#and it was some sort of reflex to keep himself alive

[billford-dump]

Bill and Ford getting into a fight, first verbal, then physical, and then it escalates and suddenly Ford isn't fighting because he's angry, he's fighting for his life because it's kill or be killed and he's so far from home and earth and his brother and everything familiar-

Bill is... Well, no real human could ever come back from something like that. But Bill, impossible as always, sits up from the pool of blood and pushes the pieces back into place and grimaces as they rearrange themselves to where they belong, and he says he's sorry.

Ford isn't a naturally violent person. He doesn't like to fight, or hurt people, but thirty years have brought some feral part of him dangerously close to the surface, ready to be unleashed at a moments notice. Bill didn't mean to push that far, thought he could predict Ford's limits better, but he was wrong. He admits it, and apologizes, even as his body knits itself together with the power he can barely use anymore and blood stains the floor and his clothes and fills the air with a metallic smell.

Ford hasn't lost control like that in years, since even before he came back. He's gotten close, gotten animalistic, but never completely lost it like that. He's scared, but Bill isn’t upset, Bill says I'm sorry and I love you and it's... not fine, but a little bit more okay than before.

Bill isn't quite as okay as he says he is, physically or emotionally, but at that moment Ford is terrified of himself and he needs Bill to be okay. And Bill, for all his rage and bitterness, still cares for this pathetic, dangerous old man. He can pretend, at least for a little while.

#gore #blood #ptsd #billford #gravity falls #bill cipher #ford pines #human bill cipher #ford being traumatized #not particularly detailed gore but better safe than sorry #bill SEVERELY miscalculated #yeah he wants to annoy ford and poke at him and be a thorn in his side til death do them part #(thats what you get for killing me sixer you get an annoying little bitch by your side for the rest of your life) #but at this point their arguments are mostly a game for bill and it stops being fun when ford is scared instead of angry #priority 1 is calm ford down priority 2 is find a quiet place to freak out for a while about almost dying again #like that genuinely terrified him #hes pretty sure the only reason he was able to use enough power to heal himself is because his body died #and it was some sort of reflex to keep himself alive

[trensu]

Some more of stasis in darkness. you have no idea how many times i've written this scene. i discarded three or four different versions of it before i came up with this one. i feel like this version worked best for the characters. or at least i hope they feel in character.

It was the ninth night.

Steve took his usual spot before the shrine. He greeted his god as he had before but decided tonight was going to be a quiet night. He didn’t have much to say so he’d simply let his faith burn bright in his silent vigil.

Hours passed, and again the strange man didn’t show up as he had been the nights prior. This time, Steve didn’t bother putting it off. He decided to do a perimeter check. As he stood, however, a cacophony of squeaks and beating wings filled the air.

A massive colony of bats burst into the clearing. They moved shockingly fast as they neared Steve and the shrine. Steve ducked his head under his arms but let the bats come. He ignored the little Robin in his head yelling about rabies. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his god’s favored creatures. 

There were so many of them, more than Steve had ever seen in his life. They flew round and round dropping altitude until they coalesced at the foot of the shrine. The din stopped as abruptly as it had started. When Steve could no longer hear a single squeak or feel wings zipping overhead, he lowered his arms. Cautiously, he lifted his head, eyes drawn immediately to the shrine to check for any damage. 

Not a single bat remained. Instead, the strange man sat, cross legged, at the statue’s feet. He wore a dark cloak comprised of deep navies, bruising purples, and an inky black. Each color slowly, gracefully shifted and melted one into another, again and again before Steve’s eyes. Flecks of light littered it in familiar formations. The clasp that secured it around the man was a bright silvery white. It was shaped exactly the same as the waning moon above. 

“Ta-da!” the man said, fluttering his hands in a showman’s gesture.

Steve took in the man's appearance. The ratty travel clothes, the cloak of constellations and its clasp…Steve leapt back in shock. Everything suddenly clicked into place very quickly to paint a very unflattering picture of himself. He whirled around. He couldn't face the shrine. 

"Shit," Steve's voice was loud with a stunned sort of panic as he remembered the events of the past week. He paced anxiously. "Shit, shit. It was y–the whole time, you were–FUCK. How did I miss–and even if you weren't you, you were still a traveler in the night and I treated you like–I'm a fucking idiot. I'm the stupidest man alive, how–"

"Probably from getting dropped on the head so much, huh?" the man asked with that same annoyingly self-satisfied voice he'd been using every night. The annoying stranger with his annoying questions and his stupid smug tone.

Mindlessly, Steve turned on his heel to glare at the man. He jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, frustration flaring.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, man," Steve replied reflexively. "I am having a crisis!"

A split second later, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. This wasn't just a stranger talking. He backpedaled hard.

"Oh, ohhhh no, I didn't mean that, Lord, I-I wasn't thinking."

The man exploded into raucous laughter. It shook his whole body until he doubled over from the strength of it. He continued to laugh when he toppled off the side of his perch and landed with a thunk on the ground. The man sat up, wheezing and wiping at his face, mirth clearly keeping him in a choke-hold. 

"Oh, far be it for me to interrupt your crisis," the Lord of Night forced out amidst the laughter. He flapped a hand at him. "Please, continue."

The god attempted to regain composure but all that did was turn his full bellied guffaws into snorting giggles. Steve waited, his anxiety fading in the face of the god’s genuine good humor. It took another couple of minutes before the god calmed enough to pop back to his feet and climb back onto the plinth. The man made himself comfortable at the foot of his own statue as he had before.

"So how goes the crisis?" he asked mischievously.

"On hold," Steve said evenly, fighting back the start of a smile. The man said nothing but still radiated amusement. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you really the Lord of Night?"

"The one and only!"

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yep!”

“So why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I talked to you every night! I don’t get it.” Steve paused as a thought occurred to him. “Was this a test?”

“Uh…yes? Yes.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. The god shifted in his seated position. It reminded Steve of the time Dustin shattered a jar of his most expensive hair product and tried to hide it. Dustin had squirmed guiltily under Steve’s expectant gaze until he confessed to his dastardly crime. Apparently, the method worked on gods as well.

“Okay, it started more as an attempt to get you to leave me alone,” the Lord of Night admitted. 

“Oh.” It came out blankly, which Steve was grateful for, because he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. “You don’t want me.”

Steve wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was a classic Steve problem. He tamped down the old familiar sting of rejection. Steve knew going in that this had been a possibility. It was a god’s right to reject an offering.

“I never wanted any holy warriors,” the Lord of Night corrected. “Hence the attempt to make you leave.” 

Steve supposed that lessened the blow a little. It was an impersonal rejection. That was better, right? 

"If you didn't want me as your holy warrior you could've just said," Steve said ruefully.

“You seemed pretty determined to come back, though.”

“Only because I thought you’d want to, like, use me for something. If you’d asked me to, I would’ve stopped bothering you. I could’ve gotten someone else who could worship you better,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice light and unaffected.

"Yeah, I really don’t think you could have,” the Lord of Night said in a strained tone. 

“No, I mean it,” Steve insisted. “I told you, Robin and Dustin wanted to come along. They would make sure you’re not alone again. You would like them. They pick up on stuff faster than me. They’d be good worshipers.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your worship was, uh, it was…no, nevermind, forget that. The thing is, the more you came back the more I…” 

The Lord of Night trailed off. He tugged his dark starry cloak around him tighter. When he spoke again, he seemed to have switched tracks entirely. 

"Look, I don't know exactly how the holy warrior thing works, but you guys do quests for your gods, right?"

"Well, yeah, that's the whole point. We're your boots on the ground. We do acts in your service to spread your faith. Like priests but less boring." 

The god snorted which made Steve grin.

"Priests are so boring," the Lord of Night agreed. 

Things went quiet again. The cloak of constellations made it hard to see his god, but Steve got the impression that the Lord of Night was fidgeting. Steve remembered the conversation from a few nights before, about nervousness and not knowing what to do. Steve fell back on his social graces, his good old Harrington charm, and carefully picked something that would encourage the god to speak.

"I can't believe I didn’t see it,” Steve said, with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “Like, I know I'm not the smartest guy around but I didn't think I was that slow."

"Don't worry about it,” the god replied instantly, breaking out of his internal reverie. “That's not on you. I didn't want you to notice, so you didn't."

"Oh."

"Yep. And, it's not like I have a face to remember, so, y'know. You're good."

"I guess that does make me feel bet–wait. What do you mean you don’t have a face?” Steve squinted at the Lord of Night.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I lost my name,” the Lord of Night said with a hint of irony. “No name, no face.”

“But I saw it,” Steve insisted.

“Did you?” the Lord of Night asked, amused. He slid off the plinth and walked up to Steve until he was only three feet away. The god lowered his hood without any flourish. “What do I look like?”

Steve squinted at him studiously. The god was pale as moonlight and had hair as dark as the night itself; as for the rest of him…it was the strangest thing. Steve knew there was a pair of eyes under a brow. There was a nose above a mouth. He knew the right features were in the right places. However, he couldn’t tell if the eyes were dark or pale. He couldn’t say whether the nose was large or small. The mouth could be thin or it could be full. 

“I don’t know,” Steve relented. The Lord of Night nodded.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is…is that the quest? To find your name?” Steve asked, dread pooling in his belly. That quest would involve a lot of reading and…he didn’t even know. Language things? General research, for sure. None of which Steve was particularly good at.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” the Lord of Night smirked. He didn't give Steve a chance to apologize. “But yeah, there’s something important that needs to be done. I’m not strong enough to do it myself and I’m running out of time to do it.”

“I can do it,” Steve responded. “I’ll do it for you, my Lord.”

“You don’t even know what the quest is,” the god said wistfully.

“But I know you wouldn’t ask me to do anything cruel or unfair.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the Lord of Night muttered under his breath. Steve didn’t think he was supposed to hear that so he kept quiet. In a louder voice, the god resumed. “Okay, are you sure you wanna do this? Be a holy warrior? Because you could be literally anything else. You told me you liked cooking during one of your prayer sessions. You could open up a restaurant! Restaurant owners don’t usually die in the line of duty or whatever.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This is what Steve trained for, what he was good at, and he wanted to put those skills to use.

“You said you needed help to do something important. I want to be the one that helps you. I want to be your warrior. I can do it, I know I can. I won’t let you down.” Steve bit his lip uncertainly as a thought struck him. "If you don't think I'm worthy–"

“It’s not about worthiness!" The god cut in. "Do you know what it would mean to be my holy warrior? The weight of the night sky, with all the stars and the moon, will be on your shoulders for as long as you walk the land. I don’t know much about holy warriors but I remember this: there’s no take-backs. You can’t just quit and go off to become something else later.”

“Yes, I know. We covered this in lectures at school. It wasn’t all swordplay," Steve said impatiently. "I did think about it once I finished training and I decided if I could find a god to pledge myself to, I didn't want to be anything else. Then I found you."

“...Okay. If you're sure, then okay,” the Lord of Night said decisively. “So what do I have to do? How do I make you mine?”

“Um, I think it’s different from god to god?” Steve stuttered, heart thumping at the god’s words. “But I guess we can do our own thing? I’m pretty sure it’s the intent that matters most.”

"I can work with that." The Lord of Night gestured downward. "Kneel, kneel. I have an idea of what to say.

"Should I close my eyes or something?" Steve asked once he’d gotten to his knees.

"Nah, this is good," Lord Night said. 

The god squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Then, something miraculous happened. The Lord of Night spoke his name aloud.

“Steve Harrington.”

It was the first time his god ever said his name; it was stunning in a way Steve couldn’t begin to comprehend. A bolt of lightning down his spine. A roaring forge in his chest. A whirlwind in his lungs. It felt like all of that simultaneously, yet nothing like that at all. How could pitiful human speech hope to encompass the intensity of a god’s undivided attention; his god’s specific acknowledgement of a primitive life such as his? 

Tears sprang unbidden in Steve’s eyes. He became aware how lowly and frail his own body was, and how utterly insignificant his existence was in the vastness of the stars in the sky. He curled forward, hiding his face and making himself as small as he could. He could not bear his god seeing his mortal failings and imperfections. It would invite an exquisite, holy agony Steve surely wouldn’t survive. 

“Oh,” the Lord of Night breathed. “I forgot how that could feel to a human. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“No,” the word tore out of Steve’s throat without any conscious thought. “No, please. Please, my Lord.”

Steve didn’t even know what he was begging for because the singular attention of a god was agony but the thought of his god leaving him filled him with terror. He shattered, left with no purchase save his god’s words. Then there were arms around him, pulling him close, and enveloping him in constellations. Steve’s vision blurred. Great, heaving sobs overcame him as though ripped from his very soul. The Lord of Night murmured comfortingly.

“Alright, there we go,” he said softly. “I’m here, Steve. I see you in the night, every night. The stars shine for you, Steve. The moon turns its face for you. I’m with you, Steve.”

