#growing more normal by the day actually I think! disintegrates

[shepscapades]

That ask really must’ve Done Summn bc erm… yeah etho angst has possessed me. smile (this is from the short that @bruhman745 wrote for a potential plot point in the s9 arc of the au!)

#growing more normal by the day actually I think! disintegrates #hermitcraft dbh au #dbhc #android etho #etho #ethoslab #hermitcraft #pain #pain and suffering. imagine deviating so forcefully/with so much emotion ur system goes whack and doesn’t know where to put ur thirium #so it just kinda starts spilling and stuff #yikes #tw blood #please don’t read these tags I’m deranged #art escapades #dbhc etho #dbhc art

[pickledpascal]

Killer Queen

Chapter Four: Doin' Time

Warnings: Gore? blood bending is weird asf, non-descript body horror but its there if you squint, slur (from homelander this time oooh)

Word Count: 3.3k

Killer Queen Masterlist

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With Soldier Boy mostly under control, Amber decided it might be best to go over their plan. It was a shaky one at best but it was the only one they had. So Starlight, Butcher, and Hughie were called to the house. Eden made sure Ryan was busy playing a video game while they all gathered in the living room. 

A map of Vought Tower lay in the middle of the circle they made. Eden rubbed at her chin, trying to memorize every weak point and every room. She thought it was a little weird that Homelander had a special penthouse in Vought Tower but it was easier for them to get the jump on them that way. Steal their prized Supe and they might just crumble because of it.

“Is he seriously on board?” Butcher and Amber took a few steps away from everyone else. 

Amber glanced back at Soldier Boy who was strangely quiet considering the last few days. “Yeah. He is. And if he's not, well, I can change his mind.” She smirked. 

Butcher blinked, shock crossing his face before a grin replaced it. “Oh, love, you didn't.” 

Amber nudged Butcher’s elbow. “Makes him a little easier to work with.”

“I must say, I didn't think he'd go for someone quite like you, love,” Butcher admitted as his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes shifted up and down Amber's body. “Although, maybe he hadn't gotten properly dicked down before.” He teased. 

Amber laughed and shook her head. Soldier Boy was slowly growing on her. More so when he actually showed emotion—besides just anger. There was a softer side to him, one he didn't want others, or even himself, to know. For a while, he had convinced everyone that this “ideal” version of himself was real but Amber could see right through him. He was still that kid in the army who just wanted to prove himself to his father. 

“Oh! Amber should totally wear her super suit!” Eden cheered like a light bulb went off in her head. 

Annie looked at Eden strangely then glanced at Amber who sighed at the mention of it. “Amber has a suit? Was she a Supe?” She questioned.

“No, no, no.” Eden waved Annie off. “When I realized Amber was going to do a lot of the heavy lifting—metaphorically and realistically—I made her a suit that is able to withstand… Well, a lot. Considering Amber's powers, I made it heat and cold-resistant and unable to be cut by anything Vought could get their hands on.” She explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Nothing like what you guys have. Hers serves for practicality and for the aesthetic.”

Annie pursed her lips and shrugged. Eden was right. Depending on what kind of missions they were sent on, their super suits got destroyed all the time. In the end, they were always replaced but they didn't last long on high-risk missions. They were meant to look good, factor into their aesthetic—their image.

“Wow, love, you been holding out on us?” Butcher smirked at Amber. 

She rolled her eyes. “Haven't been on a job that calls for it yet. This might just be that.” Amber countered as she crossed her arms. 

Soldier Boy watched the interactions Butcher and Amber had. He wasn't too keen on how comfortable they were with each other. “Why's Amber need a suit anyway? She have any accidents or some shit?” He turned to Eden. 

Eden narrowed her eyes at Soldier Boy, amusement in them. She could tell someone was jealous. “Yeah. Once or twice. Had a flame-on moment and poof her clothes disintegrated and she was naked. Not fun.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Maybe for you.” 

Butcher, Annie, Soldier Boy, and Hughie all turned to stare at Amber. “If I tell you what happened, will y'all drop it?” 

“Depends on what it is, love.” Butcher commented, earning a look from Soldier Boy.

Amber sighed as she scratched the back of her head. “I did that when I was younger. Like twelve. I was in school,” Annie looked at her with a smile. She'd never thought about Amber before all this. Sure, Amber was born the chosen one but she had a childhood before the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “Another kid pissed me off. A little too much that I kinda… self-combusted. The kid wasn't hurt but my clothes were ash. Hasn't happened since. Eden was there, that's why she knows.” 

Soldier Boy cocked his head. He hadn't seen Amber use her powers before. At least, not in any way he could perceive besides her strength. Did she have some sort of fire ability? He hadn't encountered that before. Sure, there were the TNT Twins but that wasn't fire, that was explosives. 

It seemed Butcher recognized that look. “Have you not told him yet, love? I mean if I were you, I'd shout it from the rooftops but then that'd also make you a right cunt.” He looked at Amber. 

“I was busy,” Amber coughed, swallowing nervously. “With other stuff.”

“Other stuff.” Hughie repeated, unconvinced. 

Soldier Boy stared at Butcher, confused and weary. He didn't trust the Brit. Then again, he didn't trust a lot of people. 

Butcher waved to Amber and grinned. “Amber here is the Avatar,” Soldier Boy had no recollection of anything Avatar-related. “She can control earth, air, fire, water. Ring any bells?” His eyebrows furrowed. Butcher sighed. “Whatever, all that matters is Amber's on our side. She's bloody powerful. Literally.” He turned his head to look at Amber who shrugged. “You're a bit like Neuman in that way.” 

Amber shook her head and pursed her lips. As the Avatar, for some reason, she was also blessed with being able to use all the subgenres of bending. Well, most. She didn't have combustion bending or else there would be an indent in the middle of her forehead. 

Blood bending, metal bending, lava bending—only used that once—lightning redirection and levitation were subgenres Amber knew how to use. Blood bending was an innate ability, however she learned the others from her former lives. And from other souls in the spirit realm. 

“I remember…” Soldier Boy finally said. Although it was a little fuzzy, his early life, he could remember a time when the Avatar existed. “That… It was a girl. Before you. What happened? Aren't you supposed to reincarnate after the previous one dies? Why are you here now? And not right after the other one…”

Amber sighed. “I'm not sure and my past lives won't exactly tell me.” She looked up at the ceiling, irritation evident in her voice. “All I know is, when Korra died there hadn't been one until me. And there might not be one after me.” 

“I blame Compound V. That shit might have messed up the Avatar cycle somehow. Fucked with nature. I mean, there's no benders anymore either. There's either Supes or non-Supes.” Eden commented as she took a sip of tea. She brewed it a while ago but forgot about it until now. 

Butcher poured some for himself, taking a sip as he sat down at the table. Before meeting Amber, he hadn't thought much about the Avatar or benders at all. To him, they were just legends. Fictional. A bedtime story people told children about. But then he saw her in action. The glow of her tattoos when she meditated, the way fire erupted from her fists, or how she turned water to ice with a simple wave of her hand. It was all so very real. 

“So… Supersuit?” Eden asked once their meeting wrapped up. Homelander was going down. Tonight. 

Amber huffed. “Supersuit.”

Eden pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!” 

—---

Getting into Vought Tower was the easy part. Eden was an excellent hacker when push came to shove. Or if she was just bored. Every employee Amber passed by didn't spare her a second glance. At least the Supersuit came in handy for more than one thing. Practicality, aesthetic, and blending in. They all just thought she was some random Supe walking through the halls of Vought. 

Amber caught an elevator. With no one else in it. She looked up at the camera in the corner.

“Hello. I see you too, mother.” Eden teased through her earpiece. Then there was the light noise of clacking. Her keyboard. 

Soldier Boy's voice came through the earpiece as well. “Are we a hundred percent sure this is gonna work?” His voice was rough, if a little troubled. 

“Amber is fully capable, mate. Not to mention Homelander has a soft spot for girls. Somehow.” Butcher had his own comm. One that Amber could hear clearly. “She just has to turn up the charm, get that cunt off guard and do her… freaky blood thing.”

Amber could imagine Butcher's cadence as he said those words. He'd probably waved his hand with a grin on his face as he looked between Eden and Soldier Boy. She drummed her fingers against her thigh as the elevator stopped at a floor. She smiled at the new addition. Some intern, most likely, they looked like one. She wrinkled her nose a bit. Amber was nervous. She's been in combat situations before but nothing espionage-like. 

Not to mention the suit. Amber had only worn it once. For Eden to make sure it fit properly. And it did fit properly. She had expected it to be uncomfortable since it looked like it was made completely of leather but it wasn't. It was made up of some special textile or cloth Eden made herself—one of the reasons it was fire, ice, and pierce-resistant. 

The suit fit her nicely, showing off her curves even if it covered almost every inch of her body. There were shoulder pads built into the suit with indentations of the four elemental symbols on both, fingerless gloves, and gauntlets that went over her forearms. The zipper in the front started just above her chest but was half zipped to shield a bit of her throat. Most of her suit was indigo except for her gauntlets, a little bit of detailing, and knee-high boots—the gauntlets were silver as were a few loops on her belt while her boots were black with indigo trim and a matching heel.

The elevator stopped on the floor Amber was meant to get off on. She stepped out as Eden guided her to Homelander's penthouse from her earpiece. She stopped just outside the door, pursing her lips. She lowered her zipper a little to show off her cleavage a bit more. Amber knew Homelander had a bit of a… kink. Well, not a bit. And even if Amber couldn't particularly lactate for reasons, he wouldn't know that. 

“We won't be able to see but we'll be able to hear everything that goes on in that room.” Eden said softly. “Don't get into too much trouble.”

Amber chuckled dryly. “You know me. I hate trouble.”

“Exactly why you're perfect for the job.” Butcher commented. 

Compared to everyone else in The Boys, Amber was relatively unknown to Vought. Eden couldn't find a single file on her when she went through their databases. To them, she was just some random citizen. A zero or one in their books. To be fair, Amber wasn't one to show off her powers unless needed. And Eden wiped every single hard drive of every single camera she could find if Amber ever did use her powers in public. 

Amber knocked on the door for it to be opened by her target. Homelander. She could see the appeal. Actually, no. She couldn't. His roots were brown while the rest of his hair was dyed blonde and his face was always cleanly shaved—Amber always liked a beard on men. Perhaps that's part of the reason she found Soldier Boy attractive, despite his prickly personality. 

“And who are you?” Homelander’s eyes were on Amber's breasts for a few seconds before they met her eyes.  

Time to play ditsy, Amber. She faked a frown. “Sorry, I must've knocked on the wrong door. I was supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Edgar.” She rubbed one of her arms, trying her best to act nervous. 

Hook.

“Oh?” Homelander's eyes lit up with interest. “I'm sure he won't mind you being late. Come in. It'd be nice to get to know you. Especially if you're gonna be on the team.” He forced a smile. It made Amber's brain alert with disgust. 

At least it was working. 

Homelander widened the door, letting Amber inside before he closed it behind her. His little apartment looked like hell. Paintings upon paintings of US Presidents in ornate frames or war memorabilia hung up on walls. There was barely any furniture except for a desk and a few loveseats. 

Amber had to resist the urge to cry at how gaudy this all looked. 

Then she heard the lock of the door set in place. Amber was trapped. With Homelander. Except it was more that he was trapped with her. 

“What's your name?” Homelander stepped closer to Amber, an unsettling grin on his face.

“Which one?” She asked.

Line.

He tsked, the grin widening. “Supe one. Wanna know what to call you when I fuck your brains out.” 

Amber swallowed thickly. Which could've been mistaken for fear—another turn-on for Homelander—but it was out of disgust. 

“This cunt has what's getting to him.” Butcher commented under his breath.

“It's,” Amber had to think of something. Quick. “Isorropìa.” Her hand twitched as her eyes narrowed. This whole plan was uncomfortable but unfortunately necessary. 

Amber was the only one who could get Homelander and Soldier Boy was the only one who could kill him. Or unsupeify him. If that was their goal. Amber wasn't too sure. She was powerful enough to kill Homelander as well but Butcher and Eden had other plans, it seemed.

“Isorropìa,” Homelander repeated, feeling the word on his tongue. “Our art department could come up with something better.” He stepped closer into Amber's space, a few inches apart. 

Sinker.

Amber’s fingers twitched slightly as she felt for Homelander's blood. She smirked as she felt the beat of his heart. His pulse. She lifted her hand as if she was controlling a marionette on strings. She watched as his eyes widened with fear. 

He couldn't move. And he couldn't speak. Not of his own volition. Homelander had never felt such physical pain before. He was invisible. Nothing, nothing, could hurt him. At least, not so prolonged. His veins felt like they were on fire. A searing hot pain Homelander had never experienced. Never wanted to experience.

She forced him to turn around. With a twist of her other hand, the door was unlocked and opened. 

“Got him, heading down.” Amber said.

Eden cheered, “Let's go!” 

“Remember our deal, though?” Butcher reminded.

“I get to psychologically torture, you get to kill. Yeah, I know.” Eden sighed. 

Amber and Homelander simply walked outside together. By any bystanders' eyes, they looked normal. As normal as two Supes could be at Vought. 

When Amber found the van Annie, Hughie, and Marvin were stationed at, she had Homelander go in first. Hughie was rightfully scared. 

“Anyone else a bit freaked out by this?” He asked, glancing at Marvin.

Marvin observed Homelander. He looked as if he was a sim. Idle. Waiting for some sort of instruction. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

Amber rotated her hand slightly as Annie drove. She let Homelander speak. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Homelander spat. A juxtaposition from his stiff body. 

Amber smirked at him as she zipped up her suit again. “Your worst nightmare,” She stared at him. “I can take you apart if I really wanted,” She redirected Homelander's blood flow with a movement of her hand, causing him to yell out. “Make you nothing more than the miserable little boy you are.” Her hand formed a fist, completely stopping his blood for a moment.

Hughie and Marvin shared a look as Annie took a look in the rearview mirror, concerned by the screams coming from the back. They were likely deserved. 

“Love, don't kill him yet. Won't be as satisfying.” Butcher said softly. 

Amber huffed and let Homelander go. Not completely, just let his blood flow enough to keep him alive. 

“You bitch!” The blond ground out. 

Amber looked at him, unimpressed. “You can do better than that. I'll make it easy for you,” She leaned closer. “I’m transgender, I like girls, I still have a cock, and… did I mention I'm dating your dad?” Homelander's eyes widened. His dad? He didn't have a dad. He was an experiment. “Well, kinda. Haven't completely figured it out yet but he makes some amazing sounds.” 

Hughie and Marvin shared another look. They didn't know Amber was fucking Soldier Boy. Figuratively and physically. Even Marvin thought Soldier Boy was relatively tame from the last time he saw him. Which was saying something. And it all had to do with Amber. Of course it did. Everyone liked Amber.

“I don't have a dad, you fucking she-male!” Homelander snarled.

Well, almost everyone. 

Amber tilted her head. “She-male? Really?” She rolled her eyes as she sat between Marvin and Hughie. She was a bit disappointed. Homelander was supposed to be scary—she didn't doubt that he was to those powerless against him but she wasn't—he was just some idiot with being American as his main personality. “We're going to go see your dad, actually. See how fucked you are in comparison.”

Homelander swallowed thickly. He wanted to say something more but he wasn't sure what to say. He just stared darkly at Amber for the rest of the drive.

Amber smiled as Hughie opened the door to the van, forcing Homelander to walk outside. They followed him inside as Amber guided his body. 

Eden almost had a heart attack when Homelander was the first thing she saw enter the house. She quickly calmed down after seeing his not so comfortable state and that Amber was right behind him. He was safely locked in Eden’s bunker which was built to specifically be Homelander-proof. Amber wasn't sure how but it was. He could likely still hear through the walls but that power was mostly useless compared to his strength or laser eyes.

“I'm giving you a week,” Butcher told Eden, glancing at Amber. “Then it's my turn.”  

Marvin crossed his arms and stared at Amber. He had a load of questions for her but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. All of them were about Soldier Boy. Who was being strangely quiet in the corner of the room. But he didn’t like the way the Supe was staring at Amber in her suit.

Eden chuckled, “You make it sound like you’re gonna fuck.” 

Butcher shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. “How in the bloody hell do you stand her, love?” He turned to look at Amber. 

“Been friends a while. Not much surprises me anymore.” Amber admitted as she undid the gaunlets on her arms.

Annie looked from Butcher to Eden, “What do you even want to do to him?” She and Eden were close but she had never said anything about the kinds of “torture” she wanted to inflict upon Homelander.

“That’s for me, Amber, and Soldier Boy to know about and for you to keep on speculating.” Eden pecked Annie’s cheek.

Hughie was taken aback. “Wait, why is Soldier Boy included but we’re not?”

“It’s cause you’re a fucking twink.” Soldier Boy commented. Hughie pursed his lips out of distaste.

Amber had to refrain from laughing. “Kind of. But I wouldn’t want to spoil the plan. Not appropriate in polite company.”

“Love, we’re the opposite of polite company.” Butcher grinned. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

-----

taglist: @aleemendoza2425-blog @yoyoanaria

taglist open here !!!

#oc #oc: amber cali #jensenxreader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x oc #jensen ackles imagine #soldier boy x oc #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys #the boys tv #the boys series #the boys amazon #billy butcher #mothers milk #hughie campbell #starlight #annie january #homelander #avatar #avatar the last airbender #the legend of korra

[zapgraptrash]

1) What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/restaurant) Masuyo – I just spent ages trying to like find something Safe that they’d order every time they were somewhere that does Not have Japanese things. I can’t really pin down something specific but it WOULD be something specific. Something strong, probably a whiskey. If there ARE Japanese drinks available they would actually take more time to decide on something rather than just getting something safe and easy. I feel like they’d like melon flavoured drinks

2) What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private) Ricky – she spends the most time on picking out a hat (if not at work). She wouldn’t spend like hours getting ready before going out but she would make sure that she looks impressive, or at the very least just noticeable. In private though she’ll just wear pyjamas all day if she can. If there is nobody to see then it’s not important to spend all the effort on looking presentable. The guinea pigs won’t care lol.

3) What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time) Zapper – guaranteed his bike(s) are the only thing he’s ever spent a lot of money at once on, he will never just drop a load of money on anything. Even the bike took saving and planning and negotiating lol. He’s one of those people who will put 10% of every paycheck into savings immediately. Most of his disposable income probably goes on things like gardening supplies or fuckin. Cleaning supplies. Or bike maintenance. And maybe committing to the bit of annoying Grappler.

4) Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)  Dom – her standard issue tattoo is right in the middle of her chest just because. I don’t think she’d be bothered about getting any others, maybe covering that one up with something post-trashland. But she is always covered in like, small burns and scars and shit because that happens when you like to play with fire and explosives.

5) What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)  Slyger – slyger cries most often when he’s stressed. So it was probably recently. He makes everything out to be really high stakes so it could be literally anything lol. His pc keeps crashing because skyrim has too many mods loaded. He can’t find that ONE type of salmon at the store but he KNOWS they have it. He wants to watch the new episode of the telenovela he's obsessed with but REALLY wants to watch it live and probably won’t get home in time.

6) Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.) Jeffrey – he’s an only child of a single parent who put like All her stakes on him. Has to live up to super specific ideals and if not You Are Making Me Look Bad In Front Of The Rest Of The (surprisingly large) Family. Like this is only his mother’s side of the family too, he has cousins and second cousins all over the place. He might have some half siblings from his dad but he’ll probably never know I guess!

7) Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.) Thaddeus – they’re good quality leather biker boots with a bunch of decorative buckles. He spent a Lot on them and they’ll last ages, unlike the boots he used to get which were like ok but they wore out really easily and he Had to replace them because it’d fuck up his prosthetic foot otherwise. Before he lost his foot he’d just wear shoes until they disintegrated.

8) Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.) Granox – if slyger wasn’t around to decorate and such there wouldn’t be that much around, mostly just one or two cool things he found on the ground. Also it’d just be a mattress. Because he keeps accidentally breaking bedframes by jumping onto them and not realising how fucking dense and strong he is. Funnily enough though he actually keeps the bed made way more than slyger does. So long as it’s comfy enough he can sleep, he doesn’t Need much else.

