#white spotted char

[unimaginativebepisenjoyer99]

the satrinyavas

[hypnagogics]

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

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[faeriekit]

Snow Day

SO IT TURNS OUT @tourettesdog also had a far-frozen based Phic Phight prompt so here's a sister fic of Snowdrift Sanctuary from yesterday okay please and thank you

Tundra peeked around the pillar of ice. Again.

The human was still there.

…Tundra peeked left. Tundra peeked right. No one else had seen them yet.

The human, in a big coat and big boots was squatting in the snow, drawing shapes Tundra couldn’t make out with their finger.

Tundra’s tail wagged. Well. He didn’t have a very long tail, so he mostly butt-wiggled. There’d never been a human at the Far Frozen before!! Tundra had heard of humans — he’d seen depictions and heard stories, sure. But now a human was here. And they lived here.

That was so cool.

So, maybe Tundra wanted to say hi! So what? Mama had said that he should be nice to the human, since they needed help and shelter that the Chief would provide, but they were also new and interesting and they hardly ever had anyone stay with them who wasn’t a yeti ever!! Maybe they’d let Tundra play with them while they were here?

So Tundra got down on his haunches. He crawled over the snowbank, wriggling as he went, taking advantage of his coat that blended into the terrain.

The human didn’t see him at all.

Tundra bared his teeth in a play grin, eyes squinting, tongue caught between his teeth. The human was so close. He crouched down as far as he could. He waited until the human wasn’t looking.

Tundra pounced.

And then there was a flash of green burning through the air, hot and bright and loud. Tundra startled.

He landed in the snow, dazed and off-balance. He could feel a hot spot in his fur—putting his paw to it, Tundra could feel where his fur was burnt to singed ends, the tips of each hair bulbous with char.

There was a steaming hole in the snow behind him.

…Oh.

“HOLY SH—are you okay?? Did I hurt you?? I’m sorry!!” someone shouted. Someone gently turned Tundra’s head, careful not to move him too harshly or too quickly. “Is your head okay? Are you bleeding? Is—“

“…Cool.” Tundra muttered, eyes still stuck to the hole in the snow. That was so strong. Even Avalanche wasn’t that strong, and she beat everyone in the tournament last season. No wonder the chief was in charge of the human ghost, even if there were lots of adults willing to help.  

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” the human apologized again, hands on their flat, pink face. Huh. Their hair was white now. When did that happen? “Usually when ghosts sneak up on me, they’re, uh… they’re not usually playing.”

Tundra looked at the human’s flat face and frowned. They got attacked? For real, and not for playing? “That’s mean. I hope you got them.”

The human made a strangled noise. Super weird! “Yeah…yeah. I did.”

“Good,” Tundra decided, back straightening straight up. The human was about as tall as he was, but humans were smaller in general. They were probably older. “If anyone attacks you now, you should get the Chief to eat them, and then they won’t attack you anymore.”

The human made another choked noise. Tundra assumed it was a laugh. He grinned back, pleased with the response, and wriggled back upright. “I’m Tundra! Mama says that you’re older than me even though we’re just as tall as each other! Are you a boy human, or a girl human? Or neither? Or both?!”

“…I’m a boy,” the human said, voice weak. Tundra peered in close at him, trying to see if he’d been injured too, but no; he looked fine, and he got his black hair back too.

“Cool,” said Tunda. “So am I. Arctic is too, but he’s big already, so he doesn’t want to play all the time. Do you like hunting?”

“I’ve…never hunted before.”

Not ever? Tundra gasped. “We can play chase, then, and then the chief can teach you how to hunt! And then we can hunt together!” Tundra scrambled to his feet, excited. “Do you want to stalk Avalanche with me?! She always throws me off, and then we can wrestle!”

The human hesitated.

“Or,” Tundra amended, because the human was still kind of small, “You can watch me stalk Avalanche, and watch us wrestle, and then I can teach you to stalk the chief so that you can wrestle with someone you know is safe.”

The human snorted, the fur cuff from his sleeve hiding his face. “I don’t know…isn’t he busy? You know, being the chief and all…””

“You’re supposed to wrestle your parents,” Tundra assured him, chest fur puffing up with pride. “I used to chew on Mama’s ears all the time when I was a cub. Now Avalanche and Arctic and everyone else can wrestle with me because they’re big enough to know how to stop playing before they squash me flat.”

The human laughed, openly and brightly, and it sounded nice.

Tundra stood so that could he could launch himself back towards the settled part of their little patch of the Infinite Realms. “Come on!!” he shouted, more than eager to play. “Last one there doesn’t get any fish eyes!”

There was a moment of silence—and then they were both rolling in the snow, the human having decided to launch into him!! This was great!! Tundra whooped, feigning bites and wriggling while the human pushed him further into the depths of the snow. The human’s grin was kind of wide and weird without a muzzle, but that wasn’t his fault, and he was having fun!! And so was Tundra!!

And the human-ghost could fly, and Tundra couldn’t, so chasing after him was super fun. They made it all the way back to the settlement in no time flat, dodging other kith and kin—

And running into Mama and Chief Advisor Pritla on accident was worth how much trouble he got into later.

Whoops!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hand tight around the handle of his sword. Shadows pulled close, close, closer; cloak, hood, shroud. Still as a stone, hardly moving, barely breathing, waiting, waiting, tensing.

The whispers outside his cabin door grow louder.

He shot awake half an hour ago. A shift, under the cracked-open window, rustling, turning. Fabric, maybe, or fur brushing across the polished stone of the wall. Not a hellhound — he’d feel the bent shadows of its presence — nor any other creature from the Underworld, but clearly something dark, foreboding. Some heavy, stifling presence. And many of them, too, or perhaps one thing that is growing. It shouldn’t be possible within camp borders, but he can — feel it. A sense of ambush, of impending attack.

Every few minutes there’s a shake at his door handle. A wiggling of the Stygian iron metal, a whisper of sound as it’s jiggled, fruitlessly, a hiss as something draws away. The sound of quiet, throaty murmurs, muffled through the obsidian door. Escalating. Louder, louder; angrier, frantic.

Something is waiting for him.

It’s some comfort that it can’t get in. The handle was his design — not that most monsters would try to use it, but the burn as it touched their flesh, the threat of the Pit, would certainly would deter them. The obsidian doorway he insisted upon, regardless of skeletal complaints, was for practicality as much as pageantry. He has spent enough time in the well-run Land of the Dead to take notes from his father, paranoid he may be.

The noises, though, still grow stronger. Whatever is waiting for him has not been deterred by his fortifications, nor frightened by his aura of death. The handle jiggles again, and this time, the intruder is smarter — the lock turns, clicking as it is overcome, handle turning to follow it slowly, slowly. Nico holds his breath, gliding along the shadow, hovering in the doorway.

The door swings silently open. A clumsy lump of something steps hesitantly forward, huge and cumbersome; bulbous. At the front of it is a single long, glowing talon. The intruder pauses, contemplating, in the flood of low light, the cabin’s twisting shadows, turning slowly, carefully around. Nico glides along the floor, guessing at its blindspot, holding close to himself, waiting, waiting.

One.

The creature pauses.

Two.

The talon twitches to the left, following the creak of the settling bed springs.

Three.

Nico surges forward, bringing down his sword. It clangs against the talon, reverberating outwards, echoing the screams of the monster and tear of fabric —

“Nico! Nico! It’s us! Cool it! Watch the sword! Watch the sword!”

A burst of fire shoots upward, enveloping the cabin in a burst of white light. Nico hisses, nearly dropping his sword in his hassle to clamp his hand on top of his eyes, hunching protectively forward.

“Leo! Fucksake, you tryna blind us?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! He freaked me out, I flamed too hard!”

“Just fuckin’ — scream, next time! Jesus! I’ve gone blind!”

“What the fuck,” hisses Nico, blinking the spots out of his eyes, “are you idiots doing?”

In front of him stands not a monster but five infuriatingly familiar faces, each holding — for some reason — a mattress. Percy’s sword is still held loosely in front of him, and Jason’s jacket has been singed. Piper and Annabeth blink spots out of their eyes. Leo stands, in the charred ruins of his mattress, wringing his hands.

He glances up at the ceiling. Nico follows his gaze, noting where the black rock has been re-vulcanized into glass from the heat of the flames. He looks back down.

“From the bottom of my heart,” Leo says, solemnly, “my bad.”

Nico sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

His friends, for some reason, take this as a cue. The heavy door is pushed back closed, cutting off the last of the low light from the Greek fire torches outside and the whistling of light wind. Someone feels around for a light switch, and, upon finding none, shrugs and pokes Leo until his nose catches fire, guiding him around until all the lamps and fairy lights have been located and turned on. Someone else — Annabeth, he guesses — begins instructing mattress placement, directing a crew to dig through his closet for linens. A comment about how spacious it is now that he’s not in it pops into his mind and he shoved it back down. He will not make light of the situation. He won’t.

“What the fuck,” he reiterates, louder this time.

Nobody answers. A faucet starts running in his background, and he hears the flip of a drachma.

“If nobody answers me in the next ten seconds I’m going to reanimate Andre the Giant and have him bodily throw y’all out. He will not be gentle. He will —”

“Y’all count,” they all say at once. Percy, gleefully from the bathroom’s running faucet, calls, “I’ll keep track! Remember if it goes over twelve I win!”

Nico snaps his mouth shut, ears burning.

Why has he remained at camp, again? He trained with Achilles and Patroclus. He learned how to read with Literal Shakespeare. Alan Turing taught him math. Not successfully, or anything, but still. He has no bearing here. He could be anywhere he wants to be, and for some reason he is putting up with unrepentant disrespect.

Nico four months ago would smite them. Nico five months ago would turn them to shadows for their insolence. Nico a few weeks ago, even, would have at least sulked off into the forest to cool of for several days.

Here he stands, Nico of tonight.

Unmoving in the centre of his sieged cabin.

No Andre the Giant raised.

No terrors inflicted.

Hardly even a threat.

What the shit.

