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#tua prompts
mayfriend · 2 years
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INCREDIBLE NEWS!! THERE'S A NEW TUA KINK MEME PROMPT POST FOR SEASON THREE
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netflix · 2 years
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What are the Hargreeves gossiping about?
A spicy Umbrella Academy exclusive.
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paperpocalypse · 2 years
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case 254.
50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader Word Count: 1,591 words Warnings: Swearing, violence
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You are, by all accounts, married to your work.
And you are a loyal lover. The briefcase is your certificate, the bullets your vows. You keep them close wherever you go. Twenty-four years in the Commission is nothing to sneeze at, and you have never – not once – been unfaithful.
… Not in action, at least. Recent thoughts of retirement have begun tempting you to the point of an emotional affair.
(You’d get married, maybe. To a person, not a job. Live in a one-story home with a pond in the backyard and not too far from the nearest Walmart, adopt a little dog that you and your spouse spoil to bits. You’d die peacefully in your sleep instead of bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.)
“Shit.”
Coughing, you spit and wipe your mouth with the cuff of your sleeve. Damn Arnie made you bite your own tongue.
“The police will be here any minute!” he yells through the walls, and something clatters to the ground. “You can’t make me go back!”
“I’m not making you go back, Arn,” you call back, exasperated. “I got an order to kill you.”
“Oh, fuck off!”
You chuckle and stumble back to your feet.
Arnold had been a loyal employee of the Temps Commission for twenty years. He specializes in 18th century weaponry, his kill count is in the hundreds, and he relies on cigarettes in the same way you rely on coffee. He is also a friend of yours – or the closest thing a Temps assassin can have to a friend – and that’s probably why the Board sent you to kill him.
They had given you two days. You had promised one.
It’s been three.
“You shouldn’t have tried to sell your briefcase to the military, Arnie!”
Arnie doesn’t reply. The squeal and slam of a door grates on your ears, and you swear aloud, rushing to the bathroom.
You break the door open and don’t hesitate to fire in quick succession, just barely missing a shoe slipping from the windowsill.
Clicking your tongue, you pause.
“Dammit.”
Something small and cylindrical is lobbed through the window, bouncing and rolling to a stop at your feet.
“Dammit!”
You book it out of the bathroom, rounding a corner and diving to the ground just as the grenade explodes. The floor shivers. You cover your ears and hold your breath.
If people had ignored the ruckus beforehand, they certainly can’t now.
Panting, you scrape yourself off the floor, reaching back to pull your Glock out and heading back to the bathroom. “Son of a bitch …”
Smoke and burst pipes and rubble are all that remains of the bathroom. Your heart drops to your stomach when you recognize the guts of your Commission briefcase among the rubble. This has got to be the second-worst fumble of your career; you should’ve thrown the briefcase out first and then run out. Your rifle is a lost cause too.
Shaking your head, you approach the gaping hole in the wall and slowly clamber down the side of the building. Arnold couldn’t have gotten far, not with a concussion and the bullet in his leg. Thank goodness. You don’t have as much stamina for high-speed chases as you used to.
The same moment that you land on a patch of broken bricks and dirt, the sound of a gunshot resonates behind you.
You immediately whip around, firing a shot into Case 254’s head before you can even register that his back had been facing you.
Arnold collapses, dead, onto the ground a few meters away from you. Your lips part. You quickly look back up and keep your gun poised.
A man points his rifle back at you.
“Got him before you did,” he tells you, voice low and gruff.
There’s a briefcase at his feet.
“Did the Board think I couldn’t handle this one?” you ask, aiming between the man’s eyes. You like the way he speaks, even though it pisses you off. He’s confident. “Or do they think I defected too?”
“Did you?” he challenges.
Not in ways they can punish. “If I did, Arnie wouldn’t have tried to blow me up with an MK3.”
“… Humph.”
Sirens are getting ever louder. The two of you lower your weapons; you’re no longer wary of this fellow assassin, but the glare he’s fixing you with makes you want to rile him up.
“Tell me your name, hotshot,” you say, walking over to Arnold and rummaging through his clothes.
He grunts sourly. “Why would I tell you anything?”
“To make conversation.” You find some loose change and a coupon for a tanning salon – alright – but what you’re really interested in is the copy of the briefcase’s blueprints. You pocket everything. “It stimulates the mind. I think you might need that in your old age.”
When you face the man fully again, he rolls his eyes.
Then he literally disappears into thin air.
You blink. The dots connect as quickly as the flaring lights of police cars shine around the corners of the building, and a frenzied laugh escapes your lips.
“What a gentleman.”
Guess the rumors were right – the Commission’s new darling, Five, is a genius as well as an asshole.
On the other side of the apartment complex, the detective tells officers to surround the building. You quickly put your gun away and take off before they reach the back.
“I heard someone running! Over here!”
You run until you reach a chain-link fence, locating a spot where the mesh had peeled away from the post and slipping through with gritted teeth. The air inside your mask weighs on your skin, hot and thick from your heavy breathing. Your feet already hurt. You should’ve invested in those gel insoles Arnold told you about before he decided to defect.
“Stop! This is the police!”
You hold back a groan. You’re getting too old for this shit.
But you keep going anyways. You keep running, turn a corner and cut through back alleys, knock out the few people you pass who are unlucky enough to be out at two in the morning. And for some reason, they keep pursuing you, getting closer and closer –
You hear something like a muffled pop of air. A hand grips your arm and drags you into an alley.
You scramble for your Glock, but as soon as your fingers brush its handle, it disappears. Five pushes you down behind a dumpster and shoves a hand up your mask to cover your mouth. It takes everything in you to keep from gagging when you land on a trash bag way too wet-sounding for your liking.
“Quiet.”
You huff, tearing his hand away. Your arm is pinned against his sternum, your head much too close to his. His breathing is quiet, measured, and slow.
(He’s used to this. Used to running, used to hiding, just like you.)
Five runs warm. You like it in the same way that you like the way he speaks.
Footsteps hurry past your hiding place, then fade into the distance.
After waiting about ten more minutes, you let your head knock back against the wall. “Shit.” You chuckle. “I owe you one, Mr. Five.”
