#why use a salt scrub

[oncillabrigade]

Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

[xxsabitoxx]

Okkotsu Yuta NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men - here is scheduled post number 13 :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Yuta’s aftercare is perfect in every possible way. This man puts so much effort into making sure you are comfortable, clean, and happy after sex. He’ll usually always run you a bath, even if you are exhausted. He’ll carry you into the bathroom and get in the tub with you. He takes the time to fill it with epsom salts and calming aroma scents like lavender and eucalyptus. He’ll massage your body wherever you say you’re a bit tender and he’ll make sure to scrub you clean. Yuta feels energized after sex so it’s not surprising that he has so much energy to take care of you. He’ll make sure to dry you off thoroughly and help you dress in the softest of pajamas. He’ll dry and brush your hair for you, get you water and even pain relievers if he thinks you’ll need them. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yuta is totally infatuated with your chest. He adores everything about it, big, small, flat, doesn’t matter, he’ll spend hours sucking on your chest. Yuta loves to spoon with you, his hands under your shirt and cupping your chest happily, he isn’t even doing it to initiate something with you, he just adores the warmth and softness they offer him. When he’s fucking you, he loves watching your hands scramble to hold your chest because he’s rutting into you too damn hard and causing your whole body to recoil because of it. Which, of course, only makes him work harder. 

Yuta is quite shy at first, finding it hard to pinpoint a part of his body that he favors. But, over time, Yuta finds he has a lot of confidence in his arms. Specifically his forearms, because of the way they bulge when he uses his strength to keep you in place. Or maybe when he’s fucking you in front of a mirror and can see the way his arms look wrapped around your waist. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s filthy, in every way possible. Yuta loves seeing you ruined and fucked out, but he also loves seeing you covered in the sticky mess that his cum makes. Honestly, he’ll cum anywhere you want him to. Even then he can’t make the promise that it’ll end up where you want it, he could aim for your chest but end up on your face, he could aim for coming inside and accidentally pull out and spill his load on your sex. It depends how lost he is in the moment. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Yuta really likes when you degrade him and call him mean names. He doesn’t even have an explanation for why it turns him on the way it does but he loves it. That and the fact that he finds you so unbelievably hot when you’re mad at him… which is really rare cause he doesn’t do many things to piss you off. But fighting is inevitable in relationships, and for the two of you it usually ends in marathon sex so he can’t say he doesn’t like arguing either. He tries not to piss you off on purpose… unless he’s really horny and in the mood to get fucked stupid. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yuta doesn’t have a ton of experience but you’d never guess it. He’s had maybe two or three partners max and only one instance of a one night stand. Still, he’ll get texts from blocked numbers begging for him back because nobody can fuck them like he did. He’ll show you the messages when they come in and let you handle them how you please, he has all he needs right in front of him so he couldn’t care less about texts like that. Needless to say, Yuta not only knows how to make someone feel good, but how to leave a lasting impression. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, and if you find that boring clearly you’ve been doing it wrong. Yuta adores missionary, I mean he enjoys fucking you in just about every position but there is something so intimate about missionary that drives him up the wall. He loves how close you are, how he can feel your body moving against his, how his weight is making you wheeze and squirm and just produce the prettiest noises he’s ever heard. He loves how he can still kiss you, bite you, and suck hickeys on your neck even when you beg him not to. He loves how he can hear you so perfectly, watching your face contort as you try and hide your cute noises. It’s perfect. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Yuta can be a bit humorous during sex, cracking a few smiles at you and sly comments. It just feels weird for him to be completely serious when with you, even if he’s mad or worked up. Yuta will never fail to pull a smile onto your face as he says something so sweet it nearly makes your teeth ache. He’s such a love bug, especially when he’s being intimate with you. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Yuta has a love-hate relationship with his hair down there. He likes to keep it short and neat but sometimes life gets away from him and his hair grows out more than he would like it to. You, for one, don’t care about his hair down there but Yuta can get a bit shy if you’re getting intimate and he hasn’t had time to clean up his groin lmao

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you couldn’t tell by his favorite position and his humor, Yuta is very romantic during sex. But romantic in a shy way when you’re first getting into things, as he lets loose, so do his words. You swear Yuta is telling you he loves you every time his hips connect with yours… it’s because he is. He’s nearly lovesick for you as he ruts his hips into you, doesn’t matter if he just saw you this morning, that man misses you and he will make sure you know it. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Yuta’s frequency can vary depending on his mood and work schedule. Before meeting you, he would get himself off once a week minimum. Most weeks he’d jerk off a healthy two-three times. Now, the only time he’ll jerk off is if he’s away from you for too long or if he really needs to do stuff and he can’t get it to go down on its own. Yuta also isn’t shy about using toys to get himself off – that means vibrators, pocket pussies, butt plugs oops-

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Master/Slave kink, I will not go into detail on this one I just… I just think he’d like it if you ordered him around and called him a good boy. He’s heavy on dom/sub but he’s easily a switch and enjoys being in either position. Yuta has a mild breeding kink, one that only comes out when he’s really upset… like if you get injured. I’d also say Yuta is into somnophilia because there have been times he returned from a mission and you’re already passed out but he’s worked up. You’ve discussed it before so it’s completely consensual and he finds it so cute when you start making noises in your sleep as he buries his fingers inside to prep you. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Yuta loves fucking you on just about any surface but he’s grown quite fond of bathtub sex. Something about the steam filling the room, the hot water, the intimacy of the moment, the urge to be careful in order to not make a mess of the room. There are so many factors that go into fucking in the bathtub that Yuta almost views it as a challenge, which is part of the enjoyment. Yuta is also an avid lover of car sex, for similar reasons to fucking in the bath, he likes the risks that come with it. He finds the possibilities of getting caught or trying not to make an absolute mess to be very fun… plus watching you try and keep quiet is amusing for him. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He’s a sucker for non-sexual intimacy just as he’s a sucker for sexual intimacy. Yuta has absolutely popped a hard-on because you cuddled into him while sitting on the couch. He’s mildly embarrassed about the fact that some of the most innocent touches get him worked up, but he just can’t help how in love he is with you. Yuta is also very obsessed with lingerie, he’ll never expect you to wear it for him or always be wearing cute undergarments. But it’s a real treat for him when you decide to “dress up” in that sense. You may notice him being a tad more handsy with you when you tease him with a lacy waistband peeking above your pants. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hateful, mean, spiteful sex. Anything along the lines of hooking up just to put someone in their place if that makes sense? He can certainly be rough, but it’s out of love and adoration for you. He’s never liked the idea of hook-ups or one night stands, he’s much more into emotions and really caring about someone when sleeping with them. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Yuta is all about your pleasure so it’s not surprising that he has a preference for giving oral. Not to say he doesn't love receiving it, he definitely adores it, but going down on you is almost like a guilty pleasure for him. He’ll go down on you to relieve his own stress, spending hours between your thighs until he is satisfied with how many times you’ve come. His skills came naturally, somehow knowing exactly what to do when he got down there. If you were his first? You’d never guess it, Yuta is very skilled with his tongue… something else that’ll make him blush if you mention it. He’s still shy somehow. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Yuta can and will adjust his pace to your liking, but naturally the man is pretty eager and can start off faster than intended. He learned over time that it is much more gratifying to work his way up to the rougher and faster paces, especially since you’ll start to whine and beg for him to go faster or be rougher. The way you plead with him drives him absolutely wild. When he’s sleepy, worn out from a day's work and still needs to satisfy his cravings of you, Yuta’s hips take a much more languid and sensual roll. He’ll press his lips to your ear so you can hear his breathing struggle as he whispers his love and adoration for you. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yeah but also no… he’s conflicted mostly because he can never keep a quickie… quick. Even car sex can span on for twenty minutes if he’s not mindful. He just gets so lost in you and your body, how is he supposed to speed things up when he feels he has all the time in the world?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’ll experiment with you for sure but he will shamelessly research what you want to try before even bringing it into the bedroom. He does this because he wants to make sure it’s safe and something he will also enjoy. But he also does this to make sure he does it properly for you, buys the right things, has the right idea on the concept. He wants you to enjoy it properly of course. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Bless you honestly, this man can go all fucking night and even past the sunrise if he really wants to. He’ll wear you out and make sure you need to call out of work the next day because he swears he’s not done with you yet. Yuta is an avid lover of marathon sex and he has the stamina to keep up with it. Usually he can go as long as ten minutes per round once he gets inside of you but he will not hold himself back from coming, so he’s not usually one to stick out the full ten minutes unless he’s just trying to tease you. He knows going longer can sometimes become painful. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yuta loves toys, both on you and himself. He thinks they are incredibly fun to use in bed with you and just by himself. He’s not opposed to any toys really, he’ll buy/use whatever he feels like or whatever you express interest in wanting. Nothing is really off limits in that sense. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Yuta can tease you but he’s not really unfair. He’ll edge you unintentionally and make up for it seconds later. He’ll praise you until you’re squirming, roll his hips a little slower to hear you whine, but he’s never dragging on his teasing. He’d rather see you crying from pleasure than desperation cause he’s holding back. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Yuta. Whimpers. Yuta. Whines. 

You can’t tell me anything different. Yuta will not restrain his noises… mostly because he’s incapable of doing so. He’ll moan and curse, babble on and on about how good you feel, thank you over and over for letting him have you. He’s learned to not be embarrassed by his noises because he realized how much they seem to turn you on. He takes it as a compliment now. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of Yuta’s biggest guilty pleasures is cock-warming. He loves being close to you, cuddling you tightly as you both try and sleep. So why not take it a step further and just… slip inside. His only issue is that he can never promise it’ll remain cock-warming. His hips or yours turn restless at some point and you’ll easily get carried away. But, on nights where you’re both able to control yourselves, Yuta will knock out within seconds of slipping inside of you. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

When soft, Yuta is sitting at 5.2 inches. Once hard, Yuta is 6.3 inches and curves upwards. He’s got a good girth to him, the kind that requires some getting used to but doesn’t hurt if he prepares you correctly. He’s got a pretty cock, which you’ve mentioned before just to see his face turn a shade of scarlet as you kept reassuring him that you meant it. He’s paler with a pretty flushed pink tip and some light veins running along his shaft. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Man he could fuck you every day of the week, all hours of the day, if he had the time. His sex drive is unbelievably high, this boy was touch starved and now he can’t get enough.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He will not fall asleep until he assures that you have been properly taken care of. Yuta also feels pretty energized after sex so he may not come right back to bed after he’s sure you’re comfy. Depending on the time of day, he’s actually gone for a run after or cleaned the house before accompanying you in bed again. You like to tease him and call him an overachiever for doing more cardio after all the cardio he just did. Typically though, if you fuck before bed, he’ll be asleep within thirty minutes or so. 

[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[ohcaptains]

JJ has a girlfriend that’s got expensive taste. and it’s not even as if you’re rich or anything. you just have a part time job that allows you to buy shit. sprays, lotions, oils, scrubs, perfumes…you always smell good and feel soft.

JJ got a look at your bathroom and thought he’d walked into a bath and body works. stood there for literally half an hour, just going through all your stuff. opening bottles and sniffing them. even put a little on himself and rubbed it in. made a face as if, yeah, that shit is nice.

came out smelling like lavender and sea salt.

when he walks back to your room, you look up from your phone and make a face. “there you are, thought you’d fallen in.”

JJ just gets back into bed with you, and burrows his face in your neck, looking at whatever you’re scrolling through. it’s a few seconds later that you lean back to look at him.

“did you?” you start, before frowning and sniffing his head.

“did you use my hair spray?”