The words crashed into him with the unrelenting force of ocean waves. They swept his footing from underneath him and sent him spinning endlessly, endlessly. They lifted him upwards and sent him plummeting down until he was deep below the surface where the currents finally slowed. Surrounded by eternally burning stars, he was left weightless and suspended in an unearthly calm. The words rang in his skull with the surety and strength only a celestial being could claim.

Somewhere between an eternity and no time at all, Steve came back to himself feeling overexerted, though he hadn’t moved from where he knelt. Steve’s heart and soul had been scraped out of his chest, put between a pestle and mortar before getting unceremoniously dumped back in his weak flesh, but in a weirdly good way. His sobs subsided. His breathing came in and out slowly.

Eventually the cloak of constellations released him as well. He blinked his eyes open gradually to see his god kneeling before him at arm's length, palms resting on Steve's shoulders. Steve felt a stab of shame at having brought his god down low to a mortal's level. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve croaked. “Do you still–? Can I still be–?”

“No, yeah,” the Lord of Night said straight away. “That was on me. Not your fault at all. I’m out of practice interacting with mortals."

The god’s words lost the gravitas from before in a way that would've been jarring if it weren't such a relief. He finally broke his hold on Steve. He got to his feet, somewhat gracelessly. 

"Let’s try that again?” the Lord of Night asked.

Steve cleared his throat. He straightened up where he knelt and kept himself still. He nodded to show he was ready.

“Steve Harrington,” the god said. This time hearing his name on his god’s lips was exhilarating but at a level a human could bear. “Do you swear to spread my values in the minds and hearts of mortals, through action and word?”

“I swear.”

“Then will you, Steve Harrington, do me the honor of being my sword and shield? Will you carry my crest through all your agonies and all your joys?”

“Yes.”

For a breathless moment, their words hung in the air, resonating through the night with finality. The Lord of Night reached out and gently traced something on Steve's forehead. Steve assumed it was his god's sigil, though neither Robin or Dustin could find any images of it so he couldn't be sure. It felt like an incomplete circle with a squiggle running through it. The god stepped back to observe him when he was done.

The stillness that followed, ironically, rattled Steve’s bones with relief and joy that it was done. His god had accepted him. Then the Lord of Night shuffled his feet in an awkward, shy manner.

“Cool,” said the Lord of Night.

The heaviness and tension brought down by the gravity of their oath ruptured with that single world, and Steve could do nothing but dissolve in helpless, giddy giggles.

#trensu tells stories #stasis in darkness #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #you know what #i'm actually pretty proud of how this scene worked out #there were parts of the other versions that i really really liked but they ultimately didn't fit the tone of the story #but i'm glad i ended up with this version #and that this scene is done #because the next scene is one i've been churning in my brain for ages but i couldn't start it without establishing how this one would go

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

Could I please request Alastor seeing his QP partner attacking/distracting Adam during the finale so that he could get away, and maybe some angst of Alastor knowing he can't go and help them in his near death condition, and not knowing if they're dead or alive. Spoiler they're fine you don't become close with the Radio Demon without being some sort of badass.

Sorry if this is too specific, I hope you're having a good day.

I sort of combined this one with @meefy's request (this one). It doesn't totally match the asks, so I apologize. I threw this together between classes a bit hastily, so sorry if the pacing or writing seems off.

Yeah, Reader is a little OP. Oh well.

May or may not write a continuation where Al takes care of Reader's injuries...

TW: Canon-typical violence

Let Me Help You

Alastor x Reader (QP)

There were suddenly angels fucking everywhere. Gold ichor mixed with deep red in pools on the ground. Alastor’s shield had shattered. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, and the shield was gone. 

You tried to look for Alastor on the roof, anything to show he was alright. A flash of green followed by the distinct sight of Alastor’s tentacles helped soothe your worrying, turning back to the fight at hand. He’d be okay. He was one of the most powerful demons in Hell, he had to be okay. 

Regardless, you started to fight your way to the roof, cutting angels down left and right. Your prowess in battle had started to show through, dodging expertly before retaliating effortlessly. But there were so many of them. 

The numbers became overwhelming. Angel after angel started flanking you at every angle. You were trying to keep your eye on Alastor, but you kept nearly tripping over corpses instead. An angelic spear grazed your cheek, causing you to lash out, knocking back the growing crowd before tearing them apart one by one.

A terrible sinking feeling developed in your stomach, causing your focus to go straight up. With a flash, you teleported yourself to the roof. Alastor was half-transformed, a sinister grin filling his face while his signature tentacles framed his figure.

Adam, the first man himself, was in the air, brandishing a weapon resembling a guitar.

“--Cuz radio is fucking dead!” Adam shouted, as a bright flash of light caused you to shield your eyes. 

The moment the light subsided, your eyes widened in shock. 

“What just happened?” Alastor looked around frantically, locking eyes with you before seeing his cane in his hands, snapped in half. “Fuck.”

Neither of you saw Adam fly back down, swinging his weapon down. Alastor fell back into the ground, blood dripping from a huge gaping wound in his chest.

“Alastor!” You cried, running over to stand in front of him. Staring Adam down, your face pulled into a snarl. “You motherfucker!” Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you lunged at the angel.

 

Using your lightning-fast reflexes to your advantage, you managed to dodge any attack Adam sent your way. You narrowly missed getting obliterated multiple times, but what matters is that Adam’s focus is on you. Stealing a quick glance back at where Alastor was leaning against the wall, the huge gash in his chest slowly soaking his shirt with blood, you saw him melt into the shadows while glaring heavily at Adam with his ever-present smile. 

“Oh no,” Adam mocked. “Did I just kill your boyfriend?”

“Fuck you.” You focused all your anger, all your worry, into misdirecting Adam. At this point, you were just trying to keep him busy. Luckily, you’d learned some things during your time in Hell, thanks to Alastor. Keeping Adam running back and forth wasn’t that difficult, or at least you tried to keep telling yourself that. Maybe if you tired him out, or let the others focus on the horde of angels, it would help?

Where did Alastor even go? How were you supposed to find him when he just disappeared in thin air? Was he going to be okay? What would happen if he died? Would you do if he died?

Somehow, even though you were distracted, you kept dodging Adam’s attacks. The fatigue was growing on you, though. Adam was definitely not like the other angels. Any time you tried to attack him, he dodged or countered before you could react properly. His attacks were too strong for you to take head-on, which was why you were stuck dodging everything. 

“Now this is just fucking boring,” Adam groaned. With a movement of his fingers, you found yourself on the ground with a flash of light. A burning sensation ripped a pained cry from your chest as you doubled over, coughing up blood. 

Adam kicked your side for good measure, sending you careening off the building. “Fucking pussy.” 

You mustered a portal before you hit the ground, softening your fall as you rolled into your bedroom. It still hurt, pain causing your body to spasm. Dangerous-looking burns decorated the skin on the upper half of your body. While your vision faded in and out of focus, you tried to use some of your power to heal yourself as best you could. 

The pain eased just enough that you could focus on the matter at hand: finding Alastor. At this point, you couldn’t give a shit whether angels killed everyone in Hell or not. You needed to find your partner. You needed to find Alastor. 

Hands shaking, you mentally went through a checklist of every place in Hell you’d ever been to, trying to determine where he’d have gone. 

Almost like mockery, the old radio that sat on your desk crackled faintly. Of course! Where else would Alastor be but the one place he feels most in control. 

Rather than trying to make another portal, you picked yourself up off the floor and started walking. The hotel itself was abandoned, making it easy for you to traverse the halls without interruption. Your body ached as adrenaline started to wear off, but at least you could function. Who’s to say what Alastor was capable of. 

You cringed at the memory of his wound. Not only was it long, but it looked deep, with blood steadily leaking out. Alastor’s signature red outfit and his blood was not a good combo, you decided. Yes, it might match, but it was not right. 

It didn’t take long for you to get to the recording booth near the top of the hotel, carefully making sure you stayed out of sight. Your wounds healed little by little as you walked, your natural healing factor kicking in. A few well-placed deals, and your healing was nearly ten times as fast as a regular Sinner’s.

There was no need to knock, the door hanging from its hinges. The recording booth was in massive disarray. And in the center, leaning weakly in his chair, sat the man you were looking for. 

“Alastor.” You breathed a sigh of relief at seeing him still alive, but further inspection didn’t do much to help your nerves. His breathing was shallow, expression pained but somehow still holding a strained grin. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp. 

“Helping you, obviously,” you snapped in reply. There was no first aid kit nearby, so you just ripped sections of your jacket off, forcefully shoving the scraps onto Alastor’s still-bleeding chest. 

“I do not need your help,” he snarled back. Despite his words, he didn’t try to discard the fabric you were now pressing into his wound. 

When Alastor finched, you hesitated. You didn’t want to cause him any more pain, be it physical or emotional, but you knew he’d insist on trying to deal with everything himself. You were a similar way, but he’d also do the exact same thing you were doing if the situation were reversed. 

Gritting your teeth, you forcefully held the fabric to him as it slowly became blood soaked. “Summon a damn first aid kit.”

“I said–”

“I don’t fucking care.” You raised your head, meeting Alastor’s eyes so he knew you were serious. Was your voice shaking? Maybe. Were you scared? Most definitely. Was Alastor more important? Always. “Let me help you.”

Alastor visibly deflated, bringing a hand to his face. “Fine.” His voice was stiff, defiant. With a wave of his hand, a first aid kit appeared beside you. 

You were silent as you worked, now with actual medical supplies at your disposal. Any training you’d had while you were alive all came back to you while you attempted not to make the injury any worse than it already was. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were still alive,” Alastor admitted quietly after a few minutes. “Adam was much… more than I’d anticipated. I appreciate that you allowed me to retreat.”

Pausing, you looked Alastor up and down, possibly to see if he had a head injury as well. Never, in all your years, had Alastor ever said anything so kind to you. 

“What else would I do?” You shrugged. “Leave you to die? In your dreams, maybe. We’ve been friends for so many years, I’ve lost count. So of course I helped you, you stubborn asshole. A psychopathic angel is nothing if it means helping you.”

Alastor was silent for a moment. “If Adam had killed you…” The room filled with static, Alastor’s true demon form coming out ever-so-slightly. “I was prepared to burn all of Heaven to the ground.”

“Thanks for the sentiment, Al.” Your expression softened, unable to deny the smile that grew on your face. “Now, sit up so I can secure this gauze.”

Hours later, after the hotel had been rebuilt and you were prepared to act like Soft Alastor had never happened, an arm looped in yours. Alastor stood beside you, smiling down like always. 

“Come now, dearest. It’s time for supper!” 

Something about Alastor was different now. His expression was altered. He’d seemed more defensive in the aftermath of the battle, however, he seemed to do the exact opposite around you. 

It was subtle enough that only you (and maybe Rosie) would be able to tell. Luckily, for Alastor, you were perfectly content keeping your observations to yourself.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #rhys-writes #rhys-replies #alastor x reader queerplatonic #hazbin hotel alastor

[autisticlancemcclain]

parts 1 2

———

For most of Luis’s life, he’s known walking through the faded purple front door of the house he’s grown up in means he will be assaulted by noise. For so many years, he would even hear the sounds of yelling and banging and general chaos before he even made it up the steps. Several siblings tended to to that, he supposes. His key in the lock meant prepare for a whirlwind of motion and sound, for rapid Spanish and crashing sounds of clumsy people walking into each other and the calamity of home.

He tenses, even now, walking through that front door, reflexively preparing for an onslaught of noise that doesn’t come. Even though he struggled to get the key through the lock with one hand, the other holding a tired Lance, he prepared without realising what he was doing, only to become violently aware of the silence as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He freezes, right there in front of the door, keys and diaper bag clutched in one hand, Lancito gently cradled in the other, head resting on Luis’ shoulder and thumb stuck in his mouth.

It has been months, since his parents…since his parents. A new year has passed. A quiet, silent Christmas, locked in their own rooms. He has walked in with a child in his arms, after stopping at the campus daycare for the first time this semester, no different than what he’s been doing for the entirety of last semester. There is no reason for him to have walked into his home and forgotten, however briefly, how empty and quiet their home has become. (It feels, vaguely, like one of the first crisp days of autumn, stepping out of your house in the early morning and smelling the almost-frosty air, and blinking away the sudden memory of October when you were eight. Like the sudden snap out of your past, the trippy feeling of walking up in the present without realizing how far your nostalgia had driven you out of it. Startling and aching, really, the direct comparison).

Lance makes a whiny noise in the back of his throat, startling Luis into action. He starts to bounce the toddler, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he slips off his shoes and sets the diaper bag by the door.

“I know, I know, baby. Let’s go sit down for a bit.”

Lance is very…clingy.

All of them are, in some way. Rachel has just turned fifteen years old, but Luis wakes up to find her curled up at the foot of his bed more than twice a week, driven out of her room by something she refuses to voice. Marco spends every lunch period situated in the school office, hogging the phone to methodically call the rest of them to make sure they’re alive. Veronica cleans, obsessively, sorting through everyone’s things and scrubbing everything she can get her hands on like she can leave her imprint on them for when she’s not there.