Five doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude. Instead, he pushes himself away from you and drops your Glock into your lap, then grabs his briefcase and stands up. Though you resent the loss of heat, you join him with a more appropriate amount of space between the two of you.
“I’ll take you back to headquarters,” Five states, sounding as if his teeth are about to be pulled.
“Thank you kindly,” you reply. “It must be my lucky day, getting my hide saved and escorted by the Commission’s rising star.”
“I’m sure.” His tone is dry.
Sirens wail as you tell him your name.
“I know,” Five mutters, unclipping the briefcase. “You were mentioned in the kill order for your pal back there.”
Ah. You nod, smiling a bit tightly, and put your hands on the briefcase as well. “Of course.”
A flash, and you’re both back in 1955, the sun too bright and the air too stale. You feel the beginnings of a headache.
“Still hate time travel after twenty plus years,” you comment, letting go. “Did using your powers have the same effect?”
Five regards you silently, lips pursed. “Hard to recall,” he finally says, snapping the briefcase shut.
“The lab’s developing some meds for the side effects. Apparently, they’re doing trial runs soon.”
“That so.”
“Yes.” You squint up at HQ, brush off your suit, and exhale loudly. “Anyway, I better get going. See you later, Mr. Five.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Just Five is fine.”
“See you later, Five,” you emphasize with a grin. “Maybe we’ll be able to team up in the future.”
All he does is cast you an unimpressed glance before disappearing through one of his teleportation portal things.
You stare at the now empty space and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. Well, the apocalypse doesn’t exactly make one a good conversationalist. (Either that, or he finds you insufferable.)
As you stroll into the Commission building to turn in the briefcase blueprint and procure another briefcase, you think of your life so far. You think of your marriage to your work, of the sleepless honeymoon stage and the bitter taste of the past ten years. You think of that dark alley, of that moment of companionship, one-sided though it was.
And maybe you find yourself just a little more unfaithful.
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eternalsawake · 2 years
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f. hargreeves oneshot
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rating: mature - for cussing and sexual innuendos
prompt: “please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” “why don’t you come over here and make me?” credits to @malabu ‘s enemies to lovers prompts
a/n: five is 19 physically but 30 mentally, as well as reader. reader is also gn (:
never again will you go on a trip with klaus and five. klaus had claimed it was a nice trip to pennsylvania, but you knew that dick had other plans in mind. you were already on edge because five tagged along, but finding out the trip was for klaus’ journey to find his mother and the two village idiots who were his emotional support dogs on this trip really pissed you off.
“are you shitting ME KLAUS?” you bark from the backseat.
“okay LOOK i knew you wouldn’t come if i told you why!”
“i’m supposed to be RETIRED YOU ASSHOLE.” five chimes in, his yell actually hurting your ears. “CAN YOU SHUT THE HELL UP I CAN’T HEAR CAUSE OF YOUR YELLING!” you scream in fives ear.
“WHAT I CAN’T HEAR YOU?!” he taunts back, a completely stupid grin forming on his face.
god you wanted to punch it. his gut renching, horrifyingly good looking face. you and five..were definitely a pair. the hargreeves siblings knew your relationship quite well. they expected the two of you to get along considering you both were stuck in your younger selves. and god were they so wrong. nonstop banter and mini fights is all that ever flew out of your mouths. you two had never had a genuine conversation. in all seriousness, you couldn’t help but look at five in a different light. the amount of trauma he carried on his shoulders made you feel..different. when you two weren’t bickering, he seemed quite nice at times. especially around his siblings, and you wanted that slight kindness given to you.
five notices a sign in the distance, for the largest ball of twine. his body is sent foward, grabbing the wheel from klaus’ grasp. the car swerved sharply to turn down the path.
“five you’re actually an asshat”
“and you’re just a pussy.” he retorts, “aw, can you not handle a slightly harsh turn?”
“like you can get any pussy.” you reply, your voice seeping in venom. you chuckle at your remark, but your laugh grows louder seeing klaus’ reaction in the mirror. the man was flabbergasted, and five was fuming, like corny smoke coming out of his ears fuming.
“fuck you.” he says, rolling his eyes.
“you would.” you reply.
“i’d rather cut off my-.”
“CHILDREN CHILDREN PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP!” klaus interrupts, pointing at the large ball of twine. the three of you exit the car, and examine the ball.
“y’know, i’d thought it be bigger.”
“me too.”
“same.”
the three of your laugh quietly. klaus makes a 180° turn back to the car. you follow along, but are stopped in your tracks by a hand on your shoulder. it’s..five? you turn to face the man. his hands are in his pockets and his weight is shifting from side to side. is he nervous?
“what?” you ask.
“so about what you said back there.” he replies, that shit eating grin forms on his face once more.
“what about it?”
“we’re you joking?” he questions, his gaze not being able to meet yours.
“five, of course i was joking, why would i be serious? isn’t this what we do? get into fights and banter back and forth?”
“yeah, i was just curious.”
he pauses for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. “i hate you.” he spits out.
“please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” you joke, a slight laugh escaping your lips.
“why don’t you come over here and make me?” he replies, locking his green eyes onto yours.
is he actually being serious? does he truly feel this way? is this some kind of joke? you try to search in his eyes for mischief, some sort of evil, anything. yet his eyes gleam with genuine intention. your feet move on their own, your brain not even in control at this point.
his hands cup your face as your lips crash onto his. his hold was gentle, but firm, as if he was scared you would blow away in the wind if he loosened his grip. he tasted like scotch, with a hint of pure, black coffee. his hands found your waist, pulling your body against his. the sudden action caused your hands to slightly pull his hair, but not enough to hurt. passion, love, and maybe a slight bit of lust filled the air around you two.
if it weren’t for a need to breathe, you both wouldn’t have pulled away. yet, something always has to intervene.
“didn’t know you could do that old man.” you chuckle. five’s finger grazes over your kiss swollen lips.
“if i remember right, you’re older than i am.” he responds, a love drunken grin on his face.
“CMON SHITBIRDS WE HAVE PLACES TO BE! PRONTO PRONTO.” klaus yells from the car. his clapping hands signal he’s getting a wee bit pissed. you grab fives arm, pulling him in the direction of the car. as he stumbles forward, you plant a single kiss on his lips, a small smile forming on your face. he continues the kiss, allowing it to linger for a few more seconds.