“What love does to a young lad, eh?” Piper says, patting him condescendingly on the head. He aims a kick for her knees, which she unfortunately dodges, cackling and scampering away. He surges after her.

“I am several decades older than you, you little snot, what are you even talking about —”

“Older and uglier, you wrinkly ass bitch —”

“Guess who’s gonna be ugly when I remove the flesh from her body —”

“Ha! Catch me first, shrimp arms —”

“It’s working! I got it!” Walking very carefully, not unlike a toddler holding a too-full open cup for the first time, Percy steps out of the bathroom, faucet finally off. In his cupped hands is a quickly spinning vortex of sink water, letting off a fine mist. A prism taped to the side of his forehead refracts a rainbow into it. “Say hi, Hazel!”

“Hi,” says Hazel, waving from her surprisingly solid connection. She meets Nico’s eyes, grinning. He matches it immediately, dropping Piper out of the headlock he had her in.

“Hey,” he says, ignoring Piper’s dark muttering and promises for revenge. “You look eager.”

“I am eager. I heard we’re having a sleepover and talking about boys!”

“…You heard what.”

Percy shucks off his shoes, stepping gingerly over Jason and plopping right in the middle of the mattress pile, legs crossed. Nico realises for the first time that he is wearing pattered Superman pajamas, which is frustratingly endearing. He shifts the water vortex so that Hazel’s projection faces him.

“I’m so pumped,” he says earnestly. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so intrigued. Do we talk shit? Is that how it’s done? Is there swooning? I have a plan if there’s swooning.”

“We’ll get there, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth brushes a hand through Percy’s hair as she walks by — somehow dignified, which is impressive, Nico has never seen anyone wobble over a mattress elegantly before — and presses a kiss to his forehead. He leans into it. “Ease into it.”

“Yeah,” Hazel snickers. She sticks her tongue out at Nico’s glare. “Don’t spook him.”

Nico throws his hands up. “Don’t spook me, she says. Heaven forbid anyone tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, you’re trying to court that boy, right? The cute one with the motormouth?”

Crazy how two sentences can reach down your throat, grip onto your beating heart, squeeze out your soul, drag it from your body, still pulsing, and leave it to actively shrivel on the floor next to your withered, fetal-positioned body to the audience of your cackling friends. Genuinely wild.

There’s a woman who wanders around the poplar fields of his father’s kingdom and has for tens of thousands of years — longer than even his father. Legend says she is the first user of language as it is understood in modernity. Nico may have to beat her up the next time he sees her. Or, well, try, ‘cause she’s jacked, but her crime cannot go unpunished. How dare she introduce the curse of language upon the human race.

“Which one of you,” he croaks, voice cracking more than Jason’s old man joints when he sneezes, “you — fuckers, told my sister about — about.”

If he says his name he’ll die. Like Voldemort except not stupid.

When he looks up, all five of them hold their hands proudly in the air.

“It was more of a conference call,” Jason explains. “And it was less ‘us telling’ and more us calling to say hey, Hazel, Nico keeps shutting down every time this particular person smiles at him, and then Hazel went oh, is it the medic boy he keeps rambling about when he calls me, and we went yeah, totally, can you elaborate on the rambling —”

“Cool.” Nico scrambles to his feet, brushing off his sweatpants, tucking his sword under his arm. “I’m going to go drown myself, if y’all will excuse me.”

He barely makes it one quarter step away from the stupid fucking mattress pile.

“Initiate part two of the plan!” Annabeth hollers.

“Y’all count!” Percy yells.

Without waiting to be chased, Nico sprints for the door. Immediately a fireball is launched at the handle before he can reach, melting it. He veers for the window, but a gust of air slams it shut, and a shining dagger pins the lock in place. In his final desperate dive for the nearest shadow, Piper sprints over — curse her long legs — and tackles him to the ground, rolling them both towards the nearest light source.

“Every single one of you —”

“Ow! Teeth away! Teeth away! Don’t make me muzzle you!”

“—except you, Hazel, never you —”

“Jason! He’s fuckin’ — his nails are clawed into the doorframe, help me!”

“—will be facing me in judgement day! And I shall not be lenient!”

“Quit trying to bite me or I’ll beat you up again!”

“No! Suffer!”

Conveniently, a spot on the uncomfortable floor has been left free of mattresses and pillows and beddings so that Nico and Piper can claw the shit out of each other properly. He lands a good hit on his collarbone, but she jams her heel into his ribs when he foolishly leaves his left side open. He manages to pin her arms to her sides with his legs, but she mirrors the move and squeezes her thighs around his neck.

“Do you usually just let them kill each other?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. They didn’t get to spar yesterday so they’re a bit pent up, they’ll be fine soon.”

“…Must be a Greek thing.”

“Don’t you guys have Violence Fridays?”

“Uh, not quite.”

“We have war games,” Jason explains, “but there are generally repercussions for aiming for one’s jugular.”

Annabeth frowns. “Well, that seems flawed. How do you children ever learn to defend themselves?”

“If I recall correctly, by surviving to adulthood.”

“Touché.”

Knowing the scolding he’s about to get is going to be fierce, Nico rolls them both towards his (thankfully untouched) bed, sinking them into the shadows under it and popping up on top of Jason’s reclining body. As he planned, the combined chaos of Jason’s screech and Piper’s nausea gives him just enough leeway to kick himself free and scramble away behind Annabeth. Not that she’ll usually protect him, but he has a feeling that she has an itinerary and is therefore invested in keeping them on task.

“Okay,” she says, holding Piper back by the forehead — success. “Piper, put the nails away. Nico, quit making faces at her or I’m gonna let her claw you. Go sit on opposite ends of the mattress pile.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” they both say, immediately cowering and Annabeth’s glare and scampering to do as asked.

“Thank you. Alright, everybody grab a blanket and gather around. Nico, is there a — thermostat in here, or something?” She tightens the skull-patterned blanket (that she stole from his closet like the thief that she is) around her shoulders. “It’s freezing.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “I prefer to have my external environment the internal temperature of my soul.”

He smiles smugly to himself at the chorus of boos that echo around him. That was a good one. He feels no shame.

“You should,” Percy tells him seriously.

“Stick your finger in a socket.”

Annabeth tosses an overflowing binder into the centre of the mattress pile before they can really start to go at it.

“Be quiet and behold,” she says grandly, “the plan.”

Nico stares at it dubiously. “The plan.”

“Yes, the plan.”

“Say plan one more time and I’m chewing the floor.”

“You’re such an odd person.”

“Having your fucked up ghost mentor put you in a labyrinth to be hunted for sport by his monster friends for ‘training’ will do that to you.”

Will once told him that he reverts to making people uncomfortable via depressing personal anecdotes when he is nervous. Startlingly perceptive for someone who, in the same breath, asked Nico if he could bring his siblings to the picnic Nico had planned in the strawberry fields for them, alone, at sunset.

“Just — open the binder, oh my gods.”

Huffing, Nico does.

It’s less intimidating than it looks. The heavily doodled title page reads OPERATION: WOOING WILL, which is embarrassing, but the rest of it is as cleanly professional. Several sub chapters including plans A-L, gathered information, outside input, sources, and hand-drawn diagrams are neatly organized and typed out. It’s even in dyslexia-friendly font. Truly a work of art. Too bad Nico is considering incinerating it.

“It’s not even gonna work,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding the six pairs of eyes watching him. Well, five, Leo walked in the cabin and immediately got distracted by something else. He’s been poking at a pile of bronze for the past forty minutes at least. “He’s — unplannable.”

“Nothing’s unplannable.”

“He is. He doesn’t — think about things. In the same way.” Nico traces his fingers over a page titled Dropping Hints — How Begging Someone To Go Out With You Has Changed In Seventy Years. “You and me’ll see someone go out of their way to make life easier on somebody and know they’re — crushing, or whatever. But Will goes out of his way for everybody, all the time. It’s not odd for him.”

“Can’t you just tell him? Outright?” Hazel asks. “I mean, he told you, didn’t he?”

“That’s different.”

It isn’t, really. Nico could tell him. He could walk up to breakfast tomorrow and just blurt it out. Same words, even. I think you’re gorgeous.

He wants to. He wants Will to know, wants his bright eyes to go wide and his nose to go red and his voice to go quiet as he says, really? And Nico wants to feel the goosebumps that cover his arms when he rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist and says, yes. Wants to watch him shiver as he says, you make me feel safe, you know. Watch his golden eyelashes flutter as he adds, wanted. Safe and wanted.

“It has to feel right.”

———

next

[mikobeautifulheart]

woohoo omg speaking of jjk imagine you touching THEIR weak spot... pls include yuuji, yuuta, toge along w other chars (if you're doing?) thank youu <3

Omg yessssss. *Also not proof read.

Okay I'm thinking I'll do Yuji, Megumi and a part 2 for , Yuta and Toge and make other parts for Gojo, Geto, Nanami maybe Sukuna you get it.

Their weak spot

INCLUDING: YUJI and MEGUMI

(Slightly suggestive if you know what I mean)

Yuji

The room was silent- to silent. The static of the TV buzzed in your ears along with the sound of Yuji's snoring.

He had come back exhausted from a mission and fell asleep next to you while watching a movie. You look over to see him totally knocked out- and that's when curiosity got the best of you.

He was wearing a thin white shirt, one that was most likely to be worn under his uniform so it was thinner then what you expected, but also a great opportunity.

Every time you guys had cuddled in the past he would seem to subtlety pull away when ever your hand got to close to the middle of his back. At first you didn't notice it but eventually the need to see what he was hiding got the best of you.

He turned onto his stomach; fool left his guard down, you thought.

With out a second thought you ran your finger up Yuji's spine sending visible shivers across his body. He shot up and stared at you in disbelief.

"Did you just-"

you nodded slowly.

"C'me here" He said, one hand holding your thigh down, the other reaching up and tickling you.

"Noooo Yuji please I didn't mean itttt" You squealed as he came to a sudden stop.