“Yes, yes, I hear you.” Lance whines louder when Luis sets him down on the couch, babbling something nonsensical but stern enough on Luis’s direction that he cracks a smile. “Yeesh, do we need that tone? I’m just putting a movie on.”

He nonetheless tries to hurry things up, lest Lance get too antsy and start to cry. Once Finding Nemo starts playing — and Jesus fuck everyone in the household hates that movie so fucking bad, at this point, but it is the only fucking movie that Lance will watch and that keeps him calm — he scoops the toddler back up, collapsing back on the couch and tucking him under his arm. Lance snuggles into him easily, little elbows digging into Luis’ skin as he settles himself, and let’s put a huge, long sigh once he stills.

Luis snorts. “Stressful day at work, pal?”

“Shhhh,” Lance hushes, flailing a hand at Luis’ face area, presumably aiming for his mouth. “Nene. Sh.”

Worryingly, even at fourteen months old, Lance hasn’t really begun to talk. They’ve yet to hear him form any actual words, let alone a real sentence, in either of the languages used around him. But he has several vocalizations for things he wants — nana for food, nene for Nemo, and regular old toddler ‘no’. Lots of ‘n’ sounds. They’re saving up to take him to a specialist, but for now they just try to encourage any sounds he makes that are word-like.

“Okay,” Luis mumbles, kissing Lance’s palm. He hums, distractedly patting Luis’ cheek, eyes trained on the blue of the TV as if it’s the first time he’s seen the movie instead of the three billionth. “I’ll be quiet for Nemo.”

He lets his eyes unfocus on the screen in front of him, mind wandering, slow and lethargic. He can hear the ticking of the clock from the kitchen, almost echoing in how loud it is. It makes him tired, slow; the only time he used to hear it as a kid was on late summer nights, up late, falling asleep on the kitchen table as his mother hummed in the kitchen, making fried plantains with the fruit she’d gotten in the morning market. Lance’s weight is heavy on his side, tired and burnt out as he is, and the ebb and flow of the movie is numbingly familiar, and clock ticks steady. Tick, tick, tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

———

“Luis.” He whines, low and rumbly as something pokes his shoulder. “Luis, dorkbrain, get up.”

He groans, louder this time, cracking open one bleary eye. His eyes burn, contacts dried out, but he can make out the blurry outline of his sister, mouth twisted in a half-smile, grease smeared across her nose.

“Get up, doofus. You left the baby unsupervised.”

The words take a moment to register, but he shoots up in panic when they do. He looks frantically around the room, sighing in relief when he finds Lance sitting quietly in the corner, playing with his toy planes. He’s making tiny little crash noises every time he crashes then into each other, walking one of Rachel’s old Polly Pockets across the scene and giggling to himself.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face as the panic starts to seep from his heart. “You fuckin’ scared me, Ronnie.”

She smirks. “And I’ll be doing it again.”

Luis decides not to tell her about the face grease. He was going to, but now she can suffer for being a dickhead. Maybe she’ll even break out.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

He glances over at Lance again, just to double-check, but he’s still playing happily by himself, so he gets to his feet.

“C’mon,” he says, inclining his head towards the kitchen. “Kids’ll be home soon. Let’s make dinner.”

“Dibs on not doing cooking!” Veronica’s hand flies to her nose, cackling at Luis’ indignance.”

“Hey! Dinner is a shared endeavour! You can’t just dibs on not doing it!”

“Can too, loser! C’mere, Lancey-baby.” She scoops him up, planes and Pollys and all, and lugs him too the kitchen.

“Using the baby to avoid arguments is illegal.”

“Eat my farts, lunch boy.”

“That’s a stupid insult,” Luis mutters to himself, glaring at his sister one last time before turning to the fridge. She ignores him gleefully, picking up a plane and gently crashing it against the one Lance is holding. Instead of any amusement, he looks at her in such comical offense, gobsmacked that his sister would have the audacity to smack around his planes, that the young mechanic’s apprentice bursts out laughing. She hunches over, wheezing, as Lance scolds her in baby-talk.

Rolling his eyes fondly, he turns back to the fridge, finally opening the door and glancing inside.

If his life was a cartoon, there would be tumbleweeds rolling through the white, cooled shelves. That’s how fuckin’ bare it is.

“Well that’s…not good,” Veronica says when Luis fails to say anything.

Luis swallows roughly. “We forgot to budget for fucking groceries this month.”

Veronica hangs her head. “Fuck.” Even little Lance goes quiet, look between them in concern, bottom lip stuck out and trembling. Veronica reaches out a hand and brushes through his hair to comfort him, which kind of works. He abandons his toys to curl into her, thumb back in his mouth.

Luis opens and closes the fridge three separate times, hoping food will magically appear. When that doesn’t work, he wonders if he can make soup out of ketchup, or something. Add onion skin for flavours.

“We’re not cut out for this, Ron.”

She laughs sharply. “Yeah, no shit.”

She opens her mouth again, and from the look in her face Luis knows she’s about to say something dumb, so he beats her to the punch.

“I’m quitting school,” he blurts.

She blinks in shock. A second later her eyes narrow, and her face goes steely. “Like fucking hell you are.”

Luis sighs. He turns, slightly, reaching over and grabbing Lance from her arms. He bounces him gently, leaning in and blowing raspberries onto his cheek so he doesn’t have to look at Vero.

“My tuition eats up half of our funds,” he says quietly. “And the library job barely puts a dent in it. I can’t…if I don’t have as many hours in school, I can get a job that’ll get me money fast, and I can —”

Before he can finish, and before Veronica can argue, the sound of the lock turning in the front door interrupts them both. There’s no giggling, no banter, no even squabbling as Rachel and Marco walk through the door.

There hasn’t been.

Luis would trade anything to have it back.

“Hi,” Marco says slowly, reading the tension in the room. “Everything…okay?”

Luis smiles tightly. “Fine, buddy. We were just talking.”

Marco’s expression flattens. “I’m not stupid, Luis.”

“I know.” A beat. “It’s just nothing for you to stress about.”

Marco says nothing for a moment, staring at Luis flatly, before he tosses his backpack agains the wall and squares his shoulders.

“We are four and six years younger then you,” he starts. Rachel nods resolutely beside him. “We’ve been — obviously we’re not doing super stellar. I know the fridge is empty. And that you cried over the mortgage last night. And we heard you arguing from outside.”

Luis and Veronica look at each other guiltily.

Rachel stares at them, eyes flat and annoyed, fingers pinching the bridge of her noise. She hasn’t spoken in months, but Luis has learnt to read her unspoken — that’s a bitch, please if he’s ever heard one.

“Stop apologizing for stupid shit,” Marco says for her. “We’re not trying to make you feel guilty. We’re trying to say that we can help.”

“Not your job,” Veronica says immediately. “Your job is graduate highschool and develop your brain.”

“Not a single person here is done developing!” Marco explodes. “All of us are still fucking growing! We lost our fucking parents, all of us, and instead of letting us be a part of the solution you’re blocking us out and treating us like babies!”

“Wanting you to be safe is not babying you,” Luis says shortly.

“Oh, did you read that in one of your parenting books?”

Yes, actually. He did. But he’s annoyed that Marco knows about those, so he pretends he didn’t hear like the mature grownup he is.

“Piss off,” he says, like an adult.

“Yeah,” Veronica agrees. “We’re the adults, and we say cool it with the crazy talk.”

Marco glares harshly at them. Rachel joins him. Lance makes a short, cut-off whine, turning to shove his face in Luis’ neck. His hands come up to pat his back reflexively.

“I quit violin lessons,” Marco says eventually.

Luis’ jaw drops. Veronica joins his indignation.

“What?!” she shouts.

Luis feels like something is wrapped around his throat, choking him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears. The desperate hope he’s been clinging too, the goals to get Marco and Rachel and Vero everywhere they want to go in life, come crashing to the ground around him.

“Julliard,” he says weakly. He can’t force his voice to say anything further.

Marco juts put his chin. “They were two hundred dollars per session. I talked to my tutor. She said…” he trails off slightly, voice getting gravelly, but gathers himself again when Rachel grabs his arm and squeezes. “She wrote a reference letter for me,” he continues softly. “Even though I’m only a junior. And she’s apparently been talking to the admission staff since I first started taking lessons with her. As long as I keep practicing every day, she says I have nothing to worry about. But I’ll have time for a part time job, now. On weekends at least.” He locks eyes with Luis. “Don’t fucking quit school, stupid.“

Luis holds his gaze for several minutes. He wants to contest it all. He wants Marco to take his lessons every day and come back exhilarated, like he always used to. He wants Veronica to focus on building projects in the garage in her free time, instead of picking up hours to blow through her apprenticeship as quickly as possible. He wants to hear Rachel’s voice again. He wants Lance to stop flinching every time things get even playfully tense.

But there are things he can get, and things he cannot.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay.”

Plans will have to change. He graduates in a few months, so long as his final courses go well. The original plan was med school, but that’s obviously no longer an option. Not with everything.

But if Marco can adapt, so can he.

“We’ll work things out,” he says, trying to channel his father’s voice. It must work, somehow, because Veronica smiles in that bitter way of hers, that she does when she remembers.

“Of course we can.”

#i love this au so bad #it’s so. #anyways #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #luis mcclain #veronica mcclain #marco mcclain #rachel mcclain #lance family #lance & lances family #lance’s family #lance & lance’s family #marco & lance #veronica & lance #angst #hurt/comfort #langst #brown eyed lance #my writing #fic #longpost #what if i lose it all #baby lance

[eldritch-spouse]

Okay, so while this isn’t Zombie Apocalypse AU related, it does involve a zombie

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to go back. How is he meant to look his family and friends in the eyes after he became.. this?

An experiment, he was. To see if zombies could be rehabilitated. The surgeries to get him fixed up? Successful, got stitched up, a prosthetic for his leg, all that. Therapy to work on his urges and mental health?.. work in progress!

He’s trying, he really is. But there’s always this nagging at the back of his mind, telling him to rip, tear, maul. It scares him. He can’t even stomach anything that isn’t flesh anymore! Between that, the later extents of therapy, and the whole “people being scared to hire a rotting flesh eating monster” And he can’t even blame them! Sometimes he, he spaces out! Been told he has a staring problem.

It’s hard. Okay? Money is tight, and he’s getting desperate.

(I did not mean to ramble this much- not necessarily a request for expansion on the idea just me talking about an idea I had)

What really stuck out to me here is the idea of "zombie rehabilitation", which can be brought out of the zombie context entirely.

The idea of rehabilitating undead in general is actually very interesting to me! I have yet to make a proper "standard" zombie, but they definitely exist. Souls sometimes just refuse to leave their husk, or can't, because of some ritual performed to keep them caged to either their own rotting vessel or another organism/husk entirely. Undeads usually always have some sort of damage imprinted on their souls from the failed transition into the Limbo annex, where Dorem is supposed to treat them, so it's safe to say that they are only partially the same person they once were when alive.

Patches and Nebul have memory problems, Patches' soul actually splintered into two beings, Xiko can't ignore the need to follow anyone who steals from him until he recovers his goods, even if it means wearing himself out for years. A zombie certainly wouldn't escape this.

And out of possibly hundreds of undead types, zombie-like ones would likely face the most amount of stigma due to disfigurements they absolutely have no control over. While wraiths, for example, tend to have their own vastly unique looks, a zombie is a twisted and necrotic mirror of pre-existing species, causing great repulsion when seen by the living counterpart of said species.

The urges a zombie could have are something I could ramble about forever, but sure the craving for flesh would always be one, as they have to replenish their decomposing mass some way or another, and the flesh of other people is a viable way to put it. It's their diet. But you could also find them instinctually confused. The reflex of moving out of harm's way might not be there, or the pain receptors that once worked perfectly may be numbed to most stimulus only to then flare up completely randomly. They could even try to bury themselves underground, some bizarre urge from their soul, which recognizes they're supposed to be dead.

#unrelated⭐️ #general tce

[worriedvision]

(Spoilers for 3.2)

Can you do one where reader goes to Pardis Dhyai instead of tighnari because he needed to take care of a withering zone so he asks reader to check on haypasia and when they get there they end up getting struck by lightning. Traveler brings reader back to Tighnari and he takes care of them <3

Okay so I couldn't help but take this a lot darker than how it is in the story... Gender neutral reader, reader does survive. This is a fic where the pair aren't in an established relationship - reader happens to be a close friend of Tighnaris, and he only realises his feelings when something happens. This does mention the reader falling very unwell.

--

You had been fighting alongside Dehya to protect your patient, knowing about the fatui's interest in the patient in question. Tighnari sent for you to take over from him as he was notified of a nearby withering zone and he trusted you to know how to look after Haypasia.

When you got struck by lightning during the fight, you landed up passing out. Dehya wiped out the rest of the opposing team, most of them running away, and she turns to check on you. Feeling for a pulse, her eyes widen as she realises there isn't one.

