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basicallyjaywalker · 4 months

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60 Question OC asks

For Ivy Crest: 1, 33, and 59

For Ruth Whispernight: 7, 39, and 55

And for Elizaabeth Chumsworth: 15 & 16, 35, and 44

Toasty you have spoiled meeeeee. Multiple questions AND three characters AND two of them are prev gen? I am flattered and honored /gen

Let's go!

Ivy Crest

1: Gonna go off the specifier thing here and gonna also say it depends on where she is in her life. When she's still living with her mom? She's saving her mother's ring because she knows the value her mom places on it. Once she's living with Ronin... I would say she goes for R.E.X. or her lockpicking kit. Ivy doesn't have a lot of possessions that are hers per se, she doesn't form material attachments because she's used to exchanging things, so her stuff rotates out frequently. Although, post her and Luna meeting, she would absolutely save any gifts Luna has given her. Those are the first and only things she locks away and doesn't allow anyone else access to. Ronin understands that if he so much as glances at them wrong Ivy will blow him into the sea (he wouldn't dream of it. well maybe a little. but he wouldn't actually do it.)

33: Worst injury... hmm... honestly, I need to go back and do her fight scenes bc I wanna give her a few in S5 but the one I know for sure (and thus her worst injuries) are when Morro steals the Scroll of Airjitzu and she goes after him. She:

Singlehandedly tries to fight a bunch of ghosts and gets tossed about for her troubles

Singlehandedly is trying to get the ninja to back off too

Does parkour across Stiix, gets to the dock and jumps into the freezing cold water

is almost drowned by strangleweed

Needs a lot of warm tea and blankets after Ronin and R.E.X. rescue her, so it's convenient that she helps Ronin get Kai to give up all of the Ninja's Steep Wisdom shares :D

Nothing terrible, but that will definitely change :) (threat)

59: Building a better life, whatever that looks like.

Before her mother died, Ivy wanted them to be stable. She learned to cook and clean and anything else to make her mom smile. Her mom smiling meant everything was okay, because she so rarely smiled when Ivy was a child.

Once her mother passed and she was living on her own, it was just survival. A better life was one where she wasn't hungry or cold. Then Ronin found her, and a better life became prestige and the promise of a house on a hill, bought with their ill-gotten funds. Once Luna is in her life, that plan becomes a bit more honest and includes Luna too.

Ivy's biggest dream and motivator is the idea of a better life than the one she had before. She wants peace and love and a home she can relax in, with her family. And she'll never admit it to anyone, but it's that dream that keeps her going on the cold, hard days. On the days when she just wants to give up like her mother did. She just thinks of a warm house, a luxury that felt impossible to her as a child.

Clears throat. I love you, Ivy. Time to go insane over some moms.

Ruth Whispernight

7: How do I put this... so Ruth has committed murder and kidnapping, but it was an act of self-defense.

See, Ruth is what is called the Wisp. The mythology surrounding her bloodline is that they are the scale-balancers of Ninjago. They keep light and dark in balance when the natural order fails, basically subtly influencing others to do things to create balance. They manage this from a sequestered forest in Hiroshi's Labyrinth which mortals should not traverse into (and may or may not be why so many people go missing in there.) Unfortunately, people still try and accidentally stumble into the Wisp's Forest.

Which is what some foolish explorers did one day while trying to map that forsaken place. Willow knew her duty and carried it out. So yeah. Oopsies. She has confessed this to only 1 person though and that was an explorer she met while looking outside her forest for other trespassers, but Ruth couldn't murder her because they became best friends and she never actually saw the forest, so it was okay!

39: Hear me out: she really wishes she was better at manipulation.

Her duty is very dependent on the ability to influence both good and evil people to do things and she doesn't have an elemental ability to make this easier. She has the ability to sense things and monitor the world, but otherwise it's up to her to figure out what she has to do. Ruth was born and lived in the Forest her entire life, like most other Wisps. Her social skills are actually 0 and it's a blessing that Naomi just thought she had mad neurodivergent swag like the rest of her friends. Ruth has communicated only with animals, and they tend to be very direct, so she is also very direct, which then makes it hard to persuade them.

55: Naomi, hands down. Naomi is Ruth's best friend and confidante. Naomi is the only one Ruth trusts enough to tell that she's the Wisp. Ruth admires Naomi. She's brave, headstrong, unafraid, and crafty. Naomi is a warrior. Whereas Ruth is encouraged to meddle in the shadows, Naomi faces things head-on. Ruth admires that she is more active than other mortals she's seen.

On top of that, Naomi teaches Ruth to be human. Naomi is the reason Ruth leaves the Forest and breaks the precedent set by her ancestors. Naomi fascinates and inspires Ruth so much with her simple human traits that Ruth literally upends her entire life for her and only goes back when it's apparent their relationship is over.

Other than that? less look up to and more is fascinated by Garmadon. His vacillation between light and dark grabs her attention. Doesn't so much look up to him as wants to study him. They aren't really friends, but she definitely asks Naomi about him so much that Naomi suspected something else was going on.

Phew, Wisp lore my beloved. Sorry if this one was a bit messier as I just reworked it, but I was happy to talk more about it and Ruth!

Elizabeth Chumsworth

15: Adventurous and curious! First and foremost, Elizabeth considers herself a researcher. That has always been her passion. However, when she's a bit older and gets the chance to reconnect with Nataly, she would also describe herself as a mother who loves her daughter deeply. She's simple, she enjoys her studies and loves her little girl (said little girl was in her 20s when they met again, still little).

16: A bright-minded girl with a lot of ideas and very little self-preservation. Her time with the previous EMs was defined a lot by her going up to them and dumping random insane lore she knows, specifically about the serpentine. She was known for doing dangerous or potentially risky things in search of information. Before the Serpentine War she asked permission to do an ethnographic study of serpentine culture in their villages and got approval from some Anacondrai. Then the war broke out and they were like "we might keep you here" and she went "oh this is fascinating! if i promise not to tell can i sit in on war meetings?" and everyone stared at her like she was covered in fur. She got to sit in on those meetings supervised btw, being the master of love does give you a certain amount of irresistibility. Very posh advisor who dreamed of doing more kept an eye on her to make sure she wasn't doing anything suspicious. His name was Pythor and they got along swimmingly :D

35: She wasn't sure if she wanted children at first. There was always the question of if she could do her work with a child, but she always figured that was a question for later. Then, she got pregnant, a huge shock that she had to come to terms with while her husband was being sealed away in a tomb and she was being tried for treason, but the answer soon became an unequivocable "yes." she loves Nataly with all her heart and soul and one of her biggest regrets is that she wasn't able to raise her herself.

44: Elizabeth is not above lying, but most of the time she doesn't have to. Her powers as the master of love include the ability to persuade people to do what she says, though this does not guarantee they will do it. Still, she relies on that as opposed to out and out lying.

One thing she won't do though is break a promise. If she promises you something, she means it. She promised the serpentine the information she gathered in her research would be strictly used for educational and historical purposes under her supervision, and she kept that promise. Her writings from the war were only published years later when she got out of Kryptarium and donated them to the Ninjago Museum of History, kept safe and hidden until then by her friend, Twyla.

#sorry this took a second btw #tumblr mobile is rude and wouldn't let me edit the answer after drafting it #but i really appreciated the ask!!!! ! any opportunity to infodump hehe #oc ask game #ivy crest #ruth whispernight #elizabeth chumsworth #ninjago ocs #toasty tag

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acefaun · 2 years

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Hey there! 🦊 I first wanted to say that I really enjoy your work, writing and art, and whenever I get an alert you posted something, it really makes my day. 🖤

I was hoping if you had time and if it was something interesting enough to write, if I could make a request for a Dui comfort story...? Something along the lines of a reader who's dealing with a lot of health issues (nothing super scary or terminal) but feels that her declining health will make Dui stop loving her?

If not, it's totally okay! Thank you for always writing awesome work! 🖤♊

Dui~ Through Sickness and in Health

Synopsis: There are some goldfish who are effortlessly healthy, while there are others like MC who are just born unhealthy. With all Dui has been through, she's starting to wonder if he'll stay with someone as ill as her.

✨Masterlist✨

Female goldfish!

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you! I'm so glad my writing can make your day! I wish I had more fics to post more often!🥺 I love being able to write relatable comfort fics. But I'll try to be as unspecific about the illness as possible. But I know most illnesses lower your immune system(especially some medicines made to help) so that's what I'm running on. I also placed this one during the peak of Covid, because what’s more dramatic than having a low immune system during a time of world-wide disease?

–Word Count: 3,967–

The Earth was riddled with chaos and fear. Between the riots that were happening in the streets and the people who refused to wear masks, I wished staying home was an option—there was a threat of a lockdown, but even if it happened, it couldn’t last forever. The government couldn’t imprison people in their own homes for that long.

So, rather than staying in my lonesome house, I paid Dui a visit. All this talk of isolation was making me feel greedy for socializing and affection.

Compared to the nearly barren streets, the run-down mansion was a sight for sore eyes. Knocking on the front door, I adjusted my mask before entering. It didn't take long at all for Dui to make his way down the stairs.

The bright smile on his face told me he was prepared to greet me happily before he noticed the mask on my face and faltered. Was it a new fashion style I was going for? He recalled seeing guys with masks on the anime I introduced him to. Maybe this was related. Taking it as a completely normal form of dress, he resumed smiling. “You showed up before I could go get you.”

“I was feeling a little suffocated by myself,” I admitted.

“How about I hold your hand and take you on a date so you don't feel so lonely?” My heart stuttered, and I found myself speechless as he gracefully took my hand in his. “Why don't we go grab some cherries? Then we can go somewhere and eat them together.” His eyes glittered with excitement as his newfound plan. Why was he so cute?

Suddenly the mask was making my face feel very warm. But an intrusive thought made me nearly pull away before I asked, “Can gods get sick? The mansion’s really clean, right?”

He drew back, tilting his head as he contemplated it. “Our godly powers protect us from human illness. Though there are certain illnesses gods can catch. They're pretty rare cases though. Not that they travel around like human illnesses. Why, what's up?” His eyes wandered back to me. There wasn't any apparent reason I could've been asking about god sicknesses. Unless I would be worried about him because of what happened to Ichthys’ parents! “(Name)!” He abruptly called my name, making sure I was looking into his eyes. “I promise I won't get sick and leave you, okay? An illness that can kill a god must be a pretty scary concept, but I promise it's super hard to catch.”

As nice as that was to hear, that wasn't the point of my question. I was just glad to know that the mansion was an environment free of bugs for me to catch. At least I knew I wouldn't have to wear a mask visiting them in the future.

My grip tightened around Dui’s hand, desperate to keep him with me. “Thanks. I'm glad to hear it.” I just hoped he could say the same… if he ever found out about me.

***

Our date was considerably less normal than usual. There weren't many humans around the streets and there was an unusual number of people wearing masks—though most of them were older from what Dui could tell.

Dui just assumed it was an anime thing, but it didn't seem to add up. He didn't understand why some humans complained about wearing masks while others complained when humans didn't wear masks. I, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine with wearing a mask.

The only time Dui really stopped to take in the situation was when someone passed Dui a snide remark about being on top of me without a mask on. I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, only holding him closer, but he was already looking to me for answers.

“What's going on with everyone today? What's the big deal about masks or no masks?”

I paused with him, tilting my head. “You guys don't know what's happening on Earth?”

“Something happened?”

“Hold on,” I shouted, pulling away to assess whether or not he was being serious. “You're telling me that none of you know about the big bad disease that's going around killing people even though you deal with humans every day?!” I faltered at calling us humans, drawing strange looks to us, but no one really seemed bothered as they kept walking. But Dui only looked more lost. “There's an airborne disease called the corona virus. It's really easy to catch and unhealthy humans who catch it can't deal with it very well and can die.”

“Coronavirus…” He repeated the name slowly, scratching his jawline. The name sounded familiar enough, but he didn't know it was that bad. “I think Scorpio mentioned it once. Actually, I think we had a whole meeting about it in the Heavens. Then… We ended up letting it fester. Then it grew… and now it's a world-wide catastrophe. But don't worry! The Department of Wishes is fixing it. Haven't you heard that they're working on a cure?”

“You let this happen?”

“No! Don't- It sounds bad, but-” Even with the mask he could tell I was giving him quite the pout. While he usually thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen, he was getting quite nervous. “It's fine! You're not supposed to get wrapped up in our work. Zyglavis told me not to involve you. It'd look bad if we wrapped a human up in our work. Please, trust me.”

I huffed in amusement, reaching up to pat his head. “I'm not blaming you. You don't have to get so worked up.” Still, he seemed no more relaxed after having to defend the Department of Punishments from my judgement. “Dui,” I whined, “Why are you pouting? I was just kidding. Please, don't ignore me.”

He huffed, pulling me close to bury his face in my hair. His nose was still stuffed in my hair as he muttered, “I'm not talking about work with you anymore.” After a quiet moment of standing there and absorbing my warmth, he hesitantly asked, “Gods don't get sick but… should I wear a mask too so we match?”

I tilted my head. “You want to wear matching masks?”

Dui reached into his pocket, pulling out a mask that looked just like mine. Only after getting my help to wear the mask did he beam at me. “Now I look even more human. But…” His sudden lack of enthusiasm almost made me tell him to take it off. But he only had one problem on his mind as he asked, “I guess we look like those cool guys from your anime show, but how am I supposed to kiss you?”

My heart melted at his purely honest question. If that was the only problem he had with wearing a mask then these humans were overreacting. But his depression at not being able to kiss me was something amusing. Thoughtfully, I suggested, “I have an idea.” If he weren't a god, I might rethink getting so close to another person. But Dui needed some cheering up.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, I tugged him closer, booping my nose against his through the mask. His eyes were comically wide and I could tell he was blushing. “This works for now, but…” He paused, taking my hand in his again. “I'll give you a real kiss when we get home. Okay?”

Dui took the situation on Earth well enough. I only joked around with him about it because I didn't want to make him suspicious or worried. If he knew I was one of those easy-to-die humans he'd probably panic. I knew the gods already saw me as nothing but a weak human. How much more pathetic and fragile could I get in their eyes?

Besides, the thought kept coming back to me that Dui already had to go through losing his best friend. I was convinced he wouldn't want to stay with me if he knew how easily he could lose me thanks to my declining health. I always did my best to hide any symptoms, but that was also a hard game to play.

With covid, everything was much more difficult to hide. I would accept Dui’s offers to go on dates in the Heavens, but the minute he suggested an Earth date I had to refuse. I knew I was pretty obviously avoiding other humans, but that was just to keep Dui free from worrying or overthinking.

Despite all my efforts, my stress only ate at my health over time. Though it was only a self-inflicted fever and lack of appetite, I stayed isolated in my home as if I had covid. Stress was another unfortunately unavoidable thing that could cause symptoms of my illness to flare up. If I stayed in bed for a while and rested, I was bound to bounce back in no time.

***

Dui was worried—he tried to act like he wasn't but it was obvious to everyone else. Dui only ever drowned himself in work when he was trying to avoid something. The subject of his avoidance just so happened to be me. He hadn't heard from me in days, not even through the Wishes gods. There had to be a reason. Clearly I didn't want to be bothered by Dui that I had been silent.

Or… There was another option that Dui didn't want to consider. Unfortunately, it was a real possibility. If I had covid, then he needed to fix it immediately before I could die!

With his mind made up, he abandoned his pile of finished work and rushed down to Earth to get to my apartment. He knew if I didn't have covid that he might just be bothering me, but he'd deal with that when it came.

Knocking gently at the door, his anxiety rose as I failed to answer right away. Still, he had to keep cool so Shadow Dui wouldn't come out and cause a disturbance.

Nervously letting himself in the freezing apartment, his eyes flitted around for me. Not finding me in the kitchen or living room, he walked over to my room where he found me dozed off in bed, curled warmly in the blankets. Well, he guessed so considering how freezing it was.

He pursed his lips before lowering the temperature for me. Maybe that way I wouldn't have to look like a turtle hiding away in a fluffy shell.

But hearing the shuffling and the turning of the thermostat, I shot up in a panic. I tried not to make too much noise, but Dui already turned around with wide eyes. “Dui! You're… Why are you here?”

“I was worried,” he mumbled, standing awkwardly by the doorframe. “You haven't said anything in a few days so I came to see if you had something going on. Are you feeling okay? You look like you haven't gotten out of bed all day.”

“Nonsense! I'm fine,” I brushed him off, getting out of bed quicker than he could blink. I hated how I had to act fine when my eyes just wanted to close and never open again. “I just stayed up late watching a movie. My wonky sleep schedule is messing with my head. Guess you wouldn't understand much since you don't experience sleep…”

“Really?” He brushed his fingers through his hair as he really observed me. “I hope I wasn't bothering you then. I guess I should just-”

“Dui,” I frantically called, making him pause in his quiet ramblings. “Why don't you… I mean, why don't we have a date? I guess I've been neglecting you because of all this disease going around. But we could have a date here at home. We could watch that movie I was talking about.”

This time it was my turn to ramble, but he didn't seem to mind as he immediately accepted my offer. “I'd love to have a stay-at-home date. You can set up the movie while I get a few snacks. You must be hungry.”

Before I could argue against him getting food for us, he was heading off to my kitchen. Sighing tiredly, I made my way to the living room. As much as I wanted to spend time with Dui, my stamina surely wouldn't last all day. Just moving around the living room was making my head spin.

Luckily, the living room was a fairly small space, and it took little effort to set up a movie from the comfort of my sofa where I sat tiredly waiting for my boyfriend to return.

I was almost dozing off when I jolted awake by the feeling of a body sinking on the cushion next to me. “I got- The movies ready.” My eyes shot to the bowl of popcorn that he made for the two of us. “Oh. That's a lot.”

“I figured I'd make a lot since we're sharing. And I know you like to eat while watching movies.” His smile was so kind, and he was always so considerate of my likes and dislikes. It was unfortunate that I probably couldn't stomach much. “Hey,” he said, noticing my lack of a reaction, “Are you sure you're feeling okay?” I wasn't outright saying anything, but Dui had a gut feeling that I was hiding something.

Sensing the tension between us, I quickly excused my behavior. “Remember, I stayed up all night watching shows. I ate a good bit yesterday so I'm not too hungry. I was just a little worried that you made too much, but don't worry. Whatever we don't eat, we can save for later.”

Was that a lie too, Dui wondered. He saw nothing out of place in my kitchen and my trash was nearly empty. He couldn't bring himself to question me though with how unusually pale I looked.

Even through the movie, he noticed how I only picked at the snacks he offered. Dui was far too distracted with me to even pay attention to what was going on in the little screen—which made sense considering I was the more important thing to focus on. I just seemed so lethargic and out of it today, but finding that I had fallen asleep on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. Gently touching my forehead, he pulled away with furrowed eyebrows. I was much warmer than usual and the only conclusion he could jump to was that I had covid and was trying to hide it from him.

First things first, he had to calm down and think this through. Covid wasn't necessarily a death sentence. As long as he took care of me then it would be fine.

…

No.

He had to see Huedhaut as soon as possible to save my life! Too many humans were dying from this disease. He needed the cure.