9) What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)  Grappler – Valentine’s Day because it’s the easiest day of the year to have sex (hooking up with other single people whilst single)/easiest day of the year to commit to the bit of annoying Zapper while also being genuine about it. But also boning Zapper. It’s like a whole day where the “objective” is to show affection to your partner and tbh that is how he thinks he shows affection the best. His least favourite day is Veterans day/memorial day because he just (correctly) associates them with his dad and the US fucking around in southeast asia/his dad treating his mum as a trophy wife. He probably doesn’t like have the ability to articulate WHY he hates them so much, but his default answer is that it’s a scam that vets get 2 holidays for being pieces of shit.

10) What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)  Vilius – she always has cigs, a lighter and a taser on her. maybe a knife too. Probably operates off cartoon logic since I never draw her with pockets or a bag lmao. But like she almost always has a fuckin glass of wine or something on hand. If she’s not like, inside where there are glasses to pour booze into she probably has one of those tiny little bottles of something. This is fine.jpg

#text post tag

[rainglade]

My grandfather once told me that it is better to have less friends than more, and to be careful who to consider a friend. He told me about his experience, and how most of the people in your life should be nothing more than acquaintances. I understand what he meant by this, but it makes me a little bit confused. I think advice like that tends to stem from the idea that I just have a super robust social life and throw around my feelings haphazardly, when the reality couldn't be farther from the truth.

When I was in elementary school, I moved three times, and while my old therapist once alluded to the idea that that had maybe impacted my ability to form close friendships (emotional detachment, hyperindependence, etc.) I think it is probably more than that.

Growing up, I knew there were things about me that were different, but I simultaneously also felt as though what I felt was "normal" per se. I just though that things like sexual attraction were barely there for most people, that gender was pretty meaningless for most people, that my perception of the world was consistent with everyone else's. I think when I learned that this wasn't the case, it made me feel a little bit alienated, more subconciously than conciuosly, which made it so that I can't think of a single person I considered an actual friend in middle school.

The people I sat with at lunch to avoid sitting alone had no respect for me and made me leave when the table was crowded. Even the majority of people who I interacted with were friendly and kind to me, but I never felt close to them. By eighth grade, everyone kind of knew everyone, so things had calmed down more and I felt less insecure, but that didn't change the fact that I didn't have friends, and refused to allow people to get close to me when they tried to be friends with me. Come high school, I never was really bullied or picked on (thank goodness for going to a small minority-majority school attached to a college) but even then, the extent of my friendships were sitting next to people in class or eating lunch with my friend starla.

Mine and my mother's brain have a lot in common, so when I learned that she didn't make many friends until college, I assumed it was the same for me, then felt disappointed when I didn't have any close friends in my first year or two. It is recently that I think I have felt that shift. I think the anti-anxiety meds helped with that, and I also think that mentally I just don't care about that things that used to make me anxious.

In my first year of uni, I used to sleep at 9pm sharp so I'd be asleep before my roommate got back and I wouldn't have to interact with him, then I awoke and left at 6am so I'd be gone before he woke up. On the several nights that I was out past 10/11pm, I slept in the library because I was anxious about waking him up when I unlocked the door. It seemed perfectly rational then, but ridiculous to think about now. Things like this have started to fade into the background of my mind; the bars that limited me before have started to disintegrate, and I couldn't be more glad.

I think my grandfather was right, but I also think that before having close friends, you have to first put yourself out there. Love doesn't come to you by making yourself desirable, it comes to you by making yourself vulnerable to it. It comes by opening your heart and mind; your people will not come to you until you come to them. The universe is a machine, and one gear cannot turn until the other one does. Everything is reciprocal, everything is circular. At the end of the day, who do you want to answer to? Who will you willingly be there for, and who will be there for you?

#ke inxelo de āmikon

[thequietmanno1]

TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 101, Replies Part 2

1) “YEAH BOY! THAT’S THE STUFF!

PLUS FUCKING ULTRA!

NOW AT LEAST REMEMBER TO BREATH, WE DON’T WANT YOU TURNING BLUE BY THE TIME YOU REACH THE HOSPITAL”- And here comes the big reveal that connects both Izuku and Koichi’s powers. All along, they’ve been limited by their users’ self-imagined beliefs and understanding of how they think they work. It’s when they let go of thinking and start using the powers on instinct, like it’s a third limb they’ve been born with, that the true potential finally shows. The centipede’s dilemma was capping off Koichi’s real strength this whole time, so when he stops thinking about what he can’t do, and focuses on something more important, like saving Pop, his power skyrockets, and his limits vanish. 2) “…Welp spoke too soon. Shame. Now with his death the fabric of reality shall begin to unravel and disintegrate.”-Only once he finishes Phelps off by shooting him with an actual bullet, “for old times’ sake”. 3) “Ah shit it was just Soga. Never mind then, keep moving koichi, there’s more important stuff to care about right now.”- Sadly, Soga is the designated “ideas man” for the vigilante group right now, which means any clever strategy they need to turn the tables on Nomura needs to be run by him first. Downsides of not having Koichi become completely independent and self-sufficient as a hero- er, Vigilante. 4) “Alright Mr. Strategist, do tell us what the counterattack will entail, since you’re apparently the brain of this whole operation.”- I will admit that for all his strengths as a protagonist, Koichi not having Izuku’s ability to think and plan on his feet, and thus being reliant on others for ideas, does majorly handicap his ability to heroically perform in action. 5) “Jokes on you Soggy, that’s been his life for the past three non-important years. You wouldn’t know, since they weren’t important and thus weren’t shown, but I’ll assure you, all that non-important stuff was building up to this exact moment right here.”- I’d say it was a joke, but it really was all leading up to this fight all along – and us being absent from the humdrum day-to-day does really make us feel the disconnect in Koichi’s journey as a hero compared to Izuku, who we’ve followed closely for an entire year of his life up to this current fight with Tomura. 6) “Also, where’s Midnight? Why isn’t she here? Her quirk could’ve put all of them to sleep, or at least she could try to do so.”- Would that even work on the drones? They have mouths, sure, but they don’t seem to have noses or such to breath with, and it’s unclear if their weird biology would even be affected by the normal cocktail of chemicals that Midnight uses to make others go to sleep.

7) “Again, how many of those fucking things did AfO gave McBee? I was under the impression that Nomus were, you know, difficult to make, even the less-powerful models, and it would probably be worse here considering that this is the early models, before the technology was properly mastered.”- Given the bomber cells have weird “growing” capacities, like we saw with how Nomura formed hands out of them in order to beat Knuckles, it’s possible that he just grew a big vat of the stuff and had it form under Nomura’s control into humanoid Drones to control with. The issue being is that this growth results in the cells being unstable and bad for long-term use, so they won’t work with a Nomu’s trademark durability down the line, but they’re useful for making a large disposable force for an assault like this- don’t even leave any traces behind with how they utterly eradicate themselves with each blast. 8) “So, the final clash is about to start for real. Even McBee himself is there to get his hands dirt, but my oh my, Koichi is right here, and as he showed he has unlocked the next level of his quirk, and if he was already fucking him over before, well, let us just say McBee doesn’t stand much of a chance right now…”- This fight is gonna be wild, let me tell you. @thelreads

#my hero academia #bnha #chapter replies #thelreads #bnha vigilantes #vigilantes 101

[seasideretreat]

The incredibleness of sheer life

This constant work, the typing, is a category of writing, but it is situated on a certain mathematical trajectory, that few of us can really apprehend. Surely, I feel it is easier to write on a computer than it is to write by hand, but in the vast totality of things, this cannot be true, because all writing is equal in terms of activity; and then there is mathematics. Mathematics is surely an affair of activity: it strains us and stresses us, and drives us into a certain area of work that makes us slowly disintegrate or dissipate. But there is plenty of work to be done. It all matters. Thinking, no matter whether it is written down or typed out or whatever, puts a strain, or suspension, on the human condition, same as everything. And in this wise, we are situated in a constant of things that gives us the need to continue down the path of sheer normality, which is just a contour of the endless cascade of sheer work; and because of all that, the train of thought continues down manifold stations, and it never stops until it is too late. And that too is a consequence of technology, but we are not concerned with technology for manifold clear reasons. I am confident that the things we do are necessary, but the work we put in is relative, and something may be lacking in the vast totality of sheer work. And we can do so many things: I really believe the world is a constant totality that is filled with an infinite amount of wonders. And in this wise, we become totally aware of the good things in life. And I enjoy typing: it is just a bliss to see words form on paper that will never dissipate, but actually it seems that we will never remember them. And that is the real shame of writing these days. That no one will remember it.

The thing is that everybody is aware of the growing influence of writing in the common sensical arena. More and more, we are made aware that a select few harnessed the power of sheer writing, and in this wise they are capable of creating the most magnificent things, just like in the old days, those trained in the rhetoric would hold the most flashing orations. Fact is, I don't even like typing all that much. I'd rather write for real. I'd rather have that surety of expression and movement that relies on the proper heart of a real orator. Yet in this world there are no real things; we have to produce, there has to be quickness, and there is no time for non-mathemetical occupation, even though I so very much am occupied when I do the work for writing, indeed, when I surely write for there is much lacking in the progress of typing, but I do not believe in typing, the grand truth is that this is writing too, it just doesn't feel like it, for I can write by hand and be entirely confident. And in the good old days the orators would probably write out some speeches by hand and then learn in by heart or some such thing, and that is indeed all explicitly glorious and beautiful, but nobody really knows these things. And we are stuck in the madness of sheer writing; I mean, certainly, I could write a whole piece like this and write superbly, but it would never be effortless, because writing like this is certainly easier, but is there any point to it? And you wonder, is it really easier? Or am just postponing - deferring? - some terrific consequence or situation? Yet this is all posturing and gesticulating. There is no automatic truth in this vast totality, and surely my writing doesn't actually improve if I try harder, but the thing is, I do get more surety in the process that way. In fact, I know how to write, but I do not know how to type, foolish as that statement surely is, because I am a pretty decent typist in terms of speed. That's why I didn't think about this one speech. Or, if I did think, I did not "WRITE". Whatever that means. I am sad about it. You know, you really need looseness, casualness in expression, and I am inclined to think that I do not really have that at this point in time. I mean, typing is a mad adventure that does so little to improve our lives. It is certainly the world's worst skill. I'd rather write something good, but I have to philosophize, right? That's why I am doing this.

At least I have a choice. I could write by hand and all that and it would be good. In fact all writing is thinking, just like all reading is thinking. Yet in this grand totality we do not make a hard-hitting response; there ain't no consistency in the vastness of writing-by-typing, which is not an actual situation, in fact, it is just a predicament, but it is of no concern, because we are not concerned with anything in particular right now: in fact I don't even want to type. I'd be better off writing something by hand or anything like that, but I am too tired and yet there needs to be writing on the internet, there has to be a blog. I am saving time, and this is possibly the thing that yields the most confusions, the most psychoses in a transitory, liminal life. But the essences of sheer transcendentality are stuck in the vastness of space and time; and we are aware of the limitations of writing and speaking; and we are aware of speaking and writing, in fact, we try to free ourselves from the limit of writing that lies in the act of typing, because there is only going to be typing in some version of the future, which is not important: in fact, we would be thinking and typing all day long, and that would be quite glorious. I mean, you can think about anything, and that's the nasty thing about life. We don't wanna do more work than necessary. In fact, we just desire to be lazy about these common place things. And there is certainly reward to be had in the act of typing, which is a thing that we like; and I am thinking about it right now, because that's how the sad human mind works, it can't let things slide, but has to give significance to every whim that it has. So I write about typing, sad as it is, even as I liberate myself from the defunct Derridean paradigm, which is just a silly collection of confused statements from someone who knew how to write but didn't actually write, or something. We don't know. Be that as it may, we can do many good things. And there is much to be gained in the process of being yourself. the process of being good. And I want to write, I really do, but it is all just too hard. It can't be made real somehow. We just don't do anything consistent. There ain't any real connection to the totality of normal acts. I would be better if I had thought about this, but I know that I can do this, so I just continue down this path. If your brain could instantly bring swathes of text into existence, you would do it, even if it didn't quite connect to the act of writing, which was your actual promise. The multiplicity of languages and so on and so forth. In fact, that's how it all began. Derrida decided that an event might have occured or whatever. And he wrote something, I reckon on his typewrite, and it was all some marevelous discovery, and when the computers came he was even more thrilled. And this was the endless story of the Derridean moment, that had nothing to do with anything, yet somehow made so many miracles possible. And that's the long story of how a man can waste time. In fact, I just wanted to write something good, but I do not have the patience for it.

#writing #derrida #thought

[technowoah]

Revolutions Always Fall

You should've learned from L'Manburg. The Butcher Gang was a mistake.

- REQUESTED!

- I tried to put 2 requests in one here.

- its really long 🤧🤞🏽

Prompts!

13) "You made me lose all my faith and trust in you"

38) "They warned me about this.” “About what?” “You.” 

47)“Are you satisfied now...?”

⚠︎ memtions of blood, voilence, fighting, swearing, Technoblade's execution episode. Angst.

Masterlist!

Dear Technoblade,

I wont make the same mistakes again

- an old friend. ♤

Technoblade was always a threat, and you learned that from L'Manburg. You had befriended him when he joined Pogtopia and very quickly you two seemed to click. He saw the world through different eyes and that intrigued you. You wanted to be him, live life the way he does it for just a day.

He was a killing machine, he was smart tactical, but still had the thirst for blood that made him be so smart and tacitcal with how he kills.

You on the other hand were not a big fan of killing, but this war was an exception. This war made you practice, it made you angry, it lit a fire underneath you that you didnt know you had. Along with the other members of Pogtopia, Technoblade helped you fight, how to wield a sword, knife, gun, anything that you can get your hands on you turned it into a weapon, you Soon enough you had mastered weapons and you werent so passive.

You questioned yourself if this was living through Technoblade, the need to fight, hunt, to protect. You felt poweful. As you hold your own crafted swords in your hand you know what you can do. You could do so much damage with this sword, he gave you that sword. It wasn't special at all but you made it special, because in your eyes it was.

"You can do so much with a sword, people just don't know how to use it to its fullest potential. They dont know their full potential either. But now you do."

Thats what he said to you in between those stone walls called Pogtopia.

After what he said to you had done so. Used the sword to your full potential, used anything to your full potential. You wanted to be more and more you became.

"You ready?" Technoblade smirked.

"Hell yeah Im ready to kill that bastard." You smiled

"Woah-oh! You weren't saying this a couple months ago."

"Schlatt deserves it. That's not L'Manburg. This is L'Manburg." You stretched out your arms to the others who were gathering armor and polishing their weapons for the battle yet to come.

You smiled knowing this will all end soon, you wouldn't be in a cave anymore, you wouldn't have to hide the fact that you knew where Wilbur was and that he was planning the attack, Pogtopia will be no more and L'Manburg would be back.

"L'Manburg will be back." You said while taking a sword out of a chest.

"Sure." You heard him scoff beside you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked slightly offended. Wasn't he fighting for the same thing?

"I dont know. Revolutions always fall." He turned his back to you and walked away leaving you to your own thoughts.

You hated it. He was right, he was always right and you hated it. And everyone else did too, they knew he was right. It wasnt what the majority wanted, we wanted L'Manburg while he didn't want to be held by government in the first place. That's what he meant that day in Pogtopia.

L'Manburg, one defeated, was now growing once more. After the "end" of L'Manburg you couldn't forgive him. Your anger and the feeling of betrayal kept growing and growing everyday, every time you picked up that damned sword he gave you. It was the best sword you had, you had enchanted it multiple times. You had to use it, but the only thing was the memories that came with it.

Your anger only worsened as time went on, having to hear about Technoblade and how he was such a threat to L'Manburg only made you want to destroy him and the past you two had created. That would be the closure you needed, but someone was already three steps a head of you.

In spite of your anger you and Quackity had the most magnificent idea to make a gang to finally kill Technoblade for the sake of L'Manburg. The idea was to go confront him at his house and take him back to L'Manburg for an execution. You were on board with the idea 100%. This was better for L'Manburg and better for yourself, finally someone who got you.

Quackity and you planned tirelessly to try and get Technoblade's location and bring him back. The Butcher Gang was made from the cabinet of L'Manburg. During these long days you two grew closer, you two were so different in ways of thinking, but you two shared the same end goal which worked out in your favor. You two went through hell and back just to find out that the easiest way to get to Technoblade was sitting in L'Manburg right at that moment. Philza, some may say Technoblade's only friend at the moment. He was loyal to Technoblade and you dont blame him at all, but you needed to find out where his companion was.

It was all going well, the Butcher Gang had put Phil on house arrest and Tubbo had found a compass that led them straight to Technoblade's location. Everything was going well and according to plan, you didnt want to show it on your face as you saw Technoblade's house from the spot in the woods the Butcher Gang was hiding in, but you wanted this so badly. You didnt where he was going to be, he could've came and bestowed more destruction. It was like knowing he was there, but not knowing when he was going to strike.

The anxiety that came with not knowing where Technoblade was always with you, but now it wont be.

The Butcher Gang ended up taking Technoblade by force back into the city. You were proud that you were all able to get the blood hungry pig-man to come back with you all. He was behind bars with an anvil hanging high over his head. As Tubbo gave his speech your short lived happiness soon faded as a man appeared and smoke filled the area. You started to get attacked by what seemed like Dream and Punz while Tubbo continued to yell for Quackity to pull the lever to finally kill Technoblade.

"Pull the lever Big Q!"

"Kill him Quackity!" You yelled with him.

He did it. The anvil fell fast towards Technoblade's body, but as fast as the anvil landed on him his skin, bones, and blood regenerate and return to its normal state. Your eyes widened as the totem in his hand began to disintegrate into gold dust.

"DAMMIT!" You yelled in agony while Ranboo and Fundy continued to fend off Dream and Punz until they retreated.

Once they did you realized Technoblade was gone, you saw him in the distance running away from the scene, but you couldn't let this happen. You couldn't let the fear of Technoblade being out there doing God knows what forever. The fear of him boiled in your heart as you broke out into a sprint towards Technoblade.

As you ran into a more secluded area you heard footsteps behind you. You glances back to see Quackity following your lead with an axe in his hand. Slowing down a bit you both ran side by side.

"Let's get this son of a bitch!" Quackity huffed as you both came across a cave.

You both knew Technoblade was in there so you both prepared for the mental and physical pain you would both endure. This wasn't like the Butcher Gang where it was 5 against 1, it was 2 against 1 and you've seen Technoblade fight this fight before.

"You ready to kill this bastard?" He calmed his breathing down.

"Of course I am." You kept your eyes foward.

You walked deep into tha cave to see 6 chests and a sign that said "final control room", that bastard. Wanting to be quiet you tried to sneak up on Technoblade, but Quackity's anger got the best of him.

"What the fuck is this Technoblade?! What the hell are you doing here?" He asked gripping his sword too tight.

"It not what it looks like." Technoblade airly laughed. He had an enchanted pickaxe in his hand and an open chest with netherite armor.

"How the hell did that anvil not kill you?!" Quackity yelled.

Technoblade started laughing, he was laughing, he was taunting us. "Do you really think that death can stop me? That you could kill me that easily."

Your emotions tried to get the best of you as you tried not to let frustrated tears fall onto your cheeks.

"How did you do it? What... How did you even do that?"

"You think that can stop me Quackity?" Technoblade asked again.

"Just answer the fucking question!" You yelled before either of them could speak. It was silent for a while before Technoblade slowly spoke up.

"A totem. I used a totem of undying. I always have it on me." He smugly said.

He continued on. "You know what?! You know what? Ive got a lot to say, I was gonna say it at the trial, but we got a little bit interrupted. You know I tried convincing you guys that government was not the answer, the government was actually the cause of all your problems!"

You rolled your eyes as he continued his infamous speech.

"I tried to convince you guys by fighting alongside you as brothers and you cast me aside, you used me. I tried to use force, but you still formed a government! And when I went into hiding, when I retired, when I swore off violence, you hunted me down, you hurt my friends." Technoblade finished.

"Techno you dont understand what we're fighting for!" You started finally finding your voice. "I thought you were for us! You were always against us!"

"I was always for you! I needed you guys to understand!"

"We needed YOU to under-"

Technoblade interrupted you. "You dont understand me! You never did!"

"At least I fucking tried and you gave me so much shit for it! I wanted to be you Technoblade. I wanted to see life through your eyes, I was fascinated by how you walk, fight, your mind."

Your anger began to subside as you continued to speak. "But, you made me lose all my faith and trust in you."

Technoblade laughed again. "Same here! You guys left me! Betrayed me so-"

"So the feeling is mutual." You growled.

It was quite for a minute, but you could feel Quackity's sympathetic stare as you poured your feelings out to a man who dosen't even matter to you.