"Traveler, I need you to get Master Tighnari, quickly!" She calls out, beginning to fully check you before beginning to carry out compressions.

--

"Master Tighnari!" Paimon screams, Tighnari noting the urgency in Paimon's voice. "You need to come with us, no time to explain!"

Tighnari runs with the traveler, trusting that this wouldn't be some sort of joke. His mind goes to Haypasia, fearing she has taken a turn for the worse, and once he gets there his heart sinks.

He hadn't once pondered the possibility of you becoming a patient. Dehya had been carrying out chest compressions, fully focused and he realises that she must have been there to see it happen. Tighnari, despite the burn in his legs, orders the traveler to keep an eye on Haypasia as he begins to work with Dehya to get your pulse back. He doesn't give himself the chance to cry about it in that moment, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he takes over compressions from Dehya.

He goes to check on a pulse, finally feeling it, and he checks your breathing.

Seeing you breathe, he can't help but let a tear fall, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

"Dehya, thank you." He nods. "If you responded later than you did, they wouldn't have had a chance."

"Just doing what's best." She explains. She pats him on the back, explaining she had to get back to work, and she heads off to meet the traveler once again.

Tighnari stays with you, waiting for you to at least look more alive than you were before starting to move you into his arms, carrying you across to the same room Haypasia was in. He places you down, and he continues to monitor you as well as his other patient.

Reflecting on why he feels so strongly about this, he begins to fully realise his feelings were not entirely friendly - he had deep feelings for you.

He can't help but keep holding your hand. He finds so much comfort in you squeezing his hand, even if it was simply a reflex, and he's unable to hold back a yelp when he hears you stir in your sleep. He knows the traveler was there, but they didn't dare disturb him, and they opt to stay with Hapysia while he was by your side.

He knew the recovery was going to be long for the both of you, but it was going to be worth it in the end. Tighnari would be able to put his words together, timing exactly when it would be best to confess his feelings and for you to understand what he was saying.

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #tighnari x reader #tighnari x gender neutral reader #dehya #tighnari

[librarianandguardian]

My Moonshine - Geto x GN!Reader

Pairing : S2!Geto Suguru x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word count : 2 938 (= 7 Google Doc pages)

Warnings : Canon Divergence (of some sort), Mentions of dark thoughts, looming dread of death (just looming), angst/comfort

/!\ Spoilers for the end of the 1st part of JJK Season 2. Proceed at your own risk /!\

A.N : Okay... I know I post every new blood moon... But hey new fic ! Bear with me, I needed to comfort myself after seeing the Hidden Inventory/Premature Death Arc animated. I was dreading to see it animated because... Heartbreaking. Just as scared for Shibuya. Anyway definitely Canon divergence I'M HERE FOR IT OKAY.

Being a good exorcist was easy. Being a talented exorcist could come from two paths : birthright or hard work. You considered yourself a hard working one. The cursed technique bestowed upon you yielded terrifying consequences. But offered wonderful opportunities. Water. The element of life, creating and keeping alive. The spirits of Nature were and are to this day, the kindest beings of this world. So their wrath can be as burning as their love for their disciples.

And you started to wonder if you hadn’t offended someone. Hand on your right flank, your body, folded in a corner, was waiting for the curses to pass by you. Though, there seemed to be little chances of survival with the scent of your blood everywhere on the floor. This mission was supposed to be in, kill, out. One curse, one hour maximum to find it. Yet your life was flashing before your eyes, a gentle sob needing to spill out. Time couldn’t rob you like that. Not now.

The celestial body was dead, Haibara-kun too and Nanami quit to be “normal”. All your friends fell through repetitive depressive episodes; Shoko started drinking atop of her smoking habit, Gojo though more mature was now endangering students, fighting more and more with Geto, whom blamed himself for the death of Riko and Haibara. Geto… Your moonshine. With his man bun. His stupid wit. His ease. When everything was going to hell, you would both bitch about Gojo together, pass out on the common room’s couch in eased silence, dance on new tracks with Shoko by your side. He always had bad days, but they were becoming more and more violent. And all these rituals were less and less vibrant. He never fell asleep; he hummed, no more wits; stared with an empty look at that wall while listening to new tracks. Honestly ? You were so used to grieving that cheering people up became a reflex.

Cry at night, smile to people to shine. Be their light.

You knew it was bad for you. But your heart couldn’t bare to see others endure what you had.

Be the balm you didn’t have back then.

Another hard truth ? Your mind was cracking. Only two years had gone by. Your pain drowning you slowly, week by week. No one was cheering up. You were feeling useless. Just like this instant. Curled up in a ball, life draining slowly. Exhausted from your first insomnias these past few days. Surprised on a dangerous mission. Why did the higher-ups send you alone on this ? Did they see how useless you were becoming as you aged ? No… Why would they…

Low growls neared your corner. Rusted furniture was protecting you for now. Maybe their ironish smell would fool them. Or did they fool you ? No wish of yours had ever been so strong than the one clouding your mind right now.

Heat Wave. A fan. A white ceiling with bamboo planks. Shorts and tank tops. An opened couch and pillows. Suguru softly breathing next to you, his phone battery dead, one earbud in, the other out, a bit of saliva running out of his mouth. The window bay opened, the one facing the fresh forest, the gentle stream passing through the pond tinking. Stars in a clear sky, accompanied by the moon.

Why did you get the exact opposite ? And the sounds you wished to hear again…

“Thank you, Droplet. My heart is indebted to your generous one.” His index boops your nose, you giggle. “ Please, call on me if you need anything. I…” He pauses, serious, before gently tugging the handle of your lollipop to mess with you. “You and Shoko are the only ones keeping me sane these days.” Your hand grabs his to try to free the handle, as you both giggle. “Stay bright, little light.”

Well, if you didn’t turn into a vengeful spirit after all of these thoughts… Anything else your brain wants you to regret before you die ? A summer festival memory ! Sounds like a good way to wrap it up.

A Rainbow of traditional clothing. You loved yours. Geto had brought you to his favourite secret store of traditional clothing, where you found THE outfit for the festival. Smiles everywhere. Smells of food. Fireworks. Hugs. Songs. The fresh air of midnight. Your moonshine seeing you shivering. After a quick inquiry, his arms draped over your shoulders, covering you with his large black sleeves, as his chin rests at the top your head. That giant bastard did warm you up, but so did your cheeks and heart. You wondered how you could get him to do that more often.

You had found out a few weeks later, while discussing with Utahime on the phone. Mortified described your state extremely well. None of you were ready to be in any kind of relationship. Your souls were vividly scarred by all the recent events. Broken can’t fix the broken. A couple is the union of two people, who know their personal value and want to add the other’s to theirs because they love it. It is an addition, not a completion to the hole in their heart. Geto had been a friend for so long now, that these sayings didn’t stop your thoughts about the possibility. He knew how to be an entire person without anyone, even if it hurt him at times; he could choose his addition without a worry. But what about you, still fighting against your people pleasing habits, oblivious to yourself worth ?

The snarls of the curse were right next to you. It had stopped, sensing your presence, searching. Its head turned left, towards your spot then right. It sniffed carefully around the abandoned building. The air was mossy, rancid, dusty. Your blood could blend with the rust. Your breaths were short, eyes tightly closed. The curse was constituted partly of water. You could trace its movement, anticipating your probable death. Speaking of which, you decide to make peace with it all. Step by step. In your mind, three different versions of you appeared : a child, a teenager, a young adult.

You cherished our alone time and hobbies all while being a busy exorcist. We are soo badass !

I kept that part of myself. Thank you, little light.

You weren’t a scared teenager anymore. You fought, saved people, protected the one you love. Our mind and our heart cooperate without bitterness now. That’s one hell of an accomplishment.

I’m proud of myself. Thank you, we’re saved.

We both know what we want now, don’t we ? You have been blind on purpose because you were scared.

Of what ?

Appearing cold when mourning. Too cheery on a daily basis, while everyone was sad. To equal your seniors. To admit you finally fell in love.

…

It’s not because they didn’t cheer up every day that you failed. The important thing is that you stay true. He wants you by his side, so do you. We jump towards our death in every mission. Allow yourself some moonshine in this dreary life. A droplet can change everything. Survive.

You opened your eyes. The curse had turned its head back near the rusted furniture protecting you. Okay, it was big. But full of water. You control water. It could work, right ? Your wound wasn’t too bad for now. Your hand covered in blood would argue, but it couldn’t speak, so fuck it. Drawing a deep breath in, your legs sprung you out of your hiding spot. The curse screamed, extending its hands to you. Its mouth wide open, you saw some saliva. Perfect.

Thank you, Droplet.

You screamed in return, letting some tears fall out of your eyes. You infused them with cursed energy, alongside your sweat. You would have preferred to use external water like a puddle but oh well. Even the moss would not have been enough. Tears and sweat are highly linked to emotions, making them potent catalytic fluids. You would tire quicker, but it was the best way to get out of here. Creating a string with a hook, you launched it inside the mouth. Got the connection.

First step : letting it swallow some more. Screaming some tears out, your cursed energy allowed you some strength. The string got longer, the curse swallowed.

Second step : deeper. The sheer need to resist the pull made you sweat some more. The thread became longer, the curse falling deeper into your trap. The map of its in and out was clear now.

Third step : Hook and tear apart. That could be trickier. Your strength had its limits, especially with a wound. Draining your own water… Everyone says it’s a dumb idea. But you know why you use it; last resort.

Your feet firmly planted on the ground, you pull. Shivers and tremors ran through you. One of your knees touched the ground. Your throat got drier by the second. But you screamed. Your heart wanted to make it out of here to spill it all out to your moonshine. Deep down, you knew that because you and Shoko were behind him, Geto stayed somewhat sane. That he didn’t jump off of an edge you could not have saved him from.

If you die, he might let go.

Hell no. Not on your watch. That moonshine would not disappear. Your tired arms pulled. Your cursed energy went up some more. It didn’t seem like enough. Wrapping the thread around your wrist, your now free second hand straightened in the direction of the curse. It was going to act like a magnet to the hook, to pierce through the curse. You loosened the thread a little. This was your riskiest manoeuvre : a few seconds of inattention and you’d be dead.

The curse wailed ; the hook was slowly coming out. But it started shaking left and right. Now you were fucked. Still, as hopeful as ever, you kept going. Your thoughts were on a loop, like a broken record.

I want more time. I want more time. I want more time. I want more time.

Something ran down your nose. On your right flank too. Blood, probably.

I need more time. I need more time. I need more time. I need more time.

A swift breeze blew behind your back. Opening your eyes, a giant white dragon flew through the opening your hook had created, tearing the last curse of your mission apart. Your thread and hook dematerialised. The tension of your body evaporated. Your muscles became jelly. The dragon came to you, sniffing you. A smile crossed your features. Someone called out your name, far, getting closer, next to your face. You couldn’t leave the dragon’s gaze, the happiness it brought you. A few words leave your mouth, before you blacked out head first on the fuzzy head in front of you.

“ I’m ok. ”

Shoko contemplated the night sky. She had never been into it. Until one fateful pyjama party involving you and your random knowledge. It soothed her now. A puff of smoke ascended towards it. The state you came back in was not too bad, you were mainly exhausted. Your wound healed up without a problem. She could recognize the signs of insomnias on your body; paler skin, darker under-eyes, shallow breaths. Your undying resolve to cheer was fading.

Did you think of Death, good friend ?

Another puff of smoke flew up. Maybe Shoko should stop smoking. Go on your little mental health walks with you. Cry with you. Grieve together. A cold breeze blew her hair away. For tonight though, she’d leave you to your peace. She giggled tenderly. What a surprise you’d have waking up. Smashing the butt of her cigarette into a pot, her arms snuggled her white blouse closer around her turtleneck. She often wished to have a Geto of her own.

“I won’t let you freeze, Droplet.”

Those are the last words you thought you would hear waking up. Your nose ran a little, your feet feeling the cold air of the room; as well as a pair of legs. Slowly emerging, your forehead noted the warm chest it rested against. A big hand was rubbing the back of your head. Your back shivered at the contrast between the air and the arm circling it, the hand politely resting on your side. Lips kissed the top of your hair.

“Please never do that again. That was so reckless of you. Did you really think we wouldn’t back you up ? Even if we were forbidden to do so ? ”

One of your hands, bunched up against your own chest, grabbed onto the black t-shirt in front of you. You had woken up a few times, mere seconds each, but every time you felt like shit. Your brain was letting your heart loose. You wanted to cry so bad. But exhaustion put you back to sleep just before you could. However now, you were fully awake and ready to burst. Your nostrils recognized the perfume next to you. He saved you, probably watched you bleed out without knowing if it was fatal or not, and stayed by your side for hours on end. A sob above you invaded your ear.

“We need… I want you by my side for all of this. I want to smile with you. Be a brat with you. I-”

Another sob. Tears dropped on your cheeks.

“Nap like we’re in a coma in summer. Hold you on a cold night of a festival. Hug when we’re sad for whatever reason.”