“god i hate couples.” klaus says.
a/n: i didn’t proofread this BUT I HOPE U ENJOY 🤭🤭
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barbiedragon · 2 years
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Jayme Hargreeves x Fem!Reader
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For smut prompt #16: “I won’t apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.”
The smirk was about a mile wide on Jayme’s face as she dipped her spoon into her pot of yogurt then licked the spoon tantalizing as you walking into the room.  You had your hair tied up, neck exposed and decorated with the purple marks of her bites.  You watched as Alphonso and her shared a look as you took your place next to her at the breakfast table.  Ben scoffed and rolled his eyes before he tossed a piece of his granola at Jayme’s head.
“Keep it in the bedroom,” he complained.
“You’re just jealous no one wants to touch your dick,” Jayme hummed before she lifted a spoonful of her yogurt to your lips.  You parted them obediently and let her feed you.  Fei chuckled as her raven’s rattled overhead.
“Ughh gross, right in front of my cereal,” Ben complained before he stormed off.
Jayme had you pressed against the staircase later after her morning work out, fingers buried deep inside of your cunt.  You let out soft little gasps of pleasure.
“I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken and that you’re mine,” she purred into your ear as her thumb brushed across your clit.
“Yes please, wouldn’t want it any other way,” you whined as you leaned in to capture her lips in a hungry kiss as she made you leave a nice little mess in your panties.
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missjiru · 11 months
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I guess this is more than a scratch track but I think it still needs some tweaking before I upload it on SoundCloud. I loved the original INXS track already but the Paloma Faith version is just *chef's kiss*. So here's my cover! Backing instrumental is a karaoke arrangement. All I did was record and mix the vocals.
This also kinda gives me an idea for a Five fanfic prompt. The whole crew is out for karaoke for whatever reason (wedding, everyone's collective birthday or something) and fem!reader sings this track and Five is mesmerized. They eventually go back home/to the academy. Maybe they are chilling in the bar area. Five asks if she'll sing it again just for him. Burlesque-y, strip tease-y, sexy shenanigans ensue?
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ollycohens · 3 months
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TUA art prompts? Specifically Five! <3
Example: Five in a suit. Five in a dress (🫣). Five crying, etc…
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rotmemes · 2 years
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the umbrella academy sentence starters.
did i ever tell you about the time that i waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?
is that my skirt?
we do not negotiate with terrorists.
nothing like a little strangling to get the blood flowing, am i right?
how many more rock bottoms are you going to have to hit before you start taking care of yourself?
what i am, is sexy trash.
you know, i liked you a lot better before you got laid.
it's going to be one of those kind of nights.
so are we burning or burying?
you just saved my life, man.
i'm a member of the royal family.
all that shit you do is just weakness.
i love you, even if you can't love yourself.
i'd like to apologize, that you, are depriving some village of their idiot.
yeah, but you also told me that drinking a nine volt battery would give me pubes.
i just hate group breakups, that's why i stopped dating twins.
why am i always the last one to find out about the end of the world.
we prefer to call it an alternative spiritual community.
alright, enough about me.
if you keep undressing me with your eyes, i'm going to catch a cold.
gee, wish i thought of that.
nice to see nothing's changed.
do you even know how to drive?
i know how to do everything.
i don't remember this place being such a shit show.
i found it at a playground, actually.
i thought i told you to put on something professional.
i must have utter silence in order to complete this task.
i would rather chew off my own foot.
you'd realize that if you were actually sober.
anything a little more profound than that?
it's bullshit in any language.
you can either stay here and wait for the ikea mafia to come back and kill you, or, you can come with me.
try not to do anything too stupid.
even if it was my fault - which it isn't.
you're a worst liar than you are a spotter.
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assaily · 9 months
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Wip Game
Rules: Post the names of all your works in your WIP folder. Let people send you asks based on those titles and any that especially intrigues them, and then respond to them. Lastly, tag as many people as WIPs you have.
Thank you @littlerit and @rockinlibrarian for the tags!
I have a lot of wips so i’m just gonna do a couple more recent ones. And they're all tua, they're all about Five.
1. Hide the Morning from the Stars - The thing that started this one was a line I heard that went, “I just wanted to be loved!” It another one of those post-everything Five acclimating to a peaceful life poorly type fic. The siblings are pretty caught up in rebuilding their own lives, as you do, and so Five proceeds to have the loneliest first year of retirement ever. This one also leans pretty heavy into something @mangoshorthand posted or reblogged a few whiles back about Five struggling to reconnect with Grace because she reminds him of the Handler. 
2. Howling still counts as a wip because i cannot go a full 24 hour period without thinking about it. It’s just sitting in my brain, simmering in all the juices. I’m working on this one constantly. Like all the other wips are on a constant rotation, but this is the big fat star they inevitably orbit.
3. Selkies and Shit - my attempt at mermay masked author but i haven’t gotten very far with it. I don’t even know how to describe this one. The kids were selkies, the Handler was a pirate who was keeping Five and Lila’s skins, and everyone in the world had forgotten all their memories from more than six months prior. No one knew why, but it had something to do with the Moon being missing and the ocean being tide-less. 
4. Planned Obsolescence - that fic where the Commission put a kill switch in Five in case he ever defected and then it slowly kills Five when he defects to be with his family. Here’s a tid bit from that one.
5. the delicate parts of us - it’s... a wing fic. anyone remember that really gory wing eruption scene in Haibane Renmei? yeah, i watched that as a kid and this isn’t the first time i’ve been inspired by it. Kind of dumb, actually, but mostly about Five asking for help.
6. And an untitled post-season 3 fic about Five being human trafficked and saving some kids and generally having a bad time and then a less bad time when his family shows up.
Gonna tag @mangoshorthand​, @sharkneto, @clementineofmine, and @in-a-slanted-outhouse. Participation isn’t mandatory, only if you want to, and even if you weren’t tagged. 
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taiturner · 2 years
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Dedication bordering on inhuman. Ruthless leadership abilities. My favorite.
TV Appreciation Week 2022 Day 2: Favorite TV character of all time  LUTHER HARGREEVES  The Umbrella Academy
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silentsneezes · 1 year
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here’s a little klaus fic based on a request from @iknowthisisoddbuthereweare with allergic klaus and caretaking dave
Klaus finds himself wandering the academy for the second time this day. He drags his feet, allowing his fever driven thoughts to cloud his vision. Unsurprisingly, dragging his feet almost immediately results in him tripping.