"They warned me about this." Your arms gestured to the area the three of you were in.

"About what?" Technoblade scoffed.

"About you." You stared at Technoblade. It wasn't a glare, it was more calm.

"Quackity, Tubbo, Fundy...Even Ranboo." You airly chuckled.

You had stopped talking trying to get yourself back together. Quackity caught that you weren't talking anymore so he spoke up.

"What we have up there is a country and what we need here is organization and power. And I dont care how long it fucking takes me or what I have to do to get you Techno. Im going to fucking kill you. Im going to kill you Technoblade." Quackity gripped his axe in his hand.

"I just have one question Quackity." Techno smirked.

"What do you have?" Quackity responded and you took the sword out of the sheath hanging on your hip.

"Do you think you two are enough to kill me? Even unarmed with iron armor?" Technoblade closed the chest that held netherite armor signaling he didn't need that. "Do you think you both could take me?"

"Oh we do." You spoke up. "We need this, Technoblade."

"You know what?" Quackity rose his axe and you followed suit. "Lets find out you son of a bitch!" He charged towards Technoblade and you followed close behind.

Technoblade started running out of the long cave, but you two followed. He threw potions on the ground as he turned around and fought us head on. You were able to get a couple of cuts and hits on him, but he was cutting you more with his pickaxe.

The thing about Quackity was that he thought he was invincible. He kept going full force towards Technoblade, hopefully he would focus on him so you could finally get a critical hit on him. Your heart rate kicked up as your face came too close to his pickaxe. And it kept going, each swing he took towards you became closer and closer until Quackity slashed his arm with his axe.

Technoblade whipped his head his way. "I have a pickaxe and I'll put it right through your teeth!"

Technoblade swung his axe and slashed Quackity's face, including his eye. He then turned his pickaxe to the flat side and swung it, hitting the side of his head. The blow to his head sent him flying against one of the walls of the cave, knocking him out.

He then turned to you and in a flash you could tatse the metal of his pickaxe as it swiped across your face blinding one of your eyes as well as Quackity's. He had hit you on the side of the head like he did with Quackity. Your body was aching as you fell to the ground, your mind slowly shutting down. You were loosing a lot of blood quickly, and so was Quackity. You two knew you were going to find the strength to get out of this cave and follow Technoblade's path out.

You laid on the cave's cold floor realizing that this was a mistake. You were too loyal, easily swayed, you were a follower. You never knew when to stop, from L'Manburg to Pogtopia to The Butcher Gang you seeked things you couldn't have. You couldn't have L'Manburg, neither Pogtopia, you couldn't kill Technoblade and ease your fears snd anxieties. You need to seek that some where else.

Your mind began to slip, and you fell into unconsciousness.

You should've learned. He was right. Revolutions always fall.

The Butcher Gang was a mistake.

Dear Technoblade,

I remembered the day. It still pains me. The day you spawned those wither. I thought you were the traitor, but turns out I was wrong at the time. Im sorry for that.

I also remember when you left me for dead. But I made it out as you see.

But now I am resigning from L'Manburg. Im going my own way, my own path, and I don't want you on my path.

Think of this as closure, something I never got. As I am writing this I dont know why I am giving you closure, lifting a weight off of your shoulders, you dont deserve it.

I know people say that to you alot.

You really made a dent in this damned place.

I hate what you're doing. You get to live in solitude while we get to live in the debris you left here. I wanted to be like you.

I hate to say it, but I learned a lot from you. I hated what I learned, about myself, about you, about the current state of this horrible place.

I wont make the same mistakes again

Are you satisfied now?

- an old friend ♤

#mcyt blurb #mcyt angst #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt headcanons #technowoah! #quackity x reader #techno x y/n #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #techno mcyt #technoblade platonic #mcyt platonic #platonic mcyt x reader #mcyt x platonic reader #technoblade imagine #techno imagine

[cinnaminsvga]

intermission • vi | moonlight

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jungkook) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none!! it's just jungkook being a cutie!! → words: 3.7K → a/n: this intermission chapter was actually written by @jincherie!! i'm posting it on her behalf since she's currently on hiatus. she had this chapter mostly finished a few months ago and we were waiting to post it until we were both more active (lol) but yeah... things change i guess... anyway see you guys next year (i wanna say /j but really... is it really /j...)

— • masterlist | prev | intermission vi | next • —

Jungkook's strength has never been making friends.

In his mother’s words, a “pleasant and sweet boy” though he might be, that didn’t help much when it came to meeting someone new and the storm of butterflies in his stomach would grow so strong that it froze his limbs and caught his tongue. He’s not too good at first impressions.

A “pleasant and sweet, but terribly shy boy” is actually more along the lines of how Jungkook’s mother describes him, now that he thinks about it. That’s probably a little more accurate.

The sprawling complex he lives in is full of kids, and Jungkook knows each and every one of them. He might be challenged in the social area, but his mother is anything but. She says he takes more after his father, and since his father is usually relaxing inside and reading or drawing when Jungkook sees him at home, he figures that makes enough sense.

Every time someone new moves into the complex, Jungkook’s mother goes to greet them. Of course, he is graciously asked (read: forced) to come along too, just in case they have any kids around his age. This is how he normally meets the other kids on the block. It’s fine, he can’t complain. He has to admit it’s nice meeting all the new and different people that come through. His family is probably one of the ones that have stayed in the complex this long.

When the house next door is emptied of the family he knew, it’s a while before the next one comes in. By the time Jungkook peeks out his window one morning, woken by the telltale sound of a truck beeping as it reverses, and finally sees some movement in the house next to his own, his mother isn’t home. She’d moved into the hospital just a few days earlier, looking ready to pop with the little brother he’d heard so much about in her belly. He’s excited to meet his little brother, and now as he stands on his tippy-toes to get a good look from the window, he finds himself a little excited to meet the new neighbours, too.

It only has a little bit to do with the great, big, fluffy dog they have. Just a little.

It takes a few days for them to move in fully. Jungkook watches from his window every now and then, seeing all sorts of different cars come through. This family has lots of helpers, he notices. By the time they seem to really settle in, Jungkook doesn’t see much of them. Actually, to his disappointment, he doesn’t see anyone around at all. He still hears the dog, glimpses it every so often, but realised that they probably walk it in the mornings before he wakes up.

His mother is home before long, his baby brother cradled in her arms. The first thing she asks as she steps through the door is, “Have the new neighbours moved in? Have you met them yet, Kookie?”

This is perhaps the first time all week he hasn’t cared about the neighbours-- he’s transfixed with his brother. It stays that way for a few days, until the allure wears off when the tiny baby won’t stop crying at night. Perhaps his little brother is something best loved from afar for now, Jungkook surmises.

Back to the window he goes – except this time, there’s actually something to see.

There’s a child! A combination of nerves and excitement bubbles within him as he sees a kid in the backyard playing with the dog, throwing a Frisbee for the massive puppy to leap up and catch in its mouth. The kid looks a little…. feral. Like the baby from that one funny caveman movie he watched with his parents. They’re rolling around with the puppy, uncaring of the way grass and dirt get on their clothes and tangle their hair-- they laugh the whole time. It takes a second for the sound to reach him, but when it does it makes his heart do something funny in his chest.

Ah, the neighbour's kid is a girl.

It’s you.

Jungkook has always been a little more shy around girls, but has never known why. To meet you, he’s going to need his mother there for backup. This is probably the first time he’s outright wanted to go meet one of the neighbours. It’s a little embarrassing, so he elects not to think about it too much.

He thought he would have to pester his mother more to get up and go greet them, but it seems she’s a little sick of being in the house so much because she jumps up the second he mentions it. His baby brother is graciously asleep when they make the trip one morning to the house next door, nestled in his mothers arms looking like an angel wrapped up in fluffy clouds. Jungkook wonders if you’ll like his brother as much as he does. If you don’t, then he doesn’t know how good of a friend you’re going to be.

The doorbell is different, it’s the first thing he notices about the house. Your family must have changed it when you moved in. It’s a bubbly, fun tune now, and he doesn’t even realise the smile it brings to his face. His grip on his mother’s hand tightens, but he misses the fond look she casts over him.

When the door opens, Jungkook thinks his nerves just might eat him alive. He’s so stiff he’s worried he might turn to stone and disintegrate into dust on the spot.

It’s you who answered the door.

You don’t look as wild and unkempt as you did that day he saw you from the window. Actually, your hair is in two cute little buns on top of your head and there isn’t a spot of dirt or grime on your overalls.

The way your eyes light up when you see him and his mother, as well as the baby held to her chest, is enough to make him forget to breathe for a moment. When he remembers, he feels like running his head into the pole of the awning.

“Hey, sweetie,” his mother greets, that big smile on her face that normally wins everyone over. “We’re from the house next door! We wanted to come say hello and meet you. Are one of your parents home too?”

“Hello!” Your response is instant, and the smile you return is so big Jungkook can easily see the gap where you’re missing a tooth. It seems like you’re beating him, he hasn’t lost that one yet. “Yeah, my mama’s home-- you should come in! She said she wanted to meet you guys! Oh, also, we have a puppy! She’s big, and actually maybe she’s too old to be a puppy but… she’s cute. I want you to see her!”

You’re rambling, but you don’t seem to realise. Jungkook couldn’t get a word in edgewise if he wanted to, but he finds himself more than happy to simply listen as he and his mother follow you into the house.

Your mother isn’t as wild as you, but he notices the same little sparkle in her eyes that you have in yours. He wonders if he and his mother have their own matching sparkle. That would be cool.

Right away, his mother hits it off with yours – two socialites of a feather, it seems. You fawn over his baby brother for a few minutes while they talk (he knew right then that you were a good one), before grabbing him by the sleeve and insisting on showing him around. You get a full tour in, and miraculously Jungkook finds it in himself to ask a few questions as you go.

“S-so, you like it? Here?” Every time he opens his mouth the words don’t come out how he wants them, but he can’t do anything now. At least he only stuttered once.

“Yes! It’s so much better than my old house! There’s so many more kids here, and they’re all so nice too!” You’re more than happy to blabber on, a hand thoughtlessly carding through the long, fluffy fur on your dog’s back. Jungkook’s own hand is doing the same (the fur is just as soft and fluffy as he imagined). “There’s more room for Poopie to play, too.”

Jungkook still isn’t quite used to the name of your pet, but something more important in what you said is taking hold of his attention. “Wait, you, uh… you’ve met some of the other kids?”

“Yep,” you say, gaze off in the distance as you try to summon them all from your memory. “Not all of them, but some! Um, I think one of them is named…. Chanyeol…? He lives down the street. Then there’s-- …”

A queasy feeling fills his stomach. He thinks it might be disappointment. For some reason, he thought he was going to come in here and be the first kid you met, that he was going to tell you all about the complex, maybe show you down the street. If you turned out to be a real good egg, then he had even planned to show you his secret place. But now that he thinks about it, it’s a bit silly to think that none of the other families would have come to greet you by now. You’ve been here for more than a week, after all.

He had a good time when visiting you, but for some reason after that day, he finds himself hanging back a bit. He wants to go out and play with you and the other kids, but when he sees you getting along with them so well he’s reminded of that queasy feeling from that day and he stays inside. Which, oddly enough, makes him feel even worse. He feels like no matter what he does, he’s losing progress with you. Maybe you won’t even want to play with him at all, you might think he’s boring after having so much fun with the other kids.

“You gonna go out and play, Kookie?” his mother catches him staring out the living room window one afternoon. She’s bouncing his brother on her hip, the demon baby sated for the time being. “There’s still plenty of time before dark.”

“No, I’m okay,” he answers, hating himself a little bit for it. Why was it so hard to say that yes, he wanted to play, but also that he didn’t. He thinks his mother would be able to help, but he has no idea how to tell her his woes. “I think I might draw a little.”

“Okay, sweets.” She comes over and ruffles his hair. “But if you do decide to go out and play, just let me know so I know where you are, okay?”

He nods, and she leans to kiss his hair before wandering back into the depths of the house. Maybe he will do some drawing, he ponders. It might distract him from the sight of you getting along so well with all the other kids.

Jungkook’s strength has never lain in being outgoing. This proves itself over the months when his attempts to grow closer and befriend you turn out unsuccessful, without fail.

You’ve made a good space for yourself amongst the kids of the block. You’re nice, caring and understanding, and never mean – sure you pushed Chanyeol off the seesaw once, but that was because he was being mean to Suzie. He didn’t do it again afterwards, and peace was maintained in the playground in the park at the end of the complex. Your friendship is sought-after, and with the beginning of the school year looming so close he’s running out of time to establish a friendship between the two of you.

When he spends an afternoon riding his bike at the end of the street, looping around and through the park, it’s definitely not just because you’re sitting there with some of the other girls on the block. When he summons all the knowledge stored in his brain from watching those bike tournaments and attempts to do a little trick, it’s definitely not because he thinks you might be watching. If you happen to see and think he’s cool, then it is what it is. It’s not like he’s actually trying to impress you or anything.

It goes okay, for the most part. His legs are a little tired though. He probably shouldn't attempt the trick he’s thinking of next, but he swears he sees you glance his way and he feels a surge of confidence flow through him. He attempts it.

He botches it.

The bike clatters to the ground and he rolls a bit, but his knees take the brunt of his meeting with the concrete path.

Lucky he wasn’t trying to impress you, because that was pretty humiliating. Lucky you probably didn’t see, either. His knees burn and he feels tears prick at his eyes, probably not just from the pain. He feels so embarrassed, so dumb. He’s touched his bike five times since he got it for his birthday last year, why did he think he would be able to do awesome tricks on it? Dumb, so dumb. He flees the scene before anyone can notice what happened, and completely forgets his bike.

He’s made it all the way home before he even realises it, his vision blurred from the tears that just won’t stop falling and his knees still singing in pain each time he bends them. He almost goes inside, craving a hug from his mother and her gentle hands on his wounds, but then he realises she would ask what happened, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to tell her. It’s too embarrassing. He’s so embarrassed.

So he bypasses the front door, going around the side and slipping through the gate. There’s a tree that lines the side of the house where his window is, and it’s so tall it reaches well above the roof. Without pause, he climbs it, hands finding familiar grooves. He halts, hissing at the sudden sting – it would seem he’s scraped up his palms, too. His eyes burn with the added humiliation and he darts up the tree, making quick work of the climb until he reaches his special spot.

The roof of his house is mostly slanted, but there’s a flat bit at the very top on one side of the house. This is where he likes to go. No one ever looks for him here, plus the view is always very pretty. He doesn’t appreciate the sunset right now, though. He feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

The whole way home, Jungkook held in his cries. He didn’t want anyone to hear and tell his mother. But now, in the embrace of his little ‘safe haven’, he lets them out. He buries his head in his arms and sobs, the pain of moving his palms only making it worse.

He doesn’t know how his little body can handle so much embarrassment, let alone so many tears, but for the moment he doesn’t think about it and surrenders himself to his woes.

He must be up there for a while before his crying ceases. By the time he lifts his head, the last of his tears drying against his cheeks, the sun is just beginning to disappear beyond the horizon. It’s pretty, how it casts light around the shadowy silhouette of the city buildings in the distance. He kind of wants to show it to you. That thought is quickly shut down. He’s going to ask his mother if they can move cities so he doesn’t have to face you again.

Alas, the world just doesn’t seem to be working in his favour today. He hears the rustling of the tree before he sees it. By the time he looks over to investigate, you’re already clambering onto the roof, an oversized fanny pack bursting at the seams with whatever you’ve shoved inside slung over your shoulder.

“Hey!” You greet with a smile, apparently oblivious to the dumbstruck look on his face. “Man, it took forever to find you! If I didn’t see you from the window in my room, I never would have known where you went!”

That was the idea, he laments. He hadn’t wanted to be found.

“Anyway,” you say, plopping down a foot away from him, safely away from the edge of the roof. You swing the fanny pack around so the zip is at your front, and rip it open. Immediately, a tsunami of bandages and band-aids flow forth, fluttering to the tile before you. They’re all sorts of different sizes, but one thing is common across them all – they all have pikachu’s face plastered on them in one way or another. “These are my special band-aids! My mama uses them when I hurt myself, and they always make it heal really quick! I didn’t know how big your owie is, so I brought them all.”

Jungkook is still stunned into silence as you sort through them, organising the chaos at least a little. One of your buns has come loose, he notes. One pigtail, one bun. You look a little more like that wild child he first saw from his window. The knees of your overalls are smeared with dirt, too. He wonders if it got like that while you were looking for him. It makes him feel a little warm inside.

And a little warm outside – his cheeks are starting to burn. He doesn’t remember scratching them too, but maybe he did…?

“Let’s see…” you’re practically just holding a conversation with yourself at this point. He surrenders his leg without protest as you grab it to inspect his knee. “Yep. That’s a big ‘un.”

His whole face has lit on fire. Even his ears feel hot. Is that normal? Probably not. He’d have to ask his mother to take him to the doctor. Maybe he’s dying.

He notices how close you are suddenly, realises this is the first time you’ve been fully alone together (without Poopie), and suddenly he can’t think. Like, at all. He may as well not have a tongue because he can’t remember how to use it anyway.

Somewhere amongst the bandages you’d shoved some tissues. You pull them out now, gently clearing the dirt away from the wounds on his knees. You’re talking as you do it, but his brain is full of static. Your hands are even tinier than his. Is that normal? Wait, no-- they’re the same size. What is he doing…?

Is he going to get in trouble for being alone with a girl…? His mother hasn’t told him about the birds and bees like she said she would yet-- is that what this is? Will he turn into a bird if he gets any warmer? Jungkook doesn’t want to be a bird.

You are placing large plasters over his knees when he finally tunes in to what you’re saying. “… -that last trick was pretty cool, too. It would have been even cooler if you didn’t fall.”

Jungkook squeaks, “You saw that?”

You nod, apparently unaware of his utter humiliation. “Yeah! You’re pretty good on a bike. Can you teach me sometime? I want to show my dad.”

He makes a noise that sounds enough like an affirmation that you accept it, a big grin on your face. For a few more minutes, you finish patching him up.

“There! All done!”

Pikachu stares back up at him from his knees, looking a little wonky because of their shape. The band-aids are a bit wrinkled, but you look so proud of yourself he forces himself to ignore it. He looks up, the words of thanks he took so much courage to summon dying on the tip of his tongue as he sees you.

The setting sun changes the colour of your eyes a bit – it’s pretty, he finds himself thinking. Immediately afterwards, he blushes. Even more embarrassingly, he finds himself unable to help but observe that the sun suits you, actually. Bright, persistent, a little bit sparkly. In the sun’s last reaching rays of afternoon light, you look a bit like you’re glowing.

Of course, Jungkook is used to his silence, but it seems you’re only just noticing it. You seem to misunderstand it’s cause. “Oh, do they hurt?”

Your words tear him from his reverie, and the startled look on his face doesn’t exactly help his case. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise they were that bad-- oh! I almost forgot the next step! My mum always does this whenever I hurt myself.”

Then, without a second spared for him to prepare himself, you lean over and plant a kiss on each of his bandaged knees.

Jungkook thinks he might explode. The entire neighbourhood is going to see him take off and zip through the sky like a rocket. His earlier thoughts of moving cities and changing his name come back full force.

“There, they hurt less now, right?” But you’re still grinning, still bright as ever with shining eyes hoping for a certain response. Despite himself he takes a moment to assess the level of pain he’s feeling – oddly enough, it does feel a bit better.

There’s no way he can manage to say that, though.

Instead he nods, wide-eyed. You let loose a sigh of relief, muttering about how you didn’t know what you’d do if that didn’t work. He swears he catches the slightest warmth in your cheeks, but doesn’t know whether it’s a trick of the sun.

“Thanks,” he finally manages, his voice just shy of a whisper. You hear him anyway and flash that gap-tooth smile his way.

“Of course! This is what friends are for!”

You think of him as a friend? Jungkook can’t help the dumb smile that rises to his face. He likes that. Friends. As the two of you stay on the roof until moonlight begins to filter through the tree and your parents are calling your name, he thinks he’d like for things to stay that way.

He’d like to be friends with you. Always.