"Fuck- you turned me on." He said letting out frustrated sigh.

"I can fix that~"

Megumi

"Hey Megumi, I think I lost my charger around here somewhere, have you seen it?" You asked holding your dead phone.

"Hold on I think I might have accidently kicked it under the couch"

This was it, for to long have you let Megumi turn his back on you with out expecting an attack.

He got down on the floor, arm under the lounge feeling around for the charger, while you got up slowly on it truing to not burst out in laughter.

here goes nothing.

You reach your hand out and poke the back of his neck watching as he suddenly jumps up, hitting his head on the coffee table next to him.

"Ouch. Oh you are dead " He said standing up.

"Megumi. Now lets be rational here-" You said walking backwards not breaking eye contact.

"Oh yeah I'll be very rational, make sure the punishment fits the crime."

"Now think about this, about what your going to do" You said

"Thought long and hard about it"

Your back hit the wall making you jump slightly. You turned your head to see if there was anything you could use as a distraction to get away.

You turn your head back to feel a hot breath on your neck.

Not even a second you felt hands go around the back of your upper thighs and your feet leave the ground.

"Maybe next time you should think your actions through."

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: My inboxes are dangerously low now guysss. Reblogs are welcomedddd. Have a good whatever time.

[caramelcleopatraa]

I'mma need some more Cody from you...

Finding out what turns each other on

His turn on: watching you dance

He didn’t realize how much you liked to dance until he watched you cook. He sat at the marble island, tapping endlessly into his computer and caught a glimpse of you moving your hips to the beginning of “Big Mama” by Latto. Holding your hands above your head and creating a figure 8 with your hips while keeping an eye on the food sizzling on the hot pan. While he had his eyes on you. Observing your body move to the music, completely forgetting about his business on his computer. He kept watch as your hands dragged down your hair, to your shoulders, to your hips. Sadly, you stopped to check on the food. But the tightness in his jeans told him he wasn't done seeing you dance.

“Honey, are you about done with the food?” You look back at him and answer, “Yeah, why?”

“I want you to dance for me.”

Your turn on: him wearing cowboy hats

It was hot and humid. You sat in an open chair under an umbrella watching Cody from a distance. You told him that you were hungry, so you left him to get a plate of food while he continued line dancing. You scraped at the plate, picking up a hefty scoop of food and found Cody with his shirt off, and a white cowboy hat on. His body glistened in the sunlight and his face was shaded from the broad hat. You watched him as he bit his lip, dancing with the crowd of people that formed around him. How he got that hat? Hell if you know, but God did he look good with it on. After a few minutes, he stopped dancing, making his way to you, spotting an empty char next to you. He sat down, panting with his hands resting on the buckle of his brown leather belt.

“When did you get that hat?” 

He looked at you, smiled, and pointed to the snow white hat. “Some random person gave it to me. Said I can keep it.” You tilted your head while looking him up and down.

“Keep that hat on when we get home.”

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000 @shes2real @pittieprincess22

[trashogram]

More HCY Fluff:

*** ‘—Full of shine and full of sparkle Close your eyes and see it glisten, Cha-arlie Listen, Charlieeee!’

Lucifer leaned in with a smile that split into a full grin as Charlie wiggled and giggled in his hands. Water was splashed here and there in the little sink-turned-baby-bath, and the Devil was grateful he’d positioned their little cathedral radio far away from its range.

The baby wriggled some more when Lucifer’s eyes flickered away for even the briefest second. Her love for attention wasn’t novel considering her lineage, but it was ever so endearing. Lucifer very, very gently washed the suds from her rich mop of hair.

‘Put on your Sunday clothes, there's lots of world out there… hm hm hmm…’ The King bobbed his head from side-to-side with the radio. ‘Hmm hm hm— in white, In a perfumed night Where the lights are bright as the stars!’

When all the suds were scrubbed away, Lucifer lifted the baby up and onto the nest of folded towels he’d made. He laughed as Charlotte instantly kicked around with her roly-poly legs. Who knew babies had so much energy!

She whined and Lucifer answered it with a coo. “Aww, it’s ok Char Char. Almost done!”

The new father focused on wiping away the bath water from Charlie’s apple cheeks and out of her fleecy hair. Instantly, the tiny antichrist smiled, chasing after his hand in the fibers of the cloth. Her tail instinctively wound around his wrist as much as it could, keeping him close.

After snuggly wrapping her up, Lucifer relented and took his daughter back into his arms, cradling her close.

‘—And we'll close the town in a whirl—’ He spun on his feet as carefully as he could before planting a big, dramatic kiss on the giggly girl’s cheek, ‘But we won't come home until we've kissed a girl!’

With Charlie laughing, and the sink draining, Lucifer soft-shoed out of the grand bathroom with the radio floating behind him.

Just in time, you were walking through the door, Razzle and Dazzle trotting at your heels. That technological doohickey that you’d carried around to run things was clutched in your hands, and many more were balanced on Dazzle’s back behind you as if he were a pack mule. Razzle was pushing a basket of scrolls forward opposite his brother.

Lucifer would have frowned had you not started humming along to the radio, most likely unconsciously. And, as soon as you looked up and saw his waiting grin as well as the bundle in his arms, you put it down on the nearest surface.

Another thing to chalk up to the ‘like father, like daughter’ saying: Charlie sensed your presence and squealed madly, happily, as soon as she spotted you. Lucifer had to shift the little girl in his arms to prevent her from flying out of his grip in her pursuit of you.

They met you in the middle of the bedroom, and Lucifer took a moment to soak up your appraising look. It was silly, but he felt proud presenting himself and your freshly cleaned child, all cozy and ready for bed.

“Oop!” Lucifer snapped his fingers together (barely, still preoccupied with holding the bouncing infant) and Charlie was fully clothed in a butter-yellow onesie. “Ready for bed now, ma’am!”

You snickered. “At ease, soldier.”

Lucifer smiled so widely it practically hurt, but his heart was light and his life was full. You gathered him up in your arms, with Charlie slowly settling down between the two of you, and the King couldn’t help the lovesick sigh that escaped him.

‘And this I'm positive of That we won't come home That we won't come home No we won't come home until we fall in love!’

[burningcheese-merchant]

"Hair Care" - BurningCheese Short #6

I promised a "Burning Spice is snuck into the Golden Cheese Kingdom" story, and I've come to deliver. I also promised wholesomeness, which... I mean, I hope it comes across that way. These two have their own brand of "wholesome", I think lol.

Special shout-out to @cheesecakemermaid1048 for coming up with the original concept of "bonding w/ Burning Spice via brushing his hair" (although I did go an extra mile in my interpretation here lol). Thanks so much again for letting me use this as a writing prompt! I hope you enjoy it especially!

"Grrrr..."

"I already told you that giving me attitude won't change anything, Burning Spice."

"Would razing your palace to the ground change anything?"

"Leave behind even a single scratch on a single one of my walls or columns, and I shall impale you with a thousand earthen spears on the spot."

"Do you promise?"

"It's inevitable."

"Even better, then."

Golden Cheese quickly shot him a pointed glare over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the hallway ahead of them. Completely empty, thank goodness; no one traversed this particular one at this hour of the day, she remembered. Or... they didn't tend to. Usually.

... It was a gamble she knows Mozzarella would've taken, had she been in her place. Calling for the palace to be temporarily emptied and closed would have been too easy, too simple. Daring to challenge one's own understanding of time and people's habits was a far greater risk, with a far more satisfying reward. Guaranteed victories are boring, after all.

Mozzarella wasn't there with them then, but Golden Cheese nevertheless found herself smiling and thanking her old friend for inspiring her in such a way.

Burning Spice, meanwhile, was currently the most miserable man on the face of the earth, and has been since Golden Cheese had the nerve to dictate where she would be taking him today (and instead of having their scheduled duel, as well, to add insult to injury). His petulant stomps left charred imprints all throughout the desert sands where they reunited - she demanded he control himself when they made it to her kingdom, so as not to draw attention and to not ruin her precious walkways - and echoed through the glittering halls and corridors as she dragged him along. How they haven't been spotted by any of her countless little subjects until now, he did not know, nor did he really care. He was frustrated enough that he almost preferred them being caught then whatever fresh hell she had in store for him in the rapidly approaching future.

So irritated was he, that he couldn't even bring himself to enjoy the fact that they were holding hands.

She eventually led him through some fancy doorway - past sky blue curtains and an archway and columns decorated with intricate carvings - and waiting for them beyond it was their promised destination: a fairly large and airy room with a great pool at the very center, with gold and white lilies dotting its calm surface and reeds sprouting in its corners. Surrounding it was an array of ornate stone and wooden tables, towel racks, smaller pools and individual baths, as well as beautifully carved shelves that seemed to be stocked with soaps, oils and incense. The afternoon sun shone through a massive hole in the ceiling, bathing much of the room in a warm, bright, golden light.

Burning Spice observed it all with a look of cranky disinterest. "A bath, huh?" His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "If you wanted to see me naked, little bird, all you had to do was ask."

"A spa, Burning Spice," Golden Cheese retorted. "This is the primary room for rest and relaxation here within my palace. My attendants are free to come in and put their minds and bodies at ease while they're on break, or after they've been relieved of their duties. They're also welcome to bring their friends and families, so long as they ask for permission first."

"'Ask for permission?' Pfft." A low chuckle rumbled deep within his throat. "How generous. How... soft. Of you AND them."

"It's civilized. That is what civilized behavior is like, Burning Spice. As we both know you've long since forgotten."

"'Civilized behavior'... heh. You think I care about such a pretentious, meaningless thing?"

"No, and it's evident by your appearance. Moreso than even the sun shining in the sky on a desert morning, in fact."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't enjoy seeing me- huh?!"

She didn't wait for him to finish his flirty diatribe and began dragging him over to one of those little baths, tightening her grip on his hand enough to earn an honest wince. When they reached it, she used her spear to nudge a nearby chair over, then whipped around, grabbed Burning Spice by the shoulders, and forced him down onto it before he could protest.