Klaus falls (not so gracefully) and lands facedown on the old, dirty carpet in the living room of the Academy.
“Klaus? Are you okay?”
Klaus looks up hazily, eyes glazed over with fever, “Viktor! I’ve never been better.”
Viktor hesitates, “Right….” he takes a seat next to Klaus, examining his sickly sibling. Viktor sighs, a small frown creasing his lips, “Are you drunk? It’s only 1, Klaus.”
Klaus’ smile vanishes, replaced with overwhelming guilt (except due to his fever, everything feels slightly overwhelming), “I’m not drunk!”
Viktor’s frown deepens, “I’m not mad Klaus-,” Klaus interrupts him with a dramatic hitch and a poorly stifled, “heh-h’Nngxt!”
Klaus’ body jerks with the suppressed sneeze, his head ducks instinctively towards a clenched fist.
“Bless you,” Viktor mumbles, clearly under the impression that Klaus was sneezing because of wine (a reasonable assumption).
“Thanks-heh-oh geez,” Klaus paws at his nose, “h’nngXt! hrsXchT!”
“Bless,” Diego mumbles as he walks in, “Why’re you on the floor?”
“Oh, me? I’m just enjoying the view,” Klaus replies quietly, cringing internally at the burning sensation in his throat.
Diego redirects his question towards Viktor, “why’s he on the floor?”
“He’s drunk,” Viktor stands up, brushing the dust off his pants and walking towards the kitchen, “Klaus, have you eaten anything yet?”
“Mhm!” Klaus hums a response, sitting up and trying to gather his bearings. Admittedly, Klaus hadn’t had much to eat other than copious amounts of cold medicine and leftover frozen pizza from the night before.
“Okay. I’m heading to the store, so text me if you need anything,” Viktor offers Klaus a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Klaus considers asking for tissues, cough drops, and other cold remedies, but decides against it.
“I’m dandy,” Klaus chirps, punctuating his statement with a small sniffle. Diego rolls his eyes, taking a seat on the couch opposite Klaus.
Klaus absentmindedly rubs at his nose, trying to quell the itch blooming in the back of his sinuses, “snf… heh-,” his breath hitches softly.
“Allergies acting up?” Diego asks, “That’s what happens when you drink wine at 1 PM, Klaus.”
“I didn’t-ngxt! h’NngxhT! heh…. heHRscHT! drink anything,” Klaus finishes lamely.
“Bless you,” Diego snap’s begrudgingly; no matter how frustrated he is, he always blesses Klaus.
Klaus picks himself up from the floor, swaying as his head floods with feverish delirium, “Well -snf- I’ve got important business to attend to,” Klaus states as he walks towards the stairs.
Klaus ignores Diego’s sarcastic taunts as he walks slowly up the stairs. Admittedly, he does seem fairly inhibited: he’s particularly uncoordinated, his speech is slower than usual due to fever, and he can’t stop sneezing (which happens when he drinks wine).
As Klaus makes his way to his room, the burning sensation in his sinuses grows. His nostrils quiver delicately, breath hitching.
Klaus just barely makes it to his room before a myriad of sneezes overtakes him, “h’nrNSHCxxt! hn’NGxtew! heh-hrRSHChiw!”
“Bless you.”
Klaus nearly topples over as they whip around, “Christ on a cracker, Dave! You just gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry,” Dave offers his partner a warm smile, “You feeling okay?”
Klaus shakes their head, but stops when their fever muddled head protests against the movement. Dave frowns sympathetically and opens his arms, gesturing for Klaus to sit next to him on the bed.
Klaus moves to sit next to Dave, but pauses, holding up a point finger as their nose twitches, “h’nngXt! hrsXchT!! Whoo! Excuse me.”
“Bless you,” Dave pulls a travel pack of tissues out of his pocket and hands them to Klaus as the sick man takes a seat.
“Thanks, Davey,” Klaus tries (and fails) to mimic his usually chipper tone, but the fatigue in his voice is evident.
The couple sits in a comfortable stupor as Klaus tends to their drippy nose. Dave watches sympathetically and tosses Klaus’ used tissues into a garbage bin.
“So,” Dave prompts, “What’s wrong?”
Klaus’ fever muddled brain can only articulate, “I don’t feel good.”
Dave hums sympathetically and runs his fingers through Klaus’ hair, “Baby, you’re burning up,” he observes.
“I know, I’m crazy hot,” Klaus quips halfheartedly.
“Yes, and you have quite the fever,” Dave places his hand on Klaus’ forehead. Klaus bats Dave’s hand away gently as they duck into their elbow, “n’xchGt! heh… hiH-nGXnx!”
Dave hesitates to bless his partner, who appears to be fighting a particularly stubborn sneeze. After an especially dramatic hitch, Klaus’ chest deflates, “Shoot, I lost it.”
Dave rolls his eyes and pulls Klaus closer to him, so the younger man is practically sitting on his lap.
“Wai-heh- Dave-,” Klaus warns, “I’mgonnasn-hehHrTSXChew! hh’kTSCHiew!”
Klaus’ second sneeze ends with a high pitched “ew”, resulting in a small smile from Dave, “Bless you, bug.”
“Sorry!” Klaus moves to sit up, but Dave wraps his arms around the sick man's waist and holds him close, “You’re going to get sick,” Klaus whines.
“I don’t mind,” Dave assures, “Have you had any medicine yet?”
Klaus nods, eyes drifting shut.
“M’kay, you should get some sleep.”
Klaus shakes their head, “I promised Luther I would help him with something or other.”
Dave can’t help but roll his eyes, “I’m sure you can do “something or other” another time, preferably when you’re not sick.”
Klaus gasps dramatically, “David! How dare you! I’m not sick, I’m simply enduring a cold.”
“I’m pretty sure those terms are synonymous-,” Dave pauses as Klaus’ face contorts, eyebrows knitting together, mouth falling open, and nose twitching, “Oh Klaus,” Dave cooes.
“Fre-heh-t not! I’m f-hih?-fine!” Klaus haphazardly talks through his hitching breaths. Dave presses a tissue into Klaus’ hand, “hih-hHTSCHew!”