#btsghostie #networkbangtan #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts fanfic #i dont even remember how to tag HAJDHASJ i havent posted a fic in so LONG #anyway yall thought fox rain was dead but i guess she lives for one day... next chapter is gonna kill me tho but im excited!! #see you sooner than later i hope lmao

[corruptedconfessions]

hello! I was just wondering, how long do you think it’d take for an s/o from Yandere! Dabi, Shigaraki and Aizawa to be found if they escape from their ‘home’ (i.e. a week, months) - this can either be in the BNHA universe or ABO... ;)

Both? Both sounds good uwu

Also! Anon I saw your second ask! I had already completely written this except for the Dabi A/B/O part so ill fill that out as a separate request <3

Aizawa (Canon): 

Honestly if you manage to get away from Aizawa you already must be either A. Incredibly lucky, or B. Incredibly skilled. Most likely? A bit of both. He tends to be a bit more of a lax yandere, he isn’t constantly in your face, but he definitely be on edge about you escaping. Windows and doors have several sets of locks, anything you can use to break or pick the locks will be kept out of your reach ontop of being behind yet another lock. He doesn’t mess with your safety/his ability to keep you trapped with him.

Now if you actually managed to escape? Game on. Maybe he forgot to lock a window airing out the apartment, or maybe you managed to get your hands on a key or something to break the locks. Either way you are out the door in an instant. 

Now if you are escaping at night? He’ll have you back in a few hours at the latest. He is trained to hunting villains down in the pitch black, slinking in the shadows as he stalks and hunts his pray. You have no chance beating him in his own territory. You’re a fool to even try. 

Now during the day is a completely different story. He isn’t in his element during that time, theres more people out on the streets, and lets be honest, he looks suspicious. Even with his popularity growing after being on the news a few times people wont ignore some homeless ragged looking man snatching up a screaming frightened civilian. He knows it too. Unlike at night when people turn a blind eye, people will get more involved if you fight him in broad daylight, he’ll get more attention drawn to him and thats the last thing he needs. If you play your cards right, if you’re smart and have a plan I can see you evading him for maybe a week before he finds you again. He’s smart, cunning, calculating, even if you stay in the shadows, careful to avoid using anything that he could use to track you, he’ll still find you. It’s what he’s good at after all. 

Aizawa (A/B/O):

Same scenario, he’ll find you even faster at night. Your scent will lead him right to you, his instincts pumping hard as he pumps out so much of his own scent it completely masks yours. No one will ever see a hint of you. 

During the day the scenario becomes trickier, he has to suppress his scent as to not alert anyone as he stalks you. Any chance of getting away is completely gone, he made sure to memorize your scent, ingrain it into his mind to the point he could easily pick you out even among a sea of scents. Even if you stuff yourself into the most heavily populated place you can find, disguising yourself under the mix of heavy scents of other’s, he’ll easily smell through it and find you. He’ll follow you, waiting until nightfall before he scoops you up in his arms, easily pinning you against his chest so you can’t struggle as he carries you back home. 

Shigaraki (Canon): 

Getting away from Shigaraki is hard to say the least. Not only are you running from him, but all his little friends too. You are the only thing that keeps him semi-calm, makes him tolerable to be around, when you are around, forcefully held still in his lap, or board stiff as he cuddles up to your back, fingers idly dragging across your abdomen he is much more focused. Ever since he kidnapped you his plans have been better, he’s been more down to earth, less irritable. Bottom line is you are useful to the league and its future, so they can’t let you leave, the effects would be disastrous, especially with how childish and temperamental he can be. 

Shigaraki himself can be a little careless, giving you ample opportunities to escape him but there has always been someone else to stare you down, a warning for if you ever dared try it. 

At least until there isn’t. You’ll get 1 chance and only one, where every other member of the league is off busy, even Kurogiri your normal babysitter isn’t around to keep you in check. Shigaraki isn’t watching you, he asked you to go get him food while he’s in the other room engrossed in his game, it’ll probably be hours before he realizes you didn’t come back with his gamer snacks. 

So you run out the door. 

You won’t last very long with Shigaraki either, probably a month just because the league tries to be careful, tracking you down through underground connections before blatantly hunting you. They are trying to stay under the radar. That goes out the window when one of the dozens of informants they scattered around catches you in a busy mall one day. Much to the annoyance of everyone else Shigaraki storms to the mall immediately, uncaring of making a scene or killing civilians. You would be dragged back over the dust of corpses if he had to. 

“Y/N, come here, before I have to disintegrate even more npcs. I can only get rid of so many before the main boss will show his face.”

Shigaraki (A/B/O):

Honestly I think Alpha! Shiggy would respond the same as normal!Shiggy. By the time he realizes that you’re gone, that you d a r e d try and escape him your scent is stale, impossible to track. He’ll go on a rampage. Forget waiting, trying not to draw the attention of heros, he’ll leave a trail of bodies behind him, of disintegrated buildings and burning streets on his hunt to find his mate again. 

Honestly be it your guilt causing you to return to him, rushing to his side to stop the casualties and destruction, or if he hunts you down, dragging you out of whatever little hovel you’ve hole up in I don’t see it lasting more than a day to a week at most. 

Dabi (Canon):

Honestly when Dabi comes back and finds you gone, slipped out of the apartment where he keeps you trapped, leaving you locked up tight whenever he has to leave you, he’s more amused than anything. He thinks of it as a game as he stalks out of the apartment to come after you, hunt you down. Already ideas for punishments are brewing in his head as he takes off after you.

I can see him dragging it out for months. Realistically with his connections he knows exactly where you are within about a week, but its so much fun to reveal himself and watch you scurry away, to follow you as you try to hide again. He’ll keep you on edge, terrified and paranoid until you are a quivering mess. Having your nerves rubbed raw and all the sleepless nights are catching up to you. He’ll wait until you are too weak to fight him anymore, broken down and exhausted before he scoops you up in his arms and takes you back. 

“Now wasn’t that a fun game of cat and mouse~ I can’t wait to devour my reward~” 

Dabi: (A/B/O):

Alpha Dabi will be much more aggressive, especially if he sees you as his mate. The second he realizes you’re gone he’ll burn the apartment to the ground, unable to control his flames as he rages, nearly feral as he tears the place apart. He’ll storm out to the streets, following your scent no matter how faint it is. Never underestimate an alpha whose mate has been taken from them. He’ll hunt you down, not bothering to play with you. The second he sees you you’ll be tackled to the ground, a growling pissed off alpha nearly crushing you as you are pinned to the concreate. 

If you don’t have a mating mark on the back of your neck yet, you will now. Hell, he might bite down and claim you right then and there, out in the open for everyone to see as he shows you exactly who you belong to. 

#yandere #aizawa x reader #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #reader insert

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Want of a Spider

Prompt: Just reread unwanted and God I forgot how good it was also if it was a book I would buy so many copies of it also could we get a oneshot of mabye a few years later after everything happened to see how the boys are doing I just want to see them happy together

Ah, yes, don’t we all? 

Read on Ao3 

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

Warnings: implied/referenced panic attacks, nothing too severe, shapeshifting

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 6888

A child runs to a garden.

Five fae take the child as their own.

Slowly, the child grows into something new.

Set after the events of (Un)Wanted.

It starts slow.

 Slow enough that at first, Virgil’s not even sure it’s happening. The garden is…weird, to put it mildly, and it’s not like living with a bunch of fae is going to give anyone a baseline for what’s normal.

 He’s just finished baking a new batch of bread with Patton. Patton’s room smells amazing, the bread looks warm and soft and part of Virgil—a part that Roman and Janus have been slowly encouraging to speak up more—wants to grab it and rip a hunk off with his teeth, temperature be damned.

 Part of him would rather not have a burned tongue for the rest of the day, thank you very much. Then he won’t be able to actually enjoy the rest of the bread, just the too-sore feeling of his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

 …and part of him still doesn’t know how to eat properly. Or that it’s okay to want to eat.

 Patton must catch that last thought buzzing around because he looks over with a frown, reaching out to pinch the offending buzzing thing out of the air and squash it, rubbing his fingertips together until it poofs and disintegrates. The accompanying bubble of relief works its way through Virgil’s chest.

 “Thank you.”

 “Of course, kiddo, that seemed like a nasty one.” Patton finishes drying his hands off and surveys their handiwork. “Well! That went well.”

 Virgil snorts. “Ah, yes, I forget that throwing flour at whoever you’re baking with is always important.”

 “Don’t you look at me, you started it!” Patton points his finger at him. “You’re the one who threw it at me first.”

 Virgil blinks. “You bumped me while I was trying to measure it out.”

 “I did.” Patton nods. “And then you bumped me back.”

 “Yes. Bumped. I didn’t throw it at you.”

 “You did, however, decide to wipe it off my face without getting the rest of it off your own.”

 “Because you threw it at me!”

 Patton throws his head back and laughs, which of course makes Virgil laugh too because have you not seen his face when he laughs you try keeping a straight face. The memory of the two of them absolutely covered in flour, barely any of it in the bowl where it was supposed to go, is enough to make him scrub his hands through his hair to make sure that yes, he did in fact get all of it out.

 “Oh, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while,” Patton murmurs as their giggles slow, shaking his head and going for the plates, “but I think that’s given the bread enough time to cool off.”

 “Does that mean we should call the others?”

 “If you want to.”

 Virgil closes his eyes and reaches, searching for the tether in his chest. It takes a few pokes and prods but eventually he feels something warm and pushes.

 “Hello, yes, hi, I heard something about fresh bread?” Roman pops up first, giving Virgil a gentle squeeze.

 “Don’t start without me!”

 “Hey!”

 Virgil giggles as Remus drops straight onto Roman, almost knocking them both to the ground. He hears an exasperated sigh behind him and turns, seeing Logan shake his head at the twins.

 “You would think,” he mutters to Virgil, “the two of them would develop a little more sense of spatial awareness after the first…oh, ten times they’ve knocked things over.”

 “I don’t think they’ve ever had to.”

 “You’re right.” Logan shakes his head again and turns to Patton. “It smells delicious, you two, congratulations.”

 “You haven’t tasted it yet,” Patton reminds, “we have to wait for—“

 “Fuck.”

 Virgil holds a hand to his chest as Janus chuckles, having appeared out of fucking nowhere just behind him as he turned to see where the snake was. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as Janus rubs a circle between his shoulder blades.

 “Sorry, little mouse,” Janus murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear, “I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.”

 “It’s fine.” He leans into the touch for a moment longer. “I, uh, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

 “Never, little mouse, you have my word.”

 “Thanks.”

 “Remus, I swear—“

 “Just let me go and it’ll be fine!”

 “Kiddos,” Patton scolds, all but prying the twins apart, “if you don’t stop fighting, there won’t be any bread left for you.”

 Virgil has to stifle a chuckle at how fast the two of them break apart, sitting and folding their hands in their laps to patiently wait for their bread. Judging by the way Janus presses a little closer behind him, he knows what’s going to happen before Patton turns to him.

 “Virgil? Would you like to do the honors?”

 “Uh, sure.” Virgil takes the bread knife hesitantly and examines the loaf. It looks too pretty to cut…but it smells incredible. “How—uh, how much does everyone want?”

 “If you let them,” Logan says wryly, “they’ll eat the whole loaf. Take what you want first.”

 “Will not!”

 “You, you absolutely will.”

 “Hey!”

 The knife hits the cutting board with a soft tap, the slice falling neatly onto the plate. Patton takes the knife when Virgil offers it, taking over the slicing as Virgil scoots around the edge of the counter to sit with his slice.

 It looks so..perfect. And as he lifts it up and bites into it—

 Yeah, he could eat this for the rest of his life and be happy.

 Judging by the way the rest of them devour the loaf, they agree.

 “You did wonderfully,” Logan murmurs amidst the smatterings of compliments, “this is delicious.”

 “Thanks.”

 “You must remind Patton to make this again with you, it tastes much better.”

 When he doesn’t answer right away, Logan glances up, smiling when he catches sight of his red cheeks. Leaning closer, he places his chin on Virgil’s shoulder and turns to whisper:

 “Don’t let Roman see that if you don’t want to blush any harder.”

 Now that right there is a very good point. In an effort to hide it, he takes another bite of the bread, only to frown when something’s different.

 Logan seems to notice and tilts his head. “Is there something wrong? Does it taste strange?”

 Virgil opens and closes his mouth a few times. “It feels gummy.”

 “Really?” Logan has another bit of his own. “It doesn’t taste that way to me, perhaps…?”

 “Here, try mine.”

 “…no, it still tastes the same. Have you had something to drink recently?”

 “Not as recently as I probably should.” Before he can blink, Logan’s holding out a glass of water. “Oh. Thanks.”

 “Let’s see if this helps.”

 Well, the gumminess is no longer in his mouth. He’s not sure if he can still feel it in the back of his throat. He takes another bite of the bread—and oh fuck is it good—and it seems to go away.

 “That might’ve been it.” But maybe it wasn’t.

 “We’ll keep an eye on it, though,” Logan says easily as if he can see where Virgil’s mind wants to go, “let us know if it changes, okay?”

 “I will.”

 Which is why, later, when he’s sitting out by the lake to watch the moon ripple across the surface of the water, he feels it return and coughs, coughs, coughs until something flies out of his throat.

 He frowns, bending down to stare at the thing glistening in the grass. He tilts his head.

 What the fuck?

 Something else is still in his throat. He coughs again, and more of it shoots out, sticking to the grass with a horrid sound.

 Okay, nope. He’s not dealing with this by himself.

 Remus? Remus, can you help me with something?

 Sure. Gimme a sec and I’ll drop in. Are you okay?

 Virgil takes another look at the glistening…thing on the grass.

 I don’t know.

 An instant later, the water bubbles and Remus rises up, propping himself up with his tentacles as he shakes the water off. Virgil throws his arms up to protect his face from the shower of droplets.

 “Oh, oops.”

 He waves a hand. “It’s fine, it’s just water.”

 “…yeah.”

 “Do I want to know what else was in that?”

 “Probably not.”

 Virgil sighs as Remus clambers up to sit next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder. Remus’s hand cards gently through his hair before prompting him to sit up.

 “What’s the problem, little monster? How can I help?”

 In response, Virgil points at the glistening mess on the grass In front of him. Remus leans forward, following Virgil’s finger, frowning until he spots the mess. His eyes widen.

 “Whoa. I’ve never seen that before.”

 Virgil’s heart sinks. If Remus has never seen it before…

 “Where’d it come from?” Remus looks over his shoulder. “Was it Ollie? Uma? One of the others?”

 Virgil shakes his head.

 “Really? So Roman’s babies did that? Huh, I gotta tell him, he’s gonna get a kick outta that.”

 “No.”

 Remus frowns at the truly quiet noise Virgil makes. He nudges him gently. “No? No what, little monster?”

 “It—“ Virgil swallows the gummy thing in his mouth— “it wasn’t Roman’s.”

 Remus’s frown deepens. “Then what—“

 His eyes go giant when Virgil coughs up another one. It lands on the grass with a splat.

 “…oh.”

 Virgil turns to him so fast he can feel his neck protesting. “Oh? Oh what, what does ‘oh’ mean?”

 Remus smiles. He smiles so wide it makes Virgil’s face hurt by proxy. His eyes dart back and forth between Remus and the stuff on the ground.

 “Remus, what?”

 “You’re changing,” Remus says softly, still smiling as he reaches out to pull Virgil close, “you’re changing, Virgil, that’s it.”

 Um, excuse me, no part of that is reassuring, thank you very much.

 “What do you mean I’m ‘changing?’”

 “You bonded to us, Virgil,” Remus continues, “you opened that connection.”

 “Okay…?”

 “That means—well, it means you’re no longer fully human, little monster.”

 Wait, what?

 He’s—

 “You mean I’m part fae now?”

 Remus nods. “You’re one of us, little monster, you’re ours. Which means that some of your magic—“

 “I have magic?”

 “Everything has magic, Virgil. But yeah, it means through that connection your magic’s starting to get a bit of its own shape.”

 Virgil looks back down at the mess. It looks…well, it doesn’t look quite so scary anymore. In fact, as he looks at it, there are parts of it that he may actually be able to call…

 …pretty.

 “My own shape?”

 “Jan-Jan looks like a snake, yeah?”

 “Except he’s got six arms.”

 Remus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense to me either. But Janny’s a snake, I’ve got tentacles, Logan runs a little colder than the rest of us, and Pat’s got an impressive sense of smell.”

 “…what about Roman?”

 “Roman’s magic just kinda…” Remus wiggles his fingers. “Does that. You’ve seen it.”

 “Yeah…yeah, I’ve seen it.”

 “He spoils you.”

 “…he tries.”

 Remus gives him another gentle nudge to show he understands. Then he nods to the grass.

 “That’s probably the start of it, little monster.”

 “Will it hurt?”

 The shameful question bursts out before he can stop it and he winces, curling his arms tightly around himself. Remus just wraps his arms around him too, holding him close.

 “I don’t know, Virgil.” He tightens his grip. “But I do know you won’t have to do this alone.”

 The dark pit in his chest softens ever so slightly. He tucks his head under Remus’s.

 “I know.”

 He goes to Logan next. Knocks on his door and waits patiently—okay, maybe not that patiently—for Logan to open it and tilt his head.

 “You needn’t do that, you can ask for me directly if you like,” he says after he’s welcomed Virgil inside.

 “I know, I just…felt better doing that.”

 “I understand.” Logan smiles and adjusts his glasses. “What can I help you with?”

 “I, um…” He shifts his weight from side to side. “I found something.”

 “Oh? What did you find?”

 “Do you remember when I said the bread tasted gummy?” Logan nods. “Well, I, um, found out why.”

 Logan’s eyes widen as Virgil holds out a dish with some of the stuff on it. He takes it slowly, adjusting his glasses again as he stares down at the glistening substance. His eyes dart from it to Virgil and back.

 “Remus said I was changing,” Virgil offers, “because of the bond, and I just—I just wanted—“

 He swallows.

 “…wanted to know if it would hurt,” he finishes lamely.

 Logan takes a deep breath and sets the dish aside, reaching for his notebook and flipping it open. He scribbles something down and looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face.

 “I’m incredibly glad,” he says softly, “that the bond is holding and that you are staying.”

 “Wait, there was a chance it wouldn’t work?”

 “There was a chance it wouldn’t be formed at all,” Logan corrects, “not that it would fade once it was made.”

 “So...?”

 “So you’re one of us now, Virgil,” Logan says, holding up the dish, “this proves it.”

 “What is that?”

 Logan’s smile grows. “I’ve got no idea. Let’s go find out, shall we?”

 He beckons Virgil closes, moving across his room to…an area with machines that Virgil has never seen before. He watches as Logan carefully separates a piece of the substance to place on the bed of…what looks like a giant box but what is probably so much more complicated.

 “You can come closer if you like.”

 He shakes himself, looking up to see Logan considering him curiously.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need to apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Logan lets their shoulders brush together as he comes to join him. “This is one of my favorite tools.”

 “What’s it called?”

 “I call it the universal scanner, though I believe Roman calls it the Answer Box.”

 “The what?”

 “It answers most of the basic questions I can have about something, I suppose.”

 “So he called it the Answer Box?”

 “I don’t believe Roman’s ever claimed to be the best at naming things.”

 Virgil snorts. “Then you were not there for the argument the two of them had over who was naming Oliver’s new adopted jellyfish.”

 Logan shudders. “No, and I’m quite glad for that.”

 The scanner begins to beep, little pulses of light going off around the stuff lying so innocuously in the middle. As it keeps going, something starts to twist in Virgil’s chest.

 What if something’s wrong? What if this isn’t a sign of Virgil changing and it’s something dangerously wrong with him? What if he’s changing and it’s bad? What if they decide they don’t like him or he’s dangerous?

 What if they realize the—

 —the humans were right?

 A rush of cool surges up his arm and he breathes, reaching out to take Logan’s hand and squeeze. Logan squeezes back, stepping a little closer and watching as the machine slows down. Across the room, one of Logan’s screens lights up. He gives Virgil’s hand one last squeeze before stepping away, going to look at the results.

 “What does it say?”

 “Chemical composition, tensile strength,” Logan murmurs, “as well as magical signature.”

 “Magical signature?”

 “Who it belongs to,” Logan clarifies, shooting him a smile over his shoulder, “you, Virgil.”

 “I have a magical signature?”

 “You do.”

 He looks down at his hands, turning them over. “What does it look like?”

 Logan thinks for a moment. “Do you remember the colors that your aura turns when the Claims are shown?” Virgil nods. “The colors are the various signatures.”

 “So yours is…?”

 “Dark blue, I believe. Roman’s is red, Remus’s is green. Patton’s is light blue.”

 “Janus’s is yellow, I guess.”

 “I believe he prefers ‘gold.’”