If he hadn’t noticed you yet, that would do it. A shaky breath escaped your mouth a little too loudly. You sniffed. The hand on your side twitched a bit, indicating Geto had in fact heard you, freezing in place.

“Are you ?...”

You buried your head in his neck, rounding his torso with your arms, crying. He probably had to fight Shoko to be able to lay in your infirmary bed like that. Instinctively, his arms held you tighter, leaving you some time; taking some time for him to cry too. Your hands grabbed the back of his shirt with urge, afraid to lose it.

“I want you too. I jumped out to save myself because I wanted to live please… don’t…”

Even though Geto was shaky, he loosened his grip to let you look at his face. Dark circles, wrinkles from the sheets and a small cut on his left cheek. His voice only shushed you gently, the hand on your side cupping the side of your face to rub his thumb on your temple. Your eyes met. He nodded to you, exhaling all the air in his lungs. You followed, warmed up by his attempt to help breath smoothly again. You synchronised, like every time you eased the other out of sadness. These breathing exercises had been transmitted by one of the spirits of the water you met long ago. A gentle puddle pushed by the wind. You were crying your eyes out in the forest, having seen another one of your friends die in a trial. The puddle worked with the wind to move in slow motions, allowing you to sync your breath with them.

One out for one, two, three, four ripples. One in for one, two, three, four ripples… Halt ! One ripple. Two ripples.

“Three ripples. Four ripples. Let loose, Droplet.”

The hand on your face moved back to your hair, caressing them.

“Are you feeling better ?”

With one last breath out, a small smile appeared on your features. Your body was warm from head to toe, happy to be alive, to have him so close.

“Thanks to you, Suguru.”

His eyes widened again, a slight blush covering his cheeks. The moments he could help you back were so rare. You thanked him every time. However you had just confessed to him. Fireworks went off in his brain, barely believing it. He was getting delirious after worrying so much at night, right ? Or was he dreaming ? A mental slap later, his heart screamed to be in the moment. So as sly as ever, he grinned after scoffing.

“Don’t mention it.”

You shook your head, amused. Hugging him again, you wondered if what you both said earlier was going to be talked about tonight. A light breeze made his arms hold you a little closer. He kissed one of your temples. Maybe you should have that conversation. Pushing it back wouldn’t be any good. The night was still young.

“So, heard you say you wanted me, little light ? Is that true ?”

You huffed a laugh at his casual tone, knowing full well that his heart was hammering against one of your ears.

“Yes. I believe it was an appropriate response to your lengthy love declaration. That you professed while you thought I SLEPT. That is so mean. Never hide your feelings like that with me, please ? ”

It was his turn to laugh. But no mockery laced his voice. Just a little bit of admiration. You had been on Death’s door. Yet here you were, scolding him with your entire heart.

“I promise, Droplet. Would you do the same ?”

Your head lifted to watch him. His face seemed so relaxed. Did all of this mean you could get infinite free hugs and that beautiful smile all day long ?

“I promise, Moonshine.”

Maybe the next few years aren’t going to be too bad.

#imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jjk season 2 #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #geto suguru x reader

[kiigan-archive]

@hatredcurse

Just a little longer, Sasuke. Bear with me just a little longer.

Just a little longer and the nightmare would end. Sasuke would have his revenge, would claim the eternal mangekyou, the clan name would be purged - and then he would finally be able to lead a life focused on actual life, rather than death. A life where the goal would be to cherish the good he had, rather than to mourn what had been lost. All according to plan.

Gods.

If only Itachi could make a dying wish, it would be for a chance to let his little brother know how proud he was of him. Sasuke had become astonishingly powerful, intelligent in his movements, with incredible reflexes and superb chakra control. He'd even been able to break through Tsukuyomi. What a colossal difference from the boy who would pout every time Itachi had no time to help with training after classes. Certainly, there were details that could be polished. The younger boy still offered too many openings for counters and allowed emotion to cloud his decision-making. Nonetheless, with Itachi's own body pushed well beyond its limits at present, keeping up with Sasuke was proving a decent challenge.

As if on purpose, the sudden urge to cough up yet another mouthful of blood distracted him enough that Sasuke's next barrage of shuriken actually grazed his leg. Nothing of importance but, by the sun and the stars, if his body decided to fail him before the planned moment Itachi was not going to be pleased. No way he would allow himself to die before settling the final, final issue: to completely cleanse his brother from Orochimaru's curse and influence. Patience... the chance would arise, sooner or later. All Itachi had to do was to stay alive long enough.

Something easier said than done, to be sure. Willpower could only carry him so far, and the pangs of ache in his chest were growing more intense with each passing minute. And, even with squeezing every bit that he could out of his mangekyou, blood tears running down the sides of his face, most of the world was becoming reduced to a conglomerate of dark shadows. Yes, no doubt, hurrying matters along would be in his best interest.

Thankfully, for all the progress he'd made, something that had not changed in Sasuke was how quick he was to anger and how easily he'd resort to drastic measures. The legendary Uchiha temper was strong in his little brother. Itachi made himself look at the sky above when prompted, and indeed found a massive storm brewing. What was the intention, however...? Was Sasuke truly capable of commanding an actual element, rather than to simply borrow its power for a technique? All the more impressive, and it might just be the cue Itachi had been waiting for. Surely, if he unleashed his Susanoo to counter, that parasite inside his brother would rear his head.

Just a little longer.

The next seconds passed in an absolute blur.

Lightening rained from above, Itachi let instinct guide him. His impenetrable shield began forming and the two masses of energy collided brutally, momentarily covering the whole surrounding area in impossibly bright light. And, somewhere amidst that light... Itachi felt something. He couldn't tell what. It wasn't pain, not really. Was his heart stopping...? No, not yet! Don't you dare, just a little longer!! Next thing he knew, some sort of ethereal impact shook his entire body and he was projected back, hitting the ground a few times like a bag of old rags before going completely still.

#hatredcurse #[verse] he looks down on me; so i will love him until i die

[storiesundercandlelight]

I jumped out of my bed when I saw you updated!! 🥹💕💖

The Geoffrey fic was amazing…! You’ve been well? Life is going oki?

I was kinda laughing the other day as I talked with a friend of new things we’ve been reading; and told her about u and was like “man, I miss them”. And whenever I got excited talking about books and then remembered some that disappointed me or were just plain I would said that again out of reflex; “man I miss them sm”

That’s my new “I should call them”. 🩵✨ You never disappoint, I’m so glad you’re alive and active!

I wasn’t into Geoffrey and after reading this I’m like that Kombucha girl video like “mmm nah, BUT lemme check twice just to be sure” 😭

Could I request something Jonathan xFem reader that begins with someone being super affected by voice/sounds/talking; taking things to something physical/NSFW? I’m super into Jonathan’s voice and accent; in gral all the VA’s did an amazing job!!

I’m super close to finishing the game now and DAMN they’re all (characters) so well made 🥹

Or just whatever you’d enjoy writing or been wanting to write for a while! I trust your amazing taste.

Take care of yourself and I hope you’re well and happy! Lots of hugs 💕🩷💕🩷✨!!!

There's Something In The Way You Speak

Here you go! I hope you love it! Jonathan's voice could definitely make us all go feral!! And Geoffrey is my best boy 🤣 I will make you love him!!

I haven't proof read this yet so I'm sorry for any mistakes! <3

Jonathan knew how easy it was to rile you up now, a small perk he was more than happy to take advantage of especially on a night like this. He'd hated social obligations before being changed into an Ekon, he still hated them. He couldn't even eat or drink to distract himself from the dull conversations he was pulled into.

Damn Edgar for forcing him to come to this thing. He knew it was all about keeping up appearances. The hospital requires funding Jonathan, these men fund us. So make them happy and feel like they are needed, because they bloody well are. The only perk to tonight? Having you by his side, dressed so finely. The curve of your neckline was bordering scandalous for this day and age, more than one set of eyes had landed on you tonight, much to Jonathan's annoyance.

But, as Jonathan had recently been made aware of, he had a little weapon to use against you. The memory made him smirk, your cheeks had grown so red after your all but blurted out the effects his voice had on you. I don't know, something about the tone and just the way you say things....just forget I said it alright?

He definitely would not be forgetting you said it, how could he just stand by and let quite possibly his best advantage over you go to waste. Before it was always Jonathan falling head over heels whenever you beckoned, how easily you made him want you, how simple it always was to make him lust after you. Oh how the tables have turned.

Jonathan moved closer to you, your body leaning delicately against one of the pillars adorning the room. It took a slight amount of bending to bring his lips right beside your ear before he whispered, nice a deep. "You know, I've been thinking about all of the doors in this hall. Where they lead to, which of them will be the one I'll pull you through, the one where I'll ravish you across whatever surface we find"

Your head turned towards him, eyebrows lifted and eyes wide in surprise. "Behave Dr.Reid" you whispered back.

"I don't want to behave, I want to fuck you" Jonathan felt your body tense beside him but this time he wasn't told off, you simply stared straight ahead, eyes flicking over the couples dancing or socialising. "Don't you want to?" His lips were all but pressing against your ears now, the soft tickle of his breath had you shivering.

"What I want is for you to behave" You quipped back, but Jonathan saw the redness growing on your cheeks, he was fairly curtained he'd never used that sort of language around you before....why wasn't it working? Jonathan straightened up, the glass of whiskey - still as full as when Edgar handed it to him- was the only thing he could use to occupy his hands as he tried to think of what else he could say to you.

Two - or was it three?- tedious conversations with men you had no desire to listen to, had come and gone since Jonathan's attempt to scandalise your thoughts. You wouldn't let him know it but your entire body had flashed hot and cold at his words. The idea of him whisking you away to have his way with you hadn't left your mind since he'd put the thoughts there.

Jonathan all but pouted his way through the conversations, waiting impatiently for them to end so he could try his luck again. He didn't have any ideas as far as what to exactly say to you, filthy talk wasn't exactly in his list of strengths, but the thrill of trying to rile you up was enough to keep him excited to try.

You had somehow managed to slip away from the small group that had Jonathan cornered, his eyes searched for you across the room, as the men in front of him continued their dull conversation. There you are. You had clearly just come from the bar, a tall glass in hand as you let your eyes wander over the room, stopping on the paintings along the walls. Truth be told Jonathan would feel happy enough to simply watch you from a distance, your beauty was always something that had him catching his breath each time he looked at you.

You felt Jonathan behind you before you heard him speak. "You abandoned me" He spoke low again, his lips not as close as before but close enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

"You seemed to be doing alright"

"I don't appreciating you playing so hard to get...especially given how much effort I'm putting in to trying not to get hard while looking at you" Lord above this man would be the death of you, you turned your head towards him, catching him playing innocent as he met your. gaze.

"Have you gone mad?" Of all the time for Jonathan to be trying his new found technique to get you in the mood, now was certainly not the time! But the boyish smirk that pulled at his lips made you think that no matter where you happened to be at this moment, nothing was going to stop him.

"I think that one" Jonathan nodded his head towards a door positioned near the back of the room, out of the many doors that lined the walls between painting in the room, this one was likely the easiest to take and not be seen. "Given that it isn't locked of course, but I have a good feeling"

"You can't just wander around!" You whispered back to him. "One, people will notice you've gone-"

"After a while"

"And two, we can't just walk into whatever room we please, certainly not to do what you have in mind! What if someone catches us?"

"What if the sky falls on our heads? What if Priwen storms in and burns me at the stake? What if's are too boring for tonight my dear, and I have had the last three hours of nothing but boring so... shall we?"

Before you could even argue Jonathan had gripped your wrist and walked towards the door with much more confidence than you could muster. The creeping paranoia that someone would see you both sneaking away was almost enough to have you fighting against his pull. But before you knew it Jonathan had turned the knob on the door and pushed you both through it.

The hallways was dark, lit only by the moon light that came in through the windows on one side of the space, more doors lined the walls on the other side. "See? if it was in use tonight they would have lit it up" Jonathan walked forward leaving you by the doors you'd just come through. The first door he tried was locked, with a purse of his lips he moved onto the next one. "Hmm, a linen closet?" Again he moved onto the next, seemingly unhappy with this one also.

"Jonathan..."

"Perfect!" He motioned you over with a flick of his hand, only allowing you to get so close before pulling you once more through a door and into what looked like a small - very small - laundry room. Shelves covered one side of the room, an assortment of sheets and towels were folded neatly in stacks.

"Perfect? Oh lord if this is what you're calling perfect right now then you must have slipped a few marbles out, are you sure you're feeling alright?" Jonathan pulled the door closed quietly before reaching for a wooden chair sat off to the right of the room (presumably used when the servants were polishing or sewing) and fitting it under the handle, effectively locking you both in, and more importantly locking people out.

"There!" Jonathan turned to you, the boyish grin back. He gripped you by the hips moving you slowly backwards until you bumped into the counter top lining the other half of the room. You felt weightless for a moment as Jonathan lifted you onto the counter, his hands quickly pushing up your dress enough for his to stand between your thighs. "This is much better" His voice depended as he leaned forward, pressing his lips for your neck and trailing kisses up towards your jaw. "Do you know how difficult it has been for me tonight to see you dressed this way?"