"Wait here a moment," she told him. "Let me go grab what we need."

"Who's 'we'?" he called after her indignantly as she walked off. No use; she moved along as if he'd never spoken in the first place.

To tide himself over and pass the time - that one minute that bore the weight and ache of an eternity - he made a game of letting his eyes go back and forth between scanning the room more closely and drinking in the sight of Golden Cheese's alluring backside as she gathered supplies from a shelf.

She seemed to sense his enamored gaze right away, though, and bristled accordingly. "Keep your eyes to yourself," she snapped at him without turning around.

"Or else what?" he fired back with a smirk, still raking his eyes up and down her body without remorse. "I'm already being punished, am I not? Now you can punish me with all this nonsense for a REAL reason."

"Clearly you aren't," she said as she made her way back to him, a towel hanging from one arm, and a bottle and hairbrush in each hand, "if you still feel bold enough to behave like this."

"But of course I do. How can I not, with such a pretty bird perched in front of me? Only the blind would ignore such beauty, do you not agree?"

She set the supplies down with a huff, her cheeks flushing pink at his words. "Well then, let's see if you still feel that way after we're done."

His flirtatious smile evaporated as she gathered all of his long, wild hair into her arms and narrowed her eyes at it. "Honestly, Burning Spice," she said, "how do you tolerate this... this mess?"

"By ignoring it," he said flatly. "So long as it isn't cut off, then I don't give a damn what happens to it otherwise."

"Well, I'm not tolerating this barbarism any longer. If you won't do anything about it, then I will."

"I could just get up and sit in the bath myself, you know." That suggestive look made a brief return. "And you could join me, if you wanted."

"I'd sooner join you in Hell," she said.

With that, she tossed his hair into the bath, watching as it floated and waved along the water's clear surface. She reached for the bottle, stowed away underneath the chair for safekeeping; the smell of eucalyptus wafted through the air as she popped it open and poured its contents into the water, turning it a pale green.

"What the hell is that?" Burning Spice asked, making a face as he sniffed at the air.

"Soap, you filthy animal," she snapped. "Shampoo and conditioner mixed into one solution. This particular bottle is from a very high-quality brand that is well-liked in my kingdom. I suggest you act grateful."

"Me, grateful? For what? For you kidnapping me and forcing me to endure a... a spa day that I wouldn't ask for in a million years?"

"Precisely," she said, staring down at him with a confident smile.

...So enchanting did Burning Spice find that smile of hers, that he softened just enough to let her work without further resistance.

She worked slowly but deliberately, the calm focus written on her features and the deft movement of her hands betraying her years of experience. His hair was thick and unkempt, practically an untamed jungle; so desperate for love and care that it almost seemed to seek her out on purpose, jet black tendrils creeping and coiling around her fingers and wrists as soon as her hands touched the water.

"When was the last time you even brushed your hair? These knots are atrocious."

He didn't answer her right away, instead scowling and shifting uncomfortably in his seat as she tugged on the strands closer to his scalp. "What does that matter?" he eventually scoffed. "Fussing over one's appearance is a complete waste of time, anyway."

"One's appearance is a cornerstone of one's overall well-being," she countered. "In my kingdom, cleanliness is seen as a form of godliness. It's all a matter of pride, of confidence, of proper self-esteem. Always look your best, always put your best foot forward, and others will be encouraged to see the best in you."

"You think taking a bath makes you a god? HA! Such foolish arrogance- OW!"

"Oh, stop it," Golden Cheese chided him as she pulled on and unraveled a particularly terrible knot. "To think you'd be such a big baby about something so trivial! If I'd known this while we were still enemies, I would've gone ahead and acted like a baby myself, and spent all of our battles pulling on your hair to make you cry."

He grunted in frustration, staring daggers at her as she freed the last remaining strands from that dreaded knot. She ignored him and continued on undeterred.

When she finished the first lather and rinse, working her way up to the top of his head and back down again, she shook her head. "Honestly, Burning Spice," she sighed. "I'm disappointed in you. Even a brute ought to take proper care of himself. How have you allowed this to stand for so long?"

"Because it doesn't matter to me at all," he muttered. "I'll give you that answer as many times as I need to, to get it through your pretty head."

"Of course it matters," she said, her eyes narrowing in annoyance again. "How can you even say that? Do you not hold yourself in any high esteem at all?"

"No."

She stopped, the wad of hair she'd been tending to now sitting limp in her hands. She looked at him in genuine shock - and he returned her look with one of... not quite anger, no. He was not angry. What she saw on his face, in his eyes, was... resignation, tinged with bitterness.

An awkward silence hung over them both before Golden Cheese cleared her throat. "Well, then," she said slowly, "If you can't be bothered to take care of yourself... then I shall do it for you. Alright?"

He softened again, a glimmer of pleasant surprise shining in his eyes. The silence quickly returned, right after Golden Cheese herself returned to her work... but it felt lighter this time.

Soon enough, she was quietly tapping on his shoulder. He understood what she wanted, no explanation necessary, and he slowly lifted his head up, sitting up straight once again. She gathered his hair in her arms and wrung it all out the best she could, then lifted it out of the bath, letting it fall and cling to his back. The soft pitter-patter of water droplets dripping from rogue strands of hair onto the floor filled their ears.

The silence otherwise persisted as Golden Cheese dried Burning Spice's hair with the towel she'd tucked away beneath the chair. He sat still, arms crossed, and neither said nor did anything to disturb her efforts, much to her continued surprise.

Soon enough, she traded the towel in for the hairbrush and quickly set about combing through those still-unruly locks. "It really is a shame, you know," she murmured. "You have gorgeous hair. You shouldn't treat it so poorly."

"Hmph..." He shrugged. "Whatever."

"I mean it, Burning Spice." She combed through another knot - more carefully than she'd done to the others in the bath, out of a newfound sense of concern for his comfort. "Even animals groom themselves better than you. I know you care enough to at least bathe, but there's more to self-care than just that."

"I bathe. I eat. I sleep. Those things are enough to keep me alive, are they not? I don't need anything else."

"They're enough to survive, yes..." She paused. "But... not to live, I don't think."

"You think bathing makes you a god," he muttered. "Of course you would say that."

She set the hairbrush aside for a moment and placed her hands on his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. Instantly - perhaps instinctively - he leaned back, further into her grasp. Silently reveling in her touch.

"Burning Spice..." She sighed softly. "I have long since vanquished you. You're no longer a threat to this world." She hesitated, searching her mind for the right words to say next. "You... you can't hurt anyone anymore. Not on my watch. Perhaps... it's time you included yourself there, as well."

At that, he tensed, but still said nothing. She pulled her hands away (did she sense... disappointment from him when she did so?) and grabbed the hairbrush again, once more returning to grooming the man in front of her. She tried her best to be efficient, but still gentle; combing through each and every lock, more eager than ever to leave them looking better than they did before.

She took longer than she probably should have. (Perhaps she'd started allowing herself to enjoy how... soft and luxurious his hair was.) But even so, when she was finally done, she set the hairbrush down again and circled around to the front.

"There," she said. "What do you think?"

Burning Spice ran a quick hand through his hair and gave her a nod. "More pleasant than before."

"Wonderful." She beamed at him. "I'm glad."

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of that bright, warm smile. It stole all of the light in the room. It outshined the sun itself.

If this was what it took get her to look at him like that, then Burning Spice would gladly let her fuss over his appearance every single day for the rest of his life.

"Now, then..." She clapped her hands together, her eyes now glinting with mischief. "How about we take care of your wardrobe next?"

"My what?!"

--------------------------------------

What GC said about cleanliness was something Ancient Egyptians actually believed. They were very, very fussy about hygiene and legitimately thought that cleanliness was godliness. They didn't have spas or bathhouses or the like, though (not before the Greeks and Romans stopped by), they usually just bathed in the Nile. They used something called natron (it's like a salt mixture you get from dry lake beds, tastes like baking soda) as soap and shampoo. There's your history lesson for the day. You're welcome. I have more if you're interested.

And... well. I'm sure it's common knowledge that depressed people can start really letting themselves go if it gets bad enough. I don't really get the impression that Burning Spice is happy, even with that Joker smile he's got on and how much he enjoys trashing everything... I think all the Beasts are plagued with a certain melancholy, really. They're handling it entirely incorrectly, but even so. (And I think the Ancients can and should be the ones to help them overcome that. They're just the right ones for the job, in my opinion. But that's probably just me trying to bait you all into asking me about my Reformed Beasts AU again lol)

[wheels-of-despair]

How to Get a Hot Date Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman run into a little jock trouble… but she'll snark their way out of it. And into something else. Contains: O'Donnell, an assembly, jocks being jackoffs, Evil Woman snark, discussion of dick size. Words: 1.1k

"Everyone, please make your way to the field for a special assembly," the dull voice of Higgins drones over the intercom.

"What now?" you groan, slamming your book shut and looking at Eddie in exasperation.

He thinks for a moment, narrowing his eyes and racking his brain.

"Aw hell, I think it's time for the Mothers Against Drunk Driving to make the rounds." You raise an eyebrow, and he continues. "They come through every year to tell sad stories about kids who drank and drove and died. Then somebody from the fire department tells stories about scraping bodies off the pavement. Real fun stuff."

"Sounds great," you smile. "Would be a real shame if we got lost on our way to the field."

Eddie grins, and you start shoving your stuff into your backpacks.

"Leave your things here," Mrs. O'Donnell instructs. "We're going as a class and returning here afterwards. Mr. Munson!"

"Yes, Mrs. O'Donnell?" he asks innocently.

"Attendance will be taken again when we return. No disappearing."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. O'Donnell," he says seriously.

She keeps her beady little eyes on him all the way to the field anyway. You settle in on the rickety aluminum bleachers used for sporting events and watch the other classes fill in. If this had been a regular assembly held in the auditorium, Hellfire would have gathered in their usual spot and already been playing cards or something. But you're guessing that due to the serious nature of this one, as opposed to a pep rally or awards assembly, they're going for silence rather than camaraderie.