JJ frowns, “…no.”

“then why do you smell like spring on the sea front?”

“is that what it’s called?”

you hit his arm, “jay that shit cost me $30!”

“what!” he exclaims. “for that tiny bottle?” he shakes his head and goes back to laying on you. “you shoulda told me you wanted that, babe, i’d have just robbed it for you.”

[humanpurposes]

Can I Be Yours? - Nightblooms II

Aemond returns to the pleasure house after the battle of Rook's Rest // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death, ambiguous ending

Words: 3k

Each day she arrives at the market shortly after sunrise. She has the coin to pay for the usual cheap cuts of meat, for fats and vegetables to make into something edible, but there is nothing to buy; most of the vendors have sold the last of their wares. Summer is at an end, there are less crops coming from the Reach and the sea is still cut off with no end in sight to the blockade. 

King’s Landing has never been a place where she feels at ease but as the season shifts and the war goes on, families are starving and people are getting desperate, fighting over what they can get their hands on. They’ve all been reduced to dogs, clawing at each other over scraps while carts of livestock and fresh produce trundle through the streets towards the Red Keep, guarded by men in Hightower green.

She manages to buy some crabs and vegetables she’ll have to cut the mould from. They have a store of grain in the kitchens to make flatbread, though they have to use less and less each day, anticipating when they’ll be able to find more.

She eats less of her share so the younger girls won’t have to go hungry. Besides, she hasn’t had much of an appetite for days.

She had spent hours trying to rinse herself clean of the King and his companions after they’d had their way with her– after Aemond had left her to their mercy. That night she scrubbed at her skin with salt, then a cloth, then a bristled brush. That feeling was still there, like sweat sticking to her skin, like her body was not her own. She heard their voices and their cold laughter with the rush of water past her ears. She scrubbed harder and harder until she tinted the water pink with her blood.

One morning, one of the girls returns to the pleasure house, unsuccessful in finding a cure for her babe’s fever, but startled by something else.

The Hightower army has returned from a battle, dragging the head of a dragon on a cart through the city.

“It’s monstrous,” the girl says, trying to measure the scale of the head with her arms. “It had black blood, and gods, the smell, like charred meat!”

Sylvi hovers over her shoulder. “Slain by your favourite, I wonder?”

Favourite? Clearly she was not so favoured by Prince Aemond.

Men are led by their desires. That’s why, even as the city is starving, they find the money to come here and seek their pleasure. They are fickle, easily satiated and have no loyalties but to themselves, to their own preservation.

Sylvi huffs when she does not react to her teasing. “Seven above, do try to look less miserable, girl.”

She’s been trying for days, but she can’t force a pleasant demeanour when she feels so hollow.

The returning soldiers come to the Street of Silk that night, newly paid and come to bask in their victory. Her gown is a deep shade of blue and Sylvi has given her some of her jewellery, sapphire earrings and a heavy gold necklace that feels like a collar, to cover the bruises on her neck left by the King.

She catches the eye of a soldier in the main chamber. He takes her by the waist and drags her onto his thigh.

He moves clumsily, trying to drag her core against his leg or the bulge in his breeches, she cannot tell and she does not care. 

Look less miserable, it’s only a motion of the body.

Look less miserable, men want a woman who is warm, who smiles.

Look less miserable, but has he noticed her fallen face and the empty look in her eyes? Likely not.

Her body feels numb again.

“Look at me,” the man demands.

She turns her head towards him but her eyes are down, elsewhere completely. She pictures candlelight, a veil around the edges of a bed so the bodies around her are like shadows. She feels a weight on her chest and stomach, limbs intertwined with hers, long, loose hair spilling over her bare skin. A voice is just out of reach.

Look at me, look at me, look at me–

“My Prince!”

Her senses come back to her as quickly as a match takes to flame. Her head darts to where the soldier is looking, to the man standing before them, dark leathers, silver hair, an eyepatch over his face and a sword hanging from his hip.

Aemond tilts his head, his one eye intent on her. 

“Apologies, Prince Regent,” the soldier says, and shoves her off his lap so he can stand.

She stumbles but holds her ground. Her eyes are on the floor but imagining his face frowning in displeasure, the sight of his scar, the lines of his muscles under his skin. She cannot bear to truly look upon him, but he’s watching her.

Why come now? Why her, when she has already proved worthless to him?

“Come,” Aemond says without reaching for her, without waiting for her to match his gaze. She follows, if only to escape the wanton soldier.

Aemond takes her to the same chamber, standing at the foot of the same bed where they used to lay together.

She stands before him with her eyes lowered.

He towers over her and lifts her chin to match his gaze with a gloved hand. The leather against her skin is unnatural, cold, disturbing her very being like ripples through a peaceful surface of water. The sight of him only brings her pain, as does the separation from him. Fear and admiration twist together and writhe in her gut.

He reaches to remove the necklace first, letting it fall to the floor. “An ugly thing,” he mutters, “do not wear this again, I find it distracting.” It bares her bruises. He traces his gloved fingers over the flushes of red and purple in her skin.

Next he undoes her dress, another gown designed to fall away from one clasp. She does not remove the rest to bare herself, so he tugs the gown away himself, pulling her forward by her wrists to make her step away from where it pools on the floor.

Without any further preamble he surges into her, cupping her jaw with his hands and kissing her passionately. He demands reception with his lips, tongue and teeth, but she will not give it to him. She remains as steadfast as she can.

He pauses, kissing her again, then again.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is subtle and as soft as the edge of a knife. Gently, he takes a hold of her neck. It is tender, but not quite a comfort. Her pulse beats furiously against his fingers. “You are angry with me, is that it?”

Has he thought of her these last few days? Does he blame himself for the bruises on her neck? 

She says nothing.

“I’ll not fuck an unwilling whore.”

“No,” it falls from her lips like a breath.

Aemond tuts and tilts his head. “No?”

She parts her lips but she cannot speak.

His one-eyed stare darkens. He will take her silence for defiance, and that is not what he pays for.

If all he seeks is carnal desire she will grant him this. She tears away the layers of him, his gloves, the buckles on his jerkin, her fingers fumbling in her determination.

Aemond grunts as she pushes the sleeves from his shoulders, the leather landing with a heavy thud on the floor. His face is perplexed but he does not resist.

She tugs at the strings of his undershirt and pulls it over his head. When his chest is bare she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself in, crashing her lips into his. Everything becomes a single feeling, a fire in her chest, hurt and rage and— she’s not naive enough to call it love, but it’s an urge that spurns her to be close to him. Their teeth clash. She loses her focus and her lips graze over his cheek. She finds him again, drawing her tongue against his, dragging her teeth over his lip–

“Fuck!” Aemond hisses, snatching himself away from her. He dabs his fingertips to his lip, checking for blood that isn’t there. 

His eye is wide but gleaming, excited at the challenge. 

Her heart leaps when Aemond grasps her jaw. He drags her chin up, fingertips pressing into the bone. “I find your insolence tiresome,” he snarls.

The edge of his nose brushes against hers. She feels his breath, how his chest rises and falls against her body, how his heart beats as frantically as hers.

She shakes her head. “I am yours, my Prince.”

He lays her on the bed, pushing her thighs apart and holding them down as he kneels.

He sighs at the sight of her.

Each drag of his tongue is divine, circling and pressing at the places he has come to know will please her the most. She tries to chase the friction with her hips but he holds her firmly in place.

She reaches for his hair, slipping the eyepatch from his face so she can see all of him. He looks up at her as she does, his lips glistening with her arousal while his sapphire consumes the golden light of the candles. 

Between the movements of his mouth he mutters to himself, words she has heard before but does not know the meaning to. His voice is heavy and breathless and she adores it. 

Her peak comes suddenly, a wave of warmth and weightlessness that lingers after Aemond has drawn his mouth away from her.

He’s just out of her reach, standing over the bed and slowly pulling on the strings of his breeches. 

She brings herself to sit, only to be thrown down again and roughly turned onto her front.

“Aemond?”

His hands pull her up by her hips. His thumb glides in circles over her entrance and she stutters into compliance. There’s a ruffle of fabric before he replaces his digit with the head of his cock. He teases her as he rocks back and forth. The pleasure is sparse, a delicious kind of torture. She grips at the linens and sinks her teeth into her lip.

On one motion of his hips, Aemond slips inside of her. She sighs at the stretch of it. He stills for a moment to let her adjust, pushing himself to the hilt and slowly drawing back. She feels how his fingertips dig into her flesh, marks that will stay for days. She can picture the look in his eye, his resolve melting away.

She props herself up on her hands, turning over her shoulder. He meets her, pressing his nose against her cheek, teasing his lips over her skin.

“Do you still find me insolent?” she whispers.

Aemond hums. 

He draws back, only to snap his hips harshly into her rear. It knocks the breath from her lungs and he holds his arm around her to hold her close to him, his palm pressing into her stomach as he fucks her roughly and without reprieve.

This is the Prince she has only ever seen glimpses of. She’s heard the workings of his mind and his regrets, but she’s never seen him unleash himself, a dragonrider, a warrior, now a demanding lover.

Each kiss of his cock at her sweet spot aches and drives her towards bliss. She grasps at his hand, leaning her head into his. His sweat drips onto her brow. His moans fall upon the shell of her ear.

She feels another peak edging closer when Aemond pushes her torso down against the bed. He keeps his hands on her shoulders. Her own moans are muffled against the mattress and she cannot move. She can only take what she is given, fast fucking and brutal precision. 

He comes with a unrestrained groan, spilling himself deep within her cunt. His weight falls against her back and he nestles his face into her neck, whispering some appraisal in an ancient language, gently fucking his seed deeper.

She whines as she catches her breath, letting herself settle with him on top of her. They stay like this for a time. Before he finally moves, Aemond presses a delicate kiss to her brow.

They lay amongst linen and silk, his head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her ribs, moving with her as she breathes. 

He tells her of Rook’s Rest, of his plan to attack during the daylight and bait their enemy into sending a dragon, then he would lead Vhagar into an ambush. He had not expected Aegon to join the battle, and when the smoke cleared, only Aemond and Vhagar remained unscathed.

“Perhaps I should have been more forgiving, but he got in my way.”

What did you do? She wonders, but cannot bring herself to give a voice to her question. 

That soldier had named Aemond as Regent. Not the title he wants, but it is a brutal reminder that only one life stands between him and the throne he pursues. 

“And even when he is… incapacitated, my victory is named as his. It was meant to be mine.”

The dragon head was his doing after all. 

Tears run freely down her cheeks, not that he will see.

He takes a breath and waits. She’s done this enough times by now to know he’s waiting for her to say something. He needs her to say something.

What loyalty has your brother ever shown you? He knows you were better suited to war, at least now he will not overestimate himself.

She does not wish to think of Aegon. 

“You left me,” she utters.

Aemond tilts his head towards her. She meets his eye. When he sees the tears on her face his own expression softens.

“You left me to entertain those men. You didn’t even look back.”

Aemond swallows thickly, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I had to.”

“Had to?”

“You would not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You are a Prince. To you, I am nothing but a body to be used.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You do not need to say it. It is the nature of the world we live in.” 

He shifts himself to lay beside her, face-to-face. His thumb strokes over her cheek and at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve only ever admired you,” he says. “You came to me when I felt alone.”

Back when they were children, when she was innocent enough to think the gods favoured those who were kind, merciful, good. 

“You looked lost. I was the same the first time…” the first time Sylvi brought her into a room with a strange man. When she sees girls of the same age, she wants to take them into her arms and shield them from strangers, from the people who promise to care for them and do not. “I knew how it felt to be used and then discarded, like none of it mattered. But it did. It mattered to me.” 

