#the green thing on the arm is a lightning scar

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: You Are My Sunshine

Current brain rot: Yandere Sheriff from the Wild West. An older man has captivated me.

Jack Henry, the forty year old bachelor and Afab Reader

Yandere Sheriff who’s devoted to locking criminals away. He’s never given relationships much thought. His life was too dangerous for anyone else to be a part of it long term so he’s had his fair share of one night stands but never true love… Jack Henry has lived a hard life and he was getting old. His chocolate hair and stubble was covered in gray hair. And his face and body littered in scars from the outlaws he arrested. Jack knew he was a terrifying man to gaze upon. His face alone struck fear into people.

Yandere Sheriff who meets the new resident in town. A sweet young woman with big eyes filled with innocence. A shy expression on her (skin color) face as she introduced herself to him. The lovely woman was named (your name), a pretty name for a pretty girl. She was a lamb amongst wolves… Jack was immediately smitten with her. He’d be her shepherd dog that would keep her safe in this wild world… wait. Why did he like her so much? She was just a lass…

Yandere Sheriff who would often see (your name) at the post office or at the general store. He caught himself constantly sneaking glances at her