Klaus snaps forward with a wet, spraying sneeze. A damp mist lingers in the air, but it goes unnoticed by Klaus, “heh-h’nGNxXtch!”
“Bless you!”
Klaus shakes their head, mouth still agape and nostrils still flaring, “heh….”
Dave sits up slightly, propping Klaus up and waiting for his cold ridden partner to sneeze.
“Daaaave,” Klaus whines, pawing at his nose after a particularly dramatic hitch, “it wo-heh-won’t come.”
“May I?” Dave asks, receiving an eagar nod from Klaus. Dave gently touches Klaus’ sensitive, red nose and applies pressure, tracing his finger along the bridge of Klaus’ nose.
Immediately, Klaus’ hitching becomes more intense, “heh-hih- right the-heh-therehHRSCHchew! n’GXNGt! heh-hnNGxsCHEw!”
Klaus sighs with relief, wiping at his nose and sniffing against the mess on his upper lip.
“Bless you, bug.”
Klaus burrows into Dave’s chest with a soft sniffle. The couple stays there for many hours, napping, talking, and (in Klaus’ case) sneezing.
the end! sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors. i hope you enjoyed!
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we-stan-fiction · 1 year
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Y/N: Your idiot swedes-
Five: They're not my idiots, These- *points at siblings* - are my idiots. I am not responsible for any more idiots.
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netflix · 2 years
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Why are they hiding? Wrong answers only.
Exclusive for our Umbrella Academy and himbo fandoms.
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paperpocalypse · 2 years
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fish dad.
50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 8. Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.
Pairing: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Reader
Word Count: 3,161 words
Warnings: Swearing, one brief depiction of blood/death, Sparrow!Ben
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“Before you say no –”
“Hell no,” Ben hisses at you. “I’m not babysitting it.”
“Before you say no,” you repeat earnestly, legs dangling freely as your forearms stick to Ben’s windowsill, “just consider how this would benefit you. The public loves Fei’s birds. Animals are badass.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll throw a fucking two-inch fish at the enemy and Dad will promote me right back to Number One. Thanks.”
“His name is Ben, Jr., and I’ll have you know that he killed at least two other fish while he was with his previous owner.”
You hold the plastic bag containing the blood-red betta fish out towards Ben, who curls his lip in distaste. Still, you notice how his eyes linger on the slow, wave-like motion of Ben, Jr.’s fins before sending another glare at you.
“I have more important things to do than take care of a fish,” he says condescendingly.
You tilt your head.
“Like what?”
“Like fighting crime, dumbass!”
(Ben does not peel you away from his window for your feigned naivety, which is an improvement from last year.)
“Please, the Sparrows have nothing to do these days except walk around and look cool. My niece is staying over for two weeks, and she literally likes to sleep with the fishes.” You cut a thumb across your throat for emphasis. “Just look after him for two weeks, Ben. For me?”
He scoffs. “What makes you think I’d do anything for you?”
“Because I’d do anything for you.”
Ben’s mouth snaps shut. He makes a face as if he’d just chewed up a whole lemon, and you stare openly at his scrunched nose, Ben, Jr. dangling from your hand.
A gust of wind blows past the building. You shiver, knees scraping against the rough brick wall.
“Bullshit,” Ben finally manages.
“It’s not bullshit.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
He leans over his bed towards you, splaying his hands over the comforter. “Because if you’d really do anything for me,” he murmurs, voice a low, bitter drawl, “you’d join the Sparrows. Not unload your pet on me like a deadbeat parent.”
Your smile slackens just slightly. As it does, Ben rolls his eyes and pushes off the mattress.
“That’s not fair,” you mutter, breaking eye contact. “You know why I don’t do that anymore.”
“Your past is an explanation, not an excuse.”
Guilt-tripping me for being a child soldier is kind of a shit take, Number Two, you want to say, but you don’t.
Ben, Jr. flits back and forth in his little bag, appearing to sense your agitation. You take a deep breath in through your nose and fix the original Ben with an irritated look.
“Look, I came here to ask for a favor, not to have this conversation for the millionth time.” Setting Ben, Jr. on the windowsill, you reach back to unzip your backpack. So much for your good mood. “I guess I’ll just give him to Jenny instead.”
Ben narrows his eyes at you.
Right before you can store the fish away and start your slow descent, a tentacle reaches out and takes the bag from you.
You frown. Ben clicks his tongue and places the fish on his desk with more delicacy than you know he would ever admit, avoiding your quizzical look all the while.
“You owe me. Don’t go crying to me if Fei’s crows get to it,” he grouses.
“Keep your door closed,” you reply tersely. “You already do that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer. “Do I have to buy the stupid tank, too?”
“Everything he needs is in my car.”
With that, you heft yourself up and over the windowsill, hopping over the bed and landing solidly in his room. Ben stiffens when you nudge his shoulder with the back of your hand and head to the door.
“Where are you going?” he demands.
You look over your shoulder at him, still a bit miffed but ready to get a move-on.
“To get Ben, Jr.’s stuff. Come on and help me?”
Despite his grumbling and complaining, Ben trails after you down the hallway towards the stairs.
At first, he tells Grace to take care of the fish, but that order is quickly retracted when the robot malfunctions and starts dumping a shit ton of food into the tank. After that, it seems that taking care of “Ben, Jr.” is solely his responsibility. Fuck.
He takes great pains to ensure that nobody else knows about his situation, but this lasts for exactly two days. At least Sloane, the most tolerable Sparrow next to Chris, is the first to know.
“What’s with the fish?” she asks upon slipping into his room to borrow his blue Copic marker, staring at the five-gallon filtered monstrosity you had called an adequate temporary tank.
“Stupid present from a fan.”
His sister tilts her head. She approaches the tank, squatting down to trace the glass, and Ben resists the sudden urge to tell her to back off.
“Must be a pretty big fan. Look, it even has our colors.” She’s right. Though it’s mostly red, there are blue details at the bases and fringes of its fins, something that Ben had noticed the moment you shoved it into his life. “Did you name it?”
“Of course not. I don’t even want it.”
The quiet, piercing way in which Sloane regards him is unsettling. He meets her gaze head-on as she stands back up.