 “He’s so pretentious,” Virgil mutters, “gold, honestly. Shut up, it’s fucking yellow.”

 Logan chuckles. “You can tell him that if you’d like.”

 “Maybe I will.”

 “But to answer your question,” Logan continues, “your magical signature is your color.”

 “…which is what?”

 Logan looks at him strangely. “Do you not remember?”

 “Remember?” Virgil shuffles nervously. “Remember what?”

 “The day you were taken,” Logan says softly, sending a dark bolt through Virgil’s stomach, “and we brought you home, do you remember what happened in the garden?”

 V jolts awake, flails desperately, against Roman, against Logan, against Patton.

 “V, V, honey,” Patton tries, “you’re safe, honey, it’s just us, kiddo—“

 “Virgil.”

 Virgil breathes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Logan sends another calming pulse into the air, calling his name quietly until he can look up.

 “My apologies,” Logan murmurs, “I did not mean to do that.”

 “It’s fine, you didn’t—“ he takes a breath— “you didn’t mean to.”

 Logan accepts it with a nod. “I merely meant that your aura was particularly strong that day,” he says quietly, “and perhaps you remembered it. But you did not, and that’s okay.”

 “Sorry.”

 “You haven’t done anything wrong, Virgil, it’s alright, there’s no need to apologize.”

 He blinks, looking back at the bed of the scanner. “So what is it?”

 “Simply put? It’s a web.”

 Virgil blinks, longer this time. “A what?”

 “A web, Virgil,” Logan repeats, “your web.”

 A web, that means—that means that Virgil—he’s—

 “So what am I going to be?”

 “I believe…” Logan turns the screen to face him. Virgil’s eyes widen.

 “A spider?”

 “I believe so, yes.”

 “But—“

 Logan raises an eyebrow when Virgil cuts himself off abruptly, all but clapping a hand over his mouth.

 “But,” he prompts softly, “but what?”

 “…nothing.”

 He tilts his head.

 “It’s fine.”

 “You don’t have to lie to me.”

 “I just…” well, the more he thinks about it, the stupider it sounds. He’s trying really hard to not say it out loud, but…

 “You can tell me,” Logan says softly, “I won’t be upset.”

 “…but no one likes spiders,” he whispers, shame burning the inside of his throat where he can feel another web forming.

 Logan is quiet for a moment. Then—

“Come here.”

 Virgil’s head jerks up. “What?”

 Logan holds out his arm. “Come here, little one.”

 And Logan looks so sincere that he can’t help it, ducking under his arm and letting him gather him close to his chest. Logan hums gently, tucking Virgil’s head under his chin and holding him tight.

 “We like you, little one,” he murmurs, “and everyone else can leave you alone.”

 “…really?”

 “Yes, really,” Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “you’re wonderful, little one.”

 And Virgil opens his mouth to say something equally nice like ‘I like you too’ or even just ‘thank you,’ but nope, instead he has to cough out a web like a rude person.

 Luckily, Logan just chuckles again and gives him a gentle squeeze. “I must say, I’m curious about how that works. Would you mind if I helped you figure it out?”

 “Please.”

 So that’s how he ends up spending a lot of time with Logan, figuring out how much web he can shoot, how to do it on command so it’s not happening all the time, how to hold onto some of it so he can pull stuff towards him like a frog—apparently Patton gets a kick out of that when he tells him—and how to make sure it’s not constantly living in the back of his throat. It’s a fucking blast, actually, and he definitely uses it when Logan gets into an argument with Remus to ‘accidentally’ cough a web into his face. It’s priceless.

 That doesn’t mean it’s all good stuff, though.

 He wakes up one night with his room covered in webs, sticking to every single available surface, tying him up so he can barely move. His mouth runs dry, his throat aches. He blinks a few times and can’t get the gummy feeling to go away.

 Patton, Patton I—I—

 Virgil? Kiddo, can I come to you?

 Help me—

 “Hey, hey,” he hears not a moment later, right next to his head, “hey, kiddo, shh, you’re okay, I’m right here.”

 “P-Pat?”

 “Yeah, honey.” Patton waves his hand and a little glow appears in the corner of the room. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

 Virgil breathes, wincing when he feels the strands of the webs again. Patton makes a sympathetic noise.

 “Do you want me to get rid of them?” At Virgil’s insistent nod, he waves his hand again and they vanish. “They’re gone now, kiddo, it’s okay. Can you sit up for me?”

 Patton wraps his arms tightly around him and holds him close, warm, warm, warm, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 “Shh, shh, you’re okay, nightmare?”

 “Yeah.”

 Another kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

 “I think—“ Virgil swallows— “I think that’s why the webs came out.”

 Patton nods. “I can see they trapped a lot of it for you.”

 Virgil blinks. “Wait, what?”

 “The little buzzing things, the ones that love to fly around you.” He tips Virgil’s head to cup his cheeks, brushing his thumb along the curve of his face. “The ones I can dust off for you?”

 “What about them?”

 Patton nods toward the rest of the room. “Your webs were trapping most of them, kiddo, making it so you weren’t as badly affected.”

 “O-oh.” He swallows again. “But I—I didn’t like it.”

 “Making them when you weren’t in control?” Virgil nods. “I can understand that, it must’ve been scary to wake up with a room full of webs.”

 Virgil nods again, shifting a little closer to Patton. Wait—

 “If the webs were holding them,” he starts, “then why…why aren’t they coming back?”

 Patton chuckles. “They know better than to try and touch you when I’m here.”

 Virgil hums, burrowing into Patton’s chest and letting him idly flick away the few that dare get close. And yeah, that…that makes sense, but he would rather not be coughing up webs while he’s unconscious. For one, his throat still hurts.

 Patton just gently lays his hand against Virgil’s neck and strokes, once, twice, three times, encouraging him to swallow. He does, sighing at the rush of warmth that comes with it.

 “Good,” Patton murmurs, “do you want help to make the webs before you go back to sleep?”

 “Help to make them?”

 “We can set up a little bubble so they get caught, and so you won’t have to do it asleep.”

 “You—you’d help me?”

 Something flashes behind Patton’s eyes for a moment before it’s replaced by a soft smile. “Of course, sweetheart, I’ll always help you.”

 Virgil shifts a bit closer. “Can we stay like this for a little longer first?”

 “Of course, kiddo, you come here.”

 The webs help. A little. It takes some getting used to, and there’s definitely still times when he wakes up and his throat is all gummy from nightmares, but it does help.

 Then, of course, there are the new legs.

 Virgil’s eyes shoot open as something cracks. He floats, unaware of what’s happening, as cracks continue to shake the floor of the room. His head rolls to the side. What’s happening? Why can’t he feel anything? There’s just this white-hot tinge to the corners of his vision, almost as if he’s springing up out of his body, what—

 —no.

 No, no, no, he made it out.

 He was free, they were going to keep him safe, how—

 He gasps.

 Pain floods his senses, turning his blood white and his mouth opens in a silent scream. His jaw aches after the first few seconds and it aches, it truly does, and as his head lolls to the side all he can think about is how the wood at the bottom of the door doesn’t quite reach the floor.

 A golden thread inside of him snaps taut and yanks.

 “Virgil? Virgil!”

 “J?”

 “Yes, little mouse, it’s me,” Janus’s voice calls from somewhere above him, “I’m right here, darling, tell me what’s wrong.”

 “It—it hurts, I—“

 “Shh, shh—oh, darling.” A gloved hand touches his cheek to catch the tears. “Oh, little mouse, tell me what’s so awful, what’s hurting you?”

 Another sharp crack rings out and Janus makes a noise.

 “Virgil, you’re going to have to roll over.”

 Moving of any sort feels like the actual worst, thank you very much.

 “They’re trying to come out of your back, darling, any pressure on them is going to make it worse.”

 Blinking through the haze of white, Virgil manages to stare up at Janus. He watches his mouth thin to a hard line.

 “Come on, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, gently tucking his hand under Virgil’s cheek, “roll toward me, I’ll catch you, but you have to get off your back.”

 At the gentle urging of the thread, Virgil closes his eyes and rolls.

 “Good,” Janus soothes, cradling him as they lie down on the floor, “good job, darling, I’ve got you, little mouse, it’s alright.”

 “What’s—what’s happening?”

 “You’re changing, sweetie.” Janus rubs a circle into his lower back, away from the pain, “that’s all it is. Shh, shh, I know it hurts, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

 “Make it stop,” he whines, burying his face shamelessly into the crook of Janus’s neck, “it hurts.”

 “I know, sweetie, I know. You’re doing so well, it’s okay. You’re okay, I’m right here.”

 Janus wraps his arms around him carefully, avoiding the center of his back. One hand cups the back of his neck, another ruffling through his hair. Two stroke down his shoulders, trying to get the muscles to relax. The last pair sling around his hips and hold him close.

 “I know it hurts, sweetie,” Janus whispers, “but you have to try and relax. Tensing up will only make it hurt more.”

 “I can’t—“

 “You can, sweetie, they’re almost out, it’s okay.” He tips his head to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “You’re doing much better than I did when my arms were first growing in.”

 “R-really?”

 “Yes, sweetie, really…oh, easy, little mouse, shh, just focus on me…”

 Virgil clings onto him as his back keeps cracking, over and over. Janus is right, though, holding onto him makes it a little easier, especially when he reaches a hand up to brush the tears away.

 “I’ve got you, Virgil,” he promises, “it’s almost over, you’re doing so well, just a little more, now, stay here with me…”

 “I want it to stop, it fucking hurts.”

 “I know, little mouse, I know.”

 “Don’t think—“ Virgil gasps against his neck as another crack rings out, quieter this time, though— “don’t think that works anymore.”

 “You’ll always be my little mouse,” Janus whispers, “but you can also be my little spider.”

 Virgil blinks. His back still aches, but…the blinding white pain is gone. He tries to stretch—

 —and freezes when new things respond in ways that do not make sense.

 “Jan?”

 “You’ve got new limbs, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, giving his hair a ruffle, “can you try and move them for me?”

 Oh, he was not meant to have these muscles in these places. Still, he manages to figure out which ones he’s supposed to flex only for another jolt of pain to shoot through them.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus shushes when he winces, “I know it hurts, but you’ve got to start building up a range of motion now, otherwise they’ll get sore and stuck very quickly.”

 Virgil grits his teeth and bears it, listening to Janus’s gentle instructions on how to bend, unbend, and rotate the—four?—four new limbs coming from the center of his back. He definitely sheds a few more tears into the collar of Janus’s shirt, but by the time Janus rubs the back of his neck and tells him he’s all done, for now, his back does feel a little better.

 “You did so well, sweetie, I’m so proud of you.”

 “Can I never do that again?”

 Janus chuckles. “Absolutely, little spider.”

 Oh. Oh, fuck.

 Janus’s eyes widen as a brilliant blush starts to bloom over Virgil’s cheeks. “Well.”

 “No.”

 “But it’s been so long since I have seen you so flustered, little spider,” he purrs, gently knuckling the side of Virgil’s face, “can you blame me?”

 “Stoppit.”

 “Oh, darling, is it truly still so easy?”

 “Well, it’s easy once I’m already here!”

 “Mm.”

 Virgil does not squeak, thank you very much, as Janus sits up and pulls him fully into his lap.

 “And where is here, little spider,” he hums, bringing one hand up to cup his chin, “right…here?”

 Well, there go Virgil’s speaking abilities.

 Janus chuckles, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s certainly been a while since I’ve seen you speechless, darling.”

 Virgil just mumbles and throws his arms around him.

 “Oh, it’s okay, little spider,” Janus murmurs, softer this time, “I’m done now, you have my word.”

 “Mean.”

 “Yes, yes, I know, I’ve been very rude to you.” Another kiss on his cheek. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

 “How?”

 As an answer, he feels hands begin to rub gently at the muscles in his back, encouraging the last bit of cramps loose. An exhale tears itself out of his chest as he sags forward.

 “Good,” comes the soft whisper, “good, little spider, just relax, I’ve got you.”

 Virgil mumbles, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. “Hurts.”

 “Still?” At his nods, Janus makes a noise of sympathy and redoubles his efforts. “It’s okay, little spider, I’ve got you, you’re here with me.”

 Something dark shifts in his stomach again. He tucks his head firmly under Janus’s chin and takes a shaky breath.

 “What is it, darling?”

 “When I woke up,” he mumbles, “thought it was—that I—“

 He swallows.

 “…wasn’t sure if I was…back or not.”

 Janus stills. The dark thing in the pit of Virgil’s stomach snaps.

 “You are here,” Janus says, a growl tinging the edge of his voice, “you are here, with me, and you are safe.”

 Arms wrap tightly around him.

 “None of them will touch you again,” he promises, “I have you. I have you, little spider, you’re safe.”

 Virgil just sits there, basking in the warm, golden glow, as Janus wraps the threads of Reality around them.

 “Keep me?”

 “I’ll keep you, little spider, I’ll always keep you.”

 He lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

 One last kiss pressed to his forehead. “Always.”

 The limbs are…interesting. The first time Janus takes him to the mirror to see them, Virgil almost runs away.

They look like spider legs, all segmented and hairy, but they’re a little too…purple to be just normal spider’s legs. Janus walks him carefully through how to stretch them, how to use them, how to turn them this way and that until it feels a little more like Virgil’s supposed to have them. He doesn’t seem to have to build up their strength as he would a new arm or leg—well, a humanoid arm or leg—but figuring out how to use them takes…a little longer than he’d like.

 And he never quite gets over how…wrong it looks.

 Freak.

 He does his best to hide it. It’s not like it isn’t expected, people don’t normally spontaneously grow limbs like, partway through their life anyway, let alone spider legs, so an adjustment period is expected, but…

 Freak.

 All things considered, he thinks he’s doing pretty well. He hasn’t lied to anyone—not that he really could—and no one’s asked him flat-out if he feels like they’re awful or anything, but…

 Freak.

 Then he makes his way back to his room as the sun sets one day and Roman is there, leaning up against the side of the house, waiting for him.

 He looks up and smiles, waving to Virgil and beckoning him closer. Virgil goes, valiantly suppressing the shudder at how fucking warm Roman is as a hand comes up to cup his cheek.

 Judging by the smile on his face, it’s not successful, but hey, he tried.

 “Hello, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, “can we talk for a moment?”

 Virgil nods.

 “Thank you, sweetheart, do you want to go inside, or…?”

 “Sure.”

 Roman lets Virgil lead him inside and pull him to sit down on the bed. He reaches out to push Virgil’s hair away from his face.

 “Do you know why I’m here, sweetheart?”

 When Virgil shakes his head, he scoots a little closer and rests his hand flat against his back, just below where the legs come out.

 “…oh.”

 Roman nods, rubbing little circles. “What’s troubling you, little honeybee?”

 Virgil huffs, gesturing over his shoulder. “Don’t think that works anymore.”

 “Mm, Janus said you’d say that,” he murmurs, shifting a little closer and lifting Virgil’s chin, “talk to me, sweetheart.”

 Virgil shuts his eyes. A web crawls up into the back of his throat and he swallows it down, willing the buzzing things to stay away, held at bay only by the web still in his throat and the insistence that everything is going to be fine.

 “…freak,” he mumbles eventually, much to Roman’s surprise, “they called me a freak.”

 Roman’s hand stills on his back.

 “I jus’—“ fuck, why is he crying?—“I jus’—they made sense, and I—“

“Don’t, sweetheart,” Roman says quietly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Virgil’s, “don’t do that to yourself.”

 Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lets Roman pull him closer, fighting down the urge to sob.

 “Yes, that’s it, come here—come sit with me—there,” he murmurs, sitting Virgil in his lap, “you’re not a freak, Virgil.”

 He huffs. “Easy for you to say.”

 Roman pulls back, frowning. “Why?”

 Fuck. Well, now’s he got to explain himself.

 “Um—“ and great, Roman’s not even doing anything and he’s bright red— “you don’t have any of—“ he waves to the spider legs— “you look like a normal human.”

 He hesitates.

 “…and you’re really pretty.”

 Roman blinks. His lips part and his breath leaves him in a rush. Virgil winces.

 “Sweetheart, do you think you don’t have value if you’re not pretty?”

 “I mean…”

 “No,” Roman growls, sitting up a little straighter and cupping V’s face in his hands, “no, Virgil, pretty isn’t some kind of rent you pay to exist in the world. You don’t owe anyone that, sweetheart.”

 Virgil’s eyes widen as Roman holds him tightly.

 “You have more to offer than just your outward appearance,” he says firmly, “so much more.”

 “But I—I’m not—“ Virgil swallows. “I can’t do anything.”

 “What do you mean you can’t do anything, sweetheart?”

 “You guys, you can all—“ he waves his hands—“do things. I can’t. I’m just…here.”

 “Oh,” Roman breathes as his face truly falls, “oh, little honeybee, you don’t have to be useful to be wanted.”

 Wait.

 What?

 Virgil doesn’t—he doesn’t have to—

 “What?”

 Roman nods, pulling him closer still, “you don’t, sweetheart, we want you. We will always want you. You don’t have to do anything to earn it.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “You’re mine, little honeybee, as long as you want to be,” he murmurs quietly, “you don’t need to do anything to earn my trust or affection. It’s yours.”

 Well, now Virgil feels stupid. The spider legs twitch unhappily over his shoulder. Roman catches it.

 “Still not used to them yet, I see,” he murmurs, “that’s alright. I’m not trying to tell you you’re not allowed to feel upset, sweetheart, I promise.”

 “I know.”

 “Can I help,” he asks softly, “can I help you see they’re nothing to be ashamed of?”

 “How?”

 “Has anyone touched them yet,” Roman asks, “other than to help you learn how to use them?”

 He shakes his head.

 “May I touch you, sweetheart?” Virgil nods and Roman smiles. “Thank you. Now, come here—yes, that’s it—“

 Virgil leans right up against Roman’s chest, letting him curl his arms around to scratch gently, gently at the very center of the four legs. It sends a jolt through him, every nerve buzzing.

 “You don’t have to think right now,” Roman hushes when Virgil can’t find the words to say exactly how much this means, “not if you don’t want. You can just sit and feel, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

 Warm. Warm hands rubbing firmly up the limbs as Virgil’s frantic thoughts grind slowly to a halt. Then Roman’s hands find a spot just below the third segment and he groans, low and dark.

 “Shh, I’ve got you,” Roman soothes, squeezing just enough to rewire more of Virgil’s brain, “I’m right here, little honeybee, I’ve got you.”

 It’s so much. It’s so much and every single hair on Virgil’s body stands. He hears Roman chuckle from far, far away and all he can do is whine. Roman shushes him, calling him ‘noisy’ in the most affectionate voice but it’s so much.

 And yet, it feels like something’s missing. Like there’s an extra joint that isn’t quite sitting right yet, like there’s a layer in between the spider legs and his back. Roman keeps touching him, holding him close, but it’s not right.

 “Roman,” he manages, just as Roman’s fingers slide around the base joint, “Roman—“

 “Yes, little honeybee?”

 “Magic.”

 Roman stills and Virgil tries not to whine at the loss. “What?”

 “Use your magic,” he says again, trying to clear his head enough to ask properly, “it feels—I can’t—they’re not mine yet.”

 He’s quiet for a moment. “And you think that if I use my magic, it will help?”

 “Please?”

 “You don’t have to beg, sweetheart, you know I can’t ever say no to you.” Roman ruffles his hair. “But you know the rules, sweetheart.”

 Virgil nods and sits up, leaning away to look at Roman properly. “If it’s too much or it feels like it wants me to want, I tell you and we stop.”

 “And…?”

 “And if I don’t like something.”

 “Good.” Roman takes a deep breath. “Alright.”

 “Yes?”

 “Yes, little honeybee.”

 “…still don’t think that works anymore.”

 “Mm.” Roman tilts his head.

 Virgil shifts as a smirk crawls over his face.

 “Janus told me something else, you know,” he says softly as he reaches to coax Virgil back into his lap.

 “…what?”

 Red sparks curl up from his fingers. Virgil closes his eyes, waiting for the hand to land on his back or the legs again, only for them to fly opened, startled when Roman cups his chin.

 “Wha—“

 Oh.

 Oh, no—Roman’s eyes darken a little, the sparks fizzing on the soft spot under his chin. He tilts his head to the side and leans closer.

 “Hello, little spider.”

 Virgil will deny the squeak he makes until the end of time. Roman chuckles and runs his finger lazily across Virgil’s jaw. The magic trails after him.

 “Pretty little spider,” he coos, voice slipping back into that light, sweet, gentle thing that wriggles straight into Virgil’s chest, “blushy little spider.”