Not that you imagined he wanted answer, but you wouldn't have been able to speak even if he had. Your mind was entirely too focused on the way Jonathan's hands travelled up your thighs, pushing under the bunched up fabric of your dress. "So many men were looking at you... I had a mind to let the beast take over....the walls would have looked better red"

You let yourself shiver fully, the idea of Jonathan being enraged at other men looking at you had you reaching out behind you, looking for support to keep you upright as he continued to lean over you. You felt the most subtle scrap of his fangs against your neck before he spoke again. "Will you let me have you? God I want you"

His voice grew deeper as lust quickly consumed him, his grip tightening on you as he lifted you again, just high enough to quickly slip your underwear down your legs. You couldn't even help yourself now as your hands slipped around the back of Jonathan's neck, pulling him in for a kiss that was entirely too needy and downright messy as you both started grabbing at each other. Your hands clashed with Jonathans as you both reached for his belt, but with a chuckle you both managed to free him, already so firm and ready.

Jonathan pulled you closer to the edge of the counter and by doing so, closer to him. "If we get caught-"

"Shh we won't" Jonathan nipped playfully at your bottom lip before lining himself up and pushing into slowly, his eyes closing as you enveloped him. "Christ you feel good" Hearing Jonathan's words of praise in this setting was new to you, he was far too much of a gentleman to whisper filth into your ear. But apparently those days were over.

Your gentle moans filled the small space as Jonathan moved against you, whispering and groaning against your neck, letting his fangs nip you in-between words. God knows if you weren't at a party you would tell him to bite down, to drink as he took you. It was almost as if Jonathan had the same thought as a broken whine tore out of him and his hips began moving faster.

You kept one arm behind you, using both the wall and counter top for support while the other pulled Jonathan closer to you, your lips finding his for another messy kiss. You knew it couldn't last forever but you desperately wanted it to, especially when Jonathan was being as vocal as he was.

He wasn't even sure what he was saying now, he'd lost the sense to form full sentences when you started rocking back against him, meeting his thrusts, your hand in his hair gripping and pulling him closer to deepen your already wild kiss. But Jonathan did know you were both so close, he could feel how tight you'd become around him, your face moved to press against his shoulder as you tried to conceal the moans that were falling from your lips.

You came with a shuddering gasp, you grip on each other tightening as Jonathan followed. It was only a few moments of you both regaining your senses before you pulled apart. Your eyes looked over Jonathan and a small smirk pulled at your lips at the sight of him, his hair messed and falling out of place, his tie and shirt was pulled and wrinkled but his fangs were what had your eyes lingering, they were extended, just visible as he looked back at you.

"You look a sight" Jonathan chuckled before righting himself and his clothes as best as he could, pushing his hair back with his hand before reaching forward to help you down from the counter. You started straightening yourself up as Jonathan bent down to retrieve your underwear from the floor. You reached for them but he pulled them back out of reach. Jonathan watched as confusion washed over your face before quickly tugging the fabric into his pocket.

"You cannot be serious"

Jonathan simply shrugged. "You wouldn't need them for long anyway" You huffed a disbelieving laugh at the man before you as he stood smugly by the door about to remove the chair he'd used to lock the door.

"Jonathan?" You both froze. Edgar. He didn't shout but he definitely spoke loudly enough for you both to hear him and be sure of who it was. Your eyes snapped to Jonathan, a clear I told you so, written all over your face.

Jonathan couldn't help it, he started smiling, and then giggling, covering his mouth with his hand so that Edgar - who was walking closer and closer to the door that hid you - wouldn't hear. You couldn't believe this, you couldn't believe him.

It took a few moments and a brief amount of panic when Edgar tried to the barricaded door before his footsteps receded down the hall. and then another few moments before either of you felt safe enough to crack open the door to see if the coast was clear. "See? I told you we'd be fine"

"Jonathan he will know as soon as he takes a look at us what we've been doing!"

"So you're telling me we should sneak out of one of the windows and go home? Excellent idea" You shook your head but you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face as you watched Jonathan check every single window on the way back down the hall to the party, just in case you could plot another great escape.

#vampyr #vampyr game #dr jonathan reid #jonathan reid #jonathan vampyr #vampyr 2018 #jonathan reid x reader

[wlwfav]

HI IM ANON FROM EARLIER THAT ASKED AB THE FICS, yes id love to see your wips and older works!!! im practically scavenging for any platonic zack nd ray fics </3

hello again!!! i do have a WIP to offer :-) i wrote this back in july 2021, and it's something i might return to!!!

it's an AU..... can you guess what it is? 👀 (spoilers: the answer will make you cry)

When Zack comes to, he doesn’t remember anything.

He jolts awake, attempting to shoot up out of reflex. He doesn’t get far, however, as he’s being bound to… something. 

Attempting to sit up causes him to become lightheaded, so Zack gives himself a moment to reground himself. His body feels heavy and sore, and he releases a small groan. He shifts around, feeling that he’s on a bed of some sort.

He tries to lift his arms and legs, but finds them restrained. Once his head clears and his vision becomes a little less blurry, he glances towards his wrists, and sees a big pair of handcuffs keeping him chained to his bed. He grimaces at the sight of his burnt skin, noting that he’s been stripped of his bandages. 

Ah. They must have done this.

Zack blinks. Wait… who’s ‘they’?

His mind reels as he glances around at his surroundings, seeing nothing but plain white walls all around him. He gazes down at himself, seeing he’s wearing only a white hospital gown. 

Zack’s eyes dart all around the plain, clean room. He attempts to give his restraints a hard tug, but it does nothing, as his muscles feel too weak.

He tries to recall how he got here, and why he’s in this state. He squeezes his eyes shut, attempting to search through the fog in his brain to remember what happened.

He was… Caught by the police, and they sedated him. How did he get caught again…? He was in... A building, and the building was burning. And-- That’s right, it was a building full of murderers that he was escaping...

And… He was escaping with someone, someone who was dying, someone he was trying to save, someone precious to him--

Someone…

…

Ray.

Zack’s eyes shoot open, the memories quickly coming back to him. That’s right, Ray was shot--

Rapidly becoming frantic, Zack thrashes about in his bed, trying to rip his restraints off. His body and mind protest, though he ignores the pain ripping through him, because he needs to know if Ray is okay. If she’s alive.

“Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!” he repeatedly screams, panicked. 

The door suddenly bursts open. Doctors and officers rush into the room. Some officers have guns aimed at Zack, while one doctor holds a needle.

Zack’s eyes widen. He fights his bounds even harder, though it is futile. A few officers swarm him, holding him down as the doctor with the needle hastily approaches him.

“No! No!” Zack yells, now in a completely frantic state, “Where’s Ray?! Where’s Ray?!”

“Quiet, Foster!” one of the officers shouts, harshly pushing Zack’s head down and covering his mouth.

Zack can only helplessly writhe in place as he feels the needle enter his arm. The liquid seeps into him, and he quickly becomes sleepy. He casts the officer a final death glare before going under.

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

The next time Zack awakens, he’s in a new location.

He’s able to sit up, this time, as he’s no longer restrained by anything. He stretches freely, his body feeling like it hasn’t moved in days. Despite the slight protest from his muscles, he does feel significantly better than before. His head hurts a tiny bit, but he remembers everything, and he’s able to think a little more clearly.

Once he’s done waking himself up, Zack stands, taking in his new surroundings. The plain white walls have been replaced with pure, gray concrete. Like the hospital, there’s no windows, instead only a single door to enter and exit the room. This door, however, is sealed from the outside, and has a small window with bars running through it. All that’s within the room itself is a small bed, a sink, and a toilet. 

Zack glances down at himself, seeing the orange shirt and pants they dressed him in. He cringes at the sight of his skin. Still no bandages. They must not want him to have them, in case he tried to strangle himself or someone with them-- Something stupid like that.

His gaze falls to the floor, and he frowns. He knew he was going to prison, but it still sucked being in here. He could already feel himself going insane.

As a means to calm himself, Zack lifts his shirt, examining his abdomen. He sees the injury he got back on B3 received ‘proper’ treatment. The red thread is gone, and was seemingly replaced with stitches that are obviously no longer there. Aside from the scar stretching across his stomach, the wound has completely healed. 

Despite this, the lack of Ray’s handiwork only upsets Zack further. That red thread had been the only piece of her that Zack had with him-- And now he had nothing left of her. He didn’t even know if he would ever see her again, much less if she made it out alive.

Zack absentmindedly runs his fingers across his stomach, ghosting over his scar. He wonders if Ray is okay-- He certainly hopes she is. Then, he can escape this place, and see her again…

The sound of a metal door scraping open causes Zack to jolt. His hand drops to his side, and his shirt falls back into place. He stands up straight and clenches his fists-- Tense, waiting. 

A face appears through the barred window. The face of a man, who has small wrinkles beneath his playful eyes. The man’s mouth is twisted into a wicked smirk as he regards Zack.

“Oh, Foster, you’re finally awake. Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the man says mockingly. 

Zack glares in reply. As a means to show he’s not intimidated, he walks right up to the door, staring at the officer on the other side. The man, however, does not flinch. 

“You’ve been asleep for a few days now. Those sedatives are no joke,” the officer says instead, still using that damned mocking tone, “Anyways, if you somehow haven’t already figured it out, you’re in prison awaiting trial. It should come quickly, though, since the public is very interested in your case. How lucky for you!”

Zack gives the officer his own deranged smirk. “What’s lucky is that I haven’t reached through these damn bars to rip your fucking face off yet.”

In actuality, Zack knew the bars were too small to fit his hand through. But well-- It was the thought that counts.

The man only laughs in response. Damn him.

“Now, now Foster! Behave or we’ll have to confine you! You wouldn’t be able to move at all-- You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

Zack only glares daggers in response. The officer chuckles.

“Well, your lawyer will be here tomorrow to speak with you. Though a lot of people don’t like it, you do have the right to an attorney and a fair trial and all that other bullshit,” the man drones on. He then shoots Zack a shit-eating grin, “Even so, you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting out of this one.”

Zack rolls his eyes. Yeah, no shit.

The officer steps back, dusting his hands with finality. “Good luck to you, I guess. I’ll be going now.”

He begins to walk off, and Zack’s eyes widen in realization. He quickly steps up closer to the window, calling out, “Wait.”

The officer pauses before slowly turning. He still has that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. “What, Foster?”

With no hesitation, Zack simply asks, “Is Ray alive?”

The officer then becomes puzzled. He raises an eyebrow at the inmate as he questions, “Ray? Who’s Ray?”

Zack blinks. Oh, yeah-- He was the only one who called her Ray.

“I mean Rach--” Zack begins to clarify, but the officer quickly cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Eh, talk to your lawyer about it tomorrow,” he grumbles before walking off, slamming the door behind him. The room falls quiet.

Zack glares at where the man once stood.

“Fucking bastard,” he irritably grumbles. 

Zack sulks over to his bed, sitting on it with a sigh. He hated not knowing what happened to Ray. If she were dead… What was he going to do?

He shook his head. There was no need to think about that for now. Gray had told him she was still alive, and the paramedics arrived fairly quickly, so surely Ray was okay…?

Zack slumps down onto his bed, resting his hands on his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. 

It would be okay. He just needs confirmation that Ray’s alive, and then he can start planning. He would escape this place, and then he would find her, and they would run away together. If she still wanted to die, then Zack would kill both her and himself. If she wanted to give life another shot, then they would live together...

Really, it was up to what Ray wanted. Zack didn’t care, as long as he could be with her.

She really had become his everything. Ray was the only person in the whole world Zack gave a shit about, and in kind, she was the only person in the whole world who gave a shit about him. 

Zack breathes in. He was going to see her again-- He would make sure of it.

With nothing left to think about, all Zack could do was sleep.

#neyehehehehehe #might continue this #this is just like. the first little part #the whole thing is currently sitting at 6k+ words #so uh LOL #✉️ #anonymous #long post / #jic

[veryparynormal]

The morning after the storm. (AJ Status 11/21/23)

(OOC NOTE: This is NOT a post AJ is making. He doesn't post everything he's doing or thinking, but I still want to share the the stuff that AJ does outside of Tumblr. Basically, this is like a "traditional" RP, where I talk about AJ in the third person, describing where he is, what he's feeling, etc. Feel free to join in if you'd like, but just note that it is NOT in the Tumblr post format I've been doing up until this point.)

AJ meandered through the woods aimlessly, after a long night of... meandering through the woods aimlessly. What else was he gonna do? He didn't really trust himself to talk to anyone, and for good reason, too. Last night he couldn't manage his anger properly, and he wound up in an argument with Max, Grace, and... Jesus, what was that other ghost's name? She was a complete stranger to him, but for some reason, she knew who he was. And she was so awful! What kind of grown-up picks a fight with... He reflexively clenched his fists before catching himself and relaxing again.

