabi swallows, and after pulling out his phone his expression sours.

“Who is it?”

“An associate,” he says, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Another blatant cover that you know better than to peel back. “…He wants me to meet his new colleagues. He thinks I’ll work well with them”.

“Do you need to go now, or…?” your skin prickles with unease, leaning into him as close and psychics would allow, not wanting to part with him.

“Think you’ll miss him?” Dabi asks instead, bordering on hesitation. Your head tilts at the sudden change in topic. His gaze dips low to avoid yours. You rest your hand over his chest. His heart beats against your palm, hard and steady. You wonder what, if anything, Touya’s time here might’ve changed.

“I don’t have to,” you tell him, choosing your words carefully. “He’s right in here”.

Dabi hums in that way he often does when he thinks you’re being ridiculous. Your thumb moves back and forth, shifting the fabric of his shirt. “…He deserved better,” you say, heedless of the cold determination setting into Dabi’s bones. And later, despite being the truth, you would come to regret voicing it.

He looks back at the message on his phone, typing out a reply with his screen tilted away from prying eyes. “You’re right,” he mutters.

“He did”.