“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted a pet,” she says.
“No,” he replies without even thinking.
“Oh.”
There’s another excruciating moment of silence where she looks at him, and his short temper flares. He hates it when she acts like she knows something he doesn’t, like a mother waiting for her child to understand the bigger picture.
There is no bigger picture. He knows this – his ranking’s higher than hers for a reason, after all.
“What, Sloane?” he snaps.
She smiles, and his anger quickly turns to dread.
“I saw you carrying the tank up with [Y/n].” Oh, for fuck’s sake. He crosses his arms as she continues, her tone airy and wistful. “You should be nicer to your friends, Ben. We don’t have very many of them.”
“It’s not a gift,” Ben tells her sourly. “I’m stuck with it for two weeks while their fish-killing niece is staying over.”
“Well, it’s nice of you to look after it. You usually don’t do things for other people.”
He bristles. She says it like he’s getting soft.
“We’re exchanging favors. I’m not doing this to be nice.”
“Oh.”
No matter what he says to try to convince her, Sloane doesn’t seem to take him seriously. Nobody in this goddamn academy does.
“Just – take the marker and leave,” he ends up saying – to set a boundary, not to admit that she’s right in any way, because she has the wrong idea about all of this. “And close the door.”
Sloane nods. Casting one last glance at the tank, she takes her leave without another word, closing the door after her with a soft click.
Ben is alone once more. He glowers at your fish as it hovers near the surface of the water.
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
Ben, Jr. just flutters his fins.
At the end of the first week, you drop your niece off for a sleepover and then stop by the academy to check on the fish.
“Wow, he looks good,” you exclaim, admiring Ben, Jr.’s vibrant, healthy colors.
“Why do you sound surprised?” Ben retorts.
You raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you were pretty reluctant to take him in.”
“I wouldn’t kill your fish on purpose.”
“Have your siblings met him yet?”
He sends you a look of poorly masked bemusement. “Sloane saw him.”
(You know that Ben doesn’t really bother with personal matters when it comes to his siblings. Some of the Sparrows (read: Jayme and Alphonso) would probably try something stupid for shits and giggles, anyway, and you would rather not let that happen.)
(But still, you entertain the idea of the others learning that Ben can, in fact, take care of something other than himself.)
“Oh, okay. You know, she’s always seemed like the type to get a pet. A little, fluffy white dog, or something like that.”
Ben shrugs disinterestedly.
Grabbing the bottle of fish food, you sprinkle a little bit into the tank.
“You said he killed at least two other fish.”
Looking back at him, you sigh. “Yeah, his previous owner dropped other male bettas into the bowl and made them fight,” you answer, watching Ben, Jr. slurp up the flakes with a frown. “Asshole got bored after a while, though, and I managed to buy this little guy. Good thing, right?”
“What kind of loser watches fish fights?”
“Losers who like how easy it is to cause them,” you say. “Male bettas are really territorial, so it’s on the owner to keep them in the right environment. Otherwise, they’ll end up hurting other fish and getting hurt themselves.” You roll your neck to the side, feeling the vertebrae crack. “Mind if I sit on your bed?”
“What do you think?”
“No?”
“Don’t put your shoes on the sheets. They were just cleaned.”
“Sure thing,” you respond, taking your shoes off and making yourself at home near the foot of his bed. “So, how was your week? Kick any ass?”
“Flew to Philly and fucked up some kidnappers. It didn’t even take ten minutes.”
“Whoa. Cool. I looked at spreadsheets and confronted Janelle about eating my lunch in the break room.”
Ben raises an eyebrow at you, blatantly unimpressed. “Doesn’t having such a boring-ass life bother you?” he asks.
You consider, drawing your legs up to cross them. Does it bother you? A nine-to-five office job, mediocre workplace drama, a normal sister with a normal daughter that visit your normal apartment twice a year. Bills. Overpriced tea. Decently ironed shirts in different colors. An old cat that follows you to the bathroom when you wake up in the middle of the night, skin sticky with sweat and head pounding with dreams of blood on your teeth and your old teammate with his skull cracked open like an egg.
“Civilian life isn’t boring,” you conclude. “Especially if you can scale buildings.”
“Whatever you say,” Ben drawls, sitting down in his desk chair, elbows on the armrests and legs spread as if he’s on a throne.
“Come on. Every superpowered kid thinks about what they’d do if they were normal.”
You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches.
“We’re not children anymore,” he informs you. “My power is a gift. I’ll always be a Sparrow. It’s who we’re meant to be.”
Wetting your lips, you scratch the back of your neck. Every time the two of you are together, the conversation inevitably circles back to the academy. It’s his life. It’s all he’s ever known and all he has, all the bells and whistles attached. Sometimes, you wonder if you would’ve had the same sentiments if your team was – better. Stronger.
In a fucked-up kind of way, you’re glad that it wasn’t.
Three sharp knocks interrupt your train of thought.
“What?” Ben sounds a little more annoyed than usual.
The doorknob turns, and you’re met with Fei’s carefully neutral expression, a single finger still raised from pushing the door open. A crow is perched on her shoulder.
“I’d appreciate not speaking through the door. It’s time for dinner,” she reports, inclining her head towards you. “You’re welcome to join if you want.”
You glance at Ben. He meets your gaze, then rolls his eyes.
“I don’t care if you stay or not.”
Geez, what a bastard. You kick at his ankle. “I wasn’t looking for your permission,” you chastise. You turn back to Fei. “I’d love to join your dinner meeting, as long as I get to sit next to Benjamin over here.”
“Don’t call me that.”
The corner of Fei’s mouth twitches. “All right, then,” she says, turning. “Hurry up and get Chris. I’m not going to wait until my food gets cold.”
As she leaves, you stand up along with Ben. “Her crow didn’t even look at Ben, Jr.,” you note.
“Her crows don’t do anything she doesn’t want them to do,” Ben says, putting a hand on your back and pushing you out of his room. “Now hurry up.”
You answer after two rings. Or three. Or five? He can’t count for shit right now.
“H … Hello?”
“[Y/n],” Ben mumbles, relieved. He fumbles with the phone, managing to pin it between his shoulder and ear before it slips and clatters to the floor. “Shit. I dropped you … pfft …”
He hears you snort quietly. “Ben, are you drunk dialing me at two in the morning?”