Leaving me comfortably tucked in my bed, he was off to the Heavens in no time. This was an emergency. At this point it didn't matter who Dui needed to go through to talk to the smartest god in the Heavens. “Huedhaut!”

His voice rang down the hall of the Department of Wishes, drawing both Leon and Huedhaut to a halt. Dui was clearly the last god they expected to go screaming through the halls of their department—more specifically on the hunt for Huedhaut. But Dui looked terrified, and this shook them.

“Dui,” Huedhaut replied, already trying to assess what could have caused such a commotion. “What happened?”

“It's (Name),” Dui rushed the words out, thankfully not losing Huedhaut along the way. “I need your help. She’s sick and I don't know what to do. The cure—the one for the coronavirus that's spreading in humans—I need it. I have to save (Name).”

“Dui, wait-”

“If I don't get it now, (Name)’s going to die!” That single thought drew Shadow Dui out in no time, flying towards the Wishes god. Fortunately, Leon wasn't letting that unstable Shadow freak any closer. “Let me go! Give me the cure!”

“Stop,” Huedhaut sharply ordered. “I'm not giving you anything until you can calm down and talk to me.”

“I'm sorry,” Dui said, trying to pull himself together. He didn't need Shadow to be acting out when his top priority was taking care of me, not getting into trouble with the other gods. “I'm sorry.” He helplessly looked at Huedhaut as Leon stopped restraining him. “(Name)’s sick. She has a fever and she won’t eat much and she sleeps all the time. She has covid. You can help her, right?”

Dui felt slightly discouraged at hearing Huedhaut sigh but Huedhaut was quick to excuse himself from Leon’s company to help Dui with this task. Walking down the hall, Huedhaut finally revealed, “(Name) doesn't have covid, let that be a comfort. I've taken extra measures to ensure that she’s safe, and she’s taking precautions as well.”

“Then what's wrong with her?” Dui begged for answers. “She’s still sick. She was hiding it from me too. I don't know how to fix a sick goldfish. What do I do? What does she have?”

“First, what you can do is slow down,” Huedhaut advised the anxious god. He was worried when he first found out about my health issues as well; it was something he discovered when I got rid of his sin. Seeing how well I lived with such an ailment, he never brought it up with anyone. But apparently it was more of an issue than he suspected. “(Name) has an illness that's part of her and occasionally she’ll fall ill as she is now. There's no such cure that can fix it. The only thing you can do is to be there to help lessen her symptoms.”

Dui slowed down, his eyebrows furrowing together even more. He was much calmer to know I wouldn’t die, but he was distressed to find out that this was my normal health. That wasn't good at all. I never told him anything. Was it a secret? Did I keep it quiet because I wanted to deal with it alone?

Still, why would I lie to him about it? How many times have I fallen ill and didn't let him take care of me? It's his role as a boyfriend to be there for me and he was failing miserably to notice the most important things about me. Pursing his lips together, he asked, “How do I help her? Tell me everything!”

***

It felt nice to just be able to lie down and sleep. It was especially nice since I wasn't feeling the heat of a fever. In fact, my head was feeling cool and relieved as if stuffed in a cold rain cloud.

As comfortable as I was, my brain finally woke up enough to remind me that Dui was supposed to be around. I couldn't remember him leaving, making me wonder where he went. Though, the longer I laid there, I felt something cold resting on my forehead. My eyes shot open in a panic, but I was still too lethargic to move around quickly.

Luckily, the only thing I found hovering above me was Dui’s worried face, his eyes wide as he stared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me you had an illness?” My heart jumped anxiously at the sudden question, but he didn’t stop there. “I could’ve helped you. I could’ve made you something easier to eat. We could’ve had more at-home-dates. Why’d you keep it from me…? Didn’t you think I’d care?��

I was sick, sure, but I didn’t know how he found out that this was a common thing that I lived with. But now that he knew, it was time for a proper explanation. Lying wouldn’t help anything at this point. “I didn’t mean to- well…” I paused. “I did intentionally hide it. I just didn’t want to hurt you or scare you away. I figured if you didn’t know about it then you wouldn’t leave me for someone better—someone who didn’t have to suffer often with a chronic illness…”

Dui quieted down, slouching in his seat beside my bed. “You thought I’d leave you because you were sick?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I looked away from him, not wanting to see when he would finally decide to break up with me. “You’ve been through so much and you already lost your best friend. I can’t sit here and expect you to be okay with waiting for my death too when there are goddesses who won’t die like me. So I thought if we didn’t talk about it then I could pretend like everything’s going to be okay!”

“Everything will be okay,” he emphasized, his hands wrapping around mine. I turned my head back to him, finding him watching me with sincerity shining in his chocolate eyes. “I don’t want a goddess—I never did. I want you! I want you to talk to me. I want to take care of you and love you. Can’t you just rely on me when you’re not feeling good? You’ve been pretending like you’re okay and you’re fighting your body. I can do things for you.”

Seeing the tears that gathered in the corners of my eyes, he was quick to jump on the side of the bed, pulling me into his arms. Burying my face in his shoulder, I whispered, “Don’t think of me as weak.”

“You’re not,” he reassured, his fingers caressing my back as if I were too fragile for him to squeeze. “You’re a strong goldfish.You’ve been fighting this all on your own all this time. You even put up with us gods. You’re definitely the strongest goldfish I know. But now I’m here to help you. We’ll be stronger together, right? So don’t worry.” Pulling away with that dorky smile of his, he felt your head for a fever once more before rising from the bed. Ushering you to sit back against the pillows he propped up, he stepped away from the bed. “You stay in bed. I’ll get you something light to eat that’ll be easy on your stomach. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him leave for the kitchen with a newfound determination. He didn’t give me a single second to argue for him to stay since he knew I had eaten little in the past few days. He still never explained how he found out about my chronic illness, but in the end, I guess it didn’t matter. My sweet Dui was determined to stay by my side and help me through it. My cheeks heated up again, but I could tell it wasn’t from the fever this time.

#star crossed myth #star crossed myth fanfic #scm leon #scm karno #scm teorus #scm huedhaut #scm tauxolouve #scm aigonorus #scm zyglavis #scm scorpio #scm krioff #scm dui #scm ichthys #scm partheno #fanfic #department of wishes #department of punishments #star crossed myth imagines #my asks

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to-my-mom · 11 months

Text

Dear, Mom.

The anger I feel in my heart is second to none. The pain that you’ve inflicted makes my arms and legs feel like they’re on fire, and like I want to use that fire to burn down the world.

You laughed in my face while telling everyone who would listen that I was an accident. You threatened to leave me on the side of the road if I was too loud for you. You kicked me out of the house at ten years old for picking my skin apart in a fit of undiagnosed mental illness. You drugged me in my sleep with your antidepressants all because I wasn’t happy enough for you after losing a loved one.

There’s so much you’ve done to me. And now that I’m away from you and living my life all these years later, I’ve decided to write you letters in the form of blog posts. Telling you every terrible thing you’ve done to me, and saying every terrible curse I want to tell you. I won’t tag these posts, or do anything to promote them, because nobody deserves to deal with what I have to say, nor do they deserve to bear witness to the trauma you inflicted. But I want these feelings on the internet, so that there’s a permanent record of my anger and pain.

Maybe one day you’ll find these posts, and you’ll read them. You’ll read every single word I have to say, and you’ll finally listen. Maybe you’ll even feel guilty. But I doubt it, because that’s never been your style. Because you’ve never been the mom I needed. Because you’re a monster.

When I was a kid, I thought you loved me. I did everything I could to make you proud- I earned straight A’s, made art like you, and smiled even when I was ready to die. But it never worked. I tried to be vulnerable with you. I tried to be sociable with you. I put on the pretty dresses and did the makeup and straightened my hair for you. I went shopping with you and listened to every order you have. But there was always something you had to complain about.

I wasn’t feminine enough. You asked me if I thought I was a boy, because I didn’t like pink, or to wear dresses, or wear makeup. I wasn’t white enough, because I didn’t straighten my hair. I wasn’t skinny enough, because I wasn’t stick-thin like my sister. I wasn’t smart enough, because I only made honor roll in eighth grade, rather than dean’s list. I was lazy, because I didn’t want to clean up dog shit at noon in the middle of summer. I was a slob, because I had adhd and couldn’t do laundry every week.

I remember when I was in elementary school. You stood me in front of you every single week, and told me that I was a “fat, disgusting slob” and that it’s no wonder people weren’t friends with me. You would yank my hair and say that it was a matted mess because I “didn’t take care of it”. When I did have friends, you would say that I wouldn’t have them for long, because who wants to be with a disgusting slob like me? When I inevitably lost friends, I would come crying to you about it. You would say “Well yeah, it’s because you’re a fat, disgusting slob. Nobody wants to smell that.”

I remember when you would get mad at me about my hair. It’s different than yours. Yours is straight, but mine is tight curls from my dad. I was never taught how to properly take care of my curls, and had to learn on my own. You would say it was matted, and gross. You would stand me in the kitchen and scream at me while waving scissors around. I was afraid you were going to cut me with them.

You would force me to sit perfectly still, at the threat that if I moved you would cut my ear off. You were dead serious. Then, you would forcefully cut off all of my hair because I “wouldn’t take care of it” and thus didn’t deserve it.

If you were too tired to cut it, you would take me to a stylist. I would cry and beg to not have my hair cut, and you would tell the stylist “Oh, she needs to have it cut really short because she’s a slob who can’t take care of herself.”

I still can’t stand having other people cut my hair because of how deeply you disrespected my hair and bodily autonomy.

Fuck you.

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chewed-wires · 2 years

Photo

Slowly, very slowly, but surely I’m crawling towards a design I like for them.

I guess this is ripe opportunity to dump my hc for them, huh. Very long post ahead.

Both

This is Fazbear Entertainment we’re talking about, only the shittiest company out there, so the DA wasn’t exactly a model caretaker to begin with.

The clean-up routine and the desire to stick to rules was partially encoded into them to avoid unnecessary lawsuits (I mean they are dealing with small kids and you know how parents are about those, urgh)

(it was amplified by their neglect but hush. Maybe even some fun threats of decomission (they wouldn’t, too expensive, but it doesn’t mean DA knows that))

Most definetely aren’t a priority, a lot of budget cuts and maintenance skips expected.

Moon is the only one with security mode, and was patient 0 for the virus.

They are a single animatronic with 2 AIs.

I’m on the fence whether Sun and Moon can actually communicate with each other internally. It makes practical sense but also I like the idea of them using sticky notes. Definetely cannot during virus incident.

Both are gremlins :^)

Sun

Even before the virus, he was a handful. Energetic, kinda neurotic, extremely extroverted and little to no understanding of personal space.

His “creepy design” didn’t help.

He doesn’t mean ill, but people like that tend to be difficult to get along with, so most other bots and staff were either creeped out, avoided him or were on formal terms with the DA (I mean even Freddy seems to be very formal, which means while they aren’t enemies, they aren’t really friends).

Most kids loved him though. Not nearly as much as the Glamrocks, but yknow. It’s a case of “a mascot kids love but adults find terrifying”.

I wouldn’t necessary call him the best caretaker. He does love kids, and he cares for their safety, but his primary function is to entertain, so stuff like dietry requirements aren’t his forte.

His idea of entertainment is just endless games. Which does work for small kids tbh.

Can forgive a lot of things (I mean kids ARE troublemakers), but break one of his very well established rules (”lights on”) and god can he hold a grudge. He does have a rather childish temper.

I do believe he CAN leave the daycare (he could potentially be the “creepy bot” who’d have to control the fitness maze and of course the theatre), HOWEVER, he is very territorial about it. For once, during day hours he has to supervise very small kids so must stay close by. As for nightime, his anxious personality longs for familiriality to feel secure (especially during the virus incident). Furthermore his desire to stick to rules keeps him in a rather strict lane of action.

If the bot wasn’t already neglected and anxious and neurotic before, the virus incident took it to a new level.

Actually I don’t think the Daycare was closed during SB. The area is in no way blocked off and Sun doesn’t protest Gregory being there at first. Yes the set-up is a hazard, but this is FazEnt, and they probably slapped together a fast solution for avoiding Moon after an incident and drilled it in Sun’s head to never switch off the lights.

To be honest at this point Sun is terrified of Moon. Not only did he hurt a kid, he can’t communicate with him properly, and he keeps finding more broken staff bots in their room. He knows the other is very capable of violence and god he doesn’t know what to do.

I believe he’s the one who draws on broken staff bots, and is semi-responsible for the mess in their room. I mean it’s not a room he’s obligated to clean and he’s gotta have SOME stress relief. He tries fixing some staff-bots out of guilt, but he isn’t the best at it.

Basically? A hot mess.

Moon

It seems that the virus keeps the basic personality of the animatronics intact, so I think Moon always was a creepy crawly kind of guy. Hell, his golden statue seems to indicate that.

The initial idea was to have a “bedtime monster” who’d playfully chase you to bed and get you if you were causing trouble not sleeping.

Essentially he was just very playful - all about the chase, the spooky, rather than actually attacking. You can see that in his animations when he waves and his idle ones - he’s just some silly guy :^)

Just as neglected and rather gullible like Sun - idk which of the two was tricked into dragging the corrupted arcade into their room, but both could be persuaded into it.

Doesn’t have Sun’s temper and could be said to be more “mature” of the two, but he is still very, very silly and eccentric and ridiculous himself.

Probably the DA Glamrocks interacted more with due to his patrols. But once again, due to his personality, these interactions weren’t the warmest.

Perfect patient 0: in access to small kids, can detect them better than glamrocks (heat vision?), can “fly” and has access to the entire fascility due to his security patrols, not one of the main crew so much easier overlooked. The only flaw was the virus doesn’t really make the bots master manipulators so he’d been caught “punishing a kid”. So naptime was banned until further notice.

Was essentially used as a test run for the virus and how FazEnt would react and its overall effects on the bots.

While banned from his daycare duties, he is still used for security at night. Which also means he’s always in virus mode nowadays.

The one who drags broken security bots into DA room. Probably trashed it quite a bit as well.

Since he’s not fully concious due to the virus, he couldn’t really care less for Sun. He comes out when he comes out, and then goes dormant. There isn’t really this desire to keep in control as it is with Sun.

Before that they would communicate on a regular and would be each other’s partner. I mean, they are in the same body, got only each other really, and share their purpose and desire of taking care of kids. Now though?

Honestly the entire situation was a big blow to Sun’s mental state, and Moon is in a perpetual daze.

---

Also drew some human jinkas I guess lmao and it’s just some very lanky dude with some incredible acrobatics skills and the shittiest sleep schedule. In more casual clothes no less.

#my #art #traditional art #sketchbook #sketch dump #fanart #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #daycare attendant #sundrop #moondrop #I guess that'd be the overview #hope you enjoy reading and I didn't waste your time #I'm starting to deviate more from canon in design and their neck heeps getting longer #I just want to see Sun in massive distress and Moon about to yoink some kneecaps #oh also I always try to keep them smiling to simulate the permanent faceplate so when they get sad they default to thei most basic 'smile'#which I think can be very fun #in the future I'll stick to occasional doodle dumps and some coloured pieces #as per usual

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morgana-ren · 3 years

Text

Pale Imitation

The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

Rating: E

Warnings: Porn, Masturbation, Yandere, Stalker Shigaraki, Shigaraki is a total creep, Rough sex, Noncon Fantasy/Roleplay

Preemptive Note: Before you continue I just want to note: I'm not a sex worker but I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them. What ensues in this story is pure kink and fantasy and is not meant to reinforce any harmful/mean stereotypes what so ever. My personal fantasy is degradation and I can't really seem to get off without it so it's a majority of what I write, but I swear to you it was not written with the intent to insult or hurt anyone in the profession! I realize the hardships endured by the men/women/NB/GN in the adult sex work profession and this is just intended to be a pure sexual fantasy and is by no means attempting to reinforce or normalize toxic behaviors in the workplace.

Bad wig? Check .

Poor voice imitation? Check .

Shoddy, unsealed makeup that sloughs off onto the unfortunate scene partner’s skin? Check .

All the tell-tale signs of a bad porno but with one distinct peculiarity that drew his interest.

You know, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he settled in for his first nightly wank. The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He’s no stranger to the villain kink page. Tons of civilians indulged in their darker fantasies through their nighttime excursions below their pantyline, and being a villain himself, naturally he was curious. Most of it is about what he’d expect. Villains, ancient and new, participating in copulation of all sorts. Some of it is that extremely out of character slow and romantic pornography. Other times, strangely enough, it’s the villains themselves getting taken advantage of. Sometimes by heroes, other times by random people, objects, or even tentacles. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Him though? He’d never seen himself in one, let alone being featured on the front page.

Up until recently, the media and all it’s sinful offshoots had opted to ignore him. However, his recent exploits must’ve caught the attention of the general public, and alongside it, the licentious denizens that dwell within. There had been a few forum posts, a little fan art (most of it flattering), and even a few oddly obsessive fangirls he’d come across. But this? Oh, now this was a whole new caliber.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

The guy they’d hired to play him was naturally a flat disappointment; Too bulky, and way too short. He could tell there was a classically handsome man underneath all that poorly done makeup that was meant to make him look pallid and dry. A sad, pathetic, and pale imitation of the real thing, missing some of his scars and moles entirely. The ashy gray wig they used to try to mimic his shaggy, unkempt hair had an awkward cowlick and kept flopping down too far on the actor’s forehead and looked far more dead than even his own unwashed mop. The voice he was using to mimic him was strained and scratchy, far too forced to be comfortable or even remotely realistic. If he had to place it, it sounded like the guy already had a terribly sore throat and had continued yelling for several hours to achieve the ‘desired’ effect.

He hadn’t expected much, but it was still disappointing. Though to be fair, they nailed the clothing, minus the brand of shoes he wears and the exact coat he’d chosen as his signature.

A part of him was ready to shut it off. Whatever lies ahead could only be utterly insulting, right? This grotesque pastiche lifelessly parroting his mannerisms was already curbing his sexual appetite toward something more violent, and not in the way he liked. Yet, out of sheer curiosity, he kept watching. What exactly did the average screenwriting porn cinematographer think he was into anyway?

It was a little ambiguous at first. At least until the shaky camera followed the Walmart brand Shigaraki knock-off down a generic hallway and into a borderline barren room, bringing into frame a quaking young woman tied up on a filthy mattress. After that, it became very quickly apparent just what type of smut he’d stumbled onto.

The camera zooms in on her face, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving trails of thick black makeup and mascara trailing down her cheeks, her begging and pleading muffled by a rag hastily stuffed in her mouth and secured with what appeared to be a bandana tied around her head. She’s clad in nothing but a flimsy tank top with the straps yanked down over her shoulders and a small pair of lace panties, covered in what appears to be made up lacerations and fake bruising. A nice touch, he notes.

He’ll admit, he’s intrigued now. It looks like they got one thing about him right, perhaps two now that he inspects the adult actress hired to play his unfortunate victim. She’s flattering, far more flattering than he expected given the low budget circumstances. Her watery eyes and quaking body coupled with the slight rope burn embedding into her chafing skin is enough to get his legs stirring and his pants tightening. She looks so pretty, so vulnerable behind all the waterworks and thick stage makeup. He thinks, just maybe, he might be able to get into this if he hyper focuses on her.