When everyone is seated and the assistant principal starts the introduction, Eddie starts to fidget. It's a good thing you came prepared. You pull a pen from your pocket and draw a hangman game on the exposed flesh of your leg, thankful that you decided to wear shorts today. Eddie grins, and the game is afoot… eh, a-leg.

Approximately one hour later, your legs are filled with games of hangman (featuring creative phrases such as "Higgins sucks balls" and "we should be fucking in the van right now") and tic-tac-toe. The games take place on your legs. The scoreboard is on Eddie's arm. He's slightly ahead, and being quite smug about it. He smirks and adds another slash to the EDDIE column, making you roll your eyes.

"Do you smell something burning?" you ask suddenly, a strong smoky smell invading your nostrils.

"Just me smoking your ass," he grins.

"No, seriously," you say, looking around. Eddie does too, and pops out of his seat with a yelp.

Eddie's bandana is on fire.

He jerks it out of his pocket and drops it onto the bench, stomping and attracting the attention of everyone in the surrounding rows. They stare curiously or hide snickers behind their hands.

"Munson!" O'Donnell hisses. "SIT!"

Laughter erupts from below. You look just in time to see several green and white blurs streak from beneath the bleachers. The color of sports jerseys and letterman jackets, of course. Eddie sees them too, and his body tenses. He balls his fists.

He takes one step before you reach out and grab him by the belt, tugging him back to you. His ass lands on the aluminum bench with a thump. His face is red. He's fuming.

"Too many eyes," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

Eddie huffs out a short breath and reaches for his poor singed bandana. The corner has burned off. He traces the charred edge with a sigh.

"Would you believe me if I told you it looks even more badass now?" you whisper.

He leans his head toward you and knocks it against your own. You keep your arms around him for the rest of the assembly, partially for comfort, but mostly because you're fairly certain that if one of the jocks so much as looks at him, Eddie's going to take a flying leap off the bleachers and come out of it with a murder charge.

The assembly concludes soon after. You manage to get back to class and get your stuff without incident, foolishly thinking that today's drama is over. You're at your shared locker, swapping books and getting ready to meet Hellfire for lunch when something hits Eddie in the back of the head. He flinches, and you both look to the ground.

A matchbook.

"What's for lunch today, boys?" an unmistakably jock-y voice calls from across the hall. You turn to see five of them watching you with nasty smirks on their faces. "Smoked freak?"

"Singed psycho?"

"Charred cunt?"

Eddie's fists clench.

"I wouldn't touch it even if it was charred," one of them laughs. "Even fire can't cleanse whatever Munson's spreading."

Your fingers close around the lapel of Eddie's battle vest. They're trying to provoke him. They want him to get himself expelled before he can graduate. That's all this is. You're not going to let that fucking happen.

"You think she spreads her legs for all of the freaks, or just Munson?"

Eddie's body is beginning to vibrate. Not good.

"Sorry to disappoint you, boys," you say, putting yourself between them and Eddie. "But you must be at least this big to ride The Freak Express." You hold your hand up in a pinching motion, with only a few centimeters between your thumb and forefinger. "I don't believe any of you qualify. I hear they're working on some kind of procedure to help out guys like you, though, so don't give up hope! I'm sure you'll see some action outside the boys' locker room someday!"

"What does that mean?" one of them mumbles to another.

"It means you've all got micro-dicks," Eddie says loudly, his voice echoing through the nearly empty hallway.

"The term micro-dicks seems very generous in this case," you smirk, eyes darting around the hall and planning a hasty retreat.

One of the boys clenches his fists and steps forward, but freezes when a sharp "HEY!" sounds from the end of the hall. All eyes land on Mrs. O'Donnell.

"You two," she huffs, pointing to you and Eddie. "Will be writing me essays about why foul language has no place in Hawkins High this afternoon in detention. And you," she says, turning her focus to the jocks, "have five seconds to get out of my sight, or your coach will be hearing from me."

They scatter. Mrs. O'Donnell gives you each a severe look over the top or her glasses and stomps back into her classroom.

Eddie seethes. De-escalation, stat!

"C'mon, Monster-Cock Munson, let's go get lunch," you say quietly, sliding your arm around his middle. "All this foreplay is making me hungry."

Eddie laughs and slams the locker door shut. He throws an arm around your shoulders and steers you toward the cafeteria.

"Good thinkin'," he says, voice low and lips close to your ear. "Gotta refuel before our hot date with O'Donnell."

[seabeck]

Neat stuff from today!

Left to right: giant white fawn lily from my spot that blooms early, a baby western fence lizard that ran up my leg because it mistook my black pants for a charred log (also I suspect it’s black because environmental pressure? It was living in a previously burned area), verpas!, some neat wholly birds nests, morel (not sure subspecies), stalked bonfire cup (new shroom!), my fave candy lichen stump, bonfire moss, some sort of bonfire loving cup shroom

[keis-slut]

beautiful|j.the killer

CW: DEGRADING, CHOKING/BREATH PLAY, SPITTING, SLIGHT PRAISE

his large, bleach-white hands gripped your thighs, hugging them tightly, just as your walls did around his cock, feeling every thrust,

every throb.

"-fuck, oh, fuck"

growling, gasping moans escaping his scarred lips, surprising you that his cut smile could grow any wider than so.

your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him into you more, as if he couldn't get any closer, with his larger charred and blood-stained hoodie fanning off your body, breasts swaying and teasing him as they peaked out from under, revealing you bare.

he couldn't help himself but bring a calloused hand to one, squeezing it maybe a bit too harshly, creating a whimpering yelp from your lips, gasp caught in your throat.

your throat, in which he brought a hand to wrap around, squeezing just enough to stop your breathing, pussy clenching just as his hand did around your neck.

he thrusts sloppy, with his body jolting and twitching with the least bit control, just letting his body do all the work as he plowed into you, overstimulating your poor little cunt.

“-s’ too much, pl-pleas-ah!-“

he felt you only continue to tighten around him, your head faltering backwards on his pillow as he pushed deeper, cock curving into your g-spot, giving you a kiss as he spat at you.

“-t’s that, pretty? can’t hear you, bitch, t’ busy…”

your eyes opened to scanned back to his voided ones, his face now closer to yours as his breath pet your heated cheeks, his long jet hair tickling your face and jaw.

"’m gonna fuck you right to sleep, slut”

he groaned, loud, as you brought your hands to his white face, your mouth hung open, your eyes rolled back, and you couldn’t help the way your body squirmed as he fucked you.

"you're so beautiful"

you whine, now lightheaded and breathless as his hand that clenched your throat didn’t falter, hips bucking as you found a high, and rode it.

that had sent him over the edge, maybe farther, he was wild. you calling him beautiful. it's the only thing he'd ever want to hear from anyone.

he fucked absolutely feral, but if you ever call him beautiful, in any circumstance, he’ll be putty in your hands.

his grunts and movements now animalistic, his eyes growing surprisingly wider than you've ever thought for someone lacking eyelids.

He groaned, towering above you as his face was inches from yours, lips teasing ragged lips.

"oh, yeah?"

[darknight3904]

A preview to part two of the Gojo x Zenin!reader I wrote.

Warnings: None

September 2016 (Gojo: 26 You:25)

"Shut up Megumi!"

Tsumiki's room door slamming is loud enough to rattle the entire house.

"Not again..." Gojo groans from his spot on the couch.

Today was his first day off in months, he wished you were here and snuggled into the couch with him but instead, you were off on some mission with Nanami and that kid he was training, Ino was it?

Gojo wished you were here so you could deal with whatever the Fushiguro siblings were fighting about now. You had always been better at diffusing the situation that he was. After all, he'd often end up instigating more problems since Megumi was so funny-looking when he got mad.

"What's going on now?" Gojo asked the dark-haired boy

"Nothing. I just told her that her hair was weird looking today. Where is-"

"She's out on a mission with Nanamin. I'll be handing dinner tonight so go start your homework and apologize. " Gojo said

"You sure you can handle that without burning the place down?" Megumi asked

"Of course I can! I'm the strongest sorcerer alive...I can handle a little dinner."

"Goodnight, Zenin-san!" Ino called out the window as the car drove away

He really was a lovely boy, strong too. Nanami had trained him well. The walk up the sidewalk to your shared home with Gojo and the kids was your last sliver of peace though as you could already hear yelling.

What horrors awaited you on the other side of this door?

"Megumi, would it kill you to help out?"

"Yeah probably. That pot is gonna overflow."

Your feet quickly carry you to the kitchen where Satoru is standing amongst...well you're not really sure what he's trying to cook.

"What's going on?" You ask

"You're home!" Gojo called excitedly, "How's Nanamin?"

"He's great. What's all this?" You ask gesturing to a pan that's been burned so bad its normally white bottom is black with charred food.

"He's trying to make dinner. He's been trying for almost two hours." Megumi says

"Satoru you're 26, can't you cook anything?" You ask as you pull your hair up, ready to take the spoon away from him

"I can cook. " He defends

"Frozen chicken nuggets don't count." You laugh

"Hey!"

Gojo watches as you toss what he was working on, to be frank, he's not sure what he was trying to make at this point. It had started as pork katsu and then evolved into a disaster.

"What's wrong now?" You ask as you rummage through the fridge.

"I wanted to have a nice meal ready for when we got back from your mission. Like you do for me." Gojo says

You can hear the pout in your boyfriend's words.

"It's alright, Satoru. It's the thought that counts." You assure him

"Next time you go away, I'm going to make the best dinner ever." He declares, resting his chin on your shoulder as you fill a pot up with water.

"Well, Nanami and I have orders for Friday...so I'd get learning, Satoru." You smile.

"Perfect. Friday night, my dinner will be even better than yours. I'm going to go pick out a recipe on my laptop." He declares marching off to who knows where.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Megumi." You say, the boy rarely asked questions, so you were always excited to answer them when he did.

"Can you get someone else to cover your mission on Friday? I think if you leave him alone with the kitchen again he might blow us all up."