 “R-Roman!”

 “Hmm?” The finger swipes along the other side of his jaw. “What is it, little spider?”

 All that comes out is a keen.

 “You asked for this, little spider,” Roman reminds, tapping the tip of Virgil’s nose, “you asked for the magic.”

 “The magic, not the flirting!”

 “Oh, the flirting’s for me, little spider,” he coos, “just for fun. You’re so lovely, I can’t help it.”

 “Mmm!”

 “Is this not what you wanted, little spider?” When Virgil can’t say anything, Roman chuckles but lifts his fingers away to let him catch his breath. “What do you want, little spider?”

 “You know what I want.”

 “I do,” he says softly, “but I need you to say it for me. I don’t want to do anything without your consent.”

 “…will you touch my legs, please?”

 Roman smiles, running his finger up Virgil’s neck, up under his chin, lifting to press a kiss to his cheek.

 “Good, little spider,” he whispers, reaching around to leave a small trail down the middle of Virgil’s back, shushing the light whine, “just relax, now, I’ve got you.”

 Virgil melts, all but collapsing into Roman as his magic trails lightly up and down the legs, over his back, sometimes fizzling into his hair as he kisses Virgil’s head. His legs start to move of their own accord, pushing up into Roman’s hands as he rocks them slowly back and forth.

 “Are you falling asleep, little spider? Does that feel good?” He feels Roman smile against his forehead. “You can sleep, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

 The last of Roman’s magic fizzles away but his hands stay, rubbing, stroking, petting up and down, up and down. Roman’s so warm.

 “Just rest, little spider,” Roman hushes, “you’re alright now, shh…”

 He falls asleep to moonlight streaming in through the window, his head pillowed on Roman’s chest.

 Somewhere, a purple thread winds itself into a braid next to a red thread, a green thread, a light blue thread, a dark blue thread, and a yellow thread.

 ‘Golden.’

 He’s so pretentious, it’s fine.

 Virgil’s home.

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(Un)Wanted Taglist: @deafeningdeppresedvoidthing@myrandomfandoms12 @i-love-books-and-so-do-you @homodetector @cohesiveanxiety @extrageekytrashofthething @beyondthestacks @lizzy-lineart @imknittingahat @twilight--trix @/nofurtherquestions-smirk @ray-does-stuff @lunatatic @our-bloody-mari666 @what-aboutno

If you want to be added/taken off/switched taglists, let me know!

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #fae

[evilliousmybeloved]

i would LOVE to here more about the twin michelle and nemesis au

so there's two parts to the au, normal ec au where it's ec but Michelle and Nemesis are twins and the alls good au where Nemesis and Michelle are twins but GET TO GROW UP TOGETHER

and as I've already talked about the former I'll talk about the ladder

So, Michelle. Nemesis. When they were small lil Nem would always hold onto Michelle's foot for some reason and Gallarien won't stop talking about it when they're older.

Nemesis also refused to do ANYTHING without her sister or parents when she was really young. Did not like school

Nem and Michelle are actually very competitive with eachother! Competing over grades, social life, their parents love.. It's just friendly sibling rivalry and doesn't mean much for Michelle... But Nemesis thinks it's very real and is very insecure. There is a rift between the twins. Miscommunication is common.

They will do anything to just mildly inconvenience eachother. Oh no! Looks like the cat (yes they have a cat) accidentally tore up all your clothes! Guess you'll have to go to school in your pajamas. Hey your food looks really good mind if I- Opps ate it all. Oh no, you have tripped! I sure didn't do that.

Nemesis woke up one day and said "father I crave violence" and he told her no >:/

Nem still meets Seth somehow. Donno the details but she does

Gallarien adores them, and they are, by all accounts, spoiled rotten.

Michelle is the older twin and often has more pressure on her.. She's the eesponcible one, she's the nice one- the better twin! She doesn't like real conflict so she just... Pretends like she doesn't notice her parents disintegrating marriage. She pretends she doesn't notice Nemesis becoming more and more distant. Mainly because she just doesn't really know what to do... She's supposed to, but she doesn't

Nemesis isn't actually Nemesis' real name but idk what it is either so it's her nickname for now

Bruno is dad#2

Sorry if this is incoherent it's 3AM

#evillious chronicles #nemesis sudou #Michelle Marlon #well here it'd be #Nemesis Marlon #au #evillious au #twin nemesis michelle au

[ohheyitsokay]

classic

pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: none, tropes on tropes on tropes, weird descriptions of things

summary: good, old fashioned fan fiction chaos

notes: there’s no getting around it - everything I write with Jack is inevitably influenced and inspired by @scribbledghost s version of him, particularly her neighbor!whiskey. I tried not to, but I still feel I should give credit!

>>

It was the kind of razor your grandfather would have used – more of a knife than anything, because of course it was.

Of course this would be edge that your housemate used to slide along his jaw and chin and cheeks to make that perfect mustache before work in the mornings. He was the type to love old fashioned, traditional, dangerous things - it made sense. After all, that was why you were staying in the guestroom of his ranch home while your apartment was being renovated. Old fashioned courtesy between friends, of course.

Dangerous.

Jack had caught you watching him, impressed in spite of yourself as the sharp blade scraped over his neck, neatly slicing the hairs on his throat, and pushing your heart into yours. It was unnecessarily intense, dramatic, the touch of risk for the sake of vanity. It made you swallow, awed that he wasn’t covered in little cuts, and almost aroused at how casually he used something so akin to a weapon. And that alone made him smirk, cocky, as though he had been waiting for you to notice, hoping to impress you.

A few days later he’d coaxed you to him, settled in a chair with his legs spread wide with confidence as he handed you the tool, smug with confidence – almost a challenge. He had gotten wrecked at work – he actually had, and it was the perfect excuse to draw you close, make you bend to his will. Schoolyard tactics, really, but all of this was, and it was worth it to have your eyes on him alone, face a breath away from his.

It was about trust more than anything. Not that you would ever hurt him, but the power of being over him was heightened by the intimacy as you lathered the cream over his skin.

His deep eyes bore into you, not flickering to the blade as you tried to focus on your task. If he had asked you a different time, another day, you maybe could have refused, but somehow his wanting your steady hand felt heavy with implication.

Ignoring the quickening steps of your heart, your fingers grasped his chin, shaving away the stubble he’d let grow just for this. Each slice of smooth skin revealed left a thick line of froth and hairs on the blade, and you got to breathe as your turned away to wipe it off. You could feel his gaze, still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Hovering over him while he was seated, touching his jaw, leaning close, and meeting those brown eyes would have been too much.

Your denial was as a solid as a wall with half sunk into the ground with cement – almost rooted in your fear of rejection.

It was a challenge to ignore the shots of adrenaline that filled you when he’d reach around you to grab something in the fridge, his chest against your back, hand on your hip. Already you had shoved down the butterflies in your stomach when he’d offered you a place to stay, carried your boxes, and called you sweetheart. You had spent far to long ignoring the way he hadn’t brought a single girl home since you’d been there to fold now and admit anything. Because if you did, there was a chance you would lose your friend forever, and that was out of the question.

You kept your eyes down to keep your hands steady.

For his part, Jack’s plan was only half working. He liked your attention, liked the way your breath hitched as you wiped him clean. But you were closer than you had ever been, patting in the aftershave and you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t open the door for him to push the tools and towels aside and kiss you. All he wanted was to grab hold of you and pull you into his lap and make you melt against him but there wasn’t a moment.

You’d been friends for a long time, been there for each other countless times and he had yearned for you almost as long. At first, he tried to deny it too, grabbing at random women and hating himself when he imagined they were you as he pulled them into his room.

Then he’d given that up, stopped pretending anyone could replace you, that anyone else occupied his dreams, anyone else could be as good a fit for him, and went after you full speed. It had honestly been innocent to invite you to stay, instinct instilled in him from his childhood. Still, he had begun to see the opportunities for the two of you to enjoy intimate domesticity right away, when he’d cooked you dinner and you’d talked at his table for hours, finally not worried about having to drive home. He ached for that – not ever really having to leave you, and he spent more nights than he’d like to admit thinking of knocking on your door.

Only… you were still in your denial phase. Not sleeping around just pretending it was normal to sink into his arms after a bad day, to let your friend play with your hair until you fell asleep, to watch his lips as you gently helped him shave.

It was too vulnerable, to high of a risk to go after you with the chance that you weren't ready. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

-

“What, really?” you said, genuinely surprised. When you’d accepted to stay, he’d promised you there would be no problems, but now you felt guilty.

His mama was coming to town, and would more than likely be staying with him.

“I’ll find somewhere else!”

Jack was already shaking his head at you, like you were missing the joke, but he looked… almost nervous? You couldn’t tell, it wasn’t something you saw on his face often.

“Actually, sweetheart, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he was asking, but it’s not like you could actually say no you him, when he shot that winning smile your way. It was like not petting a puppy – and you were the opposite of allergic to cowboy secret agents.

“You know Mama Daniels,” he said and you smiled, having spent many a summer helping her in her garden, and being thanked with dinners heavy with butter and love. “She’ll like you here, she’ll be over the damn moon.” And you conceded. It would be more than nice, to spend time with such a wonderful woman, an Jack had invested in a very comfortable couch. For a week you enjoyed a hopeful bliss, that she would help remind you Jack was just your friend.

The sun was shining through the windows, the winding almost singing a quiet, breathy song, and everything was as spotless as you could manage. Well worn quilts were clean, and you had set up a little station for yourself in the living room determined to make it your home for the week.

Then she came with a jacket that matched her slacks and shoes with little buckles and a paisley suitcase full of presents for her son, who she insisted wasn’t really grown. She hugged you and scolded you for being at work instead of coming to pick her up, and finally settled at the kitchen table, her intentions clear. You were to sit and catch up - Jack was already pulling the sweet tea you’d made from the fridge and a reused sewing tin filled with butter cookies appeared out of her purse.

Meekly, you sat, knowing if you didn’t eat the cookies in quantity, she would pout her whole visit. You could feel Jack settle at your side as she talked, warm and solid, a comfort, despite the heat of the day.

The cookies disintegrated on your tongue, melting with a burst of sweet before the bite was gone. They were full of love and maternal affection and things that you hated to spend money on and made all bad thoughts disappear. You were thankful your mouth was full of one when she mentioned, offhandedly, how plum delighted she was when she found out the two of you were finally dating. Abruptly, you remembered just how wrong your previous hope was.

The sweet lady had been hinting for you to marry her son since before he’d mastered his first lasso, and apparently, she was sure that moment was well on its way.

“And living together, no less!” she was beaming with pride, tradition apparently irrelevant as she chatted happily about it.

Turning to the man by your side, you found him choking, trying to breathe through the cookie he’d accidentally inhaled. There was a white ring around his irises as he stared at you, panicking and aptly confused. Sure your face matched his, you jerked your head at his mother, a silent argument ensuing.

Did you do this?

No!

What do we do?

We can’t break her heart!

It went unnoticed. You felt helpless, drinking your tea and trying not to have a small meltdown in front of a very misinformed lady who had brought you cookies.

He was your friend! And sure, you liked the weight of his arm around your shoulders or could get lost in the drawl of his voice but that was normal! It was normal to be so comfortable with him as the beginning, end, and highlight to each of your days.

Sounding weak even to yourself, a crack, solid and formidable, formed in the wall you created to protect yourself and the friendship you had built.

“Ma’am, I’ll be back in a moment,” you whispered, grabbing your phone as you grasped at air, hoping beyond logic that you could pretend it was an important call.

You didn’t exactly run away, but you walked very quickly outside, mourning the loss of your little guestroom, and the privacy it offered.

Jack would never, ever smack his mama but he did want to say some choice words. Nothing could have prepared him for the last two minutes of his life, first the embarrassment of the misunderstanding and then… the fear in your eyes.

He hated it, hated it so much more than he ever thought he could, hated that it was probably his fault it was there. And he hated that it shrouded the longing he had begun to see there, these past few weeks. Long strides carried him after you, hearing his own voice distantly saying words, explaining maybe, as he left the table.

There was a tree, trunk too wide to wrap your arms around, thicket of leaves creating bean-shaped shadow on the ground, by one corner of his home.

You were behind it, almost like a child, letting the bark press lines into your forehead. The dappled lighting did wonders for you – you looked the perfect picture of a storybook wanderer in distress.

Jack slowed, overwhelmed with the desire to encompass you in his arms, slay your dragons, and whisk you away. Now was not the time.

He kept his voice soft, reaching for you in place of his hands, trying hopelessly to find the root of your panic.

You were just as quiet, telling him it was fine, you would pretend, as long as you’d talk tonight, after she went to sleep. His heart was creating dramatic movie scenes where you would float into his room, declaring your love for him, before settling in his arms, but he shook them away, agreeing.

Smile over-bright, you touched his smooth cheek a moment too long, before pushing past him back towards the house.

He allowed the afterglow of his daydream to wash over him only a moment before he jogged go catch up with you.

-

The quilt on Jack’s bed had chickens on it, of all things. It was one of those that had clearly been homemade, years and years ago, taken care of, but worn at the edges with memories and use. One pillow had a dent for his head, the other was squashed into an unrecognizable shape

You didn’t know that it wasn’t like that, before. That his arms had only started searching for something to hold onto since you had been around.

All of his room was new to you – it made you feel strange, realizing that for weeks you’d been in his home but not this part of his space.

The afternoon his mother came, he’d been called into the field. You had never quite seen the look on his face as he reasoning fell on deaf ears – desperation and frustration like ants ruining honey on a picnic. The flannel across his back bunched as his shoulders had filled with tension before he stripped it off to change into his work clothes. Jack kissed his mothers cheek and spewed instructions for the both of you, some apologies spilling out and others kept just behind his eyes as he grasped your hand.

His final command was for your ears alone -  that you take his room, and you’d been too panicked to refuse. The last three days, the smell of him and the memorabilia  scattered around the space kept you company when his mother went to sleep and you slept in his bed for the first time, alone.

It was surprising how sentimental he was. His hooks had another cowboy hat on them, a little wider, brown, and considerably more worn. There was a stack of printed photos in a little box by his bed – it was open, and some of the photos had oil-worn fingerprints along the edges. You found ones of you, and your heart flipped inside your chest.

You should have realized it was impossible to deny yourself, your feelings, with him surrounding you like this. Each thing you learned, each reminder of him practically reached off of the walls, as if he were there, coaxing your heart into his hands. It felt silly, almost, that you even tried to ignore it - you had missed him the moment his hand left yours. Now you had all the time to process, surrounded by his neatly folded shirts and the line of his favorite boots.

The idealized illusion of your relationship had only lasted half a day of living with his mother. Her warm brown eyes were too much like her son’s – you couldn’t lie to them. It was good though, for her to hold your hand a listen to you talk as the birds gossiped outside the window and steam seeped out of the pie you helped her bake. Miraculously, she wasn’t disappointed with you, commending your honestly, and explaining that if she was patient until now, then she could certainly continue to do so.

The more you talked to her, the more you suspected that she was right, all along. She helped you dig up the walls, her kind determination the shovel you needed for those concrete roots.

You would work and talk and tuck yourself into his chicken-clad blanket at night and finally, finally let yourself think of him, allow yourself to be in love with him.  You didn’t know he had started actually living in his room again, when he’d started letting himself love you. That he thought of your smile when he’d found his old quilt. Still, the more you thought, the more you could admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too.

That was how Jack found you - absorbed in your thoughts - the whiskey in his hand as forgotten as the mission and the agent he’d played for the past seventy eight hours and twenty one minutes.

He watched through the half open door, words failing him as you sat up, startled and the way your eyes searched for injuries made him want to eat you alive. 

There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in his bed, even though he had told you to be there and three days to daydream about it. It was intensely intoxicating, having someone care for you so intimately. 

With his sheets sliding down around your waist, you looked as good as the pie on the counter, as if a single snapshot could encompass everything he wanted home to be.

You were wearing a shirt he’d given you, years ago, and he swallowed, hard.

“Are you up for that talk?” his voice was rough. It would have been nice, to relish in the feeling of you checking him over, attention on him as he unwound, but he couldn’t wait. This moment was three days overdue.

“I told your mom we aren’t dating,” you blurted and he smiled, having guessed as much. Smoothing the blanket, your hand patted the spot next to you, your legs crossing.

In that, Jack knew something had changed since he left you. The flickering fear had fled your eyes, and you seemed settled into your skin more than ever before.

He sat next to you, having played over how this talk would go a million times, and still not finding the right words. Confidence was easier to find when he was flirting, poking at you, but seemed foreign in the din lights of his bedroom. Instead he shifted trying to lean back with his arm along the headboard, hoping he didn’t seem like a teenager trying to buy himself time.

You began to talk, saving him, and all the things you’d processed with his mama tumbled out of you before you were realizing that you were confessing how much he truly meant you. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been strange how comfortable you felt, but in the moment, you were in awe.

Jack was as handsome as always, if a little roughed up, like he’d worn the same clothes a few days in a row. You wanted to run your fingers over the short, patchy beard he had going, and without a second thought, you did, feeling his cheeks move as he smiled crookedly and leaned into the touch.

There was only a moment of quiet, crickets outside, before he said, “I missed you, too.” And then, “Will you stay, sweetheart?”

When you whispered, “Where else would I go?” he kissed you.

It was late, and there were still words unsaid, questions to be answered, but you both let yourselves get lost, exploring each other. Long moments passed, letting all the pent up yearning overflow like cool water after a long, hot day. Then the next steps came out, whispered between kisses and as he moved over you, shucking the final walls between you, you found yourselves actually dating, and maybe even actually living together. 

Old fairy tales and historic romances played in the back of your mind, inserting their logic into your life like had never quite made sense before.

And you wondered if you had time in the morning, and his mama didn’t give you too much grief, if he would let you help him shave, and eat pie for breakfast. Because for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

<<

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @0celestialbitch0 @beautyagegoodnesssize

#this got away from me #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman #maybe i don't know people

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 7

I can only describe this as tooth-rotting fluff. Our whumpee deserves it!

Thank you so much to everyone for going through this story with me. I’ve had so much fun.

@worstcasescenariolullaby

CW//Hospital setting, medical talk, talk of broken bones, talk of surgery, altered states of mind, mentions of death, mentions of building collapses, conspiracy

“Are you sure about this?” Sidekick’s face twisted in a mask of concern.

“I’m sure.” Villain nodded.

“The Heroes...”

“The city won’t let this happen again. Come visit me in hospital sometime, okay? I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The felt piece on the bottom of the chess pawn had long since worn away, leaving a dull screeching noise in its wake as Villain moved the piece forward on the board. In expectation, they raised their head to their opponent, before gazing back down at the board. Examining the playing field. Furrowing their brows.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Their opponent, Old Friend, spoke, their tongue filled with equal parts laughter and playful teasing. “And... there goes your rook.”

“What!” Villain’s gaze darted about the board, before grumbling and removing their fallen piece, adding it to a quickly growing pile. “You’re cheating.”

“How does one cheat at chess?”

“By being better than me. There, okay, there goes your pawn.”

“And there goes your knight.”

“Asshole. Come on, you have to have a secret. You gotta tell me.”

Old Friend smiled.

“You’re so intent on taking my pieces that you don’t worry about your own. Also, I was in the chess club back in school, so...”

“Nerd.” Villain stuck out their tongue.

“Alright, candle boy.”

“Hey! I told you-”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just really funny.”

“I could disintegrate a candle-”

“I know, I know. It’s your move, dude.”

“Fine. Is turning the board to ash a valid chess move?”

“There’s enough fire damage on the pieces as it is. Candle boy.”

“At least come up with something better than that. Like... Like blowtorch. That sounds cool.”

“Blowtorch? What are you, like, seven?”

“Eh, there’s worse villain names out there.”

“You don’t have one yet, do you?”

“Nah. I’m not that breed of cocky. They just call me the arsonist, I think.”

“That’s pretty underwhelming.”

“Meh.”

Again, Villain studied the board a moment. They sent a rook forwards, knocking over a knight on the other side.

“Your move.”

Old Friend nodded, and, for a few moments, they sat like that. Accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the city and the scraping of pieces on the board.

“Did Violet ever have a name?”

It took Villain a few moments to register the question. They moved a piece before looking up.

“What, like a villain name?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. You could ask her.”

“Aw, man, you haven’t heard?”

Villain frowned, lips pursing together to form a thin line.

“She’s gone?”