As his imposter approaches, she pushes her bound legs out, squishing herself back against the wall and as far away as she can manage from the threat encroaching on her personal space.

“Heroes can’t save you now.”

The shallow mockery of his voice grates at his ears, but he’ll admit the comment is on brand. The actor harshly yanks the bandana out of the woman’s mouth, her pouty lips trembling as she begins to grovel, blinking more tears down her swollen cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

All things considered, she’s convincing enough to get his blood pumping. Tomura readjusts himself in his chair, reaching his hands beneath the band of his sweatpants. If he can ignore her counterpart, he thinks watching her squirm and squeal will get him off. After all, it’s supposed to be ‘him’ violating this cute girl. Maybe if he defocuses his eyes enough, he can pretend it really is.

“I’m going to show you how much of a villain I really am!”

Ugh . Whoever wrote this dialogue clearly had never met him, or probably any real villain for that matter. It’s enough to make him want to retch, but the feel of his own hand on his cock and the soft whimpering of the actress as the villain stand-in strips off his coat brings him back and makes him throb. The camera moves in to offer her a close up, face dropping and eyes widening in horror as she comes to the “realization” of what he means.

“No! Please! Anything but that!”

She kicks at him, trying to fend him off with bound limbs as he crawls over her onto the bed. A harsh slap to the side of her cheek is enough to quiet her down and allow the assailant to cage her to the bed with one hand, the other clumsily fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. After he shimmies his ill fitting skinny jeans down his thighs, she looks at him with eyes widened in horror, shaking her head erratically.

“No! Please Mister Shigaraki, it’s too big! It won’t fit!”

A hand far too burly to be his wraps around her neck, pointer finger plucked awkwardly upward. “Quiet! You’re my prisoner and you’ll do as I say!”

Just ignore it.

The free hand goes to grab at her tank top, a brief but noticeable pause in the filming leaves her topless with stage prop ash sprinkled along her torso, the ropes around her wiggling legs conveniently gone now. While the cinematic effect was laughably bad, Tomura can’t bring himself to care. Not when her tits are now on display for him to ogle.

Chest bare and heaving, perfect nipples perked to attention just for him. Smooth, creamy skin goose pimpled and tender, so tempting that he's aching to feel her. A quick swipe of his thumb over his sensitive, spongy tip elicits a rumbled groan from deep in his chest. It’s easier now to ignore the shitty portrayal of himself, especially when he can lose himself to the throes of lust and pretend that it actually is his hands wrapped around her little throat, other fingers drifting lower and lower down her trembling belly.

A quick hook around the seam of her panties and they’re ripped clean from her hips, legs splayed and leaving her pussy center frame, already wet and glistening. He swallows hard, the sight enough to make him salivate. She fumbles around beneath him, desperate to buck him off, but it’s to no avail. Fingers, his fingers, tease the entrance to her tight little hole, slipping one finger, and then two inside, oscillating in and out preparing her to take all of him. Just like she said, he’s so big. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not like that.

After that, it’s all too easy for him to slip into his fantasy. He strokes his cock in tandem with the pumping of the fingers, pausing only briefly as the girl mewls as the fingers slip out and the tip of his cock is aligned with her little entrance. He pistons his own hips as it slams inside, head reeling back on the edge of his chair.

The high pitched whine that escapes her throat as the fake buries himself deep inside has him biting his lip, slowing his hand by force on his shaft. Fuck, even her moans are hot. Her bouncing tits and staggered breathing as his imposter rails into her has him enraptured. The subtle way she leans into the hand on her throat, back arched off the filthy mattress, face expressing clear distress but body betraying her clever act.

It matters little that she’s being paid to partake in the scene with ‘him’. The fact she was open to it says more than he could have hoped to know, and clearly she’s enjoying the treatment. His hazy eyes focus in on her face, working his hand harder with every little nuance she gifts him. The twitch of arms as her nails imbed themselves into her palms, the parting of her moist lips. He’d be willing to bet her tongue could work magic, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. God, she’d look so cute like that. Hands tied behind her back, a sloppy, drooling mess around his dick.

“S-Shigaraki! You’re too rough!”

The hand clamped around her throat tightens, her final word more of a croak.

“You like it, you little slut!”

At least there’s one thing him and this mediocre porn actor can agree on; she certainly does like it. Rolling her hips against him and wailing in a way that has him wonderfully immersed in his fantasy. Hearing his name on those sighs only strengthen his hold, he can practically feel the warmth of her skin, indulge himself in the wet, clenching tightness of her cunt.

It’s fucking insulting that this trash gets to wear his skin, steal his countenance to fuck her. It should be him. If this whelp could get her all hot and bothered, just imagining what the real thing could do sends the remaining blood reserves rushing between his thighs, prick pulsing even harder in his palm. Yeah, he could get this little bitch squealing. She’d fucking like it too, judging by the look on her face as she gets plowed by a man wearing his visage.

Oh, he’d make her scream. Leave real bruising in place of that cheap costume makeup they’d so lazily applied to her naked form. Truth be told, the video itself was rather boring. He’d only kept watching because of how enraptured he was with the little witch being stuffed full of cock by his imitation. He’d never really been taken with an adult actress before but this one? Oh yes, he could really get into her.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. So pretty to him, so deliciously pliable, so completely worked up about a villain using her as a toy, pumping in and out of her warm little pussy until he fills her with his hot cum and she’s overflowing with every fluid thrust. Sweet, sensitive neck exposed just for him to bite and abuse. Face stained with tears, puffy cheeks just aching to be squeezed and smacked. Probably tastes like rapture, eager to swallow whatever he decides to spill into her mouth.

And she could take it. He just knows it. Bent over for him, any hole he pleases free for him to use, hand-shaped welts raising on the swell of her ass. Fingers fisting her hair and arching that cute face back to look directly at him as he spits between her open and waiting lips. She’d swallow it like a good girl, just like a good girl, he knows she would.

He works himself faster, his own breathy whines joining the cacophony of licentiousness that echoes in his eardrums. His imagination shifts into overdrive, clumsy, irregular strokes of his hand tenting and deflating the crotch of his sweats. Soft, pillowy tits bulging through his fingertips as he kneads them, sucking on those tender nipples until they harden just for him. Fucking her mouth until her lips are swollen and red, face covered in a mixture of drool and cum with lipstick smeared around her cheeks. Legs locked around his narrow waist as he slams into her repeatedly, chanting his name and begging him incoherently not to stop, never to stop.

“P-please don’t cum inside me! Please- I-“

Oh, he’d cum deep inside. He’ll cum anywhere he wants on his little whore until it’s slick and dripping. He’ll tie her up, smudging it across her broken expression and let it dry nice and thick. Slip his cum covered thumb into her mouth and then ignore her until her thighs are grinding together and she’s begging for his thick cock again, any way he wants her.

Fuck- fuck she’d love it too. Ride him until each slap of her ass on his bony hips made his cock punch hard against her cervix, crying in pleasure and pain but never stopping until he allowed her. Dig his nails into her back, his teeth into her flesh and mark her up real good, let everyone who sees her know just what she’s been up to with him-

“Shigaraki! Fuck! Shi-Shigaraki!”

His name spills from her lips in a needy sob, voice cracking and so utterly genuine that it sends him over the edge. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand, shooting jets of sticky white seed all over the inside of his black sweat pants and staining his fingers. His entire body shudders, legs stiffening and balls tightening and clenching as his cum spills in fat ropes across the fabric. Try as he might to focus on her face as she cums for him, he simply can’t, eyes slamming shut and mouth left agape as a strangled cry erupts from his throat.

He gives a few subconscious pumps into his hand as searing pleasure crackles through his body, toes curling in his shoes as his lower body lifts off the chair to chase his high. Millions of images flash across his mind, the foremost of which is her, greedy eyes hungry for pleasure only he can give her, silky cunt milking him eagerly. A jagged tooth bites a little too hard into his blistered lip, enough to crack it open but he’s too submerged in bliss to notice. The only thing he can feel is her.

His thighs tremble as his body falls back down into the worn computer chair, orgasm leaving his entire body feeling weak and drained. His breath comes in heaves, gulping down air as he tries his best to shake off the residual searing pleasure so hot it almost hurts. Overstimulation looms on the horizon and his heavy eyes drift open, feeling so drowsy now he can hardly keep them apart. The orange bar at the bottom of the video is all the way to the right, the video having concluded itself.

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Her name. He needed to know her name. He needed to know everything .

He doesn’t bother reaching for the tissues. He simply withdraws his hand from his waistband, wiping his mess onto the knee of his pant leg before grabbing his mouse and scouring the page for any crumb of information he can find. The comments, while amusing, are hardly helpful.

So hot xx thanks

Who’s the guy even supposed to be?

This babe is so hot, luv her stuff everytime

Yall r gunna get rekt when he sees this shit lol

any sexy girls wanna reenact this with me? Hmu

I’m a girl and I love this!

Wish he’d do that to me <.<

He’d dwell on all of that later. For now, he settles for a quick search through the uploader’s account. It’s a small studio, only a few films out to date, most of which revolve around taboo relationships between villains and society. Following a hyperlink to their main website leads him to bio, complete with her stage name and picture, and even another link leading to an interview with a small time adult magazine, an article called “Cum to the Dark Side” that he bookmarks for later reading.

Even post-cum, she’s just as beautiful. Enchanting, sultry smile and cheeky little expression in her picture. Maybe it’s fate that he stumbled upon her. Maybe she really was just that good at acting and she didn’t have a thing for him at all. Either way, he wants some time with the talent. For research, of course.

Her personal details, as expected, are hidden. They go the lengths to protect their employees it seems. What isn’t hidden, however, is the studio’s number.

He thinks he can work with that.

#NSFT #shigaraki x reader #tw adult stuff #tw yandere #tw uhh self love #tw stalker behavior #Part 1 #tw noncon roleplay

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

I'm Like You - Origins SMP Oneshot

A/N: So... Origins SMP may be over but that won't stop me from posting this-! :D

Origins SMP please come back

Anyway here's some hurt/comfort more on the fluffy side. - Minty

TW: Blood/gore, mention of death, kidnapping, mention of chopping one's wings off, mention of selling body parts, almost drowning, cursing. (Let me know if I need to add anything else!)

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

Phil remembered the day they found him - he was tangled in some seaweed and reeds, floating along in the water, leaving a trail of crimson red in his wake. The teenager's right wing was a shamble of blood and feathers, bruises and cuts littering his skin that ignited Phil's anger - he had half a mind to find that damn village and set it ablaze. But, his mind made sure the boy was the priority. Phil untangled him, thankful that the ocean hadn't let him float out to sea, and pulled him on land, quickly searching for a pulse and practically sighing in relief when he'd found one. Phil wondered how long the kid had been out here - he felt ice-cold to the touch, skin ghostly pale.

He remembered, holding the teenager close in his arms as he took off in the air, wondering why. Why would someone hurt a kid, a child, for something they couldn't control? Why would someone have so much hate in their hearts to land deadly hits on a defenseless person? Why then, after everything they did to him, did they leave him in the river to die? Phil never really got an answer that night as he returned toward Ghostbur's mansion on the mountain. He guessed that maybe the world just didn’t have an answer, or rather, they just didn’t have an answer he wanted to hear.

Phil’s roommate, a good-natured phantom called Ghostbur, practically rushed the kid upstairs to a bed, grabbing supplies before Phil even had a chance to explain what happened. “Ghostbur, you really shouldn’t-!” Phil huffed as he launched himself to the second level, grabbing his friend by the arm, feeling his friend’s body shake with adrenaline, emotion. “Wil, he’s got a broken wing - wings are very sensitive and extremely delicate, we need to be careful.” His hand reached up to steady his phantom friend. “Can you grab a couple of potions, bandages, as well as a needle and thread for me? I’ll work on cleaning him up.”

The phantom took a deep breath, silently phasing through the floor beneath his feet to grab the items Phil requested. He understood Ghostbur’s worry - damaged wings for winged creatures could quickly turn detrimental, it was a natural part of who they were, how they felt, and sensed danger around them. Without it, they’d feel incomplete, empty, but most importantly - they’d be in their most vulnerable state.

Phil’s fingers were soft and light as he cleaned out the wounded wing, picking out and straightening feathers that were stuck, misshapen, or out of place. Gently, using lukewarm water, he washed the dirt, rocks, and dried blood from the wound, careful to move slowly so as to not cause alarm to the kid. Ghostbur floated up next to him, placing the things he asked for on the bedside table, crossing his arms, and looking over to the teenager. “Is he gonna be okay, Phil?”

“I…” Phil sighed. “I dunno. The wound’s deep, half his flying feathers are gone… thank gods whoever left him had a shit aim, it looks like they were trying to take the wing off at the source.”

“Can you fix it?”

“...I can try.”

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

Tommy’s head pounded, his body wrapped in a comforting warmth that practically screamed at him to sink into. His muscles ached for rest, but Tommy knew he needed to get moving. His head ached so much it made his brain go fuzzy as he struggled to remember what happened yesterday. He and Tubbo were moving to go collect some honey… Did he fall asleep again?

Tommy would admit it wouldn’t be the first time he found a good sunlight patch to catch a nap and the shulker hybrid had to carry him back to their base on the mountain. How long had he slept? Why was he still tired?

His ears perked up as he heard shuffling around him. His instincts began to flare, sending signals up his spine. Wait… the hunters… the hunters took him… Tubbo’s in danger-

He felt someone touch his wing, gently moving it toward themselves. His wing… they tried to take his wings, they wanted to sell them for money-! Tommy’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t home. He didn’t know where he was and a stranger was touching his wing.

dangerdangerdanger-

Ignoring his body’s protests to rest, he leaped up, surprising the attacker as he tackled him toward the wall quickly to restrain him, pinning his neck with his arm. A crash sounded behind him but Tommy didn’t care. He was getting out of here and saving Tubbo no matter what. His eyes bore into the ill-intended stranger, ready for a fight. “Where am I?!”

The stranger’s eyes flicked up toward Tommy’s, at first matching his intense gaze before quickly softening, silent as he became acutely aware of the razor-sharp talons digging into his leg. “You’re in my house.” He did his best to keep his voice calm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Where’s Tubbo?”

“Who-”

Tommy slammed the man back against the wall. “Don’t act dumb you fucker, where’s the shulk?!”

“I don’t know, okay?! Just-!”

Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward the window - an escape! He needed to get out of here, clearly Tubbo got taken somewhere else if the stranger didn’t know him. He needed to get free and… and come up with some kind of plan...yeah! Adrenaline pumping like mad from the close encounter, the stranger noticed his gaze as realization hit him.

“Wait… hold on, you really shouldn’t-!”

Tommy felt the wind flow underneath his wings, perched on the window ledge. They were achingly sore - who knows how long he’d been trapped here? Moving to crack a tense spot in his back, Tommy felt a sense of relief. He smiled, knowing that his wings wouldn’t be sore for much longer. They just needed to stretch.

Phil rushed forward, an inch too late as Tommy leaped from the building.

The teenager stretched his wings out to catch himself on the breeze, confident for the span of at least a minute. He closed his eyes like he usually did to better focus. Why couldn’t he feel his wings picking him up? Why wasn’t his body doing what he needed to - it was as simple as taking a step! Just stretch and glide on the breeze.

Stretch, and…

For the first time since the avian learned to fly, Tommy found himself crashing down onto the grass. Shame welled up in his stomach, paired with confusion. Hearing the door bang open behind him added to it all a twinge of fear. He stumbled, trying in vain to gather his bearings. Ignoring the sting of scratches from the crash, he ran into the forest.

“Wait! Mate, just wait for a second!”

The wind picked up through the trees, tangling through hair and setting practically every nerve on Tommy’s wings aflame. There was danger. He needed to fly. He needed to fly away, but… but he couldn’t. He was trapped and alone with hunters chasing him down to finish the job they started. He couldn’t stop running. He couldn’t, because if he did he could say goodbye to flying ever again. He’d never grow his wings back, and he’d look like a useless disgusting human.

He’d be normal.

Flying was the only hybrid skill, the only uniqueness about him. Tommy would rather die than ever have that stripped away from him. Chopping away bone, muscle, and feather - all in the interest of earning a few gold coins! Well, fuck them. His body barely running on energy as it was, his legs gave out on him as he fell to the ground again.

No. Please.

He heard footsteps, flipping around to see the blonde man. Pure fear gripped him for the first time in his life. He scooted backwards as the man tried to approach. Another pathetic attempt at escaping - why was he even trying anymore? His back hit a tree trunk, his wings shrinking back, as scared as he was. Yet, the blonde man moved closer.

“Stay back! Stay back, or…” Tommy struggled, quickly moving to grab a rock, holding it up in some sort of threat. As if a rock could take down a hybrid hunter. “...or I will mess you up, bro!”

The blonde man stopped walking forward. “Look, I know you’re confused and scared, I would be too. But I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Liar! I won’t let you take them!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Take them…? I…” He looked down at the teenager in sympathy. “I don’t want your wings, I swear!”

“Bullshit!” Tommy yelled. “I know your game, stop acting so innocent! You can’t lure me in, you can’t make me trust a single word you say, hunter!”

“I’m not... I’m not a hunter, okay?” Phil said, stepping closer and making Tommy tense. He sat down four feet away from the teen, taking a deep breath before shouldering off his green robe, leaving the white tank. Immediately, a pair of translucent, metallic wings unfurled from his back, so large Tommy almost felt intimidated. Tommy wanted to say something, but words died on his throat. Phil shrugged his shoulders after stretching his wings out looking up toward the avian. He awkwardly smiled. “...well mate, I’m like you.”

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

General Taglist (Tell me if you want to be added/removed!):

@bones-sprouts

@benzel

@foolishcaptains

#osmp #osmp!wilbur #wilbur soot #osmp!tubbo #osmp!tommy #tubbo #tommyinnit #tommyinnit and tubbo #osmp!phil #philza #dadza philza #my writing #hurt/comfort #osmp drabble #osmp fic

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Text

Villainsicle | Part 13

I know it’s been a while, and if I’m being completely honest, I really ran out of steam on this story for a while. But, we’re back! If you’re new to my blog and are interested in this story, all of the parts up to this one can be found linked in my pinned info post.

Thank you guys so much for all your support of this series so far! I hope you enjoy this part, too!

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby

@the-polari-person

@teachunks

@daydreamed-snippets-2nd-blog

@sunflower1000

@lightdrinker-blog

@regalwritten

CW//Mentions of bathing, restraints, drugs, dehumanization, conspiracies, collars, talk of diseases, talk of falling, Stockholm syndrome, affectionate caretaker, conditioned whumpee

After their bath, Villain rested.

It wasn’t exactly how Counselor had imagined the whole affair going. Villain had already spent so many days resting, laid up in that same bed, but once they were clean and settled into fresh clothes, they had requested nothing except to be able to return to sleep.