The rest of this is out now. Check it out here

My Masterlist

[chidorrrita]

・❥・I’m here with you (it hasn’t been so easy being lonely)

: ̗̀➛ l lawliet x gn!reader

: ̗̀➛ cw: angst, allusion to sex, reader is referred to having a "plush" body like once

: ̗̀➛ wc: 800+

: ̗̀➛ author's note: holy crap it's been 3 months since I've posted anything... sorry about that. anyyways enjoy this little one shot about L.

reader is a civilian and doesn't know L's name

In the bright light of early dawn, you run your hands over an empty spot on the bed warmed only by the forgiving sun. He’s left already. It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave without saying goodbye. He told you earlier on that he hated goodbyes, so you both agreed to this arrangement. You weren’t so keen on the idea when he first brought it up, but you hated the idea of him not being with you at all more. He would return in a few weeks time and you would quickly wipe away your tears and he would ignore the streaks left on your cheeks as he greeted you. But the first day was always the hardest. Just when you were getting used to him being around, making enough breakfast for two and waiting to wash his white shirts, he would leave. 

You gingerly slip out of bed and slumber towards the kitchen. Taking out a pan and two eggs, you busy yourself with making breakfast but you can’t concentrate. Your mind slips away to him. What was he doing that he couldn’t share with you? What was so dangerous about his job that even one little slip up on his part would cause him to disappear for months? In the dead of night, when all the buildings quiet down and their people sink into slumber, he would whisper prayers against your skin. Though you never understood a word he said, between your half lucid mind and his soothing Russian tongue, you could sense a tone of reverence in his voice, hands squeezing your waist and head bowed between your chest. 

The smell of burning eggs invades your nostrils. You let out a heavy sigh and begin to scrap away at the charred bits of yolk. 

Weeks pass with no call, not that he ever calls, and soon long nights turn to long days as trees begin to straighten up and cicadas poke their heads out of the ground so they can dance with the rise of the sun. Kids run around with ice cream dripping down into their chubby hands and on the concrete where little ants graciously scoop up the liquid gold and offer it to their queen. Shirts stick to backs and eyes squint in submission to Helios galloping through the sky. You’ve never been a fan of summer, but he always made it better. Waking up early in the morning to get berries at the farmers market, and buying every sugary dessert at the carnival and getting on the chair swing ride. 

It was so peaceful up there. People shrunk to the size of ants, scurrying across in search of food, the bright lights blurred together forming a constellation below just for you. Your feet swayed in the wind, the light breeze caressed your cheeks providing a much needed respite from the stuffy carnival floor. His hand inched closer to yours, long fingers ghosted against yours asking for permission, and you opened your palm welcoming him home. He didn’t say anything, being a man of few words, but he squeezed your hand in thanks. Thanks that you have stayed with him for this very moment to happen. His messy hair got pushed back, better revealing his onyx eyes holding only love and adoration for you. 

That night he told you he loved you. Amongst the shrills of children and the rumble of wobbly roller coasters, he proclaimed his devotion against the back of your hand held to his chapped lips. You walked home together, smiling and giggling like fools, with bellies full of sweets. 

You stumbled through your bedroom door, clammy hands hastily ripped off clothes eager to feel skin against skin hot to the touch. All efforts of looking suave on both parties flew out the window as a carnal need took over. Teeth clashed against each other in a messy kiss as your hand carded through his hair and then settled on the nap of his neck. His hand held your cheek as the other pushed the small of your back against him. He curled over you, protected you, devoured you. The need for oxygen overtook, and you parted as a string of spit connected his lips to yours. He stayed close, his forehead bumped against yours, and let out a shaky pant as you took a deep breath, in tandem with each other pushing and pulling. You fell against the bed, yanked him with you, and felt him smile against your skin. 

In the afterglow, wrapped up in fuzzy blankets and the cool moonlight, he said, “this is the happiest I think I’ve ever been.” You held him tighter, kissed the crown of his head, and drifted off to sleep. 

He will return soon enough. He has too. And then you’ll go to the carnival and eat funnel cake until you’re sick and share syrupy kisses on the ferris wheel and laugh and smile. For now you wait, ignore the dreaded emptiness in your chest, and wait. He will return. And you’ll wipe your tears. 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part three —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let's build some relationships :)

From behind a tree, your eyes narrow with concentration as you draw the string of your bow. The feel of it in your hands offers satisfaction; you used to love new makeup, blushes and creams, or sweet custards from the market. Now, you love a good weapon.

Is there anything Ghost doesn’t know how to do? And you thought Paul had skillful hands.

You’re not sure exactly where Ghost and Blue have gone, because after leading you out the gate of their camp, Blue showing you the exact maze of steps needed to avoid their booby traps, they went their own way. Again, they disappeared among the white trees. You were left to pick a direction and stick with it. So you ended up here, the opposite way of the pond, with your eyes finally catching sight of a small deer. A fawn.

It’s young but perfect.

The blood that courses through its limbs switches on the predator part of your brain. It will be enough to keep you fed for at least a week, perhaps more, and promote the healing of the wound that aches with each shift of your waist. You inhale, exhale. The arrow is ready to release.

A single gunshot rings out.

Straight through the fawn’s eye.

It doesn’t even have time to cry out as it falls over, a small thud filling the quiet air. Your heart skips a beat and your eyes flicker in the direction of the gunshot, but you already know who has stolen this kill from you. In the distance, you see his bulky form, the lowering of his rifle, and then you see the girl bounce down from a tree and whirl towards the dead animal.

Are you kidding me?

You want to snarl and sneer. Instead, you flare your nostrils while lowering your bow. Meters away, Blue kneels down by the deer and you see her gently mouth words to its corpse. Perhaps, a childish parting that helps her feel better about its death. Ghost arrives and bends down to Blue’s level, and you can’t see his mouth with the mask on, but you know he is speaking to her by how he gestures his gloved hand around.

You’ll have to find another animal.

Squirrels aren’t your favorite meal. They’re not much compared to the taste of venison. But if you char squirrel meat just enough, it can get a nutty flavor that, with your eyes closed, you can pretend is a juicy slab of chicken home-roasted by your mother.

There is no room to be picky.

There is no room for wants anymore, only needs, and from behind the tree, you move your gaze to spot a grey squirrel that will be enough for the day’s needs. You take aim again. You’d put your washed hair in two French braids to keep the strands from interfering, but without ties, they are starting to come undone at the ends. There was a time when you cared about the fashion of your hair. Now, styling is a tactical choice.

Squirrels are trickier. They are small and require greater marksmanship than you are confident you have. Archery was never something you did until the world bled grey and demanded it of you.

The animal flicks its bushy tail, prancing about over thick tree roots. You wait for the moment it stills.

“How’s it going?” someone says, and you jump back in a step, fingers nearly slipping and releasing the arrow off at the ground.

Blue. You whirl around to see that she’s snuck up in a tree behind you, nimble and light on her feet, with curiosity filling her eyes as she sits perched on a branch, one that would be too high for you to ever climb. Her brown hair is hidden under her hood, the tip of her nose flushed pink from the air, and she rubs her hands together to brush off the crumbs of tree bark. Her movements remind you of the squirrel.

It takes a moment for your muscles to soften. You glance back at the squirrel and it’s already scampered off.

“Going great,” you tell her flatly, sighing through your nose. You can be patient with her. She’s nice, young. She’d snuck you extra food. “Shouldn’t you be with Ghost?”

“I’m just stopping by to tell you that we’re leaving. And—“ she squints her eyes in the distance for a moment, “That there’s a couple of those fucks due south.”

Those fucks.

Lovely. You glance around at the unfamiliar trees. From down here, you don’t see anything, but from her vantage point, her scope of sight is better for scouting threats.

“They’re pretty far off. Just be careful, okay?”

“Thanks. I will,” you nod.

Her bright stare then flickers to your braids. “You did your hair... What are those called again?”

She frowns, searching for the word somewhere in a corner of her young brain. You’re surprised that a ten-year-old girl doesn’t know what French braids are; they’d been all you wore as a kid. But then you realize her normal life came to an end at age five. Perhaps many of the memories have faded, replaced with more useful knowledge that her father has had to stuff in there.

You swallow. “Braids?”

“Braids,” she repeats, tasting the foreign word with a click of her tongue. “Right. They look really cool on you.”

“These ones are pretty shitty because I don’t have anything to keep them in.”

Blue starts to say, "Maybe you could—"

But a gruff call cuts through the trees, beckoning her head to turn.

"Blue. Let's go."

Your own eyes follow the voice and land on Ghost some odd paces away. He is already staring at you through lidded eyes, a palpable energy rolling off his body in waves that you can feel even from this distance. Over his shoulders, he carries the fawn with ease. Large palms clasping the knobby ankles. A steady drip of its blood creates a red stain in the snow beside his boot.

He looks horrific. A smear of crimson on the skull. Dressed in all black, carrying a dead animal as if it is nothing. You recall how he'd pushed you to the ground like you were nothing, too. You swallow the thought.

Before you can even look back at Blue, she's already gone. Whirling down from the branch and running over, following in his footsteps as they head back.

It takes another agonizing hour but you manage to kill a squirrel. The Greys don’t find you, luckily. You stuff your coat pockets with some pine needles and decide to call it a meal, knowing that you will have to hunt again tomorrow.

This area of the forest is still new. In your brain, you’ve already etched some markers to find your way back: the pond where they found you, a circle of pine trees to the right of their camp with a big stump in the center, a small creek past the hill. But the way you return back today leads to you approaching the camp from the backside, and you notice something.

Behind the cabin is something covered in a big black tarp. The tarp is peppered with fallen twigs and snow, but still, you think you make out the shape of a vehicle underneath.

They have a car—?

Irritation finds you. How did Ghost manage such things? A goddamn cabin, a deep trench that you assume he dug all by himself. And now a car. Did he also have petrol stored somewhere? By the looks of it, the tarp hasn’t been moved in a while. What is the car for? Is this what he uses to get medicine from the cities?