“Bridge collapse. I was always warning her, taking roots out of the ground like that is gonna make something fall eventually. Just so happened to be right on top of her. It’s a shame, really. Gonna have to find somewhere else to get our lettuce, now.”

“Not funny.”

“I know. And... check.”

“What?”

“Checkmate.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

Villain shoved the board away from themself, sitting back and stretching their arms above their head. Old Friend swiped the remaining pieces from the board, beginning to once again set the stage for their next game.

“This time, think about the risk you might be putting your pieces in. It’s not worth it, losing a knight to take out a pawn, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“What’s got you acting so sad all of a sudden?” Old Friend looked up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m gonna get a candle.”

“Okay. You good?”

“I just... I just need a candle.”

Villain stood, stiff legs aching with pins and needles as they moved across the small, damp-walled apartment. The kitchen, or what was little more than a countertop with a fridge and microwave, was barren, snack bowls long since left with nothing but crumbs.

They drew open the door of one of the wall-mounted cabinets, unveiling a series of shelves, stacked with white pillars of wax. Most lumpy and misshapen, the rest bent and folded in on themselves. Villain selected one, moving back to where Old Friend had just finished resetting the board. They sat in their spot, a place already well worn into the carpet.

“Do you want to play again?” Old Friend’s voice had grown quiet, concerned.

“Yeah... Just give me a second.”

“Need to let it out?”

“Yeah.”

The firebrand gripped the white-waxed candle in one hand, then the other. Feeling the film transfer from palm to palm. The flame in their stomach answered the call without hesitance. They had already felt the heat, struggling to escape into their veins.

It was slow, at first. The wax did not melt, simply molding itself, bulging and shifting as to allow Villain’s fingers to make their mark. Their eyes fixed upon the process: The control of it. The way in which the wax moved only on their call.

It helped them breathe.

“Violet...” They began, frowning again. “That’s the second bridge accident this year.”

“There’s a lot of bridges, to be fair.”

“But not a lot of collapses.”

“What are you saying?”

“It seems so much like a coincidence, but... How many have we lost, this year?”

“Violet and Argyle, uh, Aaron I think. Dana and Evelyn and-”

“And what month is it?”

“April?”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, we lose a lot, but...”

“And they’re always accidents. Car crashes. Building fires. Drownings. But they’re not accidents.”

The wax yielded with more readiness. A few droplets fell, deftly caught by Villain’s other hand.

“What do you mean, they’re not accidents? I don’t think people drown on purpose.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I mean. If they were actually accidents, you would think they’d happen at random times. But-”

“It’s always when the Heroes are around. Always during battle.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are doing it on purpose, though. I mean, they wouldn’t just blow up a bridge to kill one villain. The battles just get too intense, I think. I mean, how many times have you almost died in battle?”

“A lot.”

“Same here. That’s all.”

“No. No.” Villain shook their head. “I’ve almost died many times. But I haven’t died. Because I’m not stupid. And the others weren’t, either.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are killing people, Villain.”

“Then what else are they doing?”

“I don’t know, protecting the city? Whatever nonsense they say.”

“Protecting the city from us. Supposedly. But it seems like they’re a hell of a lot more focused on these big battles.”

“That’s kind of our fault, to be fair.”

“Is it? Most of our didn’t choose this life.”

“We’re still doing, I mean, crimes. Like, we’re definitely criminals.”

“Then they should be taking us to prison.”

“Isn’t that what they do?”

“When is the last time you heard of anyone going to prison?”

“I mean, uh... What about Jared?”

“You mean the one they got in a van that then mysteriously exploded?”

“Oh. Right. What about, uh, didn’t they get Kara?”

“Yeah. And then pronounced her dead at the hospital.”

“Okay. Maybe... maybe you have a point.”

Between Villain’s fingers, a single droplet of candle wax fell.

“Yeah.”

Old Friend sighed.

“Do you want to play again?”

“Mhm.”

Villain drew the heat from their palms, allowing the remnants of the candle to solidify in their hands. They placed it down, then, though droplets of white still stuck to their fingers.

“I think...” Old Friend looked down at the board, considering their first move. “I think if the Heroes ever capture you, you’ll find they’re a lot kinder than you expect.”

Villain snorted in laughter.

“If the Heroes ever capture me, there will nothing left of my body to find.”

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“It’s a miracle.”

“It is. The damage they sustained... I can hardly believe that there’s enough blood left in them to keep them alive.”

“Hardly any blood. Hardly any body, either.”

“Yeah.”

“A real miracle. The guys down in Radiology, they thought we got the scans mixed up. They confused them for those of the guy in the other room. The motorcycle crash one.”

“That makes sense. To think that a human did this...”

“Not a normal human. A lot stronger than a normal human.”

“But with the same morals as a normal human.”

“You’d hope so.”

“Oh. Crap, looks like they’re waking up. Let’s give a bit more propofol... They need their rest.”

Villain’s closed eyes twitched, as though dreaming. At least, they did not think they were dreaming. It was hard to say, these days...

Had it been days? Or just a couple of hours? They tried to think, to remember, but the will to do so was deeply buried under blankets and bitter-tasting medicines. They longed to sit up, to move, to open their eyes, but those thoughts came from such a small part of their mind. The rest of them was so tired...

The numbness, now, was softer. Warmer. It was not a force of overwhelming heat, laughing at them and telling them to forget their pain, to keep moving. Instead, this time, the numbness was simply warm. Pleasantly so. Urging them to rest, to sleep, to ignore the taste of iron on their tongue that refused to go away.

Sleeping and wakefulness, to them, felt to be a sliding scale. They spent much time at the former end, in blissful unconsciousness, but had yet to find themself at the latter. They struggled for it, struggled to get close, but their anxious murmurs and twitching were always responded to with soft words and hands and more warmth in their veins.

Vilain was floating for a moment. Again, the hundredth time, they struggled to part their lips, but only managed to exert effort to no end.

“Their leg... I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Are you sure they’re strong enough for this?”

“Yeah. We can’t wait any longer. The bone will heal wrong if we wait any longer.”

“Okay.”

The numbness was stronger, that time.

“Villain? Villain?”

Their eyelids twitched, again.

“They said you’d opened your eyes, earlier...”

There was more softness, in that tone. Not the pitying notes of a doctor or nerve-wracked surgeon, but the warm coaxing of a friend.

The hand on their wrist was cold.

Their fingers twitched, then their lips. They tried to utter out a syllable, but only managed a shaky breath.

“Yeah, that’s it. Thank you. Do you remember me?”

Did they? They weren’t sure what they remembered, anymore. They remembered being here. They remembered the blankets and the half-hearted attempts by the nurses to coax them into swallowing a spoonful of jello.

“It’s Doctor. Do you remember me? Do you remember Doctor?”

“Doctor?”

The word came out more like a croak. Their eyes twitched with more furor this time, until, at long last, the world flooded into sterile existence around them. They got distracted, a moment, by the pattern of white tiles above.

“There you go!” There was genuine pride in that voice. “I knew you could do it.”

“Mmm.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” That cold hand moved from their wrist to their hand. Trying to hold it, to embrace their fingers. But Villain did not have the strength for such a thing. “I’m so sorry, Villain. I’m so sorry.”

“F- for what?”“

“I- I almost killed you! Had you stayed under my care... I’m sorry.”

Villain blinked a moment, trying to think.

“You...” Their throat felt so terribly raw. “You were right.”

“It wasn’t right to let Hero try to kill you.”

“No... Not that. You said, uh, about warmth. ‘Bout heat.”

There was a smile. Villain did not have to see it to know that it was there.

“You understood?”

“Yes. On th’stage.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did good.”

“I get it, now. I think... Heat can, uh, it can destroy buildings.” Their words were awfully drawn out, hard to understand through their lengthy slurring. “But it can also... bake cookies.”

Doctor laughed, at that.

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Villain’s fingers finally agreed to move, wrapping around Doctor’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Villain.” Another sigh. This one, warm. “Have you heard, what they’re saying about you? You lost so much blood. And your organs were all over the place. It’s a miracle that you survived.”

The grasp on Villain’s hand tightened.

“They said you only lived because you wanted to. Because you really, really wanted to survive. Is that right?”

“I... I think it is. Yeah.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? Get some rest.”

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It was three weeks after, that they were allowed to have any more visitors. Three weeks of medicines and surgeries and treatments and x-rays. It all blurred in their mind, until the calendar held as little meaning to them as the results of their blood tests.

They weren’t healed. Certainly not. But wakefulness no longer felt like such a monumental effort.

The jello tasted like nothing as they placed it upon their tongue. Nothing but sugar and sweetener, desperately trying to mask the tastelessness of gelatin. By the time the door opened, which it did with such a force that Villain wondered if it had been struck with a battering ram, they were almost done with the cup of overly-sweet dessert.

They jumped, nearly dropping their plastic spoon as their gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, the figure in the doorway made their limbs begin to shake, a familiar pressure reviving on their neck. But, it only lasted a second.

Sidekick looked different. Their stature was the same, certainly, as well-muscled as ever, but it was no longer draped in any sort of uniform. Instead, a grey sweatshirt struggled to contain their form, marked with the logo of some sports team or another.

Villain took another bite of jello.

“Good news.” Sidekick’s smile had the same media allure that Hero once showed the cameras, sending a shiver down Villain’s spine. They strode nearer, confident steps striking the tile floor. Compared to them, Villain felt terribly small. “Come on, don’t you want to hear it?”

Another bite and the cup was empty. They placed it down on the small table next to their bed.

“Um... Yeah. Okay.” They could not muster up nearly enough energy to match that of their visitor.

“Okay, so, J- sorry, uh, you-know-who, they found the video. The real one. Without all the edits.”

“That’s... good.”

“Mhm. We have news stations willing to broadcast it, too. Put some doubt on the story, right?”

“Right.”

“You... Don’t seem as excited as I remember you being.”

“Sorry.” Villain’s gaze cast downwards. “I’m still just a little tired, and all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. You got hurt pretty bad. Do you have any idea when you might be out of here?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll try to ask a nurse or something. When you’re strong enough, though, we’ve got this whole plan. You’re gonna be, like, our emissary. Between us and the villains, yeah?”

“Uh... why?”

“Well, I mean, the Heroes only really exist to stop you and the other villains. If we can just... convince them to stop doing villain stuff, then the public will start the see that the Heroes are, y’know, not all their cracked up to be.”

Villain struggled to suppress a smile. They couldn’t imagine trying to ask some of their former cohorts to all of a sudden go on the straight and narrow.

Still, even beneath the blankets and the medicine, they felt the smallest scrap of warmth return. A tiny ember, floating in their stomach.

The opportunity to turn their pain into something other than nightmares and tears in the hospital bed’s pillow.

“When I’m out of here... well, we’ll have to see, I guess.”

“That’s all we can really hope for. Now, uh, I kind of have to go. They’re about to notice I broke a window.”

“You w-”

“Sorry! Gotta go!”

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It was the smell that made Villain recognize their second visitor, more than their appearance.

They looked different. Quite different. Taller, slightly, with tight cords of muscle now curling about their neck. Nothing like the tiny twig they’d once known.

It looked like they’d finally hit their growth spurt, after all. A decade late.

The scent that they carried with them was one of freshly cut wood, the rural stench of sawdust, accompanied by the damp musk of a home long forgotten.

“Holy shit, candle boy.”

Four words. Four stupid words, uttered the moment Old Friend walked through the door.

Villain burst out laughing.

Not laughter of sorrow, or of venom. True laughter. The warmth that filled their chest this time had nothing to do with flame.

“So, am I allowed to hug you, or...”

“There’s no doctors here to tell us not to.”

“Good point.”

The warmth in Villain’s chest only increased with Old Friend’s embrace. Their friend buried their head in their shoulder. The tears wet quickly through Villain’s hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I should have-”

“It’s in the past, now. I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

“Just to be clear... you’re not a good guy?”

“I don’t know what I am. But I’m still your friend.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The embrace broke off after over a minute, though it was still far too soon.

“We have an apartment. Me and Aggie and some others.” Old Friend stepped back. “We have a room all set up. Even found some of your old stuff. I know it’s gonna be a while, but... you’ve always got somewhere to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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The End

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I can’t thank you guys enough for reading through this story and experiencing it with me. This is the end of this story, but I hope to make another one soon!

There is no next part, so there are no story paths to choose from for next time. But, I still have options to pick from. I want to hear what you think Villain’s choice will be!

A) Be a hero. Go with Sidekick, and liberate the city

B) Be a friend. Return to Old Friend. Make life good again.

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villain whumpee #hero villain whump #gilded cage #choose your own adventure #choose your own whump

[daydream-believin]

What About the Smaller Picture (3)

Summary: Merlin knows best. And what he feels is best for you and Douxie right now is to sit around and wait for him to come back from New Jersey, Merlin-knows-when. (3) You’ve adjusted to Arcadian life pretty well. (1) or (4)

Warnings: Swearing, sleep problems?

Word count: 2474

A/n:  sorry this wasnt out sooner I’ve had a week

The curtains were blue. They had a little pattern of navy and white flowers and curvy lines like pottery painted with indigo. You had moved one of Doux’s bookshelves to be the second wall to allow the curtain rod to even be in place. This layout effectively created a nook of sorts around your little bed. To be frank the curtains weren’t absolutely necessary. The space kinda gave you university dorm vibes with the two twin beds across from each other. But there was no way you were letting this guy you barely knew watch you sleep. Even if you were good friends, you wouldn’t let him watch you sleep. That kind of vulnerability was special, reserved for only those closest to you.

Speaking of closeness, Douxie had been very adamant about you not calling him by his full name anymore. Made him feel like you were reprimanding him, he said. You could relate to the feeling, and so you were now being careful to replace all ‘Hisirdoux’s with ‘Douxie’s in your head. Or at least a ‘Doux’. Not ‘Babe’. Who told you that. You definitely never referred to him as Babe in your mind. Nope. That Is Not Something Friends Do.

“And,” Douxie rubbed the back of his neck, “Normally when people call me Hisirdoux nowadays it’s because they want to kill me. Only strangers and enemies call me that. Or Zoe when she’s pissed. So yeah, just Douxie is fine.”

“Just Douxie?”

He chuckled, “Yeah.” You looked up at him with a smile.

“Douxie.” He flushed, nodding. “Well, Douxie, what do you want for dinner tonight.”

That little nook you’d built hadn’t stopped Douxie from trying to talk to you all night, however. You’d think the curtains would be a clear message of don’t talk to me I want to be left alone but Doux hadn’t really taken that hint. You tried your best to brush him off the first few nights, even pretending to fall asleep. It didn’t stop him. By the fourth night you spent in Arcadia, you gave in. You had trouble sleeping anyways, as it was apparent so did your roommate, so might as well indulge him. It’s not like ignoring him did any good. Instead of staring at a blue-light screen that messed with your circadian rhythm, you talked about nonsense with Doux. And it was good nonsense. He was way too funny. Or maybe it’s that thing where if you’re into someone then everything they say is hilarious. You’ll never know. But it was nice, either way.

The funny thing was that not only did you actually start to like this, but now it was becoming hard to sleep without it. He helped. Your whole life you stayed up late, and then tossed and turned all night anyways. Now your bedtime routine was talk to Douxie for a few hours, slowly falling asleep, and then you’d sleep the whole night through like a baby. No more restlessness. No more waking up over and over again. Even if you did, you could just listen to him snore for a bit and fall right back to sleep. You guessed it was the feeling of safety he provided. Like someone was watching over you, even when you were at your most vulnerable. You’d never really had that luxury before.

 You had started noticing the trouble coming back when he would stay out late sometimes. And Douxie was gone one night and you suddenly couldn’t sleep at all. This was bad. A problem, if you will. But no matter. There were more pressing things to worry about.

Like the fact that all week, Douxie had been hinting that he had something you two were going to do soon. He would not tell you what it was. In fact he was taking quite a bit of joy in dangling this “surprise” in front of your face but not telling you anything about it. It was driving you a little crazy. You hoped what he had planned was nothing too wild, though. It’s not that you weren’t down, you were just tired. But you could use a little shaking up. This bookshop existence was boring. You weren’t boring. You had enough crazy stories to last an immortal lifetime from growing up in New Jersey. Not just modern-day Urban New Jersey. Early colonial Quaker-dominated New Jersey was wild too. Especially as one of those infamous New England witches. Maybe Douxie was taking you on some magic errand. That would be great, you were dying to do something actually in your job description ever since you got here. Not that working in the bookshop wasn’t nice, it just wasn’t magic. You were craving magic.

But alas, as the sun was setting and the last patrons left the store, life moved on as mundanely usual. You flipped over the sign, scratched a sunbeam bathing Archie behind the ears, and started the process of re-shelving all the damn books that customers left strown about. The sunset turned the bookshop pink. There were fewer cars rushing by. Now that there were no customers, it was very peaceful. Just you, Archie’s snoring, and the soft lute music playing. The music was lute covers of popular songs, and at this point you were pretty sure it was Douxie himself who recorded this shit.

Speaking of Douxie, you hadn’t seen him all day. It had made working the bookshop extra extra boring. Like if he wanted you to be free labor, he could at least give you the decency of his lovely presence. But no, it was just you, all day long. All by your lonesome, with nary a cute theater-kid adjacent wizard to keep you entertained with his company. It was a travesty really. But anyways, where was he. Better not be having fun without you.

You like to think your thoughts summoned him. He came in through the back door, panting, disheveled. Singed? He frantically looked out the door’s window into the alleyway from which he had just came from, looking for something. Whatever it was, he must have seen it, since he looked panic-stricken. In a painfully obvious attempt to swallow the fear, he turned to you, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“SO. You know that thing? The surprise? Well. It is here a little sooner than I expected it to bE—” A loud crashing noise came from the alleyway. “Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

You dropped the book in your hand. “WHAT DID YOU DO.”

There was another very loud crash, this time closer. Douxie glanced back for less than a moment before rushing over to you, taking you hand.

“I’ll just have to tell you on the way love, come on!”

You two fled out the front door of the shop like your tails were on fire. Speaking of tails on fire, once you rounded the shop to the alleyway, you found out just what Douxie had been running from that was making such loud noises. Hellheetis. Five large hellheetis. Blazing bright in the Arcadian dusk. How the neighbors haven’t already called the cops or the fire department was a mystery. The large lion-like creatures growled, stalking down the alley. It was only a matter of seconds before they smelled and or spotted you and went back into the chase. You had to make a plan and fast. Distracting you from your thoughts, Douxie nervously laughed beside you.

“hehe, uh, could you believe there was only one of these at the start?”

You slowly turned to the wizard, “Did you,, hit them, Hisirdoux?” You could call him that now because you were in fact pissed off at the moment.

“Only twice.”

“Only twice… Okay”

“I may not be the best at monster identification. Or remembering which tactic to use for which.”

“I can see that.” You tried to keep your voice as calm as you could, which got a little easier to do as the hellheetis turned down a different alleyway, putting some more distance between them and you. They were still searching though, that was apparent. Thankfully the stench of the alley trash was keeping you covered.

“Believe me, Archie gets onto me about this all the time.”

“It’s okay… just. I think I have a plan. But one of us has to be bait. And it’s going to be you.”

“That’s fair.”

You sprinted up the stairs of the bookstore and up through the ceiling hatch onto the rooftop. You first instinct was to get them to the center of the square, where you could use the fountain as a water source. The alley they had started going down opened up to the square anyhow. It would have been a straight shot. But dear Mr. Casperan made a fuss about that being too out in the open or whatever.

Next solution. The bookstore’s rooftop had a facet, Douxie told you. You’d like to imagine it was put there so some nice old lady could have had a sweet rooftop garden without too much hassle. Maybe you should start a sweet rooftop garden. You and Douxie could have a little oasis in the city up here. You could grow veggies and flowers for your table. Maybe make a cute little picnic area. Stargaze at night. The facet. You quickly found it and made work of turning it on. Or at least you tried your best. You could hear roaring, getting louder, getting closer. The scary growls and roars were punctuated by Douxie’s frantic footsteps, grunts, and gasps. Please don’t get eaten, Douxie.

The facet was so rusty, it took all of your strength to get it to budge. And then nothing came out really, the hose attached to it lifeless without so much as a trickle. You tried to unscrew it from the facet to see if there was a problem and the metal part of the hose disintegrated in your hand. Okay. No water was in fact coming out of that facet.