They supposed it wasn’t entirely unexpected. While the bath hadn’t exactly been physically exerting, there had been several instances during it that Villain had nearly burst out in tears. Whatever was going through their mind, it was undeniably intense-- and that wasn’t even mentioning the heavy dose of sedatives coursing through their system.

And, thus, Villain slept. They were unconscious almost immediately upon hitting the mattress.

This time, however, there was no nervous twitching to accompany their unconsciousness. Instead, for the first time, their face showed a perfectly placid expression.

Taking care not to wake the sleeping patient, Counselor draped a fleece blanket overtop of them, tucking its edges in around their shoulders. They twitched, but did not awake. A moment later, they buried their face in the fabric.

Counselor had never before imagined that Villain was even capable of existing in such a calm state. Yet, here they were, looking for all the world as though not even an earthquake could wake them up.

Their gaze flicked to the bedrails. Upon returning to their bed, Villain had not so much as seemed to note the leather-and-foam restraints hanging there.

Yet, Counselor could not draw their gaze away from them.

Villain had been staying in the base for weeks, phasing through various states of aggression and fear and sickness and, on rare occasions, hesitant happiness. But, even after all that time, no one truly knew anything about them.

At least, Counselor knew nothing about them. Based on the way Leader and Medic’s expressions twisted when the prisoner was mentioned, it was clear that the both of them knew more than they were letting on-- but neither was keen to admit as to such.

Maybe Hero had had more luck on this information gathering mission.

But how much information was there really to gather? Officially, Villain had simply appeared on stage a few months ago, alongside two unknowns. More or less, they had acted just as any other villain did.

The other villains, however, had motives. Backstories. They were following orders.

Villain... If anyone on the outside cared about them, they had yet to risk any sort of jailbreak.

There was more to this than the official story, Counselor knew that full well. How much more... as to that, they had no idea.

But they had no need to rely on second hand accounts and official reports to know what Villain was. That much was obvious. They were a villain. Whatever their backstory, whatever their past, they were dangerous.

Right?

Counselor’s gaze drifted back to those restraints. Those simple straps, dangling from a metal bedframe.

At some point, Villain may have been dangerous. But not right now. Right now, they needed help, and that was exactly what Counselor was going to give them.

And, if they wanted that plan to go anywhere, they would have to start with the doctor who harmed their own patient.

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This time, when Medic answered the knocking on their door, their glasses were on the right way around. They blinked a few times, rubbing their eyes, hardly noting as the piping hot cup of coffee was pushed into their hands.

The doctor glanced down at the beverage before looking back up to meet their visitor’s gaze.

“I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

“Well, that was before. For now, we need to talk.”

“If this is decaf again, I swear I’m going to strangle you.”

“It’s not. Though the same threat applies to you if you try to go back to the med bay.”

“I’m a doctor. In fact, I’m our only doctor.”

“I’m a doctor, too.”

“Psychology doesn’t count.”

“Fair enough.”

“If we’re done threatening each other, then, would you care to, I don’t know, tell me why you’re bothering me?”

“As I said, we need to talk.”

“Do I even need to ask what about?”

“I think you already know that. Come on. You have your coffee, so there’s no excuses.”

“You really think I’m going to be that penitent about this?”

“Maybe.”

Medic rolled their eyes, but did not protest any further as Counselor turned and walked off. The two moved to a rather isolated table, tucked away in the corner of a hallway. The cafeteria was far too crowded at the moment to host such a discussion.

On opposite sides of the table, the opposites sat. Two cups of coffee clinked down on the wooden surface.

Counselor took a sip of their drink, placing the cup back down and raising their gaze. Medic frowned, lips turning downwards even further than usual.

“What, are we planning on talking through telepathy or- Come on, Counselor, stop looking at me like that. I hate that.”

“Then are you going to say anything?”

“I can’t read your mind.”

“You said you knew what this was about.”

“Maybe.” Medic shrugged dismissively. The doctor had been horribly standoffish, ever since Villain had been captured. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to start trying to guess your thoughts.”

Counselor took another sip.

“Fine, then. I can start.” Sip. Clink. “Villain told me something very interesting, earlier.”

“You really believe them?”

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“Then stop wasting time, maybe.”

“Villain says that you’re making them sick.”

Medic’s brows furrowed.

“That’s what they said?”

“Pretty much verbatim, yes.”

“Well.” Medic took a hesitant drink of their coffee. “I don’t know why you’re even wasting your time on a notion like that. What they are is paranoid. I don’t doubt that they think I’m making them sick. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“You’re saying that your patient is lying.”

“Maybe not lying. That would imply that they know what they’re saying is not true. They are sick, I will not deny that. And they are not responding to treatment. I can’t say that anything I’ve tried so far has made it any better, but it certainly hasn’t made it worse.”

“Why would they believe such a thing without reason?”

Medic exhaled.

“Because, in Villain’s mind, they do have reason. They have a child’s understanding of medicine. They are sick, and they are under my care and taking my medicines, and thus, in their mind, one of these things has caused the other.”

Counselor cast their gaze downwards, focusing on the way their milk danced its way through the black beverage before them. It was a reasonable explanation. Maybe. They may not have trusted Medic, but they trusted Medic’s abilities as a doctor.

Could Villain really be wrong?

“If they’re wrong...” Counselor began again. “Then what is making them sick? Their incident with hypothermia was weeks ago, now. It can’t still be that?”

“I doubt the two are connected. If this was all a matter of post-hypothermic reactions, then we wouldn’t be seeing these kinds of symptoms.”

“What is it, then?”

Medic bit their bottom lip.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? They’ve been in your care for... well over a week, now.”

“You think I don’t know that? If you haven’t noticed, I’m the world’s leading expert on Enhanced biology. Not to mention, y’know, an experienced doctor for normal humans. Whatever this is, it’s not a normal sickness. I’ve done every test I can think of.”

“And... it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“Not as badly as you might be fearing. Their weakness is worsening, yes, as is their general mental state. But their vitals are fine. They’re not in serious danger of anything, so long as they don’t hurt themself.”

“You think they’d do that?”

“Given just how bad their confusion has been getting? I’m already putting preventative measures in place.”

“Oh.”

Medic raised a brow.

“You thought I restrained them for no reason? I’m not Leader. There are medical regulations about this sort of thing.”

“They’ve been hurting themself?”

“Not what you may be thinking of. But with how bad their weakness has grown, they can’t exactly stand up without aid, at the current moment. Forget walking. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to have realized this.”

“They’ve fallen?”

“A few times, yes. If that is all, I was really just starting to enjoy my day off, so-”

“Wait.” Counselor shook their head. “People don’t get sick for no reason.”

“Congrats, you know a basic medical fact.”

“You know what I mean. You’re the smartest person I know. You must have, I don’t know, a theory? A hypothesis? Anything?”

Medic blinked, placing down their cup.

“I do. Though right now, I have no way of proving it.”

“What is it?”

“Villain has what we call... psionic powers. Powers that affect only a person’s brain, but not their physical body. It’s the rarest type of power, oftentimes because something you can’t see is often something you can’t detect. Thus, this group of powers is poorly understood, to say the least. But I’m sure you know what power fatigue looks like for other Enhanced.”

“Like when Hero broke their leg?” Counselor guessed.

“Yes. The simple act of overexerting ones powers, even without outside injury, can cause physical injuries like that to develop.”

“You think Villain’s having power fatigue?”

“It’s my best guess. It would check all the boxes. An undetectable illness affecting the brain, but nothing else. A never before seen condition.”

“But... is it something you can cure?”

“I can’t cure tiredness.” Medic shook their head. “That’s really not how it works. I can do my best to counteract the symptoms, but so long as the source is still there, I’d be fighting uphill.”

“Then what can you do?”

“I can remove the source.” The tiniest smirk crept onto the doctor’s countenance. “Power fatigue is caused not by using ones powers, but using them in a way that the body cannot handle. At least, as far as we can tell. If Villain can control their powers enough, their symptoms should go away.”

“You really think so?”

“I hesitate to guarantee anything. Not with how poorly understood the condition is.” That smirk fell, replaced by Medic’s resting expression of annoyance. “But training them to use their powers properly is the only way I can see them getting any better.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m also sure that I would really like to go back to my quarters. If you’re done bothering me?”

Counselor bit their tongue.

“Fine.”

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Counselor had momentarily considered returning to their own quarters, but had quickly decided against it, instead turning to the kitchen. They had yet to eat that morning, as had Villain. They figured that a warm meal might help them shake off the sedatives.

And, maybe, some food would make Counselor’s own stomach stop twisting.

They only made it halfway to the kitchen, however, when in the hallway, they nearly slammed into Hero. The two both yelped, and a slosh of Counselor’s coffee slopped to the floor.

“Shit, sorry, are you okay?” Hero asked. There was considerable nerve in their voice.

Counselor nodded. “You just started me, ‘s all.” They glanced down at the spilling coffee now sitting on the tile floor. “I’ll, uh, get that later. I was just heading to the kitchen.”

“Oh. Um, could it wait?”

“I need to bring Villain something to eat.”

“Can it wait?”

“What-”

Counselor’s gaze drifted to Hero’s twitching hand.

“You have something?”

“Mhm. I don’t think it’s going to take very long.”

“Can I see?”

“Not here. Not with everyone else around.”

Counselor raised their brows quizzically, but nodded.

“To your quarters, then?”

“I guess that’s as good of a place as any.”

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As soon as Counselor was out of sight, Medic changed their trajectory.

The musty air that filled their lab acted on them like a drug, sending a calm shiver down their spine. If they had the day off (or if they were being forced to take it off), there was no way they were going to spend that precious little free time moping in their quarters. Not when they could be here.

They sat, the memory foam of their desk chair still molded to their form. The laptop before them booted up with a familiar chirp and bright pink screensaver, written upon in white text:

“Property of Organization. Unauthorized Use Is Unlawful.”

The grainy selection of videos blinked before them, and they selected the next one in the series. Even if they didn’t have access to their Asset at the current moment, they could at the very least work ahead.

The screen fizzled to life in all its low-definition glory, displaying a familiar room, its walls plastered with protective black rubber, and its tile floor made of the same material.

The presenter wore a bandage on their face, covering the side of their jaw. The gauze warped as they smiled, but they seemed to make no note of it.

Beside them, the presenter’s own Asset stood. The muzzle around their face had been modified, its metal warped as to compress its wearer’s jaw, to the point that even breathing was an impossibility.

Extreme, perhaps, but based on the Asset’s behavior, it was warranted.

Though their movements were weak and unbalanced, they were persistent, not ceasing yanking against their leash for the slightest moment. This time, unlike before, the presenter seemed to be paying attention to them, though they did not seem worried.

“It has been some time since we last spoke.” They began. “I apologize for the delay, but, hopefully, it will not happen again. After all, training our Assets is a full time job.”

A smile. Cheerful, stretching their cheeks.

“Unfortunately, I must report that the recent delay we experienced was as a result of my own Asset lashing out. This was unfortunate, but it made me realize that there is a flaw in my training methods. A flaw I seek to instruct you, today, on how to remedy.

One advantage we trainers have is that we have 24/7 access to our Assets. As we take care of them, we can choose to meet their needs in whatever way we see fit.

Deprivation has always been a part of Asset training, since we pioneered our methods. But it was something I, unfortunately and unwisely, neglected. And I have done you all a disservice by not mentioning it to you.

In order for training to truly take effect, there must be room in an Asset’s mind for it to fit. A reason for them to follow. Fear, certainly, is this reason, but there are other aspects to control.

Following my Asset’s incident, we have been working using these methods of deprivation. Depriving your Asset of things such as nutrients, water, and sleep can significantly speed up and solidify your training. In this lesson, we will go over this, and how it can help you improve your training methods.”

The presenter’s smile was matched by their Asset’s wicked snarl. From the corners of their mouth, licks of flame emerged, just for the slightest moment.

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Hero handled the flash drive as though it were a bomb.

Perhaps it was, if the writing on the device was at all to be believed. Scrawled on in sharpie, a hastily written yet well received warning.

“Property of Organization. Unauthorized Use Is Unlawful.”

As if Organization cared about the law.

Hero seated themself in their office chair, leaving Counselor to sit a few feet back, on their bed. They almost flinched, plugging the flashdrive into their laptop.

For a moment, the computer hummed, before it reported chipperly that new files had been added.

“Uh, Hero?”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get this thing?”

“Leader gave it to me.”

“Did they say what it was.”

Hero shook their head. “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

Still moving terribly nervously, Hero opened the folder that the computer had created for these ‘new files.’

“It’s... videos.”

“Videos?”

“A couple of them, yeah.”

“Should we... play them?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I mean, if Organization is involved, I’m not sure I want to know what’s on them.”

“It could help Villain.”

Hero sighed, dipping their head.

“I hate when you’re right.”

With deft fingers, they selected the first video.

It had been so long, since any of them had seen Traitor. More than that, it had been so long since any of them had seen Traitor smile.

And yet, that was what they were doing. Grinning, ear to ear, eyes locked upon the camera.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to the second edition of the Asset Training Video Course. If you are confused, the first edition of this series was, unfortunately, cut short due to... an incident. We will all miss our last presenter, but that does not mean that our duties can be shirked.”

Traitor turned, looking offscreen, calling:

“Veni huc.”

The language the words were in was clearly not English, but the person who moved on-screen did not seem concerned by that fact.

Villain smiled as well, though their warm gaze had an inquisitive quality to it as they regarded the camera. A chain-link collar was arranged about their neck, but it was attached to nothing, and seemed to more or less hang limply.

“For this series, I will be demonstrating all you need to know about Asset training. This, here, is my own Asset, Cadet. As you can tell, they are very well trained, if I do say so myself. They will be helping me show you how to train your own assigned Asset.”

Traitor’s hand reached for Villain, who did not flinch a moment. Their hand ruffled Villain’s hair affectionately.

Villain smiled, and leaned into the touch.

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villainsicle #powered whumpee #conditioned whumpee

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kim-monsterlings · 3 years

Text

Lars - M Dullahan x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; descriptions of being ill (like having a mild cough, blocked nose, headache, etc.), dullahan caring for reader, sexual teasing, handjob in the bath, kissing and throat kisses

Wordcount: 1855

“Tropemas” Summary: unable to hide the sudden cold from the dullahan, your boyfriend came home to take care of you

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

In the furthest corner of the room, cushioned in a dark chest, rested your boyfriend’s head. Blanketed and warmed in darkness, the home you shared when he was away became more than that; a haven for him – better than a chest buried under damp earth, and a comfort to you. No matter where Lars went, no matter how far, he was here with you. Albeit without his body, but better this than wait for brief letters scrawled on horseback, with conversations passed over weeks.

Only a fortnight ago, leather gloves tipped your face to dark flames, the faint touch of lips meeting yours. This time, Lars left for a month, though a month was nothing out of the time he was so often gone. Days would pass without a word or the smallest letter would arrive but when you missed him, really missed him, you could open that chest.

The unusual thing about this past fortnight was how little you had spoken.

Some afternoons were spent with his head on your lap, your fingers running through thick curls missing on the headless flames. Bright eyes mimicked the faefolk fire – glowing, soft as he looked up at you. Tales of his travels riding from town to town passed time, careful kisses a remedy to the ache in your chest.

But if he saw the state you were in now, he would rush home on his dark fae horse without finishing his job.

Really, you were fine. The colouring to your cheeks wasn’t too much, nothing more than the flush rising when Lars would kiss down your chest, beneath your trousers. The tickling cough wasn’t any worse than the unfamiliar itch in your throat after tasting fae food, foreign gifts returned from his travels. Exhaustion now deep in your bones could hardly amount to the lethargy Lars’ return would bring, from nights on tousled bedsheets, his touch everywhere for hours.

So really, beyond your pallor and hair slick with sweat, throat tight, you were fine.

Doubting the fatigue was your undoing. White light of the moon roused you. Curtains left open from falling onto the bed for the promise of a nap, one intended to be short, the dim light led you to a small letter posted that afternoon from Lars. The hardly veiled threat of his return if you ignored him further found its weight in your empty stomach.

Returning to the sleep so deep you hadn’t his calls happened not even a minute later. The dullahan would already be on his way home to you.

Heavy thudding dragging along the wooden floor woke you. Familiar swishes neared your bedroom and through the fog clouding your thoughts, the memory of a vertebrae whip always at your boyfriend’s side forced you to sit the rest of the way. The whip swinging and crashing low preceded a figure of bright flames, glowing in the late afternoon – had you slept all day? – before the flames flared higher, and a broken whisper of your name followed.

Bone clattered as it fell to the floor before Lars was at your side. One firm hand pressed hard on your chest until you fell back to the pillows, the other, glove removed, brushing back your damp hair. Always so cold, the touch felt like a blessing now, running down your hot cheeks to angle your face up.

“I thought something happened to you. Look at me,” Lars whispered, but the softness in his tone fell away when you struggled to look at the flaming tendrils rising from his collar as he leaned over you. “You should have told me you were sick.”

Nothing came to mind for excusing your isolation. Even had you tried to apologise, your lips were too dry, throat too hoarse for a sound to pass. With the tension fought from his words, it was no surprise that a small growl came from the dullahan’s chest. In the silence, a silence at your hand, you leaned into the cool palm on your hot cheek.

“When did you last eat? Have you…” Lars sighed and before your eyes closed, he kissed your forehead.

Different bedsheets – clean, fresh ones, were tucked around you when you woke to an empty room. The dullahan hardly needed sleep but this early, sunlight creeping through the drawn curtains, there ought to have been a dip beside you, a wrinkle in blankets thrown back from your fevering body.

The smell of hot food caught your attention, which must have woken you. Lars had changed you into clean clothes, too, your chest bare and hot. The instant your toes touched the floor, a throat cleared in warning. The sight of him would never fail to send your pulse racing, soaring at the press of his skin to your bare chest. Lars pressed you back against the headboard, sitting between your legs when you kept one out of the sheets. Though you were near feverish, the warmth of having him close eased you, and he leaned close to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You're worrying me."

"It's nothing," you whispered, forcing a smile to cover the roughness of your voice. "Won't you-"

"I cannot get sick. Not like this. Open your mouth."

Spoon feeding was difficult – for him, when you protested. Beneath the vice tight at your ribs, the laboured breaths, you really were fine. Bed rest would only worsen your predicament but he wouldn’t give. When you couldn’t stomach anymore broth, Lars lifted the glass of water to your lips until you drank it all. As much as you hated tearing him from his work, leaning close enough to touch him properly made it worth it. Lars stroked down your back and sighed, shifting closer.

Quiet stories whispered against your temple lulled you. He scowled when he told you of his plans to return early in a week and a half with gifts for you – as he always did, but when the letter was unanswered, calls shouted into an responding room, he rode back without delay.

Finding any sympathy was a chore when his touch fell to stroke your thigh. Lars tucking close filled the ache wide in your chest, the very same you attempted to appease by cradling the head in the dark corner when he was away; it never did much, so his knuckles dragging over the thin shorts awoke a different heat in your stomach, one too long gone without.

“Somebody missed me,” he chuckled, fingers tightening against the restricting shorts, laughing softer at your sharp gasp. “Best not to push yourself, handsome.”