He decided that maybe he shouldn't keep walking around the woods like this. In a way he couldn't describe, somehow, the forest was making him feel worse. He flitted in and out of the physical realm in a way that might've looked like teleportation to the outside observer, but was really just him finding weird cosmic "shortcuts"-- a skill he had begun to hone recently-- to get to where he was going faster. Soon enough, he arrived at a tiny beach at the western edge of the island. It was a place he had known even while alive. It was so small and remote that most others hadn't found it, although he would find the occasional empty Capri-Sun or Subway wrapper on the ground, to his dismay. Still, it was his quiet spot, and he liked the solitude well enough.

AJ plopped down and sat cross-legged on the sand, feeling each grain rub against his fingers as he dragged them through. He'd been doing that sort of thing a lot in an effort to distract himself from feeling his left eye-- or, feeling the constantly bleeding socket where his left eye once was. It hurt like hell. To be fair, a lot of where his body hit the ground the hardest hurt, but nothing else quite compared to his lack of an eye. He picked his head up and used his one good eye to stare out at the water. A thick fog had rolled over Lake Michigan, on its way to the island AJ was so reluctant to call home. The water itself was... almost calm. Ripples ran through the lake, never quite getting big enough to count as waves, but still weirdly... tense. Come to think of it, the tide looked a bit low this morning. Some formerly-underwater snails, hiding in their shells, had even been exposed by it.

After just staring off into space for a moment, AJ pulled out his phone. He'd been blocking out the memory of exactly what had transpired yesterday night, but he knew it would only get worse if he didn't acknowledge it, although he was unsure of what "it" even was. He scrolled through the thread, not really reading much of the argument for fear of getting upset again. Soon, he found that a lot of the text in his messages turned red the longer the argument went on. He... didn't remember doing that. He looked up from his phone from a moment and shifted around to a different sitting position, a sense of unease washing over him. He kept scrolling, until one of the stranger's messages caught his eye.

"...and what was that you said earlier, encouraging barry swift to hurt someone unprovoked? take a good, long look at yourself."

AJ read it through a couple times, trying to register what she was saying here. It was as if his brain was actively refusing to process this information. This person... she was so fucking bitchy, but in this one, she... had a bit of a point. AJ had just impulsively sent that message, then tried to pass it off as a joke immediately afterward, both to Barry and to himself. Come to think of it, he'd been experiencing those kinds of impulses every once in a while ever since he died. He had tried to explain it away in his mind with various excuses. He was in pain. He was just joking. He didn't have a good emotional outlet. But recently, it had become more frequent. This wrath, this urge to hurt others. And after last night's outburst, it was more than just concerning.

It was starting to really, really scare him.

#hatchetblr #nmpd rp #hatchetfield #long post #unreality

[ravusnightblossom]

@origami-assassin (Moved to new post because legacy/beta: X)

“If you trust him--” she offers, taking in a deep breath, and exhaling the rest as she spoke, “Then I will too.”  Trust was something she could afford those who he felt were worthy of it.  After all, the Prince had endured the same hardships with losing him family.. his home..  Shared experience was certainly a boon in these circumstances. She gave in just a bit to rest against him as they began their walk.  “The gardens?”  Questioned the assassin.  Eyebrows risen slightly with growing interest.  She was about to ask something, but stopped herself with a look of light embarrassment.  “I suppose you’re not much for high places, are you?”  She questioned in a quiet tone, “The sort that require one to be efficient at free climbing.”  Eyes drop briefly with her hand absently gripping at the fabric of her jacket, “I was going to ask about trees we might climb to see the stars better.”

Shaking her head, she focuses forward towards the direction they’re heading, “We are so different, and yet so alike, Ravus..  I sometimes wonder what my Mother would have thought of you.. had she still been alive..”  A touch of longing reached her eyes as they continued to walk, “She probably would have thought I was pulling one over on her.  Or I’d gone mad with my time under the Empire’s rule.  I think the whole of my kin would have had a heart attack had I shown up with you.” There’s that smile again.  The warmth in her cheeks and the quiet sadness in her gaze spoke softly to how desperately she missed them.  Knowing she’ll never see them again, she clings instead to what she has here and now.  For as long as the two remain together, nothing will ever be able to hurt her again.  No matter the pain, or punishment.. She had him.. That’s all that mattered. “I think she’d be quite fond of you.  Not for your status, of course.. We never cared for such things.  But because of who you are... beneath that grumpy exterior--”  A soft laugh followed at the teasing words, pulling away a bit in anticipation of playful retaliation.

⋞⁘♔⁘⋟ Trees...? Ravus grimaced at the idea and reflexively looked upwards at the treetops that surrounded them. He had climbed those trees in his youth, but that had been a different time, a different body, a different mentality. Tree-climbing had been a recreation. He had also been about a third of his current size the last time he had.

"I have no qualms to heights," he explained. After as long as they had spent on Zegnautus Keep, he had grown desensitized to any fear of high places, not that there had been much of it to begin with. Fenestala Manor was littered with cliffs and canyons. They were part of what had once been the norm, for him.

"Unfortunately, I suspect I have far less grace when it comes to climbing trees." A brow arched as he glanced with mild amusement to Jezebel. "In case you have not noticed, I am... not a light man." His nose scrunched, as though that were some embarrassing admission. "I prefer to remain surefooted on the ground when possible."

Oh, he could jump though. Years of mastery, channeling the magic that coursed through him, he could use that to hurtle himself like a missile in combat. That was different, though.

When the topic shifted to her mother, Ravus eyed Jezebel with surprise. As long as he could remember, he had no recollection of her telling him of her family. Was... this a monumental event to her? Was she opening up to him in a way that he had never seen before? He knew as well as anyone that she seldom let down her guard on such things.

"Oh?" He questioned softly, a palm moving to rest on the small of her back while he lead them both toward the car, opening the door for her. "I feel I would have quite liked to meet her as well," Ravus said, a tender smile offered to her.

#origami assassin #(Right In Front Of Me :: origami-assassin) #Verse; FFXV

[hostica-a]

5,6,9, 11, and 13 for Dabi. Intimate+Sexual headcanons

𝕯𝖆𝖇𝖎 ; Sexual Sunday meme.

what  are  the  top  kinks  that  your  muse  enjoys?  &  what  are  some/a kink  that  your  muse  wants  to  explore?: Dabi's  not  very  kinky.  Its  not  something  he  puts  a  lot  of  thought  into.  He's  got  a  bit  of  an  issue  where  flammable  shit  is  very  appealing  to  him  and  if  it  happens  to  come  with  someone  he's  attracted  to  yeah,  wires  get  crossed  and  it  gets  erotic  for  him  pretty  easy.  Man  could  do  the  shit  out  of  some  fire  play  but  he  wont  because  his  fire  isn't  even  just  normal  fire,  given  it  tends  to  burn  at  the  temp  of  lava  by  DEFAULT,  as  in,  it  can  get  hotter  and  its  intensity  is  reliant  on  his  emotions,  and  he  struggles  to  control  it  so  it'll  always  be  a  kinda  repressed  part  of  himself  he  can't  fully  express  and  would  be  afraid  to  try.  ( For the safety of his partner, ofc. ) Its  not  really  a  kink  but  pain  is  jacked  up  in  his  dead  sensory  perception  and  if  he's  aroused  it  registers  as  pleasure  so  rough  sex  involving  things  like  scratching  and  biting  would  go  down  well  with  him.  He'd  probably  be  considered  to  be  someone  with  a  praise  kink  as  long  as  it  wasn't  laid  on  too  thick.  Because  he  doesn't  wanna  confront  or  think  of  that  as  a  kink  because  it'd  force  him  to  know  why  that  does  it  for  him  and  he  does  not  wanna  go  into  that  because  he'd  just  find  it  too  sad  and  cringey  on  his  behalf.   He  kinda  likes  hero  costumes  too.  Some  of  them  are  intentionally  very  sexy  so  thats  not  a  shock.  Maybe  he  just  gets  a  little  turned  on  at  the  idea  of  fucking  heroes  in  general  ━  like  the  forbidden  fruit  factor,  the  risk  factor,  the  ego  stroke.  Maybe  some  endytophilia  /  clothed  sexual  activity  especially  for  himself  because  he'd  feel  very  antsy  about  people  seeing  the  full  extent  of  his  scars. 

 Do  they  prefer/tend  to  be  dominant,  submissive,  both, or  etc?: Dabi's  kind  of  a  funny  case  with  this.  He's  technically  a  switch  but  he  has  a  preference  for  topping  and  I  think  I  probably  explained  it  best  on  disco  at  one  point  so  I'll  just  regurgitate what  I  mentioned  there; 

 He  has  severe  issues  with  being  vulnerable  /  letting  himself  be  vulnerable,  with  the  life  he's  lived  projecting  confidence  and  never  showing  weakness  is  essential  to  survival,  he  has  to  constantly  keep  up  this  mask  of  being  aloof  and  detached  and  "in  control"  and  I  don't  even  think  he  fully  realizes  he's  doing  it. 

For  him  its  just  like  reflexive  now. Its  how  you  stay  alive. He  can  be  submissive  and  all  but  never  in  a  completely  vulnerable  way. He'll  do  what  he's  told  to  please  and  satisfy  but  that's  still  him  being  somewhat  in  control  because  he  gets  a  personal  kick  out  of  thinking  he's  actually  'good  enough'  in  some  way.  So  when  he  fucks  he  really  does  fuck  to  please  but  that's  kind  of  a  more  subconscious  thing  for  him.  I  think  he  also  has  some  internalized  issues  and  some  sort  of  toxic  masculinity  mixed  up  in  this  stuff  so  its  kinda  not  as  simple  as  what  position  he  likes  to  be  in.  Like  he  COULD  bottom,  he  would  probably  enjoy  it  if  he  tried  it,  but  he'd  have  to  feel  a  lot  of  trust  for  the  partner  he's  with.  He  couldn't  be  patronized  or  feel  patronized  in  any  way.  He  also  doesn't  really  feel  like  he'd  make  a  good  bottom  because  he's  kind  of  an  asshole  and  doesn't  view  himself  as  having  bottom  qualities.  The  trick  with  Dabi  is  honestly  if  you  make  him  feel like he's in  control  he'll  do  anything  and  I  think  if  a  muse  is  smart/shrewd  enough  they  can  work  that  out  about  him  very  quickly  and  use  it  to  their  advantage  and  honestly  its  recommended  cause  Dabi's  a  real  prickly /  difficult  customer  otherwise,  theres  lots  of  shit  wrong  with  him.  I  think  Twice  is  like  the  only  guy  Dabi  would  bottom  for  off  the  bat  just out of that   comfort/trust.     What  is  your  muses  favourite,  or  most  favoured,  position/s?: From  behind  for  certain  people  because  the  views  nice.  (Coughhawkscough)  Cowgirl  too,  similar  reason,  with  partner  on  top.  Ride  him,  he'd  be  sooo  into  it  because  it  also  means  he  gets  to  be  lazy  and  just  lay  there  and  enjoy  things. Thats  very  appealing  to  him.  Its  being  dominated  but  without  the  awkward hang-ups   that  come  with  actually  being  dominated/and/or penetrated.     Does   your   muse   enjoy   wearing  something  special  in  the  bedroom: No,  he  wouldn't  really  be  into  it  for  himself.  He'd  be  inclined  to  look  at  it  as  polishing  a  turd.  I  cannot  stress  enough  how  low  his  self-esteem  actually  is.  Like  the  cool  confident  guy  persona  he  projects  is  completely  fake.  He's  neither  cool  nor  confident  at  any  time,  hes  the  fake  it  till  you  make  it  type.  But I guess  he  wouldn't  complain  too  much  if  his  partner  wanted  him  to  wear  something  special  like  a  suit  or  something  even  if  he'd  feel  a  little  stupid. 

He  probably  enjoy  the  reverse  though,  like  a  partner  dressing  up  for  him.  He'd  still  think  its  kinda  silly  but  he'd  appreciate  the  gesture,  feel  a  little  special  that  someone  wanted  to  do  that  for  him,  and  depending,  on  the  outfit  find  it  pretty  hot  in  general. 

#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ Out Of Character ⊱ #⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝓗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ↝ Dabi ⊱ #⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 ↝ My Hero Academia ⊱ #Dabi headcanons #⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ Usfw ⊱

[mythvoiced]

@jeoseungsaja | the GBEP

Another world, another time, perhaps even the exact same but under whatever foreign unknown circumstances, varied ever so slightly by some unknown variable, and Rang would have lunged. Away or at Yeo.

Perhaps he'd reached out with his free arm and given Yeo enough reason to never step closer again, a slash across his face, or whatever else his hand might do before Rang has the wits to recognize or realize or redirect. Whenever he strikes out in an attempt to be the one who makes bleed and not the one who bleeds, all rationale flies out the window, because he knows he's right in those moments.

There's no self-preservation if you stop to wonder who you hurt to keep yourself alive.

But this is not that other world, not that other time, and Rang freezes up instead.