Imaginary sirens rang in your ears. You had to get water, fast, or your partner was gonna be kit & kadouxle. Hellheeti chow. Growl mix. Douxies. Fiery feast. The big cats were gonna eat him okay. After managing to get the facet turned as fast as you could, fueled on pure adrenaline, and still getting little to no water, you made a judgement call of fuck that. Magic time. To be completely frank here that should have been what you had done in the fucking first place, but hey, fear dulls the mind.

Gathering up as much water as you could, like, metaphorically feel in the pipe, you pulled that shit out with all your might. Aaaannddd because of this you may have not actually remembered that you would need to catch said water in order to, you know, use it. Instead of a nice bubble to be used at your discretion, a magic roof-water tidal wave washed over you and over the side of the building into the alley below. Thank your lucky fucking stars that Douxie just so happened to have gotten the fire felines to the right spot in time. The uncontrollable rain rushed down, dissipating the hellheetis, soaking Douxie darling, and flooding not only your alley but all the alleys connected to it. Holy shit, stop it! STOP IT! It took a second, but you did finally get the river to stop pouring out of your rooftop. Fingers crossed there were no basement windows open and all your neighbors had flood insurance. And that no one saw. Can’t be connected to you if no one saw right. Shhhhhh.

You peered over the ledge to see if Douxie was alright down below. He looked like a cat caught in the rain himself. You probably did too. Douxie’s soaked bangs covered his eyes. Nevertheless, he was able to see you up on the ledge and gave you a thumbs up. You awkwardly returned it.

Toweling off your hair, and now in nice dry pajamas, you walked out of the bathroom to join Douxie on the couch. His own hair towel hung around his shoulders. You took a moment to enjoy how cute he looked all ready for bed, cozy in the blankets on the couch. And that semi-wet hair was looking pretty nice too. You only allowed yourself to linger on this for that moment however, as you remembered you were supposed to be mad at him right now. You crossed your arms as you approached the wizard.

“SO, dearest Hisirdoux, may I have the decency of getting to ask the question, WHY.”

“Funny story really.”

“Really?” You raised a brow

“Really.”

Douxie fidgeted with his hands. You watched this little nervous gesture intently as you sat down next to him. He took a deep breath before beginning,

“First thing. You’ve been here for some time now, and I thought it was enough time for me to start sharing my little, er, excursions with you,” Douxie’s face flushed a little, “I like monster hunting, and now that I know that I like you, I thought I’d like it more if I brought you along with me?”

Your face was flushed a little too now. “Hey, stop it, I need to be mad at you.” Yeah well the smile you wore gave up any pretense of that. Sorry.

“I didn’t know how familiar you were with monsters or how skilled at fighting you were, so I decided to go get some test monsters from Mervin the Monster Dealer, just to make sure our first time would be safe. FIRST TIME MONSTER HUNTING TOGETHER.”

You stifled a chuckle. “And you didn’t just ask me?”

“It was supposed to be a cool surprise okay.” He buried his face in his hands.

“… Hellheetis?” Safe monster your ass.

“Yes, I mean no, I- Mervin sold me the wrong thing alright. I thought I was buying those cute little fire sprite things you can easily just put out with your boot.”

This time you did not hold back that laughter. And you laughed, and Douxie laughed, and soon both of you were uncontrollably cackling until you were out of breath. Archie came in to see what the commotion was about and then promptly turned back around to go back to his spot in the window. You clutched your chest, still cracking up despite the lack of oxygen. Douxie wiped some tears from his eyes you were sure hoping were just from laughing too hard. You rubbed a hand on his back.

“So, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. How bout movie night?”

Douxie’s tired eyes smiled at you, “Yeah, I think that would be lovely.”

“Hey, I had a good first monster hunt, Douxie. Thank you,” You pulled your cold feet up under your legs, “But could you stop hogging the blankets!”

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x y/n #tales of arcadia x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #Douxie Casperan x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie #my writing #watsp

[padmsanakin]

headcanons

Ladybug | Marinette

• can create shields and weapons out of pure energy

•healing powers, heck yeah

•the ability to speed growth of plants

•she has the power of luck on her side, meaning that by wearing the miraculous, she can survive impossible odds. previous ladybug miraculous holders have done feats that no normal person could do and come out without a scratch in situations that could killed a normal person.

•i think marinette’s powers work best when she has a clear mind. her power need quite a lot of focus for it to work properly. if she’s panicked or distressed, her powers won’t work with the exception of luck. this, marinette needs to learn how to regulate and calm herself down and focus on one thing at a time.

•this would be great since she’s usually scatter brained and jumps from one thing to another. this would help her to become for focused and calmer

•marinette has a green thumb, meaning she has a little garden in the balcony. she also has the talent for creating little trinkets and things to decorate her room. giving is her love language

•she is most at peace when she’s baking because it reminds her of her parents

•she absolutely loves classical music.

•as she grows older, she tries to learn a bit about her mother’s culture because she realises it is important to her mother and is a great bonding opportunity

•marinette also learns to go with the flow and think things through.

Chat Noir | Adrien Agreste

• cataclysm relies a lot on emotions. the stronger his emotions, the more powerful he is and more destructive.

•he has subtle powers as in messing up wifi signals on a bad day or causing things to fall off around him. another thing is that if he puts in enough focus, he can actually destroy poisonous gas in the air or poison in the bloodstream.

• he also has the ability to cast a curse to cause an illness that can only be cured by ladybug’s healing powers but the scriptures on how to cast a curse are destroyed by the guardians, scared if it lands in the wrong hands, it would cause total disaster.

•there is also the ability to just make a person disappear or disintegrate with a look although that power is very hard to summon and this is purely speculation on the guardian’s part and the last known use of this was during the age of the pharaoh.

•alternatively, the wielder can also create shields which causes the object to just disintegrate while it just bounces off ladybug’s shield

• wielders of black cat miraculous just have a higher fatality than others.

•most black cat miraculous holders are reckless either because they hounded the glory, thinking that they can never be knocked down until they do or some who just have a low self esteem and think they are expendable.

•adrien is very into anime, video games and books since they have kept him company since he was quite isolated since he was a child.

•adrien actually enjoys piano because it reminds him of his mother and continues to play it to remember his mother and he enjoys fencing because he gets to unleash his inner chat noir out.

• adrien sometimes has bad days where he want to totally just stay in bed and think way too much about his dad’s actions and his mom. sometimes, he hums the lullaby that his mom used to sing to him

•plagg is the only one who could make adrien laugh like emilie agreste did. while plagg may try to seem aloof, adrien knows plagg deeply cares for him.

•adrien’s favorite color is ladybug red.

•adrien is a space nerd

•adrien looks up to majestia

Rena Rouge/Furtive | Alya Cesaire

•she can visualise fanfics with her illusion power.

•her illusion power also allows her to quickly differentiate lies from truth if she has the miraculous at hand

•while she can’t summon shields, weapons out of thin air, she can summon energy which can temporarily blind her opponents or in a less serious effect, cloud their vision which gives her time to escape.

•this power also allows her interfere with the senses of her opponents which can daze or confuse her opponents. in extreme cases, this power can render the opponent immobile with multiple illusions

•akin to sandboy’s power, she can create manifestations of the people worst fears which isn’t actually real.

•diversion and confusion is integral to how her power works.

•she’s hardcore ladynoir shipper

•alya’s favorite food is pizza

•alya loves writing a lot since it’s a thing that connects her with her grandfather who used to be a head of the newspaper.

•alya also sketches and draws in her spare time although she is scared to show it to others in case someone will make fun of her.

•alya likes to host debates and livestreams in her blog.

•if alya is not a reporter, she would want to be a teacher and work with kids because she spends a huge portion of her time babysitting her sisters.

#miraculous ladybug #headcanons #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #ladybug #chat noir #rena rouge #salters dni

[levis-hazelnut]

Levi x Reader Nightmares

Screaming filled your room as your eyes shot open and your body jerked up. You had woken up gasping and a few tears rolled down your face, dropping onto your covers. Dragging a hand up your face and into your (H/C) tresses, you tried to calm yourself down so you could go back to sleep. You laid back down, wiping your tears away and staring up at the ceiling.

You are glad that you requested for your own room because you wouldn't want anyone to see you like this, or for them to wake up because of your screaming and crying.

For a moment, you closed your eyes as you sighed heavily and shook your head to rid of the memory.

"Please! Stop! She can't breathe! Aren't you Military Police meant to help us, not kill us?!"

You clenched your eyes shut as if the nightmare would end. Why does your past still haunt you? Why can't you just forget about it? You hated waking up in the middle of the night nearly every night. Every time, you would wake up panting, or bawling your eyes out, or you would just wake up silently.

You detest people, mostly the Military Police because they are the cause of the nightmares which wake you up every night. They are the reason you can never forget about your past. It's all their fault that you are broken and it will be hard for you to get yourself together again and to rid of those horrible memories.

Slowly drifting back to sleep, you tried your best to shake those flashbacks out of your head so you can continue your sleep without any disturbances from your wretched past from years ago. However, you don't let that bring your morale down. You try to stay as happy as you can so you aren't a burden on anyone else, so you smile your past off. Laughing with other people makes you forget about it.

Sometimes, you really dislike your life and wished you were never born in the first place. But other times, when you are with your comrades, you love living and you're glad you're still alive.

Titans make this a ruthless world. But your comrades cheer you up.

Titans eat and kill your friends. But the remaining ones comfort you.

It's a cycle.

The same thing happens over and over again but it's difficult to get used to it. No matter how many times it happened, you used to react the same as always. Now, you know not to grow too close with anyone because that friendship will disintegrate before your eyes. You don't mourn over them anymore because it always happens and you see no value in it - it won’t bring them back.

When sunlight fingered through your sheer curtains, you woke up after being able to sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. But you were still quite sleep-deprived like you would be any other day. It's unhealthy that you hardly get any sleep, but you can't help it.

Sluggishly, you got ready for the day and walked to the mess hall for breakfast, sitting down on the table where your friends were.

"Hi, guys," you said.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Hello, (Y/N)."

You yawned as you were about to take a bite from your food, so you covered your mouth, having the urge to just rest your head on the table and sleep.

"How come you’re tired? You're lucky to be able to have your own room so no one wakes you up in the middle of the night."

I'm not lucky. I still wake up in the middle of the night and it isn't because of someone, you thought.

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Yeah, because I kept you up," Jean smirked.

"Shut up."

"You aren't denying it."

"You weren't the one who caused my lack of sleep," you retorted.

"What was it then?" Connie asked.

"I... just wasn't able to fall asleep," you lied.

"I know something that will tire you out," Jean stated with that smug face, so you rammed your foot into his under the table.

You quickly finished your food and went outside so you could have some peace before the day full of training and chores starts. Strolling far from the castle-like building, you went to a tree and stood beneath it, leaning against the trunk as you stared into the distance with your arms crossed over your chest. There was a slight breeze which rippled through the air and made your hair flow with the rhythm of the wind.

"What are you doing out here, brat?"

"I wanted some peace," you replied.

"... Are you okay?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because the only other room near mine, is yours and I heard someone screaming like they were getting murdered or something."

A shade of red dusted onto your cheeks. Of all people, Levi was the one who had to hear that.

"You were awake?"

"Yeah, I had work to finish off. And even if I was sleeping, I'd probably wake up. What happened?"

"Well, clearly, I wasn't getting murdered. I just had a... nightmare."

"A nightmare made you scream your head off?"

"It wasn't a normal one. It was more like a flashback from my past... I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay... It's kind of cold. Don't you want to be inside?"

"No, I'm fine."

With that, Levi left you alone, going towards the building.

Is there no cure to your nightmares? Is there not something that would allow you to sleep calmly? You have thought about something that will let you sleep in peace, but it's something that will make you sleep forever so you never tried. You didn't like that you actually had thoughts about that. Your life was messed up and it messed up your mind, making you think of unbelievable things.

You wished you could have a normal life. One without despicable people. One without vile titans. One without depression. All you wanted was a cheerful life.

After finished your cleaning duties, you wandered around HQ by yourself since there was nothing else to do.

Your head shot around when you heard someone talk in a cheery voice, thinking it was someone you knew ages ago but it wasn't. It was just some other Scout. They smiled at you and ended up laughing when they noticed that you zoned out, which had brought you back to reality. You gave a slight smile in return, but you immediately turned around and paced through the corridors, going somewhere where it was quiet and you could be alone. You found a dead end and leaned against the wall, sliding down it. Your knees were bent and you crossed your arms on your knees, resting your head in your arms as tears streamed down your face, some landing on your legs and some pattering onto the floor.

That Scout's voice and smile reminded you of Rose - a girl you grew up with. But her life ended before she could even get in trouble with her friends. Before she could run around and play within the walls. Before she could acknowledge what a terrible world it is.

She had ginger kind of hair which only went just above her shoulders. She had glistening, dark blue eyes. She was always happy and always had a smile on her face. Rose was younger than you, but only by two years, and she would call you Big Sis because she said that you reminded her of her sister. She didn't have a family since she had no idea where her parents were, so her sister was her only family, but she got killed by some thugs.

Similar to her, your parents were killed and you were an only child, so you didn’t have a family. You lived in the Underground, which is where you met Rose, along with Abigail. Abigail wasn't as sweet as Rose, but she was caring and didn't like showing it. She was the eldest out of the three of you and she always looked after you and Rose until she left both of you unexpectedly without saying goodbye.

That left you and Rose to live together, stealing together, running together and fighting together.

That all changed when you left Rose somewhere to hide as you went to steal some food. You successfully did and made your way back to her, but when you got to the place you told her to stay, she was nowhere to be seen. You abandoned the food and ran around, searching for her. Eventually, it turned dark and you had to rest, so you could start looking for her again the next day.

As you tried to get some sleep, you couldn't because you needed Rose with you to be able to sleep. She wasn't safe and you knew that. So you began looking for her again, and she was still nowhere to be seen.

Returning to your original spot and that's when you heard Rose's, normally delicate voice, screaming. You jogged to her screams which were then silenced before you heard gasping like she was struggling to breathe. You gasped as well when you saw Rose trying to get air into her lungs. A hand was wrapped around her neck and she was lifted off the floor, pushed against the cold, stone wall. You knew the uniform that the person was wearing - it was the uniform of Military Police.

"Please! Stop! She can't breathe! Aren't you MPs meant to help us not kill us?!"

You were about to rush towards her but a hand gripped your wrist, making you turn your head around. Another Military Police. You tried shaking his hand off but he wouldn't budge. He put a hand on your mouth and dragged you away before knocking you out.

When you woke up, you were kneeling down and your hands were tied behind your back. A rope was also tied around your ankles. You realised that you were positioned to look at Rose being harmed. When you saw her being slapped continuously on her cheeks, you widened your eyes and tried shouting. Her face was bright red and it looked like she was about to give out any second. There were bruises around her eyes and lip and a few cuts on her face.

What did they do while you were unconscious? Again, you tried shouting but you were gagged and anything you said was muffled. Tears ran down your face as you couldn't do anything, but watch.

The two Military Police stopped slapping her and started to kick her and knee her and punch her.

Why are they doing this?

After a while, you got so agitated that you looked for anything that would cut you out of the ropes. You noticed a dagger beside you so laid on your side and wiggled your fingers about to try and reach it. Once you got it in your hand, you started slicing at the rope which tied your wrists together. When that was done, you were able to easily cut through the ropes on your ankles.

However, when you were free, you realised that Rose wasn't moving and it didn't look like she was breathing. Her eyes were still open and blood leaked from her head.

The salty liquid left your eyes once again. You weren't going to run towards her, there was no chance in saving her, so you sprinted away in the other direction, as far as you could go.

A few years later, you joined the Scout Regiment and found out that that's where Abigail had come to. You were elated that you were reunited and you told her about Rose.

After a few months of being a Scout, Abigail had left you as well. On an expedition, she was grabbed by a Titan and she squirmed in its hand. The crack of her bones echoed in your ears and blood sputtered everywhere. Why were you always around death?

And that's what happened in your past. That's why you have nightmares nearly every night. That's why you can't sleep peacefully. That's why you are crying, right now.

As you quietly sobbed, you heard footsteps approach you but you didn't move. They sat down next to you as you continued crying. You glanced up when you felt a hand tap the top of your head in a caring way. The way Abigail would when you or Rose would be upset.

"W-What are you d-doing?" you stuttered, burying your face in your arms.

"Why are you crying?" Levi replied.

No words were able to leave your mouth; you had to calm down before you could speak to Levi or anyone.

Around twenty minutes passed and Levi was still by your side, he didn't say anything, nor did you. When you brushed your tears away and blew your nose into a tissue he handed to you, you told him about your life and why you have nightmares.

"My life is cursed. I'll lose all those who are close to me," you muttered once you told him everything.

"You aren't cursed, brat."

"Why can't I get rid of my memories? Why are they engraved into my brain so I never forget them?"

"You needed to let it all out and you needed to talk to someone about it. You might be able to sleep properly now."

"What if I still can't?" you asked quietly.

"You need someone by your side to comfort you. You can't deal with your problems by yourself."

"And who is that ‘someone’?"

"I don't know. Someone you trust or someone you have a liking to."

"I don't really trust anyone. And I don't think the person I like will want to help me with my problems."

"Why did you tell me about your past then? Do you trust me?"

"I, uhh... I don't know. I just let it all out like you said I needed to."

"Would you have done that if it was someone else?"

"I don't... think so."

"So do you trust me?"

"I guess."

"Then, I'll be there if you need me."

"Really?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And why do you think that the person you like won't help you with your problems?"

"Well, I know they will now," you told him, kind of hinting that you were talking about him.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Um... because at first, they seem like someone who doesn't care about anyone, but once you get to know them better, they're really soft-hearted."

"Sounds like someone I know." He lifted an eyebrow.

"You know them very well."

"Should I guess who it is?"

"You have one guess."

"Is it me?"

"Yes..." you barely uttered.

"I like you, too," the raven whispered before softly moulding his lips with yours.

It was a short, sweet kiss that left a smile on your lips when you pulled away. Levi tucked a bunch of hair behind your ear and lightly caressed your face. A yawn left your mouth, so you laid your head on the male’s shoulder and fluttered your eyes closed.

"I want to sleep," you murmured.

"Have you finished your chores?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you sleep in a bed?"

"I'm not bothered."

"Tch. Lazy a*s."

"Shhh.”

Levi stayed silent as he allowed you to lay your head on his shoulder as your body was pressed up against his. With some reluctance, he rested his own head upon yours and put a hand on your lap, causing you to flinched, but then. you put your hand on top of his, and he softly stroked it with his thumb.

"Who's there?" a voice muttered to themselves. "Oh. It's just you guys,” Hanji said. She walked away, but her footsteps backed up to where you were. "What?!" she yelled, making you jump.

"What the hell, Hanji?" you snapped.

"When did this happen?!"

"Like five minutes ago."

"Aw! Okay, bye! Sorry for disturbing you!"

She squealed as she skipped away like a schoolgirl. You sighed before standing up and dusting your clothes.

"Where are you going?"

"To a bed."

"You can sleep in mine if you want."

"It's fine. I want my bed."

He nodded as he stood up and followed you, pecking your cheek before you entered your room and he went into his office.

You felt giddy as you laid in your bed, thinking about Levi and what happened, allowing you to fall asleep with a smile on your face.

A few months later...

Screaming filled your room as your eyes shot open and your body jerked up. You had woken up gasping and a few tears rolled down your face, dropping onto your covers. Dragging a hand up your face and into your (H/C) tresses, you tried to calm yourself down so you could go back to sleep. You leaned against the headboard of the bed, and felt fingers gingerly brush away your tears.

Turning your head to the side to look at the raven beside you, he sat up and kissed your cheek before embracing you into a hug. You flung your arms around him and cried into his shoulder as he comforted you, gently stroking your back.

"Shh. It's okay," Levi whispered. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

You slowly quietened down and rid of the tears that were still on your cheek. "Sorry," you spoke quietly.

"For what?"

"Waking you up."

"Don't be sorry."

"But don't you get annoyed that I wake you up by screaming?"

"No. I said I'll be here for you and I'll help you with your problems."

"Thank you, Levi,” you smiled softly, leaning your forehead against his.

He placed his lips on yours. "Anything for you."

Since you were now calm, you reclined onto your back and Levi did the same, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your head rested on his bare chest as he kissed the top of your head and closed his eyes.

You won't have to deal with your nightmares, which scarred you, by yourself anymore. You have Levi who will comfort you, help you and protect you. It's rare for you to have nightmares now, but they still happen and he is always by your side to keep you safe and to calm you down.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #reader insert #snk #aot #fluff/angst? #idk #i want levi