Clutching his hand did little to stop the will of a dullahan. Lars only sighed, long fingers rubbing slowly against your worsening erection. Even in taunting you, the resolve he held against you never crumbled.

Not even when you bucked up, desperately seeking some friction, whispering, "please. Please."

“No. Sleep it off,” he said, a kiss deliberately hot tearing another plea from you, but Lars only laughed and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Waking without daylight left you in the dark as to how long you slept again, and how long now that you found yourself in the full bathtub. Warm water washed the remnants of fever away, guided by a gentle hand cupping water and tangling through your hair. Always careful with his strength, the care when he unwound tangles fluttered in your pulse, but he taunted you like he had hours ago. One hand tentative and caring washed your hair, the other gliding down your inner thigh where your legs fell open against his, drawn back against his chest in the large bathtub.

"Lars," you managed to whisper, and the touch on your thigh fell lower, until you grunted and tensed.

His palm cupped your sac. The dullahan brought your head back and through bleary eyes, you found his pale face, and a shudder ran through you at meeting his still flaming eyes. A kiss from his lips - from his head now attached, and you groaned into him, reaching to hold his knee when he rolled your sac in his fingers, kissing your jaw.

"Look who's finally up," he murmured. "How are you feeling, handsome?"

Every thought was foggy, but that wasn't your cold. The tightness in your throat came from his lips hot on your jaw and his fingers running the underside of your cock, thumbing the vein beginning to throb as you stiffened. This fever making you squirm was all him, but he knew that.

And Lars only smiled, a thin scar on his lips twisting them. "Tell me."

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Better, if you wouldn’t tease me.”

“Me, tease?”

Warmed by hot water, his hand finally came around your length. Lars’ smile nudged against your temple with each steady stroke, up and tightening, running against your thin slit and pumping harder, before loosening. Torn between crying and growling, you covered his hand with yours and let out a rough moan when he let you control the pace, hips bucking into the fist.

“Maybe you aren’t as ill as I thought,” he hummed. The frailty of your voice and bags of your eyes weren't all that convincing, but you tipped your head back and guided his hand tighter. Lars needed no coaxing to run his lips down to your collarbones and stroke his touch down your chest, pausing to run around your nipple. “Promise you will rest after this.”

"Lars," you croaked, and his palm stroked lower, taking your heavy sac in his fingers. Your eyelids fell with the pleasure overcoming you. He was well-versed in how you liked to be touched, and he was doing everything possible to torture you. "I promise."

"I can hear your heart racing."

You didn't care. Maybe it was in part because of the flu still dizzying you, but with Lars running his fingers back through your hair and tugging your head back, bowing to press searing, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, you were losing yourself.

Thickening against your back, Lars rasped as his cock ran up against you. All you wanted was him and you were close, every second losing yourself to the hastening strokes, the blunt nails scraping down your scalp. Wide thighs tightened around yours as he ground himself against you, following each thrust of your hips.

Closer now, close to coming undone in his palm, and you groaned, dragging him up from your throat to meet his lips. Lars chuckled and pressed himself flush, his hips grinding lower and when he dragged himself against you, you stiffened and cried into his kiss.

Still, Lars dragged it out. His thumb slicked against your swollen head as you came, thick and trembling, your stomach clenched at the haze dizzying you. You were met with a softer glow of flames when you blinked into focus. The water remained hot but far from your thoughts, preoccupied with his cock thick and heavy to your back. Before you could turn, the dullahan groaned into your throat, littered with dark marks.

Lars grunted your name and his fingertips brushed against your cock again, still sensitive. "Maybe sleep can wait."

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maplecornia · 3 years

Text

chapter 28

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.13K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: Jin looks kind of like a vampire in my banner ngl

What does he know?

You find yourself spacing out as you stand at the printer, waiting for Namjoon's schedule.

Just when you thought you had found some normalcy to your already chaotic life, you find yourself here. Biting your bottom lip, you groan, falling on top of the printer, the warmth as it sparks to life easing you even if it's for a little while.

"Why me?" you murmur, your brow furrowed and eyes glistening with helpless emotion. "Why now?"

What happened to the auditions you had sent before? In a time where you believed that you could achieve your dream without anything or anyone else holding you back. Were you not good enough then?

What makes you good enough now?

Groaning, you slide off the printer and run your hands through your hair. Your neat look has been thoroughly rumpled, just like your day, and you wonder if there will ever be a time where you're allowed to breathe.

Where you're welcome to let go.

With the small slip of paper sliding out of the printer, you grab it and turn swiftly around, ready to take it to Namjoon.

If only life were easier.

With a sharp cry, you bump into a couple of people walking by, and scalding hot liquid splatters between the two of you. A bitter, almost pitch black liquid soils your shirt and destroys the schedule you hold in your hands.

Coffee? Again?

Sighing, You wipe some of the drops off your face before glancing up to see if the pair is all right.

It's two girls and from the looks of it, they seem to be staff themselves, perhaps working on the publications team. You try to catch a glimpse of their badges, but they're moving too much and you can't get a good enough look.

However, you're able to catch a glimpse of their features perfectly fine. One of them is tall, with a soft tan to her smooth skin, and darker features. She has obsidian eyes that glitter when the light catches them and a square jawline that matches her demanding aura. Her hair is long and straight but looks soft to the touch. She doesn't wear many expressions on her face, however, and looks to be a bit standoffish. She would be hard to get close to.

The second one is the one who was carrying the coffee and though her face is pulled into one of disgust, you can tell that she's gorgeous. She has soft honeydew skin and almond butter eyes. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, and her lips full and glossy. Her eyes are large and wide, a deep brown color, with long dark eyelashes brushing against her cheek each time she blinks. They would otherwise be beautiful if they didn't sparkle with hatred and malice.

After a moment, you recognize what you've done; panic rising in your throat, you scramble to do something. You quickly reach for your emergency towels, but you've left your satchel in your small office. Cursing silently underneath your breath, you reach down to pick up the discarded cup and help her as best as you can.

"I'm sorry I--"

"Watch out will you?!"

Stunned, you step back, not sure what to do. It's been a while since you've been yelled at like that. A while since you've felt that shock. Swallowing hard, you shake it off and proceed to pick up the cup, keeping your distance.

Maybe it's better to just leave her alone.

"Wait..." at the sound of her voice, you look up, rather disinterested. "Who are you?"

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the trash can. You can't believe you expected an apology. Her friend, the one who was helping her clean up, peers at you before nudging her.

"She's who we were talking about, remember? Jaejin's replacement."

At the mention of your friend's name, your ears perk, and you drop the coffee cup in the trash can. Just what have they been saying about you two? Biting the inside of your cheek in annoyance, you turn around, facing them head-on.

"Oh!" The coffee girl's eyes widen. She looks you up and down as though inspecting a piece of meat. Her lip curls as she turns to her friends, eyes darkening with disgust. "Why didn't they ask one of us? She's hardly experienced."

You raise an eyebrow. Do they think you can't hear them? The dark beauty shrugs, her black eyes dull with disinterest.

"I heard she knows Jaejin. He gave her the post."

You try to be angry, you try to deny the accusations...but they aren't wrong.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

"Who is she, a colonizer?!" Ms. Coffee scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. You try not to flinch, but you can't control it. You swallow hard, curling your hands into fists at your sides.

"Besides, isn't Jaejin dating Mijeong?"

Your breath stops as you hear the words, the same words Sunoh said when you met him. The same words which remind you of everything you have lost.

If they continue to speak, you don't listen, you can't hear them. The roar starts in your ears as your blood rushes to your head, and spots cloud your vision. You can't see, you can't think, you can't function.

Why is it still so hard?

Why can't you let go?

You feel yourself begin to sway as the room swirls into fragments of time and space, and you lose sight of where and who you are.

The only thing left is pain.

Always pain.

"Who says he isn't?" The hand wrapping itself securely around your shoulder, the soft calming voice at your ear, brings you back to reality and you're able to breathe again.

"Jojo?" The tall dark beauty's eyes widen and she steps back a bit. It seems as though she's started a fight she won't be able to finish. Jojo narrows her eyes, her hand tightening around your shoulder as she pulls you behind her in a protective gesture.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing." Miss Coffee quickly intervenes, sending a wide smile your way. One that somehow comes across as menacing, matching the anger in her eyes. "Just a careless newbie is all."

Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and her friend beside her pinches her in her side, whispering something incomprehensible in her ear. The Coffee Girl shakes her off, growing furious by the second. You narrow your eyes her way. This has to be more than a stupid coffee spill, but what could she possibly have against you?

"Come on, Jojo. She's the one in the wrong. If it were any one of us, you wouldn't give a second look." She snarls before turning to you and reaching around Jojo to push you backward.

"Ya!" Jojo cries out in surprise, stepping in front of you, but not before the damage is done. Caught off guard, you stumble back into the printer. Her friend gasps, and steps back. You wonder if she's considering removing herself from the equation. Pulling yourself up, you glare at her before stepping forward.

"What's your problem?" you hiss, your hands clenching at your side to try and contain your anger. Jojo steps in front of you once more, just in case you decide to start swinging some punches. Frustrated, you push her aside. It's not like you're going to do anything. Jojo sends you a sideways glance, but you ignore her, focusing on the target in front of you. “What are you, a child?”

"Did you hear something?" The girl smirks, nudging her friend beside her who swallows nervously. You don't know why, but that only makes you angrier, and you consider stepping across Jojo to smack some sense into her. Instead, you deepen your glare and roll your eyes.

"Pathetic..."

Are you wrong? She's acting like a child. So naturally, your snide comment doesn't sit well with her. Eyes widening in anger, she raises her hand to slap you across the cheek, and you flinch.

But the strike never comes.

Opening your eyes slowly, you turn to find someone has come in between the two of you, hand wrapped tightly around the girls. You look to Jojo, half expecting the source to be her...but it's not. Her eyes are wide and she seems to have frozen.

So then who?

"Now now." Your eyes widen at the voice and your heart starts pounding hard in your ears as he steps in front of you, shielding you. The girl stares up at him with shameful fear, as though her entire world has just been shattered. "You should really watch your temper."

He drops her hand and she steps back, her friend catching her from behind.

"You never know who might be watching."

He gestures to the room, at the groups of people watching, whispering to each other. They don't hide their interest, nor their disgust as they send looks towards the girl.

Satisfied, he turns to you, a reassuring smile breaking out on his face. The same face known and cherished worldwide. Up close, it's even more unreal.

Kim Seokjin.

"As you said, Yen is new, and when you were first starting out, you made way more mistakes believe me." Jojo snaps, her eyes glittering with anger as she turns to Coffee. She steps forward, leaning beside her ear.

"I would be careful who you make an enemy, sweetheart." She whispers harshly, loud enough for anyone close to the two of them to hear. "Namjoon quite likes his assistant, wonder what he'd do if something happened to her."

Though the threat wasn't directly said, it's clear what Jojo meant and as she pulls back, smiling sweetly; the girl's pale face tells you that she clearly understood.

"Is that all then?" Jin says from beside you, causing you to jump. When did he get so close? The girl glances at the two of you and seems to grow furious at the sight. Her pale face quickly flushes with anger and she scowls before storming away, ramming her shoulder violently into yours before she goes; her friend scuttling after her.

"Ya!" Jojo calls, but the girl is already gone, and you don't mind. Scoffing, she shakes her head before turning to you. "So immature...what are we kids?"

You don't respond, instead, you turn away from the pair of them, finding your printed schedule discarded and drenched on the ground. Sighing, you pick it up, holding it gingerly in your hands.

Everything soiled.

"Now I have to start all over."

Behind you, Jojo and Jin give each other a look before Jojo kneels beside you and places her hand on your shoulder. When you don't look at her right away, she peers into your face and you turn to her, your face blank.

"Yen, are you alright?" you nod before pulling away, throwing the schedule in the trash can.

"I'm fine."

Jojo sighs before standing as well.

"Why didn't you stop them?" you pause at the question.

Why didn't you stop them? You're not sure you know yourself. You wanted to, you wanted to fight back...

But you have no fight left.

Sighing, you shake off the feeling of despondency before turning to her and smiling weakly.

"Were they wrong?" Jin furrows his brow in concern at the phrase. He tries to read your expression, understand what's wrong but it's near impossible. You've closed yourself off to everyone around you, and while you try to act tough, you're afraid. Sighing you turn away from them, unable to handle the pitying looks. "Besides, I don't have to answer to them."

I don't have to answer to anybody.

After a moment, Jin walks to your side and places his hand gently on your shoulder. Surprised, you flinch away from his grasp, but it doesn't phase him. He looks down at you with a somber expression before noticing your drenched shirt. You follow his gaze and the heat of embarrassment floods your cheeks. You quickly fold your arms across the stain, acting as though it doesn't exist. He smirks a little at the attempt.

Now she...she's interesting.

"Jojo?" He calls, still staring at you, and you narrow your eyes.

What is he expecting, a cookie?

"Would you mind printing out the schedule for Ms..." His eyes search for your badge before he locates it and takes it, reading your name. "...Lin today?"

Jojo nods but looks towards him a bit perplexed.

"Sure...but what are you planning to do?"

Smiling he twirls your ID in his hand before you snatch it away from him which only makes his smile grow wider. Taking your hand, he turns and pulls you behind him, Jojo staring at the two of you in shock.

"I'm going to help her change."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: another BTS member encounter! and yes, it's the cliche stop of the slap, shut up 🙄

chapter 29 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

all the things you do // d.m

Summary: Hi I was wondering if you would make a Draco X Reader where the reader is suffering from some Mental illness issues if possible? If not I completely understand! thank you for doing what you do

Warnings: PTSD, brief mentions of death

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: sweet anon, i’m sorry if you wanted this set during hogwarts times but i just instinctively thought of writing this post-war! also i don’t know why the ending rhymes. i’m a poet, apparently! enjoy :) x

——————————

Draco Malfoy had always been a naturally confident man. He usually walked with his head held high, his shoulders broad and straightened and his posture nearly impeccable.

He practically radiated confidence. And he was damn proud of that fact, all thanks to you.

The Second Wizarding War had taken a drastic toll on Draco. He had lost everything about who he was meant to be. He lost any contact with his parents, lost his identity and his friends, and even lost the path he had carved for himself. Or, really, the path his parents had carved for him. He had never really wanted to become a Death Eater — but it was all he knew. His parents had shaped this life for him and he was just living in it.

But when the war ended and peace was settling upon the Wizarding world once more, that’s when you came into Draco’s life. He knew you, of course. He had noticed you throughout the years at Hogwarts without ever making a move to speak to you. At first, you blended into the crowd. Just another face in a big world. But, as the years progressed, you slowly became more prominent in the Slytherin prince’s life.

He found you captivating in every possible way. You were soft, gentle, kind, sweet beyond compare. Everything seemed to hold a good place in your heart and Draco was enchanted by everything you did. Had he formed a teeny tiny crush? Maybe — possibly. But he never made an effort in getting to know you, knowing how his time at Hogwarts was going to end. And he knew it was going to end bloody. The last thing he wanted was to drag your into it. Someone so sweet, so pure.

When Voldemort was defeated, the dust settled, and order began getting restored, Draco wondered what had happened to you. Wondered where you’d run off to, where you’d be resting now that there was no longer an imminent threat around every dark corner. He thought about you a lot, really.

He’d thought about the way the sunshine made your hair glow, or the way your cheeks turned a light pink under any sort of attention, or even the way that your eyes lit up every time Hagrid would bring out another strange, possibly dangerous creature to demonstrate to an eager class. He had always hated Care of Magical Creatures, found it completely useless, but he adored watching your face light up upon being introduced to new species.

He had thought about you so much, really, that he couldn’t find the proper words to say when he bumped into you strolling through Diagon Alley one cloudy afternoon, your scarf tied tightly around your neck and your long coat billowing lightly in the fresh wind. You had looked the same as you did the last time he saw you, but a few things had changed. You cut your hair, your skin was slightly more tanned, and you were wearing a hint of makeup that brought out the gorgeous colour of your eyes.

“You’re Draco,” you had said, smiling up at him. The same breathtaking smile you had given him on a few occasions at school.

Nearly forgetting to speak, Draco had spluttered out a lame, “That’s me.”

However, you had invited him over for tea to catch up at your flat a week later — despite his lameness upon your interaction — and Draco felt himself falling for you all over again. Luckily for him, you felt the same, and the two of you made it official in just a few weeks. It felt rather quick, but both of you knew that there was a reason you bumped into each other, and that reason felt like it was coming to be under a romantic light.

And with you in his life, Draco felt himself returning to his previous charm. He found himself smiling, forgetting, forgiving. It was a new look on him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

However, while Draco was improving, he noticed you slowly beginning to change. And not for the better. He’d find you staring at the ceiling late at night, unable to sleep. He’d noticed how you’d pick at your plate but would never eat anything. He’d noticed how you jumped at sounds or spells that would happen nearby. And now that he was paying more attention, he noticed how you haven’t touched your wand since that day.

You had also stopped caring about things that used to make you incredibly happy. Movie nights, walking through old London streets, the rumbling sound of thunder and heavy rain.

He figured you were just stressed — still not used to a ‘quiet’ lifestyle. But he couldn’t even fool himself. There was something wrong with you and he hated to think he couldn’t help.

“Love, you’re worrying me,” he sat you down one afternoon, his hand laced in yours as your eyes landed on him. You had been reading a book, but been on the same page for nearly fifteen minutes. You were usually a rather speedy reader, Draco knew you weren’t really paying attention to the book.

“Why?” you asked, blinking rapidly as you put your attention on him.

He hesitated, unsure if telling you all the things he noticed you were doing would set you off. The last thing he wanted was for you to become defensive or insulted.

“What’s wrong?” he decided to ask.

He noticed the way your face seemed to drop, but you composed yourself and furrowed your eyebrows, “Do you think about the death that we saw?”

Taken aback by your blunt question, he stared blankly at you. Had he been affected by seeing young bodies scattered around the Hogwarts grounds, bloody and lifeless? Yes. Had it haunted him for weeks? Yes. But did he continue to dwell on it? No.

He hated that so many of these young students died believing he was a villain, that he was the reason all of the tragedy had happened. He hated the thought that he was on the same side as the force that killed dozens of innocent kids. But as he moved on in his life, he felt as if he had also redeemed himself. That he had improved and learned from his mistakes. And although Draco Malfoy didn’t believe he had much to pride himself on, he definitely took pride in that.

“I used to,” he replied truthfully, forcing away the horrid flashbacks to the brutally gruesome scene at Hogwarts the last time he stepped foot there.

You nodded, “I still do. And I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see their dead ones staring back at me.”

Suddenly, Draco’s mouth felt awfully dry and the crushing feeling in his chest seemed to amplify, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He watched as your eyes closed and reopen, the gears in your head spinning as you thought about what to say next, “Because I didn’t know how. I remember how guilty you felt after the war and I don’t want you to think this is your fault.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows and scooted closer to you, “If you’re dealing with something, I don’t care if it’s about me or not. You can tell me anything, love. You don’t have to, but if you want to, I’m always here.”

You gave him a weak smile, “I know. I’m sorry. I was being stubborn. I just didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“Love,” he spoke, his voice coarse as his throat felt like it was closing in, “You’re never burdening me. We’re in this together, remember?”