“Nooo. It’s three in the morning, dumbass. Three-oh-two.” Something in his throat catches, and he hiccups loudly, then giggles. “Thanks for pickin’ up. I hate leaving messages.”
“Well, I just woke up, so I guess you’re lucky, huh?”
“Why’re you whispering?”
“Because my niece is sleeping –”
“I lost your fish.”
“… What?”
“I lost your fish,” Ben repeats, and unexpectedly, sorrow wells up inside of him. His eyes sting, and he hangs his head, chin dipping down against his chest. “I can’t find him.”
“Did you look inside his little cave?”
“No, ’cause he left me. He left because he hates me soooo much.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Ben.”
“Yes, he does,” Ben insists. “’Cause I hate him. All he does is swim around and hide, and I hafta fuckin’ feed him and clean his stupid tank. And he can’t even be with other fish because he fights and kills them, and he flares at me when I put my face too close. I hate Ben. So now he’s … he’s gone.”
There. He finishes his explanation in one breath, then listens expectantly for your reply so he can argue some more. When you take too long to answer, Ben almost cries.
“Why’d you take such good care of him, then?” you eventually ask.
“Because you like him,” Ben slurs. What kind of question was that? Stupid.
“You could’ve just told me if he was too much. There are other people who can take care of him.”
“I’m good enough to take care of your fish. You asked me first. Don’t ask anybody else.”
“I didn’t ask anybody else, Ben. I knew you’d do a good job.”
“But I lost him.”
“Again, did you check his cave?”
“No.”
“Check his cave, dingdong.”
He pointedly looks away from the tank. “No. He needs to stay lost. He’s better that way.”
“Ben –” You sound exasperated, but then you laugh. It bumbles through the haze in his brain and he smushes his ear against the receiver to hear it better. “Fine. Do you know why I like Ben, Jr.?”
“Hell if I know,” Ben mutters.
“Because he reminds me of you,” you reply. “He deserves to be treated well. Thanks for doing that for me, Ben.”
This is frustrating. You’re frustrating. “I don’t get you,” he complains, eyes closing. “He’s just a fish.”
“That’s all he needs to be for me to like him. Look, check the cave or not, but he’s probably still there. Enjoy your hangover tomorrow.”
“You’re so fuckin’ mean,” he grumbles into the receiver.
You laugh again.
“Pot calling the kettle black. Go to sleep.”
“You go to sleep.”
You hang up. Ben drops the phone and stumbles to his feet, then stumbles toward the tank and squints into the dark maw of the small cave in the corner.
Sure enough, he spots Ben, Jr. snoozing inside.
“Go to sleep,” he also tells him.
Less miserable now, Ben is somehow able to remove his socks and unbutton his shirt before flopping limply onto his bed and drifting off himself.
At the end of the second week, you crawl through his window and announce that you have a confession to make.
Ben’s smile drips with arrogance. “Sorry, but I don’t date, sweetheart,” he says.
“I’ll make sure to cry in my bedroom later,” you reply wryly. “Not that kind of confession. It’s about Ben, Jr.”
“What about him?”
“Well …”
You linger on the word, and Ben crosses his arms impatiently, shooting a glance at the fish that had taken over his room for the past fourteen days. Ben, Jr. looks perfectly fine to him. He had fed him, kept the tank clean, even gotten a stupid moss ball after Sloane mentioned them in passing. For all intents and purposes, he’d spoiled the shit out of your fish. Surely him just being alive was good enough for you.
“‘Well’ what?”
“He wasn’t for you to just babysit,” you say, hands raised like he’ll unleash his tentacles on you. “He’s a gift. For you. I figured a trial run would’ve been better than just dropping him off, no takebacks. And my niece really does kill fish, so two birds with one stone, I guess.” You pat the top of the tank with an almost shy grin. “If you still don’t want him, I can take him today.”
He’s a gift.
Ben blinks. He clears his throat.
“It’d be a pain in the ass to move the tank out,” he mutters. When he sees your eyes light up, he glares up at the ceiling.
You hum lowly. Rubbing your chin, you start to walk towards him.
“So do you want the fish or do you want me to –”
“I want the damn fish,” he snaps. His cheeks flush as you get closer, and he drags his hand down his face in an attempt to scrub the heat away.
Snickering, you stop. “Okay, then. That’s all I wanted to know.”
He grunts.
His brow furrows as you spin on your heel and wave at Ben, Jr. before making your way to the window. You push the window up, and a balmy summer draft blows in.
“What are you doing?”
You put your foot on the sill and stick your head out. “Leaving?”
When Ben seizes your arm, your skin is already rough, but he maintains his grip despite the discomfort. “It’s almost six-thirty.”
“Yeah, your family dinner meeting. Don’t be late.”
“Stay for it.”
“Oh?” Your lips curl upwards. “You want me to stay for dinner again?”
Scowling, Ben lets go. Whatever sensation that’s prickling his chest seems to expand twofold when you duck back into his room.
“No. Forget it.”
“Nope. I’d never turn down a free meal,” you state. “Might as well beat Fei to it, huh?”
You leave the window open, leading him to the door. He doesn’t realize that he’s caught your wrist again until you’re dragging him down the stairs, babbling on about how Ben, Jr. might be okay with other fish if he gets a bigger tank.
Ben doesn’t care. Not at all.
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eyes-of-mischief · 7 months
Text
weekly fic recs | 43
prompt: resurrection
fandoms: bnha, dc, hq, mdzs, tgcf, tua, tw, yoi
bnha
help me leave behind some (reasons to be missed) by intheeveningsunrise
(mature)
The darkness had learnt not to swallow him whole, had learnt to dance with him as he felt the warmth enter his veins, and learnt to give him back.
Or, five times Izuku Midoriya kills himself, and one time he... well.
What the Fire Withheld: the Renaissance of Midoriya Izuku by orkestrations
(mature)
Toga, Twice, and Mr. Compress sneak into a morgue. This is the setup to the cosmic joke that is Izuku's life. Or, his re-life? His undeath? What's the proper term for his condition?
Maybe it's actually a bit earlier than that, when he bleeds out beneath Sir Nighteye's hands while Overhaul escapes with Eri.