A second turns into a minute. A sea made of blood and screams roars somewhere in the back of his head where he can't access it, stuck in the tunnel between the forefront of his mind and the battlefield of his memories. A moment of tension, a moment of decision-making, a moment where his chest fills with air and keeps it trapped, a moment seemed locked in a countdown to god knows what turnaround, until Yeo finally spares him of figuring out what he'd do if he hadn't let go.

The air leaves him with a breath he can neither describe as exhale nor as inhale. He softens it only to makes it silent, bites down onto it and tries to swallow it back into his chest. Something cold drags along his arm, metal pressed into his sleeve and Rang frowns for a moment, not able to tear his gaze away from what Yeo is doing long enough to see what with.

It'd be easier to be stuck between the jaws of something.

More comfortable.

Trapped under a mountain of frantic claws and snapping teeth, begging for a saviour out of sheer habit, and not thanks to any sort of genuine belief he might get saved.

He'd always been like that, as a child. Begging and calling for help because that's what the mouth of the dying does. Had a hand actually reached through and kept him from figuring out how fast he heals missing chunks of flesh, he might have bitten it off.

Nothing quite as scary as something unfamiliar.

Nothing quite as scary as watching, still as a statue, what Yeo is up to. Wondering, if he'll bleed out on this soil because Yeo had decided to rear his head and delivery his own brand of cruelty Rang seems to have been designed to be target of.

He doesn't consider himself a victim, oh no.

He doesn't deserve it, either.

It's just the way of the world, isn't it?

The first sound he makes is a hiss, hand - blissfully freed - shooting out, nails offered first to drag along the back of Yeo's hand, a subconscious reflex to get the pain away.

Then the pain fades on its own, though. There's no further tightening, there's no willful deepening of his wound, there's no tightening it unnecessarily to teach him a lesson. When Yeo pulls away, Rang feels as lost as a puppy handed a toy rather than a slap.

He stares at Yeo as though he isn't quite sure anymore which he'd been supposed to expect from.

Yeo is a mystery to him on his best days.

He's so damned stubborn, would rather bleed for his cause than simply pick a different cause. It's always unnerved him, Rang supposes it will always unnerve him and not because... because he gives a damn about his state.

But because it's idealistic and stupid.

Because a world that is good and kind enough for someone like Yeo to snap himself in half over and over and over again simply does not exist, and if it were to exist, it would not be theirs. He'll go god knows how many more centuries bleeding to death before he'll get it through that thick skull of his, Rang supposes. There's no stubbornness quite as violent and well-rooted as that of the righteous.

And yet, Yeo doesn't feel righteous, either. Too snappish when he wants to be, but it's a farse, isn't it? Be uncouth because gentleness would only make Rang bite again.

He hates the way it feels, instantly, the moment his arm connects with Yeo, the moment his weight is being supported by someone else, the moment he feels fabric against fabric. He hisses through his teeth again until the sound turns into a snarl and if it weren't for how much his leg hurt--

Actually, perhaps, he should simply have shoved Yeo back into the ground and limped his way out of here. Left him to deal with the consequences of Rang's actions. That's what he's good at, after all. Set the world on fire because he can't stop making sparks by striking his growls against his screams.

"You're one to talk," he manages after... far too long, a mumbled half-assed snap. His hand curls where it swings over Yeo's front. He wants to drag him down and make him eat the soil beneath his feet.

He wants him to not let go.

"You're ridiculous, every second time I meet you you're covered in more scratches than what else," he risks a glance, tries to wipe the terror off his features. "How hypocritical."

#jeoseungsaja #the half fox;rang #interesting how far a string can stretch when you don't know it's there;yeo & rang #I HAD TO MOVE IT AGAIN I AM SO SORRYD FKLJGLSDGDFKLGJLKF #playing hot potato with this post-- is that even how you?? how that saying is used?? probably not?? IDK #is it-- like-- if it's hot potato it means no one wants to hold it BUT I DO I'M NOT TOSSING IT BECAUSE I DON'T WANT IT I ADORE IT #ARGH shaking my fist at the beta editor tho i have to be honest i actually quite like it now lmao #ANYWAYS YES BRINGING THE FOXY BROS BACK HELLO ALEX MY MOST ADORED APOLOGIES FOR THE AGE OF SOME OF THESE DRAFTS #PLEASE ALWAYS INSTANTLY LET ME KNOW IF THEY'RE FAR TOO HOLD FOR YOU TO STIL HAVE MUSE FOR #THAT IS SO VERY MUCH UNDERSTANDABLE~ #most definitely not my best Rang replY BUT I'M TRYNA GETTING BACK INTO THE SWING OF WRITING HIM #;queue

[queenharumiura]

META + Ravein

*         send   META   +   a   word   ,   a   name   ,   or   phrase   and   i   will   write   a   head  canon   based   off   of   this   !!!  ||Accepting|| @dyingresolve

Readmore for length, mostly

Let's see... it actually depends on the various verses that I have for Haru. Ravein is an OC who I kinda just do whatever with in terms of timeline, so his age is always in flux for what I want from him. The great thing of an OC.

So originally he was set to be someone who is an ex-assassin who escaped from a mafia who were forcing him to work for them in order to release his parents. Were his parents alive to begin with? Welp. What you know of me, I'm sure we know the answer to that.

Long story short he escapes and comes across a distant relative of his who helps him move to a peaceful country, and ofc for KHR related things, he then will have moved to Japan because of the 10th generation Vongola. Who would dare to make a big ruckus in Japan amirite?

He comes across Haru. It was never written on dash (bc ... cough LAZY) but he does actually end up hurting Haru. It was... how to say, an involuntary reflex from his trauma? Haru being who she is, she'd forgive him knowing he didn't mean to hurt her. It did take some time though, don't get me wrong. There is still some wariness involved, but she forgives him. In retrospect, a good number of people she knows has some kind of trauma, so she's just like 'mmn okay add another to the list'. So she tries to be patient with him. They end up having something like a adoptive sister-brother kinda relationship?

They have the dynamic where she teaches him things about how to behave in social situations, and he secretly keeps her safe. Knowing his situation, Haru talked to Reborn for advice and he would've dealt with it by ensuring that the mafia family doesn't get involved with Ravein henceforth, lest they wish to get on the Vongola's bad side.

Just like with there being various parallel universes I don't have them know each other in each verse I write, but I do in a few. In the ones that they do know each other, he actually helps her train how to use her flames and teaches her ways to protect herself on the off chance she needs to.

-

Now, for the Varia verse (that I write with you), Ravein had escaped on his own a bit earlier than he did in his usual setting, and he came across the Varia and applied and got in. He got paired off with 'Sentai-san' and when the latter took in Haru, Ravein was asked to look after Haru when Sentai-san was off on missions. So again, a brother-sister kinda dynamic of sorts.

The reason why Ravein was entrusted with Haru is for a few reasons:

Sentai-san understood Ravein's backstory and his personality well enough to know that Ravein will not speak on something that he himself had decided not to disclose to Haru. So any personal information about him would be safe. Ravein is not weak to someone badgering him or giving puppy eyes or what. A child can cry and he still won't say anything.

He knew that Ravein has a soft spot for kids and knowing the traumatic experience that Haru went through being abducted away from her parents and her parents-- you know, he can relate as he lost his parents to the mafia as well. So that connection makes it so that he'd treat her well.

He figured that Haru may be a good influence on him to make him open up more and be willing to make real connections with others.

Out of everyone else? Please, he'd probably be the best with kids.

And the other thing was that he was still young, and Haru probably wouldn't have feared him as much.

So, he is that other person that Haru would tolerate the touch of and would not punch. Let's see a HC with this Ravein---

She's managed to get it so that he feels okay with speaking to her when they're alone and he won't just use 1-3 word responses.

-

NOW- there is also the Varia verse that I write with Blaise for instance. Here, they're the same age, give or take a few years perhaps. Different set up bc I felt like it. Again, I LOVE writing variances across verses to make things interesting and FUN (for me).

In this one, it's because she's around a lot more people who are closer to her age (give or take a few years) bc Blaise has more than one OC in the Varia, so Haru was able to get more used to being around people. She has a lot more friends to be comfortable with, so she's actually more or less okay with touch in this verse. She will punch out anyone who she doesn't know, however. She's generally more friendly and a bit more--- calm in this verse? She doesn't have a Bel that is often getting on her nerves LOL

So in this verse, they're just friends and her motivations for joining the Varia is simply because Sentai-san was there and she wanted to be there with him. He fought against her on this for a while until she eventually won and joined. He dies on a mission AFTER she joined the Varia and what not. I love to play around with timelines as you can tell.

Haru is honestly more or less the 'I will watch over dumber and dumber. Ravein and Blaise's Luca are just-- they're quite the pair. They drive Haru mad sometimes with their chaotic stupidity they get into, sometimes. She regards the both of them as friends, so in this verse there is no sister-brother vibes between Ravein and Haru.

Wild how I keep them all separate, hm?

A HC for this Ravein--- He secretly looked into Haru's past and he uncovered some of the information that Sentai-san had also uncovered. Sentai-san passed away before he could relay any information to Haru, but Ravein filled in the slot for this verse and let her know.

#Dyingresolve #Meme answered #Answered ask #Thanks for the ask! #Neo speaks #QueueHM

[roman-cates]

"What sort of experience do you have with pets? What exactly caught your interest in the first place, if I may ask?"

Mal opens her mouth and then pauses. Does she have experience with pets? Based on the two in front of her, she might not at all.

"I'm beginning to think maybe I don't. Boss keeps enemies, sometimes, calls them pets. But…They're not at all like yours. They could never be taken out in public, and they're generally scarred early, sometimes even lose fingers or toes in the first few months."

Mal looks over the boy as she speaks. Is he in pain? He doesn't seem to be, meaning he is far more flexible than she thought. Or better at hiding the pain, but that's no fun.

"Boss's do beg nicely. And once they start begging for death, she's needlessly merciful, won't keep them alive more than twelve months after that." A thought occurs. "Well, except for Phillip, but he was a special case all around. Kind of nauseating to look at too, by the time she put him down."

Saša doesn't respond at all, so she elaborates. "Fairly early in his captivity Boss let Stryerson take most of his fingers, in various ways." Across from her Saša raises an eyebrow. The boy behind him goes pale, and she sees the lovely fear in his eyes. She wants more, but not as much as she wants keep Saša interested, so she stops talking about Phillip.

"Anyway. Not proper pets at all, I guess. Very little actual obedience, just fear and loathing." She smiles at Saša. "Maybe you could explain how yours are different?"

Previous

"I'm beginning to think maybe I don't. Boss keeps enemies, sometimes, calls them pets. But…They're not at all like yours. They could never be taken out in public, and they're generally scarred early, sometimes even lose fingers or toes in the first few months."

Saša does not outwardly react, but his mind is active. Those are not pets. Those are examples. Those are enemies being punished. The only purpose they serve is to pay for their actions. Perhaps they act as some sort of stress relief for their owners, but they serve no functional purpose.

Saša notes to himself how interested Mal seems to be in the boy behind him... That is indeed unfortunate for the young man...

"Boss's do beg nicely. And once they start begging for death, she's needlessly merciful, won't keep them alive more than twelve months after that."

That... is not long at all. Of course part of the reason 'Boss' kills them is likely because of who they are— enemies— surely. Still, Saša doesn't react.

"Well, except for Phillip, but he was a special case all around. Kind of nauseating to look at too, by the time she put him down. Fairly early in his captivity Boss let Stryerson take most of his fingers, in various ways."

Saša can't help but reflexively raise his eyebrows a bit at that. Stryerson took this man's fingers? And this is presumably the same Stryerson that has just taken his pet out in public after an escape attempt only two weeks ago? If this pet was around civilians at all and no one became suspicious, Stryerson is certainly not treating this pet with the same malice as this 'Phillip'. That raises even more questions. Why not treat this pet the same? Does Stryerson not hate this pet as much as he hated Phillip? Perhaps he only took off Phillip's fingers under orders? Is the pet he has now considered an enemy?

Additionally, why so much violence? Certainly some people take pleasure in that, but why? Saša cannot understand. There is no sense in unjustified punishment. There is no satisfaction in it. Yet Mal at least seems eager to see these pets harmed for no reason other than watching them be in pain... It's needless.

"Anyway. Not proper pets at all, I guess. Very little actual obedience, just fear and loathing. Maybe you could explain how yours are different?"

Saša considers his words carefully before he speaks. "The 'pets' you speak of serve no purpose. Their only function is to receive punishment. Personally, I would never trust such a pet in any fashion. I would not allow them out of the house, I would not allow them in the kitchen, and I would not allow them around any sort of chemicals. The pets here with me today serve a point. They are obedient. They do not hate me, although they do fear me. Because they do not hate me, I know they have no reason to try and harm me. Because they fear me, I know that they will obey. I can trust them to take care of my home. I can trust them to be useful."

#roman cates #whumplr reader #roleplay #rp #caretaker #whumpee #whump roleplay #whump rp #whump #Saša Petrov