And he stuck true to his word.

By the next few weeks, you found yourself able to sleep more than one hour a night. It was both thanks to Draco — who was helping you every second of the day — and thanks to the therapist you had begun to see in central London.

One of the very few Wizarding therapists, Draco offered to pay the hefty price for every session you attended. So far, you had only been to four sessions, but you already found that talking about your thoughts had improved them greatly.

“How was your session today?” Draco asked you over dinner that evening, placing his fork down and smiling over at you.

“Good,” you spoke back softly, “Feeling better. She seemed impressed that I actually slept four hours last night. And that it was my first night in a week without a nightmare.”

“Did she tell you to do anything?” he asked, lips curving up into a slight smile.

You nodded, “Told me to just take an evening off. Bubble bath, watch some crap telly — a normal evening, really.”

Draco smiled faintly, “We can do that.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, and Draco noticed that for the first time in a while, your smile didn’t look forced. Your shoulders slouched as you relaxed, continuing to munch lightly on the lovely dinner Draco had cooked up to cheer your spirits.

The rest of the evening was peaceful. The two of you sat in the bubble bath, talking and laughing about some old memories and even what you thought would happen in your near future. Then, you both wrapped yourselves up in comfy clothing and blankets and sat on the couch watching re-runs of old sitcoms until the middle of the night.

Draco’s heart did a little leap in his chest every time you laughed — every time you did so much as smile. He knew you weren’t fully ready, weren’t fully yourself just yet. But every step that he noticed improvement was a huge deal.

He had no problem doing all the chores around the house — cooking, cleaning, laundry — as you took time to yourself. It brought him joy, really, knowing that every little thing he did would help push you to improvement. Some days were better than others, but he didn’t complain once, for he knew that helping you would take time.

And he was willing to be as patient as possible for you.

“I love you,” he muttered to you that night as the cheesy sitcom played in the background, pressing a delicate kiss to the spot under your ear.

“I love you too,” you replied softly. He fought back a massive smile, turning to face you and lightly placing his lips on your temple. His entire body broke out into goosebumps at your words.

No matter what was going to come your way, no matter what people would say, Draco Malfoy had promised both you and himself that he’d be there every second of the day.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert

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stark-tony · 3 years

Text

most recent bookmarks (6/18/21)

mcu

you game? cake time? by iron_spider (3k, T, pepperony) Peter stares at him.“I’d like your help,” Tony says, gesturing towards the ton of cakes. “Your refined palette.”Peter snorts. He can’t lie, excitement is rising in his throat and in his stomach, and he barely ate at lunch today because he was trying to finish up the book report before sixth period. “Does Miss Potts know you picked me?”“You can call her Pepper.”Peter cocks his head. “Does Pepper know you picked me to help you?”

The Dangers of Sleeping on the Upside of the Bed by Honorable_mention (1.1k, G, gen, quarantine) Midtown High School’s Academic Decathlon team had moved online. Once a week, even during the summer, everyone would log on and chat for a few minutes before trying to beat each other on Protobowl while hurling barely school appropriate threats at each other. It was really quite a lot of fun.Through these online meetings Cindy Moon had gotten the opportunity to intimately learn about her teammates in a way she hadn’t been able to when they were in-person. A person’s room and the way they talked to their family told you a lot about them.In which the members of the Academic Decathlon team get the chance to meet Peter's roommates

something bright coming his way by iron_spider (6.5k, T, gen, hurt peter) “Pete,” Tony’s voice says. “I’m heading to your location.”Peter narrows his eyes. Karen’s colors turn from dark red to a softer blue, which he takes as her celebrating Tony’s imminent arrival. How imminent? What?“What?” Peter says again. Like an idiot.“Your numbers aren’t what I like to see and you stopped moving and I was in the area, anyway. You know. Doing Iron Man things. You okay?”Peter blinks. He sees some more lights out ahead of him that he thinks are headlights, and he feels like Karen is trying to even out his vision by changing how things come across on the HUD. She’s failing, but he won’t say that. Can she read his brainwaves? No. Definitely not. Maybe. Either way he doesn’t wanna be mean to her, so he stops thinking.Ugh, his side hurts.

Of All the Nurses’ Offices in All the High Schools... by sahiya (7k, T, gen, outsiders pov, identity reveal, hurt peter) Peter Parker has his own gravitational orbit, and it tends to suck in the people around him. Including burned out school nurses who were just minding their own business.Or: Patrick Carmichael meets Spider-Man (and Tony Stark), adopts a cat, and gets just a little bit better.

a first time for everything by crowkag (7.7k, pepperony, sick peter) “Why are you whispering?” Pepper was asking, and the other noises were receding away behind the creak of a door and click of a lock.“Because I’m hosting a vigilante super-teen with enhanced hearing this weekend.” He slumped back into the couch cushions. “Or did you forget?”There was a sharp intake of breath.“Peter? Oh god, what did you—”“Nothing,” Tony rushed out, scrambling. “He’s fine. The kid’s fine, honey.”A beat of silence.“Okay, well, he’s not fine, but—”“Tony Stark—”

Is he or Is he not? by Omenthia_Arc (43.2k, G, pepperony, 5 + 1, people think peter is tony’s kid) Five times someone thought that Peter was Tony's biological son and one time everyone thought it.

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy (35.7k, M, drarry, post-hogwarts, domestic) When Harry moves into the damp and empty Black house, it doesn’t quite feel like home. And then the first owl moves in. After that, it’s a steep slope leading to bed-sharing, more owls, assorted housemates, strange potions experiments, and terrible cooking. And a bit of waltzing, too.

The Wrong Sort by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle (289.5k, T, drarry, romione, gryffindor draco, canon divergence, torture) In which Draco Malfoy is sorted into Gryffindor and everything kind of goes to Hell from there… but hey. At least there’s a chance he won’t grow up to be an awful person. Alternatively titled ‘Draco Malfoy and the Worst Goddamn Seven Years of His Life’

The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (998.6k, E, drarry, wolfstar, romione, neville/ luna, grindeldore, lockhart/snape, time travel, fix it, abuse) All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.Suddenly, Draco has an unwanted second chance, with a Sorting Hat that doesn't know what to do with him, a certain Muggleborn who won't leave his study table alone, and green eyes he just can't get out of his head. And then there's his new wand, whose choice of him could just mark him as every bit as dark a wizard as his name means he should be.

more than getting by by sarewolf (34.4k, M, wolfstar, wolfstar raises harry) “What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry.“Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.”A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

How Like Home by waitingondaisies (63.5k, T, jily, dimension travel) When Sirius falls through the veil, Harry chases after him, determined to find him on the other side. Instead, he finds nothing at all. When he wakes up, he is informed by Unspeakables that he is from an alternate universe.Thanks to his uncanny resemblance to his counterpart, Harry is readily recognized as a duplicate of Harry Potter, a normal fifteen year old boy, and is entrusted to the care of Lily and James Potter. From them, Harry discovers that Voldemort is not, and never was, a threat in this universe.Now, Harry must adapt to life with loving parents in a peaceful world.

Professor Black by Haunted_Frost (29k, T, wolfstar, professor regulus black) Kreacher's unending loyalty has allowed Regulus to survive the Inferi. In order to destroy the horcrux and ensure Voldemort's death, he goes back to Hogwarts, this time as a Potions professor. Years at this position give him new insights, even as the papers rave about how both the Blacks were traitors to their sides.When Sirius gets loose from Azkaban, Regulus knows one thing: he is not going to let his lunatic brother hurt his students.Inspired entirely by this tumblr post.

atla

(let me be) there for you by lesmiserablol (8.5k, T, zukka, post-war, bodyguard sokka, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers) Sokka pulls out a clean piece of parchment and starts to write:Reasons Why Sokka Would Be A Great Bodyguard for Lord ZukoHe smiles in satisfaction at the title. Seeing it in writing only makes him feel more confident in this brilliant, two-minute-old idea of his. Zuko is one of his closest friends, and Sokka is a great fighter, he would be the perfect bodyguard! He has the entirety of his trip in the Fire Nation to prove it to Zuko. This is going to be a piece of cake.(or, Sokka mistakes his crush for just a strong desire to be a guard for Zuko, and Suki is amused)

boy problems by burnt_oranges (22.2k, zukka, mailee, friends to lover, post-war, arranged marriage) “I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed."In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

we really should google these things first by Bundibird (3k, G, gen, modern) Sokka's aloe vera plant is in need of a good pruning, and what's Sokka gonna do, just throw out all the pruned leaves? When instead he can make aloe vera juice? Come on. (Only - maybe he should have googled this beforehand. Because it turns out there's an edible kind of aloe, and a toxic kind. Guess what kind Sokka has. Go on, guess.)(Or: the modern AU based on the time I nearly poisoned myself with a non-edible succulent.)

spn

Checked Out by whelvenwings (27.1k, G, destiel, dreamhunter, library au, librarian castiel, writer dean, openly bi dean, misunderstandings) Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

Aim and Ignite by wincechesters (10.3k, M, destiel, cas in the bunker) After the angels fall and Cas loses his grace, and with Sam still recovering from the toll taken on his body by the trials, Dean starts a prank war as a way to lighten the mood in the bunker and alleviate his boredom. It might just have some unexpected consequences. --- A post-S8 canon AU.

bnha

Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains (among other things) by ADyingFlower (54.2k, T, gen, quirkless midoriya, villain deku) Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains, denies being a villain, has his beloved animal crossing file threatened, kicks ass with a shotgun, is proposed to, learns to deal with his depression, and accidentally kidnaps the son of the number two hero. In that order.Or: Five times Izuku played online with his friends, and one time he played with them in personThen Himiko screams.“CAPTAIN!” “Y-yeah?” Tomura asks almost hesitantly. “LOOK!!” All four of them spin around, right as a cannonball comes soaring inches from Izuku’s head from the Galleon less than a three feet away from them. They scream. “OH FUCK NO NO NO NO! NO!” Dabi yells, running to load the cannons. “DUDE WE HAVE SO MUCH SHIT! NO! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”“Hey guys, guys! Hey, chill!” Izuku shrieks frantically, right as one of the players boards their ship and starts shooting. “CHILL THE FUCK OUT!”

our trust shot full of holes by nolov (louscr) (25.9k, T, gen) When he's twelve, Izuku meets his best friend. Neither of them are especially good at having friends, but they make do.The other shoe drops less than a week into his first year at U.A.

Are You Valued? by cyber_phobia (9.2k, T, dad for one) "What are you drawing, Izuku?" Hisashi asks with adoration dripping in his voice. "It's Uncle!" Izuku shouts, smacking his dad's arm for daring to ask once more. All the air leaves Hisashi's lungs in one fell swoop.

To Spark A Smile by awefull (1.1k, G, gen, dadzawa) A six-year-old. Aizawa was the guardian of a six-year-old. Aizawa, a pro-hero, who had poor eating habits, and no sleep schedule, was in charge of raising a little girl.He, reasonably, had some concerns.

Long Night in the Valley by Marsalias (53.7k, T, gen, suspected traitor, dad might, dad for one) On paper, the Hero Commission's plan to investigate Midoriya Izuku under the guise of a training course for combating mental quirks is solid, almost foolproof, even. If Midoriya turns out to be innocent, they can pass everything off as part of the training exercise, assuming he even remembered any of it. Otherwise, they could beg forgiveness after the traitor was securely imprisoned in Tartarus.The paper plan failed to take into account the feral ghosts living in Midoriya Izuku's head, or his equally feral living friends.Time to bring on the chaos.

i gave the voices in my head a megaphone by hannahbal (17.3k, todoroki/midoriya/shinsou) ...and they started singing Megan Thee Stallion.(Hitoshi, like any good friend, brainwashes Izuku’s anxiety away for a day so he can know some peace. The problem? Izuku has no fear of god or consequences.Izuku also has no goddamn filter.)

Nothing Could Be More Worthwhile by Krisington (3.5k, G, gen, dad might) Toshinori Yagi wouldn’t say he had let his guard down in retirement, not exactly. It was more accurate to say that he had let his guard down in his true form. He didn’t notice others, and others didn’t notice him. It had become a small pleasure, he realized, one he was reluctant to let go.He should have known better.The man managed to reach All Might’s forehead a split second before All Might grabbed the man’s arm. But a second was just enough.A villain showed All Might a vision of Izuku. Bloodied. Broken. Fading. Was that some future that would come to pass? Toshinori needed to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn't.

everything i wanted by raindrops_0 (9k, T, gen, 5 + 1) Izuku turns to face Hitoshi and flashes a bright smile, eyes folding into crescent moons.Bright like the afternoon sun swallowing Hitoshi whole, bright like All Might’s fucking perfect grin, bright like he’s already a hero.Bright like everything Hitoshi has ever wanted and then more.(Hitoshi can’t help it, but he hates. Of course Izuku can smile as if the whole world is in his hands. He’s never had to fight for every little thing and be hated for it.)Or 5 times Hitoshi misjudged the golden boy of UA, and 1 time he finally understood.

hp/bnha

Bend Before You Break by orkestrations (16.2k, T, gen) When Izuku set out for his morning run, the last thing he was expecting was to be plucked from his own world by magic and thrown into another universe entirely.Removed from his own conflict and with no way back, he sets himself to figuring out this world and its own incipient war while searching for a way to possibly reverse the spell that brought him here.It's just his luck that the year he arrives is the same year the government decides it's a great idea to bring back the potentially-deadly tournament.

#my fics recs #most recent bookmarks #hp recs #atla recs #mcu recs #bnha recs #spn recs #abuse tw #torture tw

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komotionlessqueenmm · 4 years

Text

Imagine # 687

1,834 - Words

Gif NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If this gif is yours please let me know, so I can give you credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2020

Warnings - A little swearing.

Notes - None

----

"I'm telling you Charlie you're going to love her." Phil gushed for the millionth time. "So you say." Charlie muttered still doodling in his sketch book, within the prisons art room. "She's a brilliant artist, a local celebrity really." Phil smiled to himself, before his eyes shot to the opening door of the room. "Phil." (Y/n) smiled at the man awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, her heels clicking noisily as she descended said stairs. "(Y/n) its so lovely to see you." Phil chirped while pulling her into a friendly hug. "I was looking over those drawings you sent me." (Y/n) grinned from ear to ear. "I can't wait to meet the man behind the pen." She added before handing the drawings back to Phil. "Of course of course, he's right here. Charlie mate this is (Y/n)." Phil ushered Charlie over who was sitting quietly observing the two. "We've been waiting here for a little while now, eager for your arrival." Phil added as Charlie approached. "So you're Charlie Bronson? I've heard so much about you, I must say you are a man of reputation." (Y/n) mused while shaking his hand. "Yeah that's me." Charlie sighed under his breath, sounding almost bored. "I've looked over some of your work, and its quite charming really." (Y/n) said as she pointed to the drawings in Phil's hands. "Your style actually reminds me of an uncle of mine, from my father's side. Ironically enough he also spent some time in prison years ago." She continued, her complements fueling Charlie's ego. "Every year I come here in search of an apprentice, sometimes they remain my apprentice for a few years, like my last apprentice did. Sadly however he got on the wrong side of a local here, and got himself killed." (Y/n) wet her lips allowing Charlie a moment to process her words. "Phil here suggested that I take you under my wing, if you're interested of course." She smiled softly. "I don't think the Gov will allow me the privilege." Charlie pointed out, knowing the man hatted him. "Well just between us, he's had quite the crush on me since I started doing this whole apprenticeship thing. I'm confident I can convince him by simply batting my lashes at him." (Y/n) winked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Is that so?" Charlie smirked a little, finding her rather amusing. "But only if you're interested of course, I'd rather avoid the man if I can. Makes my skin crawl that one." She frowned a little in disgust at the thought of the man. "Alright, what dose this internship entail?" Charlie asked while leaning against the table to his right. "Well first off, I'll be teaching you how to hone your skills as an artist, and help you to find your true potential, to the best of my abilities. I would be visiting you daily, for however long I see fit. Maybe even if you get yourself in trouble, seeings how the old creep can't seem to say no to me." She shrugged a little at the last comment. "Alright I'm in." Charlie nodded his head once, before going back to his original seat. "Okay I'll go see what I can do about the Governor." (Y/n) waved goodbye to Phil before leaving the room. "See I knew you'd like her." Phil smiled while Charlie simply grunted at him.

----

The following day Charlie sat across from the Governor, in his little office. "I don't know how, but you've caught the interest of Miss (Y/n) (Y/l/n), and she wishes to take you as her new apprentice. I have granted her permission to due so, but I'm warning you now Charlie, if you so much as hurt a hair on her head, I'll have you locked in solitary for the rest of your stay here." The older man hissed, his threat only making Charlie smile. "What kind ov a man do you think I am, eh?" Charlie taunted, making the Governor roll his eyes. "I know exactly what kind of a man you are Charlie." The Governor sighed before waving him off. "She'll be here later today, and every day after until you mess up." He added as Charlie was being escorted out of his office.

----

(Y/n) did in fact come back, just a few hours later. Meeting with Charlie in his cell of all places. "Right let's get to it yeah?" She shrugged her bag off of her shoulder and placed it on the foot of his bed, where she rummaged through it a moment later. "Ah here we are." She smiled as she pulled out the new materials she had brought with her. "These are for you." She handed them to Charlie, who slowly looked over everything she gave him. "I'd like to watch you draw if that's alright, I want to observe your process, and techniques." (Y/n) explained, smiling when Charlie sat at his desk. "You can watch, just try not to talk to much. Phil gets real annoying after awhile." Charlie glanced up at her as he began settling everything up. "Of course." She bowed her head a little, respecting his wishes.

As Charlie drew (Y/n) peered over his shoulder, fascinated by his technique, and rather pleased with his natural skills. "How's that?" Charlie leaned back in his chair, looking up at (Y/n), who grinned at him. "It's fantastic, tell me what does this mean to you?" She asked while leaning in a little closer observing the finer details, unknowingly pressing her breasts against Charlie's shoulder. "What?" He exhaled through his nose noisily, almost stunned by the sudden contact. "What does this all mean to you? If anything at all." (Y/n) asked while pulling away so she could properly look at his face. "It's just some of the things I felt while at the asylum." He cleared his throat, having calmed his nerves when she pulled away from him. "Interesting." (Y/n) hummed before going back to her bag. "I want you to try something for me Charlie." She muttered as she unfolded the large piece of canvas paper, she had pulled from her bag. "I want you to try copying this drawing, but in your own style." She explained before using her chewing gum to stick the paper to the wall above his desk. "What is it exactly?" He asked eyeing the strange looking drawing before him. "I'm not entirely sure yet, I drew this yesterday after I left here, I got some inspiration." She tilted her head a little, looking at her work. "Get some inspiration from me did ya?" Charlie teased. "I did actually, while I drew this I replayed our conversation together, remembering the way you held yourself, your facial expressions, mood, all of it really... And this is the product of that." (Y/n) explained, once again fueling Charlie's ego. "Is it a good thing or a bad thing?" He asked while looking from her to the drawing, finding it almost hypnotizing. "Personally I believe it's a good thing, but I guess like most art, it is what you make of it as the viewer." She looked back to Charlie, who seemed pretty pleased with her answer. "Right, well this might take a little while." He stated while scooting his chair in. "Take however long you need." (Y/n) hummed softly while clasping her hands behind her back. "You're welcome to sit on the bed if ya like." Charlie added before picking up his pencil. "Thank you Charlie." (Y/n) smiled before delicately setting on the edge of the mattress, trying to avoid making to much noise.