Aemond’s eye shimmers like glass.

“I needed you, do you understand that? I needed your protection,” she says.

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye. 

“You taunt me with this,” she says, wiping it away with her thumb.

He holds her hand against his jaw. “I’m not trying to taunt you,” he pleads. “You are the only one, the only one I can speak my mind to.”

She has seen his pride, his remorse, his shame, but she has never seen fear in Aemond. She does now. He clasps onto her hand like she’ll fade away.

“I try. I know my place in my family. I know what they need of me. I try, but I am not always strong enough.”

Jaehaerys, the little Prince who lost his head. He has a sister and a mother grieving his loss, what of them?

What of Aegon?

“I’ll protect you,” he says, kissing the heel of her palm, the inside of her wrist.

How will he do that? Before morning he will leave a purse of gold in her hand and return to his Keep. While he plots his war and demands taxes and tithes from the people of the Crownlands, she will endure in a city that is slowly starving to death.

And when the war of dragons comes to the skies over King’s Landing? Will he pick her out from the masses atop Vhagar? Will he find a way to spare her from the fire and the bloodshed?

It does not bear thinking about. She holds him and tries to forget anything other than this feeling, his weight and warmth, his hair between her fingertips, the points in his bones, his legs intertwined with hers. Everything about him that is cold and cruel. Everything about him that is quietly beautiful.

I've kinda given up on taglists <3

[inkdrinkerworld]

a spider!reader who gives off “sweet girl next door” vibes? she tries to bring miguel cookies with he’s working on something and he scares her, coming off more angry than intended, and ends up dropping them on the floor. (collect groan lmao)

contains minor spoilers to across the spider-verse pt 2

you’d been thinking all day after the whole fiasco of recruiting gwen that miguel needed cheering up.

margo warned you not to, said, ‘he’s a grump. let him grump.’

but you hadn’t been able to take that answer. there was something about miguel that didn’t just scream grump. something seemed tired about him.

so, you tried your hand at baking him something. you’d debated for a long time of chocolate chip cookies or oatmeal cookies were more his style.

you decided on chocolate chip.

you spent two days on them, using a recipe which required brown butter, overnight chilling and a lot of dark chocolate.

you got a lot of flour on you as you baked them, watching them rise and then spread out on the floor of the kitchen.

when they were done you packed them up in a cute purple box you snagged from the cafeteria.

your heart leapt to your throat as you turned down the corner to HQ, hoping that you wouldn’t catch miguel at a bad time.

that hope is decimated when you walk in and find him grumbling to his computer.

“um, miguel?” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stand in the archway.

“what? what do you need?” he huffs and you feel some of your momentum dry up.

“i brought something for you, but if you’re busy-“ it appears that was the wrong thing to say.

“of course i’m busy! i’m always busy trying to keep the stupid multi-verse from collapsing. maybe some other time we can chit chat.”

you’d never actually been on the receiving end of miguel’s upset, and maybe this wasn’t exactly for you but his tone and the way his arms are flailing around his body makes you feel small in a way that hasn’t happened for a long time.

“right,” you whisper, managing not to cry as you jolt and the box of cookies fall. “i’m sorry for bothering you.”

miguel watches as you don’t even bend to pick up the box. he watches you turn like you’re being remote controlled and he catches sight of your hands wiping at your eyes.

“great, you’ve made her cry casanova.” lyla appears suddenly, foot tapping in air as her arms cross over her chest.

“so now i’m the bad guy?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. he feels like the bad guy. guilt and shame burn his throat and belly like he’s downed two tequila shots with no lime or salt.

lyla flits to the box, “she made you cookies.”

miguel sighs, hands scrubbing at his face as he steps off the platform to pick up the box. in your neat cursive he notices you’ve written, ‘a pick me from having to do all the hard stuff.’

he wants to smash something. of course he’d blow up at possibly the nicest spider-woman variant. of course he’d be the asshole to make you cry too.

“where is she?” he asks lyla as he sets the box on the desk and opens it to find the cookies all broken. they smell delicious - something close to that bakery you liked when you’d visited earth-2067 with him on a scouting mission.

you and miguel always make a great team on missions and he hates to admit it but he’s very fond of you and he knows you're fond of him too.

it’s why his chest is aching and he needs to find you. “lyla, where is she?”

“in her room, blasting music and cleaning. give the girl a moment alone before you barge in there and make it worse.”

[chiiimchar]

Small fic based on this!

---------

"So do you think a HUGE scissors sadness could beat a small rock sadness?"

Siffrin chuckled, but kept his gaze on the unfinished chair leg, "I think so, yeah. A strong Scissors craft done by a person can still beat a rock sadness, so it could work in a hypothetical sadness versus sadness fight, can't it?"

Bonnie hummed, "I guess so? You should try that sometime."

"Are you suggesting I go explicitly against precisely what Nille told me not to do?"

Bonnie giggled, "It's not like you don't do it anyway!"

Siffrin almost messed up their carving, "No I don't!"

"Yes you do! I know things, you know?"

Siffrin grimaced, "...how do you know?"

Bonnie laughed, loud and cheerful, "For starters, you've just confirmed it!"

Siffrin groaned.

"And also, you keep going out to 'fish', come back with no fish, and looking like you got mauled by a bear."

Siffrin gasped, "No I don't! I don't lose fights!"

"If you say so."

"I do say so."

Bonnie giggled, and Siffrin exhaled, finishing up another chair leg. He blinked, "Oh! I think I'm done with the chairs."

Bonnie turned away from the stove, "You are?"

"Yeah. I just need to make the table legs, sand and assemble all of these, and I'll be done with Ms. Jill."

"Good," Bonnie says, "She sucks. I don't like her coming here so often."

Siffrin hummed, sanding the latest chair leg some more, "Are you almost done cooking? I can help if you're not."

They shook their head, tongue sticking out as they stirred the pan, "No, I'm neeearly done." They gently flipped the sweet potato fries, and promptly turned off the stove, "Ok, all done!"

"Did you salt the fish?"

Bonnie nodded, then the nod slowly turned into a shake of the head. "Forgot."

Siffrin laughed, and stood to ruffle their hair, "It's okay. I'll bring the salt once I set the table, then."

Bonnie pushed his hand away, sticking out their tongue, "Okay! I'll go wait for Nille outside!"

Siffrin smiled as they ran off the house, and set the table. The cute, nicely decorated fork for Bonnie, the plain darkless one for themself, and the one with the darkened handle for...

"NILLE'S HOME!" Bonnie exclaimed from the door, startling Siffrin into dropping the forks on the table, "Oops! Sorry!" They said, a nervous smile on their face.

Siffrin breathed deeply, and smiled at them both, "Hey, Peel."

Nille smirked at him, "Hey Crabfrin, did Bug here blow up the kitchen today?"

Bonnie groaned, "No!!!! I didn't!!!!!!"

"Results inconclusive. I was busy carving. The kitchen might just be gone."

"I didn't!! I didn't blow it up!!!!!"

Nille shook her head, fake remorse in her tone, "Wow, that's too bad. Guess we'll have to get a new kitchen."

Bonnie puffed out their cheeks, "Alright that's it. None of you get to eat my delicious and amazing fish and sweet potatoes."

Nille laughed, "Nooo! Buggg please let us have some!!"

Bonnie shook their head resolutely, "No. You were a crab. No food for you!"

Siffrin smiled, "What if I apologized and gave you a little kiss on the forehead?"

Bonnie paused. "..fine."

.

They sat down to eat.

Dinner was about as eventful as always, which is to say everyone spoke about what they did during the day (and when had Bonnie had time to do all that? Had Siffrin really been that immersed while carving?) and, of course, sent their compliments to the chef ("We MUST have someone else cooking here, the cooking is too good!", "Wow, you picked out all the fish bones? Thanks Bug!")

After that, Bonnie went to bed as Nille was on dishwashing duty, and Siffrin in drying.

"Did Mr. Flemming give you much trouble?" Siffrin asked, drying a fork and putting it away.

"Huh?" Nille tilted her head, passively scrubbing a plate, "Oh, nah, he was patient and all, he just had me waiting for long bouts of time in-between tasks. That's why I took so long to get home."

"Ah." She usually got home before Bonnie even started cooking, after all, "I see."

They cleaned for a few more minutes in comfortable silence.

"Oh, right." Siffrin said, "Do you want to come with me to watch a play, next weekend?"

"Sure," Nille answered easily, "What's it about?"

"I'm not sure, I think it's new? Something about a boy going inside of a book?"

"That sounds fun. Are we taking Bonnie?"

"If they wanna come!" Siffrin nodded, finishing up the last plate, "I don't think it's age restricted."

"Cool, we have a weekend plan, then!" Nille smiled, and walked out of the kitchen, "Don't forget tomorrow Bon has that playdate of theirs after school, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll pick them up." Siffrin nodded, removing his gloves and smiling at her, "Good night, Nille."

"See you tomorrow." She smiled back, and they both went to bed.

.

Sifffin sighed shakily under their cloak.

Bonnie never did go to that playdate. He refused to think about what happened to their little friend, and instead held Bonnie's hand tighter and they continued to run.

Chin up Siffrin.

Chin up.

[weeping-statue]

I’m not sure if your reqs are open, but if they are, could I ask for ithaqua with a fem!s/o that just kinda likes to baby him? After everything that happened to him I js wanna hold him like his mother used to 😭 poor boy def needs it. Thank you in advance 🫰

My inbox is open, dw! I made a post about it so my followers could see it in case they don’t read this!

Ithaqua just being loved on

———————————————————————-

He’s obviously touched starved, so he heavily depends on the quiet nights where you hold him and pamper him.

Sometimes you’d start him a bath with all of your favorite scents and soothing salts. Scrubbing his matted hair from his earlier matches. All the dirt and annoyance of the day being let go and washed down the drain.

Then when he’s done his rinse you dry him off and hold him close under all of the furs on your shared bed. Humming the songs he taught you from his childhood.

He was snuggled into your chest, suffocating in your boobs, content. Your fingers treaded through his damp hair. Humming softly. The familiarity calming him from the plaguing nightmares of the past, present, and future.

When he was with you like this he didn’t have to.. think. He didn’t have to make decisions. He didn’t have to worry about what mistakes he might have made or could have made.

Sometimes the thinking got too loud, the voices just couldn’t take a hint and shut up. Couldn’t leave him alone. He’s been through so much and yet he has to persevere through more? How much more must he take. How much more could you all take?

It’s an endless cycle of torment and you just couldn’t escape the ugly truth and the harsh reality. And when it all comes down to it, you start to think, is it all worth living for-

“Hey.. shh… don’t think. Don’t worry. Your safe. Your loved. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay..”

His eyes slowly opened as his thoughts were interrupted. And something just switched in his head.

It’s quiet..?

It’s quiet.

The silence he prayed for day in and day out was just handed to him so easily. And by you no less. His favorite person, his love, his one. If he could fall any further he would.

He snuggled deeper, inhaling your scent. Letting his mind shut down, and submitting himself to sleep. He doesn’t normally like to be so vulnerable. But why does it feel so good? Especially with you? What is this power you had over him that just made him.. fold?

Whatever it was, wasn’t his issue at the moment. Neither was it yours.

These nights are what he lives for.

He’d never trade these moments for anything in the world.

———————————————————————-

I hoped you like it anon! Also does anybody see the artist changes on my profile? Cause I’m just curious to see if anyone notices the different music artists I put on there when I’m in the mood for them! A fun tid bit I suppose..