-
or, the jason toddification of midoriya izuku
RE: Izuku by thecozydragon
(graphic depictions of violence)
Wheezing through the pain, staring down at the body of an opponent Izuku should reasonably never have been able to take alone at his current level, Izuku realizes he just discovered a latent quirk.
“Fuck.” Izuku hisses. “That’s the worst fucking quirk I’ve ever heard of.”
It only activates on death. You have to die first.
OR... Midoriya Izuku's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day.
dc
Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)
(graphic depictions of violence)
Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.
When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.
But most of all, Tim is alone.
(If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)
The Next Life by spqr
“I don’t need an exorcism,” Tim says.
“I beg to bloody differ,” Constantine mutters.
Nobly, Tim elects to ignore him. “I want you to teach me.”
“Teach you what? Manners?”
“I already know manners,” Tim says, then barrels on as Constantine snorts in disagreement, “what I need to learn is necromancy.”
Never What You Were Before by Romiress
(mature)
Bruce Wayne is dead, and Gotham has moved on. Slade, for the most part, tries to stay out of it. He has enough work to do without having to take jobs near the Bats.
Until Red Hood calls him in to help, refusing to explain what he's found.
Maybe Wayne isn't as dead as he seems.
hq
one day i'll die by doxian
(major character death)
"What's happened to me?" Bokuto asks, confused.
Akaashi sits with his face in his hands for a long time. Then he straightens up and asks Bokuto: "Would you like to see where you were buried?"
Moon in Water, Flowers in a Mirror by PlumTea
(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)
When Oikawa turns up in the corner of his garden, crouched behind the bushes, Iwaizumi couldn't be happier. He'd lost Oikawa months earlier, but the long days of mourning are gone. Now he's back. Still, there's something odd about Oikawa, something that just seems wrong.
mdzs
in the land of gods and monsters by rikke
(mature) (major character death)
Lan Wangji was never supposed to die. Thirteen years later, the Yiling Patriarch rules the world with his corpse bodyguard.
Somewhere Sits an Empty Throne by Siamesa
(explicit) (major character death)
There is a dead man in the mountains.
A corpse in mourning robes, a ghost with bleeding fingers.  A power beyond measure, with too-pale eyes and red blood dripping down his throat. - In which Wei Wuxian finds himself brought back to life as a very confused god, stumbles into a revenge plot, and wants to know what's up with all these ghostly rabbits. - TGCF fusion, god!WWX/calamity!LWJ
tgcf
carousel: an endless cycle by potatopersonal
(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)
Frustration builds in his chest, an angry sob leaking from his mouth. It hurts, agitates his destroyed torso, but does it really matter?
His wishes don’t matter. His actions only hurt others, only cause suffering and misery. Even with four centuries spent atoning, he hasn’t learned.
(Xie Lian can't die. This is something he never truly learns.)
lion's tooth by curiositykilled
(mature) (graphic depictions of violence, major character death)
The second time he dies, it’s almost funny. He laughs—or well, he tries to. It catches on his broken ribs, comes out a rasping gasp instead. It’s funny. Really. The Flower Crowned Martial God, dying of a broken neck amidst the wildflowers.
tua
And When I Look In My Window, So Many Different People To Be by CowgayKermit
If you were to go looking for Klaus, you wouldn't look to the alleys where drugs are bought, or to a rave where you could lose yourself in dance, no. No, you would look to his garden full of protective herbs, to his bedroom at three in the morning where he tends to make magic amulets. Klaus grew into his power, both as a witch, and as the Séance.
The End Times Are Blue by Jumblejay
Klaus’ skin is cold as death, just like the rest of his siblings had been. Five lets his hand linger for a moment, steeling himself, preparing to grab on tight and haul the corpse to its grave.
What he’s not expecting is for Klaus to suddenly take in a deep, shuddering gasp, cough harshly, and flail around until he slips off the mound of rubble he’d been lying on with an abrasive clatter.
Five snatches his hand back with a shriek and stares wide-eyed as Klaus props himself up on his hands, blinks hard, and glances around at his surroundings until his eyes catch on Five.
“Oh, shit,” Klaus says, looking almost as shocked as Five feels. “Five?”
Five promptly bursts into tears.
OR
Thirteen year old Five time travels to the future and finds himself trapped in the apocalypse, surrounded by the dead bodies of his siblings. Klaus, however, happens to be immortal. They figure it out from there.
tw
i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross
Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.
yoi
Triptych by feelslikefire
(explicit)
Victor is a human; Yuuri is a fae. Relationships between the two are always doomed to end in disaster, but true love is stronger than any magic — even death.
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Dating Diego Hargreeves would include...
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When he realises that he has feelings for you, he pushes you away. He believes that forming a connection, that being in a relationship would make him weak and the words of his late father still haunt him.
"There is no room for weakness, Number Two."
He tries so hard to ignore his feelings for you but in the end, he can't. He gives into you and it's the best decision he's ever made.
He lets himself feel for the first time in years and he doesn't feel weak or vulnerable, he feels good.
He's soft. You'd never think it by looking at him but he's soft. He's nervous around you, heart racing and stammer making a slightly appearance. You calm his nerves by holding his hand and being patient.
He's not used to being in a relationship but the two of you ease into it, taking things slow and soon, soon he's completely comfortable.
He's protective, god he's so damn protective of you. He would do anything to keep you safe.
You're the one he comes home to, the one who patches up his wounds from late night criminal catching.
Having a normal life with you is still something that's strange to him but he's working on growing accustomed to it.
All he wants out of life is to make you happy. He'll surprise you with flowers, little dinner dates on the balcony; he'll surprise you at work with coffee and pastries - anything to make you smile.
He knows that he loves you pretty early on in the relationship but he doesn't tell you, not yet. He doesn't know how to tell you honestly.
Diego's love language is touch. He's not used to being touched so gently with so much love and care. He loves when you touch him; a graze to his cheek, running your fingers over his abs... my god, it drives him crazy.
When he introduces you to his family, he's worried that they'll scare you off but you kind of like the madness, they're funny and they all accept you and love you quickly.
You're in bed together, wrapped around each other, and then you hear it. A small, tiny 'I love you'. You open your eyes and he looks terrified, "I-I-". You say it back, kissing him softly silencing all of his worries.
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