You almost scoff as your boots crunch the snow.

You won’t have any of our medicine.

There hasn’t even been a chance to consider how you might fend for some yourself. 

For now, you will just focus on food.

Ghost has tied the deer upside down on a branch by the time you are back. You carefully recall the way through their traps. Blue has to unlock the bolted gate for you, but then she runs back to Ghost, who hands a thick blade to her.

“Go on, then, kid.”

“I hate this part,” she mumbles, but he lifts her up so she can reach the knife to the animal’s hind legs, beginning to skin the hide top-down. She wears a concentrated expression as she does so, nose scrunched, and you can tell that skinning deer is a skill her small hands have practiced before. 

Ghost is the one to butcher it.

You skin your squirrel. 

They use the fireplace for cooking, and of course, their dinner is prepared first. While you wait, you undo your braids and snack on the pine needles. Blue is surprisingly quiet, helping her dad cook a little and playing with Grim on the floor, but also flickering her gaze to you every minute or so. 

“Your hair is curly now,” she comments softly during dinner. “From the braids?”

“That happens when you take them out,” you say after swallowing a piece of meat. There’s nothing to wipe your hands on, so you use your trousers as a napkin. Your mother would’ve had a fit. 

“Do you…” you clear your throat, glancing at Ghost and then back to the girl. “Do you want me to braid your hair after dinner?”

She nods sheepishly, but Ghost huffs out a low breath. “I could do that for you, Blue.”

“Ghost,” she sighs. “You don’t know how.”

“How hard can it be?”

But Blue licks her lips and shakes her head, mumbling, “I want her to do it. She’s good at it.”

The way Ghost looks at you is rarely anything but uncomfortable. However, when you sit down on the rug with Blue, your hands finding purchase in her hair, his eyes seem to burn holes through your body deeper than any time before. It is as if letting someone touch his daughter physically sickens him, and causes his breathing to turn weighted and deep. He begrudgingly allows it but supervises, sitting on the couch as you begin braiding her hair. 

Grim sits in her lap. She strokes his fur.

“You have pretty hair,” you tell her.

Blue softly wonders, “How can hair be pretty?”

“I… I don’t know,” you say. “The color, the length. It’s just pretty, I think.”

“Ghost cuts it for me,” she says, turning to look at him.

“Wait, don’t move. It’ll mess me up.”

“Oh, sorry,” she turns back but continues. “He gets it wet and has me lay my head on the tree stump so it’s all flat. Then, he chops it off with his knife. Right, Ghost?”

His response is a low hum. It’s stiff, pushing through a tense jaw.

You finish the two French braids, running your fingers over them.

"I don't have anything to tie them, but they look really nice on you."

It is then that Ghost stands up and disappears for a minute. When he returns, he has a roll of black thread that you believe he used for your stitches.

With the knife from his belt, he cuts two pieces, bends down, and silently offers them to your palm. Blue lights up. You tie off the braids and she stands, toying with them happily, and asking her dad what he thinks. Finally, you notice his shoulders soften.

"Beautiful," he murmurs quietly, just for her. He strokes the braided hair and then gives a gentle brush of his thumb over her cheek. "Always look beautiful, Baby Blue."

"Don't—" her cheeks flush and she briefly flashes her eyes to you, "Don't call me that."

"Used to call you it all the time,” he grumbles. “Gettin' too old for it, are you?"

What you learn Blue isn't too old for is curling up with him on the couch. This is the first night you stay in the cabin after dinner rather than retreating to your shed, simply because they've left some embers in the fireplace for warmth. You sit on the floor beside it. Blue sits with Ghost and he pulls out a book to read quietly to her.

You try not to look.

It touches you in a way you didn't think it would. It seems so normal. For a moment, you imagine a world where things could be different. A world where Blue wore braids to school every day. A world where Ghost could pick a new book out, rather than read the same ones over and over. A world where, maybe, you could have a family of your own, rather than be an uncomfortable witness to theirs.

But your family is nothing now. You never even knew what happened to your parents. The end arrived when you were away from them. No wifi. No service. Whether they died or turned Grey, you could never be certain. A pit in your gut told you their end happened years ago.

You’re brought out of your daze when Ghost stands from the couch. Blue has fallen asleep. He carries the girl to her room, and you take it as a sign to leave for your place outside. 

But before you can open the door, his voice stops you, dropping down to an even lower octave.

“Hold on.”

You turn. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

Despite the warmth from the fireplace, your blood goes icy rigid. You stand there and press your lips. “If this is about the braids, then I won’t do it again. I was just trying to be nice.”

“No. Not that,” and he holds your stare, unwavering, “It’s about your old camp. The other day, you said there were… hoards of ‘em.” 

The words roll off his tongue thoughtfully as if this is something that has been mulling over in that brain of his for a while. Thoughts belonging to a skull. A ghost. A father. 

Ghost continues gruffly, “Where were you?”

“West of here,” you say. “Jesus, I think, at least. I couldn’t really tell where I was going.”

“How far?”

“Far, but not that far.” Your eyes drift to the floor. “By the forest’s edge.”

“We don’t see that many of them here,” Ghost mutters. This might be the most he’s spoken to you in five days. “Only ever a few at a time. Ten at the most.”

“That’s how it was for us. But more came, and then,” you exhale, “And then there were too many.”

Your eyes close, recalling the frantic manner in which you escaped. The last glimpse of your old life had been the mangled arm of your sister, thick bites cutting down to white bone. In a way, you were glad there were enough of them to kill her.

Your eyes reopen. “We should’ve had an escape plan, something for emergencies. We got too complacent after making it for so long.”

All Ghost says is, “Yeah. You should have.”

And then he is dismissing you with a lazy wave of his hand, turning to give you his back. You scowl, roll your eyes as he is not looking, and leave the cabin. Your spine already aches before you even lay down on the floorboards for the night.

You wonder if Ghost has his own emergency plans; what would have to happen for him to abandon this perfect setup? How would he do it? The memory of the car out back finds you as you drift off. But your sleep that night is haunted by terrible, grey dreams.

It usually is.

Hunting on your own is different than hunting with Paul. There's some learning to do. You have to study the tracks on your own and observe the marks of antlers against the trees. For the first week, you don't get a single deer. Only squirrels. One skinny hare. Ghost and Blue don't go with you; the fawn, rabbits, and stored cans and jars hold them over.

Most evenings are spent braiding Blue's hair. I like the way it feels, she claims. Ghost gets used to it. He still watches from the couch but rather than stiffly staring, he lays down and relaxes, placing a hand over his chest.

The next time they go hunting, Blue's hair is still woven in the French braids when you catch an interesting sight through the cabin's window. She stands on the dining chair to reach Ghost's mask, peeling it off. You can only see the back of his head: brown hair, chopped short.

So there is a human under that thing?

She sets the mask on the table and picks up a clean one. A different one.

When they come out, Ghost with his guns and Blue with her knives, he appears more like a father than a character from a horror film. There is no plastic skull. Instead, a cutout in the fabric reveals the tops of his temples and the strong bridge of his nose. You would never say it, but you prefer this one.

Blue must catch your staring because she tells you, "The other one was starting to smell. I made him change."

"Good call," you quip under your breath.

Again, you go your separate ways. You head for the pond. You think you can hear them somewhere nearby, but ignore it, focusing on the deer prints in the snow. It's hard to tell if they're fresh. It hasn't snowed in two days.

Your footsteps quiet to a halt when you hear light crunching sounds. Another living thing is close by. You take position behind a thick pine, eyes scanning the wooded area and the pond to the right of you. But you know the sound of deer, and you're starting to learn the sound of Blue.

She's scampering towards the pond, just her. You can't see Ghost. As protective as he can be, he allows the girl some length to her leash. Offers bite-sized moments of independence. She's allowed to play in the tree just outside their camp before sundown, but only if he is watching. So you imagine he has let her run off ahead only because he is somewhere nearby.

From the distance, you watch her lurch for a squirrel.

She is quick about it.

Grabs the neck, and holds it up. A quick slice to the jugular. Blood seeps. She frowns, closing her eyes and murmuring something that, in the quietness, you think is along the lines of: I'm sorry. Tried to make it quick for you.

And then she begins to skin it, right then and there.

Young, nimble hands taught to survive.

As she does so, you decide you've seen enough. You have your own food to find.

But as you move from the tree, your eyes drift to find another watcher. A form takes shape behind a distant oak, near the pond. Your heart spikes; a Grey? But no— a Grey would already be running towards her scent. This shape belongs to a human, a withered man with hair that juts out in grey clumps, and crazed eyes pointed right at her.

More so, a revolver pointed.

taglist: @cool-0-n @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09 @spikespiegell @littlezarp @rebel-soldat @4headkissess @mckenzieriley69 @moxxiestar @palomaxaxaxa @msjaeger

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Looks like your loyalty was worth nothing.” Steph said, the man grunted and pressed the barrel of the gun even tighter, your panic levels spiking up at realizing the man had no reason to keep you alive now. And so, the gun went off.

Chapter 9 < > Chapter 11

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog, @katrina0-0

Everyone that could was running, getting away from the men who began shooting in the air to scare everyone, screams, crying and laughing were everywhere, with the men ordering everyone to turn in everything of value.

“Stay. Here.” Cass ordered you, leaving you behind a counter inside one of the food establishments, changing into a simple, black sweatshirt you’d bought and putting on a domino mask she grabbed from who knows where.

You raised your head a bit over the counter, noticing both Steph and Damian were wearing the same. Had they been carrying the masks the whole time? Did they have a secret stash with their uniforms all over the city?

“Pretty low for you to hit on a mall, Two-Face.” Steph taunted him. Damian hidden behind a turned over table, speaking to something in his ear, most likely asking for backup, as they didn’t have their whole gear. “Is it the age? You can’t hit on banks anymore?”

“SHUT UP!” The raspy voice screamed, a shot ringing through now the mostly empty food court. His good face was facing your side, it was obvious to anyone that he’d been —still is— quite handsome, a heartbreaker that changed into a bonebreaker.