[evilminji]

Back at it again with the BNHA crossover Ponderings!

Nedzu is LITERALLY one of THE smartest beings on the planet, right? Like... he's probably on some internationally recognized list of Top Planetary IQs? Which is why Japan let's him get away with so much?

Cause they REALLY fucked him over, he has the power to leave, and that would be really, REALLY bad Brain Drain wise/politically for the Japanese Government? (Also pls don't become a Supervillian we literally can not afford that, Mr. Nedzu Sir? Etc etc)

You think he has... like? Chats? With the OTHER top intellects? Some kid in Siberia with the New Super Intelligence Quirk his parents can't begin to even handle, gets put in history's WEIRDEST group chat? I like to think so.

But the REASON I ask this?

What hero do you call? For Weird Shit in international waters?

Suspicious, floating, weirdly two dimensional and HIGHLY radioactive... corrosive... green goop? Rings? Orbs? CAN it be an orb if it's two dimensional? It certainly LOOKS like there is depth to it... somehow...

A THING. In the sky.

Shouldn't be there, man. This is a shipping lane. It's scaring the people on passing ships. No one knows what Quirk could have made this. Might be a trafficking victim's call for help. Might be a first Quirk Use mishap. They need to know what it IS and how to get rid of it.

They go the normal routes first. Doesn't work. Okay, call in some professionals. Kinda pricey, but no big. Right? Doesn't work. Okaaaay, call in a SPECIALIST. REAL pricey, but this thing is holding up international trade, making people in fancy ass suit all Nervous(TM).

Doesn't Work.

Specialist tells um to not to bother with calling anyone else on their normal list. Is looking at the green goo like it spat on his mother and called his dog a whore. They would prefer he NOT make that facial expression. That is a facial expression that will get them yelled at by their bosses. Fuck(TM).

Now Politics(TM) are involved. People want to STUDY the green goo. Harness it for dubious and unknown green goo experiments. Poke it with their Quirk to see what'll happen. There's fuckin REPORTER with no concept of self-preservation, trying to get CLOSER to the RADIOACTIVE POISON GOO.

Fuckin Heros have shown up.

Why are you bastards even HERE. What? Are you peacocks gonna PUNCH it? Get off their rig! Stop posing in front of the GOO!

Then? Oh thank GOD. The SMART people show up. Certified, highest grade, triple refined, PREMIUM Nerds(TM). The WAY above our pay grade folks. We're SAVED! Can we PLEASE go home now? We are just ocean cleaners! Our job is debris! Not weird GOO!

Enter, stage Super Cool Helicopters? The Elite Nerds of Earth. Of which Nedzu is one. Since Japan is closest. And it's a school weekend! He had some time.

And?

Ha ha... Thanks, he hates it! Nedzu's stoat brain is SCREAMING and he wants NOTHING to do with...? What he is somehow CERTAIN is a floating pit of Death! Interesting effect. Anyone getting that or just him?

Then? Some hot head on loan to Korea from the states? Spots something. SomeONE. And does he TELL the newly arrived professionals? So they may do a risk assessment? Figure out a way to rescue this individual SAFELY? Of course not!

Said hot head has supposedly indescribable chains! So he just flings them rights on in! Grabbing the boy from the center of the portal, pulling him free, and in the process? Immediately destabilizing it. Causing it to collapse down towards everyone bellow.

He also then proceeds to DROP the young lad, in his alarm at this entirely predictable outcome.

Right. Into. The Ocean.

A boy, who is dressed in filthy medical scrubs, haunting familiar in a way nothing should EVER be again, and entirely unconscious. Plunge down into the briny deeps and bitter cold. Alone. Abandoned. Death, thick and viscous, losing form and raining down like bile.

Everyone saving themselves.

Ah, he rather liked this suit.

The salt water ruins it. The droplets of Green, burn like molten glass each time they touch him. He will likely have at least a few new scars, after today. Assuming this is not the end of him. But he swims fast. The boy sinking slower then his size would suggest he should. He grabs hold and arcs, dragging them both from beneath the fallout of yet another humans hubris.

He does not stop swimming. Not until he knows he is near the helicopter. He is thankful, that he dragged Aizawa along. The man takes one look at his serious expression, the state of his rescued young friend, and merely hauls them both out of the water and into the machine.

Time to go.

They saw nothing, it seems. And there is nothing to be found.

The boy does not wake. Not for quite a while. Long enough, that Nedzu, perhaps unwisely, has grown attached. Is considering adoption. If only too terrorize a few goverment bodies. And... well... the boy will need some who UNDERSTANDS. And the scars paint a very specific sort of tale. But first, the most important question, when beginning these things...

"Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?"

@the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter @hdgnj

[monst]

Where are those Bruce Wayne hcs 🤨

Oops my b forgot to post them lmao

Bruce Wayne General Hc’s

  Kinda random, Kinda angsty, 

700 wds

I don’t know where I cooked this up but a big Indiana Jones fan. And sue him he loves “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. He also enjoys rewatching “The Mummy”, “Alien”, “Jumanji”  and “Jurassic Park”. Adventure movies are his favorite. Science fiction movies are also right up his alley. 

His most prized possession is his parent's old vinyl records. He remembers learning how to dance atop Alfred’s feet as his parents danced next to them, they’d swap partners after each song. His mother's laughter as one of her favorites played “Tom this is the song we met too!” Thomas telling Bruce all about how “you should sweep your partner off your feet. After all, it worked for me~” After their passing, Alfred had made an offhanded comment “They were the worst dancers on the floor that night. But they were so happy.”  He hadn’t had the heart to play them or part with them. Also, no one play “Angel of the Morning” Near him too many memories of his mom belting the lyrics in the morning. 

Baths. Bruce Wayne is a bath whore and few people know this. Background music, incense, bubbles, candles, wine, body scrubs, and some Epsom salt for his sore muscles. He rarely gets the chance to take them since he’s usually busy but he’s always looking at his calendar to see if he can squeeze one in. Lotions up after, and ends up sleeping like a rock. Those who don’t know this about him think that the bath bombs he gets gifted him are gag gifts. 

Obligatory sock mention. Very plain sock wearer they’re either navy, white, or black. They also end up bunched up at the legs of the bed. The pets in the manor love it when his door is open because the socks accumulate and the pile gets divvied up between the two dogs and cat. He’s not very happy when he has to buy new ones either because he can’t find them or because he can’t use them. 

That being said he carries a lint roller. At all times. Has to use it frequently and since Damian doesn’t care about having his shirt look patterned he ends up going through two rollers per week. Three, if the Waynes™ need to show up. 

He has a sweet tooth. It’s not that he hides it, it’s more of a ‘They ate all the cookies’ so he can’t have any. It’s fine since they’re usually the typical sugar or chocolate chip cookies good but not his favorite. His favorite cookies are Oreshki’s and he doesn’t play about them. No one knows he likes them because this man will never share them. 

It’s not that he can’t cook. It’s more that he’s very utilitarian about it. He’s more worried about hitting his macros than he is about whether the chicken even has salt. Doesn’t have to be edible just has to fuel him. It’s not something he favors which is why he doesn’t usually cook but if not grabbing the species saves him time well your eating the most tasteless of foods. It’s not that he can’t make it taste good it’s that he doesn’t bother. Besides he can barely taste it if his attention is wrapped up in another case so no big right? 

Suffers from Google translateitis. Especially in high-stress/traumatic situations. Meaning, that brain-to-mouth filter sometimes gets run through Google Translate, and what the heck Bruce why would you say that?! Or How could you say that?! Look now you're drawing conclusions and putting words in his mouth. He was getting to it, he had to get out the negative before the positive. His brain just sorts things a bit differently, let him gather his thoughts and re-word them. And on no, they left. Story of his life and a symptom for all who suffer from Google translateitis. 

Was on Shark Tank once but his deal was so generous that they didn’t want to invite him back. “We’re supposed to take a shark deal Mr. Wayne and you just gave him a handout.” However, after the episode aired and it did numbers on tv&social media the network was blowing up his phone. So every once in a while Brucie Wayne is throwing around money in the Tank. 

[grapejuicestyless]

The Grudge

Harry Styles x fem!reader

The second part to You’re The Winner.

ANGST

Summery: based off of the song The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo!!

Some nights I still wake up wet from my own cold sweat and salty tears. I rework the script I’ve perfected until my pen runs dry and the pages are crinkled. I scribble out each word and fix it until the cut is so deep it cuts more than just through the page, but to the reader.

I was never someone who believed in doing things so they were merely good enough. No, I always thought things through until they were at their very best points. Each sentence rephrased to make the viewer understand the concept of the conversation but to catch the deeper meanings and let it make more and more sense with each rewatch.

Now I lay awake, terrified of never being enough. Is my success nothing more than a false ego I have in my head? Do these awards that sit on my shelf hold any value if nobody could recognize them? If earning these doesn’t elevate me do they even count as a prestigious award?

I never had these issues, I displayed everything proudly. Aware of how lucky I was to be able to accept these awards so graciously. Body draped in the finest pearls and hair styles to perfection. I was excited to tell the stories when people would ask. Tell them about what I was working on, encourage them to follow their hearts. My insecurities were always just that, small thoughts littered in my head meant to make me doubt my self worth. Now they felt like more.

More than just metaphorical daggers stabbing into my body and mind. I wake up in distress from more than my own voices but his. I still hear Harry’s voice after all these months. It’s the sound of the insults I throw at myself, at everything I’ve done. It’s his voice I hear every time I think I am not enough. And what he had to say about my passions and how I execute them still lingers like a scar. I hold onto every detail of what he thought of me like my life depends on it and I break myself over and over again by finding deeper meanings in his playground insults.

The trust that he betrayed, confusion that still lingers. He took everything I loved, my confidence and my pride and crushed it in between his fingers. He could run circles around me with all his money and resources. He knows it too, be both knew it. I just never believed he would use it as a way to take stabs at me.

I still stay awake fantasizing about his little fucking sorry. How he was in tears when I finally pulled away. The shocked look on his face. I feel tough in the privacy of my room. Able to beat him up in my head and make him feel guilty but never to his face. I try to understand why he would do this all to me. I make up situations to lessen the blow. The fact it was unsolicited and simply something he chose to do for fun. Still, I can not let it go that easily. Not until every ounce of doubt is scrubbed from my mind and the voices in my head no longer belong to him.

……………………………………..…………………………………………

Sitting at the Oscar’s I find my place beside Greta Gerwig and Emma Stone. I feel out of place. I’m friends with them, I know them and their secrets. They’ve led me through the obstacles and the difficulties that come with trying to get into film making. They have been nothing but kind and reassuring over how great they think I am yet I can not push down the feeling that when the cameras flash to us I will be labeled the place holder to make the crowd look more full. No matter how lavish my gown is, no matter how nice my hair is I will never shine like the women who sit beside me. I will never stand out and make my name be known and it is something I can not come to terms with.

To rub salt in the wound I sit there and compare each category I am placed in to everyone else. I read out the nominees on the pamphlet they hand out like we are watching a youth theatre production of a marvelous broadway play. I barely make the cut for best assistant director. I read the names beside mine and I try not to get myself worked up.

I am not Greta Gerwig, I am no Christopher Nolan. I am Y/n Y/l/n. I am a woman who dreams bigger than she can possibly ever achieve. And I try not to get in over my head, but I always do. I strive to be the best and still I get trampled over.

I read the names over and over, flipping through the pages. I read the names under each category. Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, Adele…I think about if I should’ve taken up music. I can’t sing very well but I have so much to write about. I have so many feelings and so many things to argue that I simply can not relay through film. Not at my level anyway. Joe releasing it must be to put a pen to paper and just write whatever you feel because the darkest emotions write the best songs.