----

For a little over two months now, (Y/n) has been working with Charlie. And it wasn't until today that he acted out, and got himself into trouble. But as she promised she convinced the Governor to allow her to still visit him. While Charlie sat in his cell, blood oozing a little from the gash on his head, he counted the seconds it took for (Y/n) to reach his cell. Her heels giving her away the second she stepped into his cellblock, clicking away as she approached. "I don't know why you bother." The guard opening Charlie's cell hissed at (Y/n), who in turn held her head up a little higher while glaring at the overweight man. "That's none of your concern." She spat back as the door opened, making Charlie smile the best he could with the muzzle they put on him.

"Christ." She muttered under her breath in surprise, completely stunned at the sight of him all bloody and bound. "Aye love." Charlie murmured the best he could, both blood and drool running down his chin. "What did they do to you?" She frowned before softly sitting on her knees across from him on the floor. "You'll dirty your dress." He almost frowned at the sight of his blood on the floor, as it began seeping into the soft fabric of her skirt. "I don't give a damn about the dress." She waved his comment off, more worried about him. "Besides you're more important to me than some old dress." She leaned forward dropping her voice so only Charlie could hear her. "I'm going to remove these wretched things, but you must remain quiet, otherwise we'll both be in trouble." She waited for Charlie to nod his head in agreement before reaching for the strap on the muzzle. "There." She sighed softly as she pulled the muzzle away from his face. "Alright could you turn for me?" She asked planning on removing the straight jacket. "Nah leave it I'm alright, besides if someone decides to barge in 'ere, you won't get in as much trouble for removing just the muzzle." Charlie pointed out making (Y/n) bite her lip softly. "Good point." She nodded her head agreeing with him.

"So tell me Charlie, what happened?" (Y/n) asked as she removed a handkerchief from her handbag, slowly wiping away some of the blood from his face. "One of the guards took away that drawing you hung on my wall, the one you gave me the first day we worked together, cunt tore it up while talking ill about you. I wasn't gonna stand for it, so I beat the fucker bloody." Charlie observed her face, watching her closely as she frowned at his words. "Those bastards can't just let things be can they, always gotta rattle the cage, and punish those that bite back." She murmured while cleaning the last of the blood away the best she could. "Don't worry. You ever get outta here, I'll give you as many drawings as you'd like, then no one can ever take them from you again." (Y/n) smiled softly at Charlie, who began mulling over her words. Did he want to get out? Or did he still wish to stay?

#imagine #gif imagine #Extended #charles bronson #Charles bronson imagine #Charles bronson x reader #charlie bronson #bronson (2008)#bronson #bronson imagine #bronson x reader #Tom Hardy #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x reader

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Note

How would the Lost boys react to having a motherly type of s/o?

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T KNOW TUMBLR POSTED THIS UNFINISHED! UGH STUPID APP! Okay, redo!

Cuuute. The boys could certainly use a motherly touch around, even Max had said that when he wanted to turn Lucy. For this I am gonna be writing a female s/o, if you ever want otherwise always be sure to specify ahead of time otherwise DM me and I’ll be sure to correct it. I love the idea one behind the scenes with the boys, after the late night partying and wild blood orgies. I mean, let's be realistic here- those guys probably smell like cigarettes and ass. That cave is no doubt absolutely filthy as hell, and I don’t think they’ve cleaned up a day of their afterlife.

Lost Boys with a Motherly Fem!S/O

David

Now David isn’t exactly the type to be told what to do in almost any scenario. Well, almost. But even then he still prefers the majority of the control. It’s going to be a challenge to get anything done with him. Any sort of lectures or advice tend to fall on deaf ears simply because he and the boys have taken care of themselves for so long. Your best method of choice? STEALTH

I’m serious, you gotta be sneaky with this boy. He’ll wake up to you cleaning the hotel because you had assumed it was still daylight, or sweeping around when they go on hunts. Don’t fuck with the cobwebs, its an aesthetically pleasing decoration! Frankly, he’s just a brat who doesn’t like change. It’s gotten to the point however, where he can’t exactly stop you so he just decides to be a butt about it. Take-out trash litter the hotel lobby, he’ll even leave out half-full open containers and try to get some real maggots up in there. Not if you have anything to say about it! Sometimes he wonders how you can keep it as clean as you do.

You have no idea how absolutely rank a pack of teenage vampires can be. Especially with unwashed clothes. Seriously, David and Paul’s boots could make rats gag, the stank of unwashed vamp toes is gnarly. That can be a bit of a fight. Well someone has to get all those bloodstains out! What do you think they just vanished the next day? None of the boys want clean clothes, especially David. According to them you can't be badass vampires and have fresh pants. He’ll even hide his jacket from you on laundry day. How is he supposed to instill fear in the hearts of mortals when his jacket smells like FUCKING LAVENDER?

God help you if you try to make him bathe. The only way he’d concede is if you really went all out. Play to his ego, its the best way to get him to cooperate. After all, what man doesn’t want to be a king for a day. Especially one such as David. Once you finally, FINALLY get him in, then it's a fight to get him out. He’ll let off soft grunts when you massage shampoo through his scalp, leaning his head back with low, grumbling moans. Sometimes he’ll have you join him, even if you aren’t undressed. Yeah, he doesn’t care if you have your clothes on, time to get in. It's hotter when he sees your shirt tightly clinging to your bodice, although he'll huff that you had a bra underneath. If you try to peel off the soggy articles he won't let you. After all, if you got to strip him down, he gets to do the same to you. He'll take his time, and keep in mind the water isn't about to be clean for much longer.

Despite his protests, and he’d never admit it to the rest of the pack, but he really does love having someone caring for him. Being spoiled by his lover has some advantages, especially after a stressful day. Just laying back, having you rub his shoulders for a good minute, maybe suggesting he come over to your apartment and let you cook him a real meal for once. Sure you’ll be telling him how he needs to be more careful when he goes on hunts, but he can handle that much. You’re his precious doll, if it means a few lectures from you then he’ll put up with it.

Dwayne

Dwayne is kind of the silent brother bear of the group so it’s a relief when he has someone who wants to take care of him. It makes him chuckle when you fret over him. Honey, he can fly, he’s not going to fall off the roof. Even if he did, it wouldn’t kill him! He’s lost count how many times you subtly, or not so subtly, toss around the subject of a helmet when he rides around. You’ll even try using persuasive ideas such as having it custom painted, maybe adding some spikes- anything just wear a stupid helmet! Again, he reminds you the threat of cracking his head open wasn’t exactly that daunting

When you’re on a cleaning spree he tends to stay out of your way. Granted he tried to help once, but you immediately shooed him out. You got it, just go sit down and quit futzing with stuff. On laundry day he’s a bit stubborn, but as long as you don’t wash his leather jacket, he’ll be fine. Seriously, do not touch his jacket. He cannot stress enough how bad it is to try and use water and soap to clean a leather jacket. NO. No touchy! So he’ll just sit in his underwear (personally I think it’d be boxer briefs) on the couch clinging to his jacket while you go off to the laundromat a few blocks over. Eventually you bought him lounge pajama pants for when you do laundry trips. At first he didn’t want to but… well they have a badass puma on them. It’d be rude to not wear it if you went through all that trouble to get that for him.

Unlike the other three, Dwayne doesn’t need much bribery to get in the tub. DO you have ANY IDEA the last time he had a god damn shower? He misses it, he doesn’t exactly like smelling like parfum de cul (kudos to any of you who know what that means ;) ). Oh just watch him sink into the tub as you massage his luxurious mess of dark hair, you swear sometimes he audibly purrs when you do. Its one of the few times Dwayne will let himself be completely vulnerable. He won’t necessarily force you to join him, but he would certainly love it you have your cute butt nestled between his legs where he could lather you up. But, I mean, that’s entirely up to you to refuse your ripped, completely naked boyfriend eyeing you up.

When he gets injured or sick, which you never expected that he could, you immediately go into hyperdrive. While he’d rather be out riding with the guys, he can’t help but love being pampered by his princess who always treats him like a king. You’ll shove him into Star’s old bed and demand he stay put, wiping his forehead down with a cold cloth. One would assume that someone with no body heat left would get a fever. Actually, it makes it worse. He won’t DIE from any illness, but it sure does suck when he gets them. Usually a few feedings will heal him up within a day, so you’ve started smuggling bags from blood drives and keeping them in a little cooler for him. Granted you only get him A or B blood, but he still appreciates all the effort you go to just for him.

Paul

Paul loves it up until you make him do things he doesn’t want to. Typical guy. He DIED in a freaking bath tub, why the hell would you want to put him back in one?! It would take either a serious amount of strength or bribing to get him into one.

“It doesn't even have holy water Paul, just normal, plain, stupid water! You smell like a rat’s ass, will you please just get in?”

“I’d rather smell like ass!”

Yes, he may even try to bolt out of the room buck naked. Fuck you, try to catch him now! Did you hide his clothes?!

Your best bet is to play to his most vulnerable side: horny. Sure he refuses to get in the bath on his own, but add you naked covered in bubbles and it just became the best place to be. The blonde won’t even sulk when you’re sudsing up his hair because you’re too distracted to notice he’s about to cop a feel. He’ll just laugh like an idiot when you get mad, after all you put him in here in the first place. There will probably be tub sex, because dammit he deserves something for being such a good boy. Surprisingly he actually loves it when you use the hair dryer on him. It feels amazing, he doesn’t exactly get warm anymore so the sensation of heat rushing through freshly cleaned hair is just incredible

Paul is not a fan of laundry day, just like David. Again, you gotta chase him down. He’ll tease you the whole time though.

“Babe if you wanted to just rip my clothes off me all you had to do was ask.”

You only leave him in his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to change into. You never realized how much of a pain in the ass white pants were until you met him. Why the hell did he even have white pants in the first place? They show every damn stain! Paul will probably come with you to the laundromat. Its three in the morning, who cares if someone sees him in his boxers? Big deal! He’d even offer to go nude. You managed to find a pair of pajama pants and a band t-shirt he could wear on laundry day because this ass refuses to buy any other clothes.

Paul thinks it’s absolutely adorable the way you dote on him. It’s a pain in the butt, but nothing is better than the tiny notes you leave for him when you go out. Or when you surprise the coven with a bunch of tupperware dishes full of real home cooked meals. Yeah being ragged on half the day is never fun but he knows that the only reason you do that is you care so much for him. You almost died when you thought he’d been killed, it was fair you got a bit over protective after. Besides, you were still his ride or die baby who did anything for him. Hell, last Valentine’s day you even went all around Santa Carla until you found someone who made him a mother fuckin Gene Simmons teddy bear, with the tongue out and everything. Paul loves you, nags and all

Marko

Probably one of the only boys to be a bit more cooperative when it comes to mothering him. After all, he’s the one being spoiled. It’s precious when you fret over him on a hunt out, warning him to avoid any hunters, fly safe, please don’t jump off any bridges. He’ll just hug you tight and assure you he’s gonna be fine. Yeah you’ll go one about how he should have a helmet when riding or raising concern when he tries something of questionable origin from the boardwalk vendors. But most of the time he just kind of tunes you out and smiles until you’re done.

He’s a sneaky boy, you oughta know that by now. You want him to take a bath? Only if you join him. You want to brush his hair out? Sure he’ll sit still… for ten kisses. Laundry day? Fine but he gets to come with. It’s hard not to laugh at him crouched up on the top of a dryer with his knees to his chest in only his underwear watching you throw in his pants and socks. He can’t help but grin when you throw him a side eye because of the stains all over his white shirt. Sheesh, him and Paul with the white clothes. Again, please please PLEASE don’t wash his jacket. You will ruin it. He doesn’t care if you bombard it with air freshener until his sorry ass smells like Hawaiian Breeze, but do not ever wash it

It’s adorable the lengths you’ll go to for him. Last year when he told you they were just gonna have some hot wings and beers for Thanksgiving you flipped. Next thing they know you had them come over to your apartment as soon as the sun went down to a full spread. Paul actually ended up hugging you too. It looked like something out of a catalog. Two fatass turkeys filled to the brim with homemade stuffing, easily four pounds of mashed potatoes, gravy, bread rolls, the whole fucking thing! And veggies. Nasty. Sure the corn on the cob was bitchin, but asparagus? NO. Yeah you made Marko put some on his plate and half the time he just kept pushing his peas around until Paul flung one at him. Then it was a silent veggie war. After that they pretty much came over for any holiday. He’d be all over you just gushing over how happy he is that you went through so much hard work for him, for them. Even Max did fuckall besides what he had to, the guy wanted to toot his own horn about dad of the year but sucked ass at it.

They start coming over so often that you bought black out curtains for every window in your house. Even during the day they could sleep in your guest room without fear of the sun. Well, the guys could. You had him tucked into your own room, still sleeping with his feet to the headboard for that upside down sense and his arms tightly pressed to his chest. He absolutely loves how much you care for him, especially after so many decades of being a filthy biker boy who feasted on the living. Even his vampirism didn’t send you away. You’d even keep a mini fridge in your room stocked with blood bags in case he craved a midday snack. Sometimes he’d awaken to you sleeping beside him and just savor those quiet moments with his baby. Maybe for Christmas this year he’d offer you the best gift he could think of. Who needs a wedding ring when you can offer an eternity with your angel instead?

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sisterofiris · 4 years

Text

Everyday life in the Hittite empire

Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you had been born in central Anatolia 3500 years ago? No? Now that I’ve brought it up, are you curious to find out?

Well you’re in luck, because that’s just what this post is about. So sit back, close your eyes, and imagine yourself in Anatolia - that is, modern Turkey. Are you ready? Can you see the mountains, the red river and the towering buildings of your capital, Ḫattuša? Can you hear the chariots driving up the road? Can you feel the electric brewing of a storm in the distance?

Then let’s go.

(With a brief disclaimer: while I study Hittitology, this is not intended as an academic-level post. It was written to give general, approachable insights into Hittite culture and can be used as writing inspiration or to titillate curious history nerds around you, but if you’re writing an academic paper on the subject, I would recommend you check out the bibliography instead.)

About you

First things first, are you older than five? If so, congratulations on being alive. Child mortality in this place and time is very high, so you’re one of the luckier ones among your siblings. You probably have at least a couple of those; you may even have as many as six or seven, especially if you come from a well-to-do family with access to good healthcare. When you were little, your parents might have told you the tale of Zalpa, in which the queen of Neša gives birth to thirty sons then thirty daughters who marry each other, but you know this only happens in the stories - not to normal people.

When you were born, your parents rejoiced regardless of your sex, as sons and daughters are equally valued in your society (albeit for different reasons). Your father took you on his knee and gave you a good Hittite name: maybe Armawiya, Ḫarapšili, Kilušḫepa or Šiwanaḫšušar for a girl, or Anuwanza, Kantuzili, Muwaziti or Tarḫuzalma for a boy. Gender-neutral names, such as Anna, Muwa and Šummiri, would also have been an option. Many people around you have Hurrian or Luwian names, even if they are not ethnically Hurrian or Luwian themselves. (This is comparable to the modern popularity of Hispanic names like Diego, or French names like Isabelle.)

It’s hard to say what you would have done during childhood. While your earliest years would have been spent playing and babbling in grammatically incorrect Hittite, by the age of six or seven you may well have already started training in the family profession. If a girl, you would have been taught to weave by your mother; if a boy, you might have helped your father out on the farm, tried your hand at making pottery, or spent long hours learning cuneiform. (There may have been careers requiring gender non-conformity, as there was in Mesopotamia, but as far as I am aware this has not been proven.) You know that even the noblest children are given responsibilities - king Ḫattušili himself was once a stable boy.

Now, as an adult, you are a working professional contributing directly to Hittite society. You look the very portrait of a Hittite: as a woman, you have long, dark hair that you probably keep veiled, and as a man, your hair is around shoulder-length and your face clean-shaven. Ethnically, though, you are likely a mixture of Hittite, Luwian, Hurrian, Hattian, and depending on when and where exactly you live, maybe Assyrian, Canaanite or even Greek. There’s a fair chance Hittite might not actually be your native language. Still, you consider yourself a Hittite, and a subject of the Hittite king.

Well, now you know who you are, let’s get along with your day!

Your home and environment

Your day begins the way most people’s days do: you wake up at home, in your bed. As an average Hittite, you probably sleep on the floor rather than on elevated furniture. Your floor is either paved or of beaten earth, and your house itself has stone foundations and mud brick walls, with a flat roof supported by timber beams. Windows are scarce and small, to keep the indoor temperature stable.

Outside, the rest of the settlement is waking up too. Statistically, you live in a village or small town, surrounded by forest and mountains. Summers here are hot and dry, and winters cold and snowy, with spring and autumn being marked by thunderstorms. Most inhabitants work as farmers, relying on the weather for their survival. Contagious illnesses are a constant threat - under king Muršili II, the land suffered a deadly plague for twenty years - as are enemy invasions. If you live within the bend of the red river, in the Hittite heartland, consider yourself lucky; if not, your settlement could well be shifting from one kingdom’s property to another and falling prey to both sides’ raids on a yearly basis.

Admitting no enemy forces are in the area today, you take your time to get up. You might tiredly stumble to the outhouse to go pee. Eventually, you’ll want to get dressed.

Clothing

As a man, your clothes comprise of a kilt or sleeved tunic, with a belt of cloth or leather. As a woman, you wear a long dress and, if you are married, a veil. All clothing is made from wool or linen, and a variety of dyes exist: red, yellow, blue, green, black and white are all colours mentioned in texts. If you are rich enough, you may be able to import purple-dyed fabric from Lazpa (Greek Lesbos) or the Levant. You will also want to flaunt your wealth with jewellery, regardless of gender.

Of course, your shoes have upturned ends in the Hittite style. Historians will tease you for this. Don’t listen to them. You look awesome.

Mealtime!

It’s now time for one of your two daily meals (the other will take place in the evening, after your work for the day is done). This will be prepared at the hearth, a vital element of every home, and which is likely connected to an oven. The staple of your diet is bread; in fact, it is so common that “bread”, in cuneiform texts, is used as a general term for food. It is usually made from wheat or barley, but can also be made from beans or lentils.

Worried you’ll get bored of it? You needn’t be: your society has enough types of bread that you could eat a different one each day for a whole season. Fig bread, sour bread, flat bread and honey bread are just some of your options, along with spear bread and moon bread... yes, in other words, baguettes and croissants. (Something tells me the Hittites and the French would have a lot to talk about.)

You also have various fruits and vegetables available: cucumber, leek, carrots, peas, chickpeas, lentils, beans, olives, figs, dates, grapes, pomegranates, onions, garlic, and more. Your diet is completed by animal products, including cheese, milk, butter, and meat, mainly from sheep and goats but also cows and wild game. Honey, too, is common.