The thugs had moved all the unlucky citizens who hadn’t had the chance to escape to a circle in the middle of the food court, one of the henchmen with his finger closer to the trigger than you would like to, but as much as you wanted to help, you had no idea how, and knew you would be more of a distraction to the vigilantes rather than helpful.

Cass was nowhere to be seen, Steph was still taunting Two-Face, and Damian hadn’t moved from his place behind the table, his eyes focused on the hostages and the nearest exits.

The revving of a bike was getting closer and closer, and time slowed down; from the hole in the wall, a blur of red and black jumped inside the mall, jumping off his bike and pulling out two guns from the holsters inside his jacket, shooting at the goons pointing at the hostages, their guns clattering to the floor, where a shadow landed on them with enough force and precision to break the triggers.

“Hey, jackass.” Red Hood’s voice modulator reverberated. “Pick on someone your size.”

Chaos ensued. Both Red Hood and Cass were battling the goons, with Hood getting closer and closer to Two-Face. He was hell bent on spending his whole magazine on Steph, the blonde dodging every bullet, so Jason was using the distraction for his advantage. Damian had hurriedly run towards the hostages and directing them towards an exit, a lost toddler separated from her family in his arms.

It was mesmerizing to see them in action, wordlessly communicating and moving with such finesse and grace only someone who had several years of experience could do.

And while you were obsessing over them —most specifically, Jason—, you failed to notice a man sneaking on you, a dirty hand covering your mouth, the other with a gun to your head.

Seriously, twice in less than a month?

The goon forced you to stand up, leaving your hiding spot and out into the open area.

“Leave the boss alone or I’ll blow her head off.”

Just like that, the fighting ceased.

“I swear if you do anything to her, I’ll—”

“Oh, ho, did I pick a lucky one?” The man mocked him, his putrid breath invading your nose. “Is this the big, bad, Red Hood’s little bitch? I said, let the boss go or she gets it.”

Your wide eyes could only see the white eyes of his helmet, but you wanted, needed to see his face, to see those emerald eyes and tell you everything was going to be alright.

Not a second had passed that the glove holding the charred arm of the rogue let go, the man wasted not time on pointing his gun towards the vigilantes, grabbing a bag that’d been filled with the belongings of the hostages and escaped through the hole in the wall.

“Looks like your loyalty was worth nothing.”

Steph said, the man grunted and pressed the barrel of the gun even tighter, your panic levels spiking up at realizing the man had no reason to keep you alive now.

And so, the gun went off.

———

“I’m… Really sorry.”

“It’s alright, Steph.”

“I sweat this doesn’t happen often.”

The paramedics checked you over, letting you go back home at seeing you didn’t have any injury besides the imprint of the gun, that should disappear soon.

Cass, Steph, and Damian had changed the black hoodies for their regular clothes, the domino masks hidden in their pockets. Red Hood was talking to Commissioner Gordon, going over what had happened.

As soon as Alfred saw you walk out into the parking lot, he walked over the four of you, worried, his focus shifting mainly to you once he’d learned about the incident, going back inside the car after assuring him for the umpteenth time that you were fine.

You were now standing under the midday sun in the now mostly empty parking lot; the paramedics were wrapping up treating the hostages, thankfully the worst some people needed were bandages for scratches made with the debris from the explosion.

Jason had finished talking with the police and was now making his way towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing you said to him. “If I’d been paying attention, he… He wouldn’t have caught me.” He was now being shoved in the back of a police car, the ringing from the shot still in your ears, a sound the paramedics had explained would disappear on its own. “Two-Face wouldn’t have escaped.”

“It’s alright, Jane.” The mechanical voice said. If you had your druthers, you would prefer to hear his deep, sweet voice, not a robot, but you would take what you could get. “These things happen, we’ll catch him, don’t worry. Now, you.” He said while looking at Damian, who had been unusually quiet and with pink tinted cheeks the whole time. “That shit you pulled was dangerous, Jane could’ve been badly hurt.”

“I saved her, did I not?”

“More by miracle than anything else. We’ll talk about it later, and I will tell Dickhead about this.”

“Tt.”

Damian got inside the car, closing the door with more force than necessary. Both Cass and Steph got inside as well, leaving the door opened for you.

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.”

“Hm.” With his helmet on, you couldn’t even guess what he was thinking or looking at, with just a slight movement of his head that looked as if he was checking on you, not trusting your words. “I need to get my bike back before some idiot tries to steal it. I’ll see you at the manor, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks, Ja—Hood.”

———

Even with all the chaos, your new clothes had been safe underneath one of the tables, now putting them away in the dresser that’d laid empty for several weeks now.

While walking out of the walk-in closet, a small figure outside your room startled you, a hand going up your chest. “Damian! You scared me.”

“That was the intention.”

You scoffed, with a fond smile on your face, grabbing another shirt from the bed, putting it on a hanger.

“Is there something you need?”

“I—” He shifted from side to side, once again rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together. “It appears the course of action I took this morning could have ended in an unfortunate result. Regardless, I would like to appeal to my case by—”

“Damian.” You left the hanger on the bed, taking three big steps to put your arms around his face, leaving a gentle kiss on top of his head. “Thank you for saving me.”

You expected him to get defensive, to push you away with something along the lines of ‘do not touch me, you imbecile.’, but you were surprised by how easy he relaxed in your embrace, his head lolling to the side and resting on your shoulder.

Just when was the last time someone had hugged him?

“Are… Are your ears better? Shall I call Pennyworth?”

“No, I’m fine. They don’t ring anymore.” You rustled his hair, this time earning a small groan from him, and went back inside the room. “Wanna help me put these away?”

Damian was full of surprises today; in lieu of escaping from the chore, he followed you inside, sitting with his legs crossed on your bed, simply handing you the hangers. It wasn’t the help you needed, but it was the one expected of a ten-year-old, glad he was behaving like one.

“So, San Francisco, huh? You were with the Titans?”

“Teen Titans, yes. Father sent me there for the summer to… ‘learn’ teamwork.” He quoted the word ‘teamwork’. “Useless, I do not need anyone else, I have gone against several high-trained assassins, unscathed. A simpleton like Mad Hatter could hardly best me, even if I were gravely injured.”

“There’s a difference between fighting trained, controlled people and fighting unstable ones.” Your voice was muffled from the walls of the closet, getting clearer when you walked out. “You might think you can predict their movements, but they could do something else entirely different.”

“Thus, you are saying I should do a deeper analysis of their personalities to comprehend and predict their actions and movements.”

“No.” You groaned, sitting next to him. “Forget everything I said. Teamwork is important, for starters, fights can end quicker and with less, or no casualties than if you were alone. Imagine this; you need to reach something on a high shelf, but it’s way taller than you, and there are no chairs or ladders around, and you can’t climb it because it’s fragile and adding more weight will break it. So, what do you do? Recognize your limitations and ask for help, or climb the shelve, destroying it?”

“I… Assume the shelf are the civilians that could get hurt if I attempt to do so on my own?”

“Exactly.” That was absolutely not what you had in mind, but it was clever as hell, so you took it. “The smartest of people are those that recognize where they lack in knowledge and abilities, the ones that are not afraid to ask for help. Ignorants are those who believe they know it all and refuse to learn.”

“She’s right, you know.” A third voice said, how long had he been there? “She called you an ignorant for not wanting to learn to work in a team.”

“Jason.” You exclaimed, curtly. Him walking into your room and spinning the desk chair, arms resting on the back rest. “That is not what I said.”

“Father always tells the League he works alone.”

“If by ‘alone’ you mean him and all his children, sure.”

"I... Shall think about it."

Damian all but escaped your room, leaving you and Jason in silence. He was looking out the window, the light drizzle that’d started as soon as you got to the manor was hitting your window, the soft pity-patter the only sound. You stood up, resuming your chore of putting everything away.

“So, what was that about? The whole ‘teamwork is good’ and all that.”

“I asked him what he was doing in San Francisco. He said Bruce sent him there.”

“Oh yeah.” He turned to look at you. “I was there when Bruce made the choice. The Demon Spawn deserved it, truly. Almost ruined the whole mission.”

A frown appeared on your face. “With his dad saying ‘I work alone’ all the time, are you really surprised he tries to do everything by himself? Not to mention the kind of place he was raised for the first eight years of his life. You can’t really just say ‘hey, don’t do this’ and expect him to stop, specially not when the rest of his family is doing the opposite.”

You popped your head out of the closet, thinking maybe he’d left you talking alone when you didn’t hear the expected retort.

He was deep in thought, elbows resting on the backrest, his fists covering his mouth.

“Whatever, Timmbers says there’s something you should see in the cave.”

———

You hadn’t been in the cave after the incident. As impressive as it was, there just wasn’t a reason for you to be down here, not to mention it brought back memories of that night, feeling queasy about your close encounter with Scarecrow.

When Jason told you to come down here, you were half-expecting to see the portal opened, or at least some plans on how to get back, or something related to your situation, but the gun laid still discarded on a table.

There were voices down there, recognizing the cheerful one as Dick’s.

“Yeah, Timmy’s been working on it non-stop, he’s made great advancements, but he was straining himself, even more than usual, so I benched him from the cave until he’s slept for at least eight hours straight.”

A rich, booming chuckle was heard, follow by a voice you naturally associate with that of a natural leader, a great voice to give out speeches and fill people with hope.

“We’re working on it as well, but I don’t—Oh, you must be Jane!” Right there, in front of you, was the buffiest man you’d ever seen, a vibrant cape billowing behind him, wearing a tight, blue and red suit. “Nice to meet you, my name is—”

“Superman.” You said in awe, voice small but not an issue for him to hear, cautiously walking to him. “You’re—you’re really him.” Dick chuckled, and just now you noticed he was filming your reaction with his phone.

“I’m really me.” He laughed. “I was told you wanted to meet me.”

“You’re—But… Whoa.” You were acting like an idiot. “Can you really fly?”

He nodded. “Would you like to see the sunset at two thousand meters?”