It’s the sickest joke the way the names continue to go down the line. The eleven letter name in bold italics with an invisible circle around it and arrows pointed to make sure I see it. Harry Styles is up for best original song. Not only that, but I’d heard it too. Stayed up with him while we wrote it. He was so sure it wasn’t good enough and I sat there supporting him.

I stayed awake comforting him while he cried over his million dollar piano. Tears ruining the ivory and the clear shine. How idiotic I was to have been so kind to someone who so easily tore me down like I was nothing more than a pawn to remind him of his greatness. I knew the song was beautiful. His name was golden among the others competing for such an important award. One that would recognize his talent and secure his name in Hollywood. A lump formed in my throat. If I didn’t believe him then, I did now. I wasn’t some prophecy. I didn’t have a title to my name to prove. I was someone who got lucky once. My work was nothing compared to his.

………………………………………………………………………………….

They called the nominees for each category, listing off the winners one by one. We grew closer and closer to the major categories that would have the TMZ headlines buzzing by the morning. When it was my turn to be called, I couldn’t help but feel jitters and anxiety pass through my veins.

I’d heard about everyone else. All of their movies staples in my Friday movie night routines I had continued even without Harry there to occupy a portion of the couch. I laughed, I cried, I thought deeply about each movie. I couldn’t help but feel nervous that I was up against people so much stronger than I was.

My picture on the screen showcased my much more recognizable friends shaking my shoulders. We were unprofessional and excited to see how I could be recognized. They made me feel that even if I didn’t win, it was well worth it because the academy, as rigged as we all secretly knew it was, had chosen me of all people to list along with a handful of others. It was an honor for me to be here, beside my best friends and my hero’s.

The name that rang through the microphone didn’t match mine. It wasn’t even close, yet I felt fine. The hands slipped from my shoulders to clap along with the crowd. My photo minimized to showcase the woman who had rightfully won over me. Still, my shoulders were heavy and my heart sunk. How nice it could’ve been to go home with that. Be able to hold it up to the sky and thank my brothers and sisters for helping me get there.

Greta and Emma tried to make me feel better. Nothing hurt worse than working up an excitement only to have it ripped away from you. It worked, for a minute. How blissfully unaware I was that the categories grew closer and closer to the one that involved the one man I couldn’t bare to think about now. I barely registered the way they prepared the stage to announce his category until the talking turned to whispers and the softest sniffles echoed.

He looked handsome on the big screen. His hair was darker than I remember it being, I assumed he dyed it for tonight. His shoulders were broad in his suit and his face was cleanly shaven. If his eyes could speak they would be a jumble of words that expresses different emotions. He bit his lip and toyed with his rings. I caught him picking the skin by his thumb. I wanted to yell at him to stop, it was a bad habit we tried so hard to break. But he wasn’t mine anymore. I no longer existed as a best friend to him, someone else could place their hand over his and silently relay their own thoughts to him.

The sour feeling in my heart curtailed like milk when his picture took up the entire screen. The way he stood and hugged the people around him. He was surrounded by friends and family alike that supported him in ways I used to. If it were a few years ago, that would’ve been me beside him. His plus one to an event I was already attending simply because he was everything to me.

Watching him accept that award was the final straw. How he walked up to the stage in no rush, fixing his coat on the way and running a hand through his hair. He had a lazy smirk on his face that would make anyone weak in the knees. He looked confident and yet so grateful for everything happening to me. I felt confused by his attitude. How cocky he was in private, he was so good at masking the real Harry when it came to keeping a good public image. It was some kind of pathological lier type of bullshit that made my throat close and heart pound.

In his speech he thanked his mom and his dad. He thanked his sister and his friends. His ex-Bandmates and his producers. A full list of names, he went on and on and yet my name never came up. He thanked people who didn’t even know him on the crinkled piece of paper shaking in his hands. They didn’t know his favorite color, how he preferred his eggs. He didn’t like celery but he loved peas. Mushed, soggy, fresh. He would spoon them onto his plate like a mad man. They didn’t know he slept with his socks on because he felt scared something might try to grab at him at the end of the bed even now. He was childish in a mature way. Fears he carried form childhood that he couldn’t shake, they didn’t know that and yet they got the credit I deserved. I couldn’t do it then.

I could sit there and pretend to be tough, but I wanted to scream. I could sit there and say I was fine to everyone, be my professional self but I couldn’t act like it was okay anymore. To tear me down, to rewrite your past to fit the people who chose you based off fame and not on who you are, to get rid of what we once cherished was too far. I could put aside his harsh words for the sake of the night but his blatant disregard for my feelings after he’d cried over my leaving said enough.

When he left the stage I made my exit, mumbling something short of having to use the bathroom. My dress was short enough to not have to gather it between my fingers. I could walk quickly down the aisle and look at my feet on the way. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, even though they didn’t know me I felt that the look on my face would reveal it all.

The door opened harshly but had stoppers on it to silence any amount of force pushed on it. It made any angry outburst look accidental. The only indication that the door had been opened was the sliver of light the slipped through the opening of the main lobby and the dimly lighted theatre that held the greatest minds of film alike.

My feet hit the expensive carpet hard, heals digging into each design I wondered if my aggression would permanently dent the fabric, ruin the art in it.

It was colder outside of the room that I sat idly in, more free. The only people out here at this time were the few paparazzi permitted and stray employees cleaning up for the night. Flashes took my vision and I could see the headlines now.

How I would be bashed for simply showing my emotions. How they would paint me as a bitter sore loser who couldn’t even keep it together and act fine. I couldn’t blame them really. How would the world even know of how their favorite pop star had taken a hold of my heart and ruined any perception of love I had for him in a few short months.

The air outside was chilling. My skin was bare and in a way, in my artistic side of my mind I could pretend it was the literal way the world was showing how I felt. Tiny stabbing wounds across my arms creating goosebumps running up and down each exposed part of my body.

My car wasn’t there. I was out so early without warning, I became stranded not only mentally but physically. I didn’t care then. If I had to walk the streets of Los Angeles in high heals and an expensive gown. If I got mugged of all my belongings on my way home I didn’t care. I couldn’t be near anyone anymore. I couldn’t hold it together and I certainly wouldn’t fall apart for everyone to see.

Footsteps slapped against the pavement so quickly, I didn’t process the splashing of puddles or the heavy breathing approaching me. With my luck, I would already become a victim to a robbery before even turning the corner.

The hand on my arm came next. It wasn’t rough but it was firm enough to catch my attention. More than that, it was so familiar, so warm.

I felt the roughness of fingertips brushing under my bicep and the contrasting softness of his palm resting on top. His rings were warmed from his skin already, smooth against my body. I knew who the hand belonged to immediately. It was one I had held, toyed with and admired for years. One attached to a body that I adored, looked up to like a hero.

Turning, his eyes met mine. They were a darker green. I couldn’t see if from how far I was before, but he looked more tired, more sad. His eyes were dark not from anger or all the drinks I had hoped he was downing so he would forget about me, but because something was bothering him. Something heavy. He carried a lot of regret and sadness in his eyes that were once so free and careless. He seemed more calculated in his choice of words, more precise than his usual mess of sentences that came straight from his mind to his mouth.

“You didn’t have to chase after me.” I broke the silence, he was still catching his breath. He shook his head, looking down to gather himself. His pants were wet at the bottom from the pavement and his hair was falling in front of his face. I wanted to reach out and brush it back, but it wasn’t my place. I didn’t have a place in his life anymore.

“I wanted to.” He confessed, searching my face. In my head I’d like to think my expression was stone cold. One that was heartless, expressionless. I didn’t care in my head, but in my heart I did. I felt my lip quiver, I felt my eyebrows furrow. I was an open book for Harry to read.

“Why? So you could fix things? Fix us?” I escalated things quickly. I didn’t want to play his mind games. He was brilliant, people didn’t give him enough credit for it. If I allowed him to sit here and apologize while I was already feeling vulnerable, it wouldn’t matter how sincere it was. I would accept it and cave and by the morning I would hate myself for letting my heart take over my brain.

“No, don’t do that. Y/n, you were the one who walked out on me. I tried to get you to stay, and I regret not trying harder and if I could go back I would’ve begged on my knees but that doesn’t change the fact that you still left. I care about you, Y/n. You’re my best friend.” His voice was sharp, desperate. It felt so real, everything he was saying. I trusted him completely. I understood what he was feeling. Some nights I wish I had stayed. I had just put up with it. It was all the talk of my undying love that I held for Harry. A friendship that may have turned into a small crush in my head without me realizing. My undying love, now, I hold it like a grudge. The reason that forgiving and forgetting is so hard.

“Do you think I deserved it all? Harry tell me, please. Is that what you really think of me? As someone who deserved to be built up just so you could watch me fall? Is that what I was for you?” I begged him to understand what I meant. What I endured was verbally abusive, toxic, venomous. It killed me to know that my best friend thought so low of me. So poorly of the girl he swore to protect with all his heart.

“You know I never meant to.” He tried to defend himself, his hand loosened on my skin, falling down to hold my hand. His fingers intertwining in mine felt like tiny flames bursting out across my hand. It was so soft yet so hard, my body started to shake from more than just the cold.

“You are so selfish.” I shook my head, breathing in to look at the same bewildered face that looked back at me all those weeks ago. I remembered all the arguments I had won in my head against him. In the shower, in the car, in the mirror before bed. I remember all the things I didn’t say that I wish I had, all the ways I could’ve made him hurt like I had. It would’ve made me the smaller person.

The fact he looked lost about where I was coming from made it so much more difficult to not spill my guts to him there on the sidewalk. He made it so hard to not want to rip him apart with his oblivion and gaslighting tendencies. I doubt he even though about all the damage that he did.

“I just-I can’t wrap my head around how anybody could do the things you did so easily? You have everything and you still want more! You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy! I know it more than anything, I’ve lived it. Harry, hurt people, hurt people. We both drew blood but man, those cuts were never equal!” I didn’t touch him but to both of us it felt like I had slapped him in the face. Acknowledging his actions and mine that led us here made it so much more real, the end was so much more destined for our story. I tried to be tough, I tried to be mean, but still standing there after pouring out my heart and feelings I couldn’t help but crumble. A single cry tumbled from my lip. I shook my head and looked to the sky. Harry made no movement.

It was pathetic to be so torn after so much time apart. He should’ve held no weight in my heart, but he always would. He was the most important opinion in my life, even when he wasn’t present. When reworking scripts and giving direction, in the back of my head it became a constant question of if Harry thought it was enough. If it was good enough.

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” My hand ripped from his viciously. It burned the way we separated so quickly. His eyes were stuttering over mine, his mouth tried to move, hand digging through his pocket.

I no longer had time for him, not then not ever. He could pick me apart, rip my heart out and stitch it back together, point daggers at my deepest hurts but he would no longer get these reactions out of me.

My escape was the same as the last. Quick and panicked. My feet hit the pavement harder than before and my arms swung with so much force, I was pushing myself forward with each step. Farther and farther, I couldn’t find the courage to look back like before. I couldn’t stand to think about him crying again. My hatred for his actions could never compare to the love I would always hold for Harry. If he didn’t deserve me, that would be okay. But I could not live with myself knowing I made him cry again. Not even after what he did.

………………………………………………………………………………….

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” Her hand ripped from mine so quickly that it almost burnt my skin. It was like a fresh wound opening to feel her leaving not only mentally again, but physically. How her touch would never be in mine again. How she no longer belonged to me, I no longer belonged to her.