These ingredients can be combined into all sorts of dishes. Porridge is popular, as are stews, both vegetarian and meat-based. Meat can also be broiled and quite possibly skewered onto kebabs. And of course, food would be boring without spices, so you have a variety of those to choose from too: coriander are cumin are just two of them.

As for drinks, you can have beer, wine, beer-wine (good luck figuring out what that is), milk or water. If you’re well-to-do enough, you may own a rhyton, a drinking vessel shaped like an animal such as a stag or bull. Don’t forget to libate to the Gods before drinking your share.

Daily work

The next thing on your plate, after food, is work. What you do depends on your social status and gender, and most likely, you do the same work as your parents did before you. You could be something well-known like a king, priest, scribe, merchant, farmer or slave, but don’t assume those are all the possibilities; you could also be, for example, a gardener, doctor, ritual practitioner, potter, weaver, tavern keeper, or perfume maker.

It’s impossible to go into detail on every career option you would have in Hittite society, so for the sake of brevity, let’s just discuss four - two male-dominated, and two female-specific.

Farmer

As a farmer, you are the backbone of your society. You and your peers are responsible for putting food on the plates of Hittites everywhere, thus ensuring the survival of the empire.

Like many farmers, you live on a small estate, most likely with both crops (or an orchard) and livestock to take care of. You may own cows, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, donkeys, and/or ducks. Your daily routine and tools aren’t that different from other pre-industrial cultures, though you have it a little rougher than most due to the Anatolian mountain terrain. If you have the means, you hire seasonal workers - both male and female - to help out as farmhands, and you may own a few slaves.

You get up early to milk the cows, and at the onset of summer, you or a hired herdsman may lead your livestock up to mountain pastures to graze. Depending on the season and the work that needs to be done, you may spend your day ploughing the fields, harvesting grain or fruit, tending livestock, shearing sheep, birthing a calf, repairing the barn, or various other tasks. Make sure to take proper care of everything: new animals are expensive, and losing one could get you into a precarious situation. In particular, you’ll want to keep an eye out for bears, wolves, foxes, and even lions and leopards.

Scribe

Few people are literate in Hittite society, and you are one of the lucky ones. You have been learning to read and write in three languages (Sumerian, Akkadian and Hittite) since childhood, and after long years of copying lexical lists and ancient myths, your education is now complete.

As a scribe, you are the dreaded bureaucrat. In a small town, you likely work alongside the town administrator, recording tax collections and enemy sightings as well as corresponding with other towns, and with the capital. You and your peers are the go-to people for officialising marriage agreements and divorces, drawing up work contracts, and creating sales receipts. If not in the town administration, you could also work in a temple, recording the results of oracles, cross-checking the correct procedures for a ritual, and making sure everything necessary for a festival is available. If you are particularly lucky, you may be employed by the nobility or even the palace, and be entrusted with such confidential tasks as writing the king’s annals or drafting an international treaty.

Regardless of where you are, two things are essential to your job: a stylus and a tablet. You may be a “scribe of the clay tablets”, in which case you will need to carry around a bit of clay wherever you go (and some water to moisten it). Otherwise, you are a “scribe of the wooden tablets”, in which case you use a wax tablet in a wooden frame, which requires less maintenance. It’s unclear whether these types of tablet are used for different purposes.

Fun fact: you likely have a few pen pals around the Hittite empire. After corresponding with other scribes for so long, you’ve started writing each other messages at the bottom of your tablets, asking each other how you’re doing and to say hi to each other’s families. Your employers needn’t know.

Weaver

Weaving, to a Hittite like you, is the quintessential female activity, along with textile-making in general. Like farming, this is a backbone of your society: without weaving, there would be no clothes, and without clothes, well, you can’t do much.

As a weaver, you produce textiles for your family and in many cases also for sale. You work in an atelier within your home, along with the other women of the household, keeping an eye on your smallest children as they play nearby. While your husband, brothers or sons may transport and sell your handiwork, you are the head of your own business.

You are skilled in multiple weaving techniques, and can do embroidery and sew fabric into various shapes (including sleeves - take that, Classical Greeks). You create clothing for all sorts of occasions, including rituals and festivals, outdoor work, and winter weather, and if you are lucky enough to be commissioned by the nobility, you put your best efforts into clothing that will show off their status. Don’t try to cheat anyone out of their money, though; prices are fixed by law.

Old Woman

Contrary to what you might expect, you don’t need to be old to be an Old Woman - this is a career just like any other, though it probably does require a certain amount of life experience and earned respect. As an Old Woman, you are a trained ritual practitioner and active in all sorts of cultic, divinatory and magical ceremonies.

Most commonly, you are hired for rituals protecting against or removing evil. Your services may solve domestic quarrels, cure a sick child, or shield someone from sorcery (a constant threat in your society). This is done through symbolic acts like cutting pieces of string, breaking objects, and sacrificing and burning animals, which are of course accompanied by incantations - sometimes in Hittite, sometimes in other languages, like Hurrian.

Far from a village witch, you are high-placed in Hittite society and trusted by the royal family itself. You have taken part in major rituals and festivals, including funerals, and you perform divinatory oracles too. This last responsibility gives you a large amount of influence over the king and queen; if you establish that something should be done, then it almost certainly will be. Use this power well... or not.

Your loved ones

After a long day ploughing fields, writing tablets, weaving clothes or reciting incantations, it’s finally time to reunite with your loved ones. For adults, these likely - but not necessarily! - include a spouse and children. You may just live with your nuclear family, but living with extended family is also common, and there may be as many as twenty people in your household. Siblings, aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, children and babies all share the evening meal with you, and some nights, you might gather afterwards to sing and dance, tell stories, and play games.

You also have relationships outside of home. Friendship is valued by Hittite society, with close friends calling each other “brother” and sister”. You might meet up with them regularly at the local tavern for a beer and a bit of fun. Someone there might even catch your eye... Interestingly, there are no laws against that person being of the same gender as you. So, same or different gender, why not try your luck tonight?

Greater powers

It’s impossible to spend a day in the Hittite empire without encountering religion. The Land of a Thousand Gods is aptly named: Gods are in everything, from the sun to the mountains to the stream at the back of your house to fire to a chair. You should always be conscious of their power, and treat them with respect. Though there are few traces of it, you may have a household shrine where you make libations or offer a portion of your meal. Your Gods may be represented by anthropomorphic statues, by animals such as a bull, by symbols such as gold disks, or even by a stone. Either way, treat these objects well; the divine is literally present in them.

You should also be wary of sorcery. Never make clay figures of someone, or kill a snake while speaking someone’s name, or you will face the death penalty. Likewise, always dispose of impurities carefully, especially those left over from a purification ritual (such as mud, ashes, or body hair). Never toss them onto someone else’s property. Has misfortune suddenly struck your household? Is your family or livestock getting sick and dying? These are signs that someone has bewitched you.

Some days are more sacred than others. You participate in over a hundred festivals every year, some lasting less than a day, some lasting a month, some local, some celebrated by the entire Hittite empire. The most important of these are the crocus festival and the purulli festival in spring, the festival of haste in autumn, and the gate-house festival, possibly also in autumn. The statues of the Gods are brought out of the temples, great feasts are held, and entertainment is provided through music, dance and sports contests. Depending on how important your town is, the king, queen or a prince might even be in attendance. All this excitement is a nice break from your regular work!

Sleep and dreams

Phew, what a busy day it’s been. The sun, snared in the trees’ branches, has set on the Hittite land, and you are ready for bed. Time to wrap yourself snugly in blankets and go to sleep.

You may dream, in which case, try to remember as much as you can. Dreams can be a vehicle for omens. Maybe, if the Gods are kind, you might catch a glimpse of what the next days, months and years hold in store for you.

Good night!

Bibliography

Beckman, Gary, “Birth and Motherhood among the Hittites”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 319-328).

Bryce, Trevor, Life and Society in the Hittite World, Oxford 2002.

Bryce, Trevor, “The Role and Status of Women in Hittite Society”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 303-318).

Golec-Islam, Joanna, The Food of Gods and Humans in the Hittite World, BA thesis, Warszawa 2016.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Birth and name-giving in Hittite texts”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 27/3 (1968), pp. 198-203.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Daily life among the Hittites”, in Averbeck, Richard E., Chavalas, Marc W., Weisberg, David B., Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East, Bethesda 2003 (pp. 95-118).

Marcuson, Hannah, “Word of the Old Woman”: Studies in Female Ritual Practice in Hittite Anatolia, PhD thesis, Chicago 2016.

Wilhelm, Gernot, “Demographic Data from Hittite Land Donation Tablets”, in Pecchioli Daddi, Franca, Torri, Giulia, Corti, Carlo, Central-North Anatolia in the Hittite Period: New Perspectives in Light of Recent Research, Roma 2009 (pp. 223-233).

#Hittites #damn i love the hittites #ancient history #anatolia #history #infodump #i put so much effort into this please appreciate it

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imthepointe · 4 years

Text

When the Hourglass Runs Dry

well ok this was supposed to be for @ninjago-angst-week but considering i’m, like, a week late, i’ll just post it as a regular fic :)

angst week day 7- prompt: future

tw: death, suicide and suicidal themes / word count: 2057

Many years into the future, Pixal and Zane reflect on the past.

Death was always a fanatical topic at dinner tables, partly because each ninja tended to die rather frequently. It was always brought up in a joking manner (“I dunno, Cole’s died, like, four times at this point,” or “Zane, after Prime Empire, I don’t think you’ve died the most times now!”), and truthfully, it wasn’t really something the ninja had given much heavy consideration to in the past. They were always taught to avoid death- to cheat it- they were ninja; it was kind of their job to protect, which is something you can’t do if you’re dead. Plus, the point of existing is to stay alive for as long as you can, anyway.

It is really so unfortunate that death is not a fleeting matter, unlike youth. It is so, so sad that the inevitability of mortality affects everything.

Occasionally, in a fit of existential panic, Lloyd would remember that he was going to outlive Nya, Jay, Kai, and Cole by at least a few hundred years. But for now, while they were still teenagers, that wasn’t something for him to worry about. Zane and Pixal had told him it wasn’t something for him to worry about yet.

Then teenage years turned into the twenties, then twenties into thirties, and so forth- such is life.

Lloyd, Pixal, and Zane had to watch their friends grow old, to watch them age; to Lloyd, there was nothing more painful than the thought that they were all going to die and he still had a good portion of his life that he would have to live without them. But, hey- they had all made it into their seventies, which if you asked Lloyd when he was a teenager how long they would live to be, he would have set the bar a little lower.

But then Cole was diagnosed with the same illness that killed his mother when she was barely in her thirties, and the beloved team ninja was forced back into the reality that they were all going to die sooner or later, and it was probably going to be sooner.

“We made bets on who was going to die first, do you remember?” Kai had said after the former black ninja informed them of his diagnosis. Even though his tone was humorous, his wrinkles furrowed and his eyes drooped.

“Yeah, I think I said it would be you, dumbass,” Cole laughed, which promptly turned into a rattling cough.

“Ka-arma,” Jay smirked. Nya smacked him across the face.

And then Cole was dead within two weeks.

Then Kai, then Jay, then Nya, all only a few years later.

“They lived long lives, Lloyd,” Zane had mentioned one day. “I am so glad we were a part of them. We will see them again in due time.”

Lloyd prayed he was right.

***

Lloyd had made a comfortable living with Pixal and Zane. The three had moved out of Ninjago City, to a quiet and comfortable cottage near Ignacia, where they mostly kept to themselves.

They each tried at least once a month to all visit their friend’s graves, which was normally easier said than done. When they did go, they were alone- Lloyd liked to spend personal time with each of his friends, and he supposed Zane and Pixal had the same logic.

Years passed, and life droned on quietly. There were no new threats to the safety of the city, no new evils or big bads to defeat.

Lloyd began to age. Slowly, surely, but he was aging, and grew to look more and more like his father with each new wrinkle or sign of age, which was often the butt of Zane’s jokes.

Three hundred years later, and the three of them had shifted into a routine with a strong sense of normalcy. It was nice.

It was very nice, actually, Lloyd had decided. He no longer had to worry about people in his life leaving him.

But at four hundred years, he began to worry about his leaving of Zane and Pixal. Wu has lived to be nearly five hundred and thirty years old, but as Lloyd only had a fraction of the godlike blood that Wu had, he feared he would not last much longer.

Not only that, but Lloyd found himself getting much more tired and fatigued considerably more frequently.

The three always started out their mornings on the veranda of their cottage, talking and chatting about whatever subject was most relevant to their quaint lives.

“I’m very old now,” Lloyd had said one day.

“We all are, Lloyd,” Zane pointed out. Pixal lightly squeezed Zane’s hand as if to say really?

“When I die, what will happen to you all?”

Pixal whipped her head around to face the former green ninja and stared him in the eyes. “Do not talk like that, Lloyd,” she scolded. “Don’t worry about us. Don’t say that.”

That was the end of the matter, until Lloyd’s health only continued to decline.

By four hundred and twenty-three years old, Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon was practically bedridden, his extended longevity catching up to him.

He knew he didn’t have much longer on this earth.

Zane and Pixal has been taking care of him to the best of their ability, but death is unavoidable, even for the green ninja.

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd had managed one night, his voice raspy and weak.

“For what, Lloyd?” Zane gently raised the his torso and propped him up with a pillow.

“For leaving you and Pixal.”

“Do not be sorry, Lloyd,” Zane replied with a solemn tone. “Just say hello to our old friends, would you?”

A small tear rolled down Zane’s cheek and he held Lloyd’s hands. The nindroid was mostly sure the other boy had nodded.

Lloyd died peacefully in his sleep two nights later.

***

Zane and Pixal sat on the porch, just as they did every morning, admiring the birch trees and various wildlife, occasionally pointing at a deer or falcon or fox that happened to cross their vision.

It had been a mere three months since the green ninja’s death, with only the two nindroids left to keep each other company. But this morning, this morning was different- Zane was ‘in a funk,’ as Lloyd would have said, and the recollection of Lloyd’s funny vocabulary made Pixal laugh.

“What is funny, Pixal?”

“You seem weird today, that is all,” Pixal met his eyes, “as Lloyd would have said, ‘you are in a funk.’ Are you alright?”

“I’m splendid. In fact, I was thinking of fixing a cake in a minute. How does chocolate sound?”

“That sounds nice, Zane.”

Now Pixal knew something was definitely wrong- Zane only made cakes when something was bothering him.

But even as she watched Zane move inside to the kitchen and put on an apron, she began to think about the question that was heavy-set in her mind, as well.

How much longer of this?

They were nindroids. They could not die from natural causes- how many more years would she live to see?

Pixal, she mentally scolded herself, stop thinking like that. You’re being silly.

You’re being silly.

She stood from the rocking chair, collected herself, and went inside to help Zane- Pixal too found baking rather enjoyable.

Zane asked her to prepare some icing, so she fiddled with the sugar, cocoa, and milk, until she had a consistency presentable enough to self-proclaimed Master Chef Zane.

...which, naturally, there was an issue with.

“See, Pixal, you must add more powdered sugar than milk, that way it stays fluffy,” he dipped his finger into the mixture, “but it still tastes good.” With a swift motion, he scooped some more icing with his finger and smeared it on the girl’s nose.

“Zane!”

Through her frustration, she could not help but laugh, and thus a food fight broke out between them.

By the time they were through, an even layer of flour coated the kitchen counters and floor, cocoa stained on their garments, and icing was in every place imaginable.

Zane stood and helped Pixal to her feet and almost stood in awe of the impressive mess they had made.

Pixal hugged Zane, mostly in an effort to get his clothes significantly more adulterated than they already were. “I would have maybe expected this from Lloyd, not from you.”

The master of ice closed his eyes. “We should probably clean up.”

“Right,” Pixal shoved him playfully as she made her way to the cleaning supplies underneath the sink. She handed Zane a broom and kept a cloth for herself.

She picked up a photo frame that had been completely caked in flour and began to wipe it off. Underneath was a framed picture of her friends, some four hundred years ago, after some valiant battle.

She exhaled loud enough for Zane to notice.

“When will we see them again, Zane?”

“I- I am unsure,” he sighed, “I have been wondering the same.” He swept the flour into a neat little pile in the middle of the floor.

“You have?”

The nindroid looked lost in thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said decisively. “That is why I have been acting weird lately, I suppose.”

“Even though it’s been hundreds of years since their passing, I still miss them so, so much. Is that a bad thing?”

“Oh, Pixal, I hope not.”

The rest of the kitchen was cleaned in a thoughtful silence.

The cake was finished and set on the small dining table, with two rocking chairs on one half of the table and a third chair cast off to the side.

Zane sat down in a chair, and pulled the other out for Pixal to sit beside him. He cut the cake, his hands moving more clumsily than before- Pixal thought he seemed lost in his mind, and she would know- she’s been stuck there before. He carefully set a piece of cake on each plate.

“Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

Pixal couldn’t help but laugh at Zane’s sudden use of Julius Caesar. “That is Shakespeare. Why quote it now?”

“Because it does not apply to us. We will not meet a necessary end.”

She tuned back down to her cake. “That is true.”

She poked at the chocolate for a moment before setting her fork back down. “What are you suggesting? I assume this has something to do with the conversation earlier.”

“I’m just saying I do not think we will ever see Cole, Kai, Nya, Lloyd, or Jay ever again by any natural means.”

Pixal considered his words for a moment before grabbing Zane’s hand. “I have an idea,” she said cautiously- it was risky, unsettling, and terrifying- “but only if you are totally sure about it.”

***

2 weeks since the cake baking incident and Zane and Pixal had finished eating all of the cake. Zane has immediately agreed to Pixal’s idea- he had been toying with the same idea for some time, too, he admitted.

[MANUAL SHUTDOWN DISABLED. OVERRIDE?]

Zane’s fingers wrapped around Pixal’s. The rocking chairs swept back and forth, a gentle sway, just as they had every morning, like this was some part of their routine.

Pixal looked to Zane, her voice barely above a whisper: “Are you sure you want to do this, Zane?”

The nindroid smiled softly. “They are waiting for us, Pixal,” he continued holding her hand, “I can’t wait to see them again.”

Pixal followed Zane’s gaze to the same framed photo sitting across from their chairs.

“I cannot wait either, Zane.”

There was a silence, but not the dreadful kind- the kind of silence that is warm, welcoming, and comfortable.

“I love you, Pixal.”

He gripped her hand tighter.

“I love you, Zane. So much.”

[OVERRIDE.]

***

Soft light cascaded through trees with golden leaves, and a small breeze gently rustled the leaves. The place seemed familiar, in a very distant way, but the two nindroids could not recall anytime they would have visited such a place with this ethereal beauty.

“You two are late,” a familiar voice sounded behind them.

The two turned around, hands still linked, to face their friends. Cole stood in the middle, a tender smile spreading across his face.

“We are here now, friends.”

#hooo boy finally finished super late #ninjago angst week #tw suicide #tw death #pixane #ninjago #lloyd #its angst but also got a pretty nice and tidy ending sooo #yeah <3 #claire writes

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