Her words set in after a hesitating moment. She meant my speech. God, how could I have been so stupid? To not realize how hurt she must’ve been to be erased so easily from the narrative. Like the nights spent together and the laughter and tears meant nothing. The piano ruined and her shirt soaked by my tears. The shirt that was really mine. I wondered if she still had it after all this time. It always did look better on her than me. I would give her everything if I could.

I dug through my pockets quickly to find it, the crinkled piece of paper with all the names on it. All the words I wanted to say but knew I would stumble over in my own nerves if I were to win. My hands were shaking so bad, I couldn’t grasp it in time. She was gone.

Something about this time told me that she wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t stop. Not even the most guttural cry could make her look back. I had hurt her over and over again. Still, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was until the word held no meaning and sounded odd coming from my lips. Like it was no longer real. She owed me none of her time.

So I stood there by myself, in the light rain that fell over Los Angeles, wet and alone. My paper was wrinkled in my hands, creased and bent messily. I looked down at the handwriting that didn’t really look like mine. How even in my excitement to be nominated, the loss of Y/n was so heavy it was hard to do anything. The pen was too heavy. I couldn’t do anything I once loved without her support. I looked down at all the names. My mother, my sister. They weren’t even first on the list. The first name I had written down, Y/n Y/l/n. My best friend.

I hadn’t read it out because I thought she wouldn’t want me to. I didn’t want to take away from an important night for her. Steal the spotlight from her award I was certain she would win by placing her name onto mine.

I was so sure she would win. She would be happy and we could reconnect. I had watched the movie, I watched all of her movies. She was the best of us. Always a talented writer, always having a new idea to jot down. Her napkins were sketch pads and her notes app was a dictionary of her favorite books and inspirations for shots. I know nobody with a mind like hers, one as creative and brilliant. I’m not sure why I tore her down all those days. Made her feel worthless when she was one of the best things in my life.

Even after all of this, she was and would always be everything to me. I could try and try and try to forget her and erase her from my life but she would always carry a piece of me around with her. I would always have hints of her in my home, in my wardrobe. She was everywhere without even being there.

She was my best friend.

[supernova-stardust]

i should be working on about a million other things, but instead i started writing a new jegulus fic lmao

modern au, sirius and regulus have a good relationship, coffee shop au, regulus learns why life is worth living (spoiler: it’s james. and a cat.)

untitled, 2769 words, unfinished but this snippet leaves off at a good point

***vague mentions of sui attempt, nothing specific or descriptive***

fic after the break 🖤

Regulus thought he knew loneliness before, but nothing prepared him for the emptiness that he was left with upon returning home after his hospitalization. One of the stipulations of his discharge was that he couldn’t stay home alone for the first couple of weeks and so his older brother, Sirius, trails through the door behind him with a gym bag full of clothes and other things he deemed necessary. He closes the door to Regulus’ apartment behind him then drops the bag on the floor next to him as he kicks off his combat boots. Regulus stares at the mismatched socks on his feet, one green and one blue, and wonders if there will ever be a time when he learns to care so little about details like that. Where Sirius learned to care less about what other people think about him and the way he presents himself, Regulus internalized perfection in every facet of his life.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Regulus says as he turns away and walks further into his apartment that feels less like home than it ever did. He can’t say that he found comfort in the hospital, far from it, but something about his stay made everything here feel less and less like his.

“Reggie,” Sirius’ voice is thick with concern as he hangs his leather jacket on the hook in the entryway. “Can’t we just chill for a bit first? Maybe watch a movie or something?”

“I’m not gonna kill myself in the shower, Sirius,” he shoots over his shoulder and keeps walking towards the bathroom. “But I might if I don’t wash the film from the hospital off my skin.”

Sirius storms up behind him and grabs his shoulder, whipping him around to look him in the eyes. “Don’t fucking joke like that. Not yet. I really thought I lost you, you know.” His eyes well with tears and his face pales and before Regulus can comprehend what’s happening, he’s being pulled into a tight embrace. He’s pretty sure he’s been hugged more times in the past few weeks than he ever has in his entire life.

Regulus finds himself rubbing Sirius’ back, internally cringing at the idea of soothing his brother when he was the one who was pushed so far by the demands of his everyday life that he opted to end it. “I promise to stop making jokes about killing myself for one week if you let me go take a shower, deal?”

“Leave the door open?” Sirius asks as he pulls away and wipes away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks.

“If it’ll make you feel better, sure.”

“It will.”

“Fine,” Regulus agrees as he walks down the hall to the bathroom. He shucks off his clothes and tosses them into the hamper. The hoodie and sweats were clean just a couple of hours ago, but he smells so strongly of hospital and sanitizer that he’s deemed them dirty already. He’ll probably need to wash them multiple times before he’s able to get the smell fully out of them and even then, he’s not sure that he wants to see those particular clothes ever again.

He scrubs at his skin, washing himself at least a half a dozen times before his skin turns pink and he decides that he smells enough like his typical cedar and sea salt soap to be considered clean. His hair is next. The hospital provided 3-in-1 product caused his usual soft waves to matte and lay flat on his head, so he takes his time scrubbing with his shampoo a few times before slathering more conditioner than he would typically ever use and gently detangles with his fingers. When his hair is detangled and his fingers are pruned, he finally turns off the water and wraps a towel around his waist.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he nearly trips. Sirius is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, one leg bent and the other outstretched across the narrow hallway. He bangs his head on the wall when he looks up at Regulus with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I was worried.”

“Are you gonna be like this the whole time?”

“At least for a few weeks,” he closes his eyes and leans his head on the wall behind him. “I’m a bit clingy now, Moony has encouraged my bad behavior and I’m afraid you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“You’re literally 28, you’re not old.”

Sirius barks a laugh and tucks his feet under himself so he can stand up. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” Regulus deadpans as he walks past Sirius to his bedroom so he can put on a fresh change of clothes.

When Sirius had started dating Remus, or Moony as he tends to call him, Regulus knew their parents wouldn’t be happy, but he hadn’t thought it would change the trajectory of all of their lives. Sirius had decided to show their parents, rather than tell them, about his new boyfriend by bringing him home for Sunday dinner. Growing up Catholic, Sundays were a day reserved for devotion to God and family. Sirius was in college, Regulus a senior in high school still living at home, and had told their parents that he had been seeing someone special for a few months. Their parents invited Sirius and “the lovely lady” for dinner and instead it was Remus who walked through the door with his fingers interlaced with Sirius’. That was the most tense and silent meal that had ever occurred at the Black household.

When Sirius had returned home for the summer, their parents gave him an ultimatum: conversion therapy or be disowned. Sirius had packed his bags that night.

Regulus hadn’t heard from Sirius for a few months after that. He got accepted into his first choice college and tried to distract himself with schoolwork. He avoided getting close with any of his classmates and did his best to make himself scarce when his dorm mate, Evan, was around. He’d go into a local cafe with his noise canceling headphones and bury himself in studying while drinking more coffee than was probably healthy. On one of those days, Sirius had plopped himself in the seat across from him and glowered. His hair was longer, half of it pulled away from his face in a messy bun, and he had a few tattoos visible on his neck, collarbone, and knuckles.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts or calls?” Sirius had asked when Regulus wrenched his headphones away from his ears.

“The fuck? You’re the one not answering me.” Regulus had slammed his laptop shut and returned the glare that Sirius was giving him.

Turned out, their parents had blocked the brothers from being able to communicate. When Regulus had confronted them about it, they claimed it was for Regulus’ own good. They didn’t want their ‘only son to be influenced by sinners.’ At that, Regulus had laughed and said that he’d known he was gay since he was a child. He hasn’t spoken to his parents since.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Sirius yells from outside his bedroom, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Do you really have to ask?” Regulus tugs his shirt on as he shouts back.

He hears Sirius groan before yelling “don’t you ever get sick of watching 10 Things I Hate About You?”

“No, actually.” Regulus deadpans, walking into the living room to see Sirius sitting on the couch fiddling with the remote. “There’s something soothing about watching Patrick fuck up so royally and still win the girl at the end.”

“You need more therapy.”

“Obviously. Now put the movie on, I’ll make popcorn.”

***

In the morning, Regulus goes through his morning routine and feels his nerves settle for the first time in weeks. The thing no one talks about when you’re hospitalized is how disrupted your everyday life is. Of course there’s the whole ‘in the hospital’ bit, but it’s the little routines that calm Regulus’ nerves that, because of his particular brand of mental illness, they always try to interrupt. Exposure therapy or something, they say. He thinks it’s bullshit.

And so he finds comfort in waking up at exactly seven, stretching for fifteen minutes, brushing his teeth, showering, being meticulous about his skincare and styling his hair. These are all little things that he usually takes for granted in his daily life that suddenly became impossible to uphold when other people were checking in on him and watching his every move. He dresses in an oversized burgundy knit sweater and black trousers and grabs his bag. Pulling out his headphones, he slips them around his neck, then double checks that his laptop is safely inside and heads towards the living area towards the front door. Sirius is laying on the couch with blankets wrapped tightly around his body and surprisingly, is awake and staring at his phone.

“Didn’t think you’d be awake yet,” he says to Sirius as he grabs his favorite black oxfords and slides them on.

Sirius grunts sleepily in response. “Didn’t get much sleep, if I’m honest. Your couch sucks.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Regulus says blandly. “I know they said I couldn’t be alone, but I’m fine—”

“Reggie, I’m staying.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“Me staying is the only reason you were allowed to leave, you know that. You were at that meeting.”

“Fine,” Regulus relents. “I’m going out, I’ll be gone for a few hours. Do you want coffee when I come back?”

“Are you going to Galactic Grounds?”

“I go there every day, Sirius. They’re the only place that makes good coffee around here.” Plus the guy that works there is cute as hell, but Regulus refuses to say that part out loud to his older brother. “Do you want coffee or not?”

“Yeah, I’d love coffee. Text me when you get there?”

“Sirius—”

“And when you’re headed home? I promise I’ll chill out in a few days, just humor me. Please?”

“Fine, bye.”

“Love you, Reggie.”

“Love you, Sirius.”

***

As he makes his way into the cafe, Regulus pulls his headphones down to hang around his neck. The shop is generally pretty quiet, but the whirring of machines and general chatter are enough to make him flinch anyway. He stands in line, waiting as patiently as possible and mindlessly scrolling on his phone. When he looks up and glances behind the counter, he sees the cute guy who always makes his coffee just right. James.

James looks up from the machine where he’s steaming milk and fumbles the little metal pitcher. The smile on his face lights up the entire shop. “Reg, hey!” James seemingly abandons the steaming milk to stare at him until the customer at the front of the line clears their throat. James’ cheeks turn red. He apologizes to the customer and then directs himself back at Regulus. “Can you stay so we can catch up?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be here for a while. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.” He really didn’t. The novel he’s been working on isn’t exactly going anywhere and his and Sirius’ Uncle Alphard made sure that all of their needs were met, so ‘work’ wasn’t exactly a necessity. It was just something to keep himself busy and to take his mind off things. ‘Things’ being mostly coping with mental illness and childhood trauma, if he’s honest.

Regulus goes to pull out his wallet to pay for the coffee when James stops him. “Nah,” he says. “On the house. It’s just a black coffee, Reg.”

Regulus cringes a bit at feeling like he owes back a favor, but tries to shake the feeling. This was something they worked on in group therapy; sometimes people just want to do nice things for you. Let them. And so he picks up the coffee and brings it over to his usual table in the corner. He settles into the comfortable booth and pulls out his laptop, staring at the screen asking for his password while he processes the fact that James wanted to catch up with him. Catch up? They’ve never even had a conversation beyond simple pleasantries.

He moves to readjust his headphones over his ears when he notices James throwing his apron on the rack near the bar and striding over to where he’s seated.

“Hey,” James says as he noisily pulls a chair out so he can sit. When he sits, he scooches himself in, the chair dragging and screeching the whole time. Regulus does his best not to make an expression at the sounds, but clearly his face betrays him because James quickly apologizes.

“Hi,” Regulus tentatively replies. He has no idea what he’s doing, normally he avoids conversations like this. The rehearsed small talk and polite niceties are fine for transactional interactions, but sitting here with James staring at him, he feels exposed. “So,” he tries. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” James grins. “How about you? You usually come in daily and I haven’t seen you for weeks. Did you do anything fun? I missed seeing you.”

Regulus flinches at that. Of course sweet, wholesome James would immediately want to know what fun and exciting things he got up to while he was away. It would never even cross his mind that Regulus had disappeared because he tried to off himself, then when Sirius found him, he’d been hospitalized for weeks. “No,” Regulus says in as level of a tone as he can manage. “I didn’t do anything fun, but I did do lots of crafts.”

“Oh, uh— Okay. That’s cool. I didn’t know you were crafty.”

“I’m not.”

James stares at him in confusion before he laughs, bright and carefree. “Fuck, you’re funny Reg. I don’t even think you mean to be.”

“Look, I do have a lot of work to do—”

“Sorry, yeah. My break is almost over too, but I just wanted to… I know this isn’t professional or anything, and honestly I’ve been avoiding it because I know this is a weird dynamic where I make you the perfect coffee every day and you don’t wanna lose that in case it goes poorly, but I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while and just— You not being around for a bit made me worried I wouldn’t get a chance to ask you again, so while I still have the guts, will you let me take you out sometime?”

“You want to go out on a date… with me?” Regulus has never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. This sunshine golden retriever of a man wanted to take him out on a date?

“I mean— Sorry if I read you wrong, if you’re not interested in guys, or uh… me, that’s cool. I’ll keep making your perfect coffee and no harm done. I just figured I’d shoot my shot, y’know?”

“I am— Interested. In guys.” Regulus pauses for a moment, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. He hasn’t had anyone ask him out on a proper date before. Typically, he just goes about things the old fashioned way: dating apps and swiping until he finds a reasonable match. It never goes well, but it never goes poorly enough that it’s stopped him from the cycle either. When he looks at James, really takes him in and realizes that he hasn’t explained that he wants to go on the date, he quickly adds, “I’m interested in you too. I’ve always thought you were cute.”

James beams then hands him his phone. “Can you enter your number? I’ll text you and we can make more concrete plans?”

At first, Regulus is shocked by the casualness at which James just… hands him his phone. Then he realizes that James probably never had parents who pried or jealous ex boyfriends who demanded to read every text exchange. He enters his phone number in a new text and texts himself the star emoji so that he has James’ number too and hands back his phone.

James glances at his phone and then asks, “Why the star emoji?”

“For my name.”

James stares at him in confusion, but as he opens his mouth to ask he hears his co-worker calling out for him to come back from his break. “Fuck, I’m late. Sorry—”

“Go, James.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you later okay?”

“Okay.” Regulus smiles softly as he watches James stand up from the chair across from him and rush back to his place behind the bar.

[danieyells]

When i was cleaning up and filling out Leo's voicelines the other day I briefly got caught in the "i'm gonna take a bath, wanna come with? Yes really" one he says in winter regardless of affinity. And how Leo had 0 hesitation when it came to holding pc's hand and leaning against them to use his stigma. And how he hugs onto Sho's arm at the beginning, and must hang onto Sho's waist whenever they're both riding Bonnie. And how he has no particular boundaries when it comes to physical affection or his body when it comes to other people if he thinks they're kind of okay to be around or needs something from them--everyone else, however, is filthy and not allowed to touch him.

And I just imagined him taking a bath with mc--"but first, we have to take a shower so we're not sitting in a tub of our own filth."

And he doesn't think anything of that he's naked with them, that they're in his shower, that they're using his soap and they're gonna smell like him. He has no awkwardness about it. Turn around so he can wash your back, you are not getting hidden dirt in his nice bath.

And the bath itself is full of bubbles. There are candles lit on the edge of the tub. Leo doesn't really talk much while they soak, mostly scrolls through his phone or reads or just sits and enjoys his bath. It's. . .comfortable. And quiet. Sometimes he shows them something on his phone or pretends to be recording a video of/with them to tease them. But for the most part it's. . .surprisingly peaceful.

And he does this with Sho, especially if Sho gets hurt. A hot bath will ease the pain, so come get in the shower so I don't have to hear you whine. You always take such quick showers, you're gonna be super gross Sho! Why do you always let your hair get so long anyway? There's always so much of it to wash. You're getting even more muscular with all that sparring Cap's making you do! You're gonna be a himbo just like him❤️

And Leo runs a steaming hot bath full of epsom salt and all kinds of good stuff so his body guard can heal a little faster. And they soak in peace for a while and Sho's so used to this particular little bonding activity, the fact that he smells like cookie dough on his way out doesn't even phase him. Leo's at his nicest when he gets to have a quiet bath with someone

Eventually, Leo manages to convince Alan into a bath with him too. Maybe he ended up a little hurt on a mission--a long soak will do him some good, won't it? You're probably worse than Sho, you probably always take little five minute showers and wash 'the important bits' like your whole body isn't important. You're not allowed in the tub until every inch of you has been scrubbed and exfoliated so let's get to work!

Alan feels very awkward sitting still in a bathtub like this--last time he had a bath was probably last time he found a hotspring while hiking--but Leo's tub is big enough for both of them. It does feel really nice--he doesn't know why Leo threw in some weird ball that made the water change color and made it smell like lavender but he guesses it's nothing to complain about. Weirdly enough it's so chill and comfortable he can't help but doze off. . .if he wakes up to Leo napping against his chest then what's he supposed to do though?

[jungle-angel]

"I Don't Need A Nurse" (Sentry x Reader)

Summary: Your husband insists that he can take care of himself, but just this once, he'll let you help him

Warnings: Light smut (ya'll know the rules), hurt, injuries etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist

You didn't realize how long you had been asleep until you blinked your eyes open and found your copy of "The Mists Of Avalon" splayed on the floor, the pages slightly dog-eared and crumpled from the fall. You picked it up and stuck it on the coffee table, rubbing the grog from your eyes, surprised that it had already gotten dark out.

You looked at F.R.I.D.A.Y's screen in the kitchen, each one with a small, typed message from the rest of the team. A few were due to return in an hour, some were still out for the night and others had gone to help down at S.H.I.E.L.D due to an emergency. A loud meow from Goose had caught your attention, the orange tabby hopping up onto the kitchen counter and his tail swishing as you scratched his ears.

All of a sudden you felt something warm around your ring finger on your left hand. You looked down and found that your wedding ring, the one Jane and Thor had made in the dwarven forges of Asgard, was glowing bright white.

Robert.

You saw something streak across the sky followed by the sound of a quinjet approaching the landing pad outside. Relieved though you were, it was unusual that your husband and the rest of the team was home this early.

You rushed outside with Goose hot at your heels, the engines on the jet dying down and the back hatch opening. Out stepped Steve and Robert first and the rest of the team behind them, your husband looking a little worse for wear. The white hospital scrubs were torn and tattered, his hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, the paper tag bracelet still around his wrist and a pained look on his face.

You rushed right to him and he immediately caught you in his arms. "Oh baby......baby......m'so hot and tired," he panted.

"What happened?" you asked him.

"Mission took longer than we thought," he winced.

"Why don't you two go inside," Steve told you both. "We'll finish up here."

You helped Robert back into the tower, your ring having cooled down and the glow now so faint that it could hardly be seen. It took a while, but at last he was home and in your shared apartment where he could rest.

You ran a hot bath in the adjoining bathroom, not even bothering to measure the epsom salts you had dumped into the steaming water. You had tried the traditional way of getting his clothes off, but Robert was in so much pain that he could barely lift his arms.

You went straight to the First Aid kit in the medicine cabinet and pulled out the surgical scissors, cutting away the ratty scrubs that would be used for kitchen rags later on. Robert sucked in a breath as you helped him into the hot water and helped him clean the cuts, scratches and bruises that were all over him.

"Baby thank you," he croaked.

You kissed the crown of his head and put a cold soaked washcloth on the back of his neck. "You know I'd do anything for you," you whispered.

As soon as Robert was done, you helped him out and left a fresh set of clothes on the bed for him just in case he wanted them, but sleeping naked seemed to be the better option, even with the air conditioning going.

"Aw fuck!" he hissed, laying on his back. "Fuckin hurts."

"Well shit Bob where doesn't it hurt?" you chuckled.

"Here," he said, pointing to his cheek.

You rolled your eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his soft cheek.

"Right here," he mumbled, pointing to the other.

You kissed his other cheek. You could feel the lazy smile forming on his face already.

Robert silently pointed to his lips, a yearning look in his eyes and the need and want for you burning inside him. Your lips met his, the kiss sweet and gentle but passionate and fiery all at once. You let it linger as his eyes fluttered shut and soon he was quietly snoring away in deep sleep. You crawled in next to him, your head resting on his chest and the strong beat of his heart putting you to sleep.

[ciginatree]

ohhh myy goddd this post got me thinkin about how the miw members would be in the bedroom :((((

chris is heavy on the brain today

I've got you friend

Also thank you so so so so so much for your patience with this one idk why it took me so long to complete

Chris: He's very into BDSM, but is incredibly careful not to cross any boundaries. If you show any signs of discomfort he stops immediately to assess how you're feeling. He loves it rough; bondage, leather, whips, all the stops. He's big and uses that to his advantage, loving how he can tower over you and pin you down to easily. He knows what he likes and sticks to it, however, he's never opposed to a tender love making session.

Chris Aftercare: Chris is the king of aftercare. He knows exactly what to say and how to hold you to make you feel comforted and loved. He has all kinds of fluffy blankets and comfy clothes for you in case you forget to bring an extra pair. He's more than willing to hold an ice pack to any areas that are sore or bruised.

Ryan: He loves any position where he has control, but his favorites are doggy and cowgirl. When it comes to foreplay, he tends to be impatient. It's not that he doesn't want to give you the attention you deserve, he just wants to be inside you as soon as possible. He likes to degrade you, only if you're comfortable of course, with lots of dirty mutterings and the occasional spanking. He's not very vocal about his own pleasure, some sighs, groans, and grunts at most.

Ryan Aftercare: He's less attentive when it comes to aftercare, but if you ask him to do anything, he'll do it without hesitation. He likes being lazy after sex; it takes a lot out of him. He loves having you lay on his chest while he pets your hair slowly as you both drift off to sleep.

Justin: Missionary with your legs over his shoulders is his favorite, because he can see just how small you are compared to him when you're underneath. One of his favorite things to do is to carry on a normal conversation while he's fucking your brains out to see how dumb he can get you on his cock. He's a tease; edging you until you're in tears, faking sympathy when you're overstimulated, and just about anything else you can think of.

Justin Aftercare: He's very gentle, cleaning you up and carrying you to the bathroom where he'll run a warm bath with salts, bubbles, and lotions. He'll get in with you, laying you back against his chest while he scrubs you clean with scented body wash.

Ricky: Loves missionary so he can see exactly what he's doing to you, and side by side facing each other to be close to you. Thank you @throwingmetothelions for this post because now I firmly believe that Ricky uses essential oils during sex. He's balanced perfectly between rough and caring, praising and degrading you at the same time. He's into anal (only if you are too, of course), some types of bondage, and spanking. Beyond that, he's willing to experiment.

Ricky Aftercare: He's also extremely serious about aftercare. He does his research and asks you about it so he knows what to keep stocked and what to do. However, it doesn't tend to last long with him because he's a busy man with lots to do, but if you need him, he'll always stay longer.

Vinny: Cowgirl and missionary are tied for his two favorite positions. One the one hand, with cowgirl, he can grope your tits and relax while you ride him. But, on the other hand, he can be right down on top of you in missionary, moaning into your neck. He tends to be vocal in bed, never shy about letting you know how good you feel. He loves holding your hand the whole time, even if he's rough. Although, secretly he's a switch at heart.

Vinny Aftercare: He didn't know much about aftercare until you mentioned it to him. He's constantly double checking that he's doing it right, even though he's going above and beyond. He loves spooning and talking about life; he tends to be more vulnerable and open right after sex.

Tags; @abiomens @exitwoundsx @Shilohrosechicken @rumoured-whispers @eternallytiredsinger @miss570

[karniss-bg3]

Midnight Snack

In the late hours of the evening Tav found themselves hungry. Moonrise was uncharacteristically quiet and still, many of its denizens out on patrol or assigned to various parts of the withered city. Tav enjoyed these rare moments of solace and solitude especially considering how often they were under scrutiny by the dark residents. They wandered into the kitchen, an area that was in various states of cleanliness. Pots and pans were scattered about haphazardly and a slightly musty aroma lingered in the air likely from the build-up of dust and rot. Despite this Tav wasn’t willing to sacrifice a proper meal regardless of their surroundings.

They got to work gathering what pans and utensils they could scavenge which still held promise, dumping them into a wash basin to give a good scrub down. While elbow deep in the soapy water their ears pricked when they heard a familiar clicking nearby. However, it wasn’t at ground level. Rather it was along the walls within the room, shifting as it seemed to come closer. Tav knew that sound, growing accustomed to it in their short time in Moonrise. Carefully they let their gaze drift to their peripheral managing to catch a fleeting glance of a certain drider looming nearby, moon lantern suspiciously absent. Kar’niss had likely heard the commotion and opted to come investigate, perched on one of the walls close to the ceiling. Unfortunately, he was too large to walk upside down but he did take advantage of the darker corners to keep himself moderately concealed. Tav pretended not to notice resuming the task at hand but kept an ear out all the same.

Eventually they finished cleaning and wandered over to the wood stove, tossing in a few logs and lighting it with a fire cantrip. A fire roared into life with such fervor that Kar’niss backed away and smushed himself tighter into the corner, quietly hissing to himself. Tav said nothing as they dusted off their hands. They knelt down next to their travelers pack digging through the contents until they found the ingredients they were after. Much of the available food in this area was rotten or less than ideal, long past its expiration date. It made Tav thankful that they had extra supplies from their journey through the mountain pass. They cut up sausages, onions, carrots and a bit of garlic which were dumped into the heated pan on the stove top. The ingredients started to sizzle on contact, a notion that caught the drider’s attention, leaning forward with a hint of curiosity while maintaining a wide gap of distance.

“Hungry?” Tav asked, keeping their gaze on the food.

Kar’niss jerked from some surprise, gazing about with some haste as if confused on who Tav was asking. He realized no one else was in the room bar the pair of them which made him shift with some nerves.

“We do not eat what True Soul eats,” his voice quiet.

Tav used a spatula to stir the contents of the pan to prevent it from burning, the various aromas mingling together drowning out the musty smell of the room. “A shame, this is a good meal. Also, you can call me Tav if you wish. True Soul sounds so...formal.”

Kar’niss’ eyes squinted, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, Majesty bids we address you as She wills it.”

Tav hummed and nodded knowing better than to push the issue further. They went back to cooking, grabbing a bit of lemon to squeeze over the meat for added kick and finally some salt and pepper to taste. “Curiously, what is it you do eat?” Kar’niss took a cautious step closer, more of his twisted form revealed in the dim light. “Blood. We must feed every four days, more often is ideal.”

“Heh, sounds like someone I know,” they mused. “Well are you able to at least have a taste? You still have a mouth, seems silly that you can’t at least sample what I’ve made.”

The drider pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can, but why would we? Pointless.”

Tav dumped the contents of the pan onto a plate, using a fork to scrape it into a manageable pile. They’d then wander over to where Kar’niss was perched, peering up at him in his cozy corner.

“Because I still owe you for saving my skin the other day. I’d be a corpse if you hadn’t acted quickly. This isn’t much of a thank you, granted, but it is a start.” They’d smile and stab the fork into the meat and vegetables. “You’ll have to come down though, I’m unable to reach you from here.”

A deep, vibrating growl rumbled in Kar’niss’ throat although it was not threatening, more like confused annoyance. At first it seemed he had no intention of answering the request, perfectly happy high up on the wall away from the perceived pest. Tav waited patiently able to see the mental journey Kar’niss was going through due to his conflicted expressions.

“Tch, if it pleases the True Soul then it also pleases our Queen,” Kar’niss concluded.

Hesitantly Kar’niss descended, his legs clinging to the stone walls barely managing to keep him aloft. He’d lean down as Tav lifted up their arm, extending the fork toward his mouth once in range. The former drow sniffed at the collection of food skewered through the metal prongs, his head jerking back as if the smell offended him.

“Come now, it’s not as bad as all that. Just one bite and I promise I’ll let you be,” Tav said.

Kar’niss sighed, his reddish eyes darting between the fork and Tav, his arms defiantly crossed over his chest. He leaned closer, his lips trembling as if he worried the food would bite back. With a sharp snap of his head his mouth took in most of the fork, lips forming a seal. He’d then jerk back using his lips to free the food stuffs from captivity, backing up and away from Tav as he did so. With his mouth full at first he looked stumped as if unsure what to do. Who knows how long it had been since he’d consumed solids and his recent inexperience was showing. Tav looked on but allowed Kar’niss to take his time, recalling how temperamental the drider could be.

He’d soon will his jaws into working, fangs gnashing awkwardly at the portion with some struggle. Thankfully it hadn’t been a large serving, soon conquering the morsels and alleviating his mouth with an audible gulp. His expression scrunched and a shiver ran down his spine as if the entire performance was most unholy. “Awful. Tastes like sawdust,” He concluded with a spit. He stuck his tongue out and began furiously wiping his palms over the surface to rid himself of any remaining particles.

Tav blinked at his assessment before a wide smile creased their lips, followed by an amused chuckle.

“I suppose I didn’t know what I expected. Your taste buds were probably permanently altered when you changed considering your new diet. As you said, pointless. I thank you for humoring me all the same, Kar’niss.” Tav scooped up a fork full for themselves, popping it into their mouth with a pleased crunch. They didn’t seem concerned about eating after the drider, something he took notice of.

Tav retreated to a nearby table to sit and finish their meal. Even though their interaction appeared to have concluded, Kar’niss remained. He smacked his lips together, rolling his tongue behind his teeth, trying to collect a hint of the offerings natural taste. Alas it appeared such was not meant to be. He peered at Tav with some confusion. They were easily the most bizarre True Soul he’d ever encountered and he wasn’t sure what to make of them. He rubbed the back of his neck while his eyes blinked intermittently out of sync, watching the strange individual while they ate.

“I do have a question,” Tav began between bites, “before you changed, what did you like to eat?”

The question caught him off guard, his mouth opening as if to speak yet his voice escaped him. It took him time to think it over to recall such a distant memory, scanning the depths of his broken mind. He shrank in place when he dug too deep, memories resurfacing in bits and pieces, many of which made his stomach churn. It took real effort to shove certain thoughts away in order to focus on what he wanted to recall.

“Grilled...rothé. I liked grilled rothé and zurkhwood mushrooms.”

“Ah, underdark cuisine. Makes sense. Well, if I can ever get my hands on either maybe I can make it for you. It might taste like sawdust but it’ll be a nice break from blood, hm?” Tav finished off their plate feeling far more sated.

The drider’s face scrunched up with some anger, crawling down the wall to step on the floor below. “Why does True Soul care? We do not need these things! All that matters is our Majesty’s will, Her desires! We must focus on guiding more faithful to Her path and that should be your only concern.”

Tav looked up from their empty plate as Kar’niss stomped over, his form tall and imposing especially with Tav seated as they were. They’d look up at him able to glean the conflicted wave of emotions etched in his expression.

“Are you not one of her faithful?”

“Tch, we are Her most faithful!”

“Who is to say I was not sent here to reward you for your service?”

Kar’niss felt every muscle in his torso tense in unison as if a minotaur had punched him in the chest. He backed down from the table lifting one hand to grasp at his hair, bewildered by such a bold statement.

“What is the True Soul suggesting?” “I am suggesting that our Queen sent me to look out for you. She led me to the lyre, She led me through the mountain pass, and She led me to you. Is it really such a far fetched notion, after everything you’ve done?”

Tav knew what they said was dishonest and they were playing a dangerous game. But they couldn’t hope to make leeway unless they humored the notion of the Absolute to some degree. Their very presence at Moonrise risked being compromised at any given moment. They had spoken with many in the tower and deemed most of them beyond saving. Most, except for Kar’niss. Tav’s gaze settled firmly on Kar’niss maintaining their composure hoping their deception wouldn’t be perceived.

Perhaps it was because Kar’niss desperately wanted approval from the Absolute, or perhaps his mind was far too fragile and scrambled to notice, but he seemed to believe the statement that was made. His sharp fingertips scratched the front of his throat, his bulbous backside wiggling with a clumsy wag.

“Sh-She has...rewarded us,” He whispered under his breath. The hint of moisture collected in the corners of his primary pair of eyes, a shaken breath pulled deep into his lungs. “Majesty, have you really heard us? We are worthy of your mercy?”

Tav looked on while Kar’niss processed everything. It broke their heart to see the drider like this, lost to the cult mentality and the desperate search for acceptance. They knew they had a long road ahead but if they could disconnect Kar’niss from the rest of Her followers, perhaps healing could begin. They rose from the chair, collecting their empty plate to dump in the nearby wash bin. They’d approach Kar’niss whose gaze seemed transfixed on the ceiling, delivering silent, tear-filled prayers to his savior.

“You are worthy of more than just mercy, Kar’niss. Majesty has seen the sacrifices you’ve made, as well as the suffering that came with it. She might not always speak to us but she shows her approval in other ways.” Tav paused and bit their lower lip as a thought came to them. “Our Queen has just spoken to me. Tomorrow evening meet me here after the patrols have left.”

Kar’niss swallowed heavily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “She speaks?! What did She say, True Soul?”

“I can’t tell you, not yet. Tomorrow all will be revealed. Trust in our Queen and all will be well, alright?”

“Y-Yes...yes, She knows what is best, she will protect us with her endless wisdom. We will return here tomorrow.”

Kar’niss wouldn’t spare a moment more loitering in the kitchen. He had to retrieve his moon lantern from Balthazar, he needed to be prepared for what was on the horizon. He climbed back up the wall and headed for a hole in the ceiling, barely managing to squeeze his large body through, entering the second floor. Tav stood there and watched him retreat, exhaling a heavy breath of relief. That was close, too close. They had plans of their own now and the clock was ticking. They’d grab their pack and hoist it over their shoulder, the cogs in their mind working overtime.

“I really hope this works, for his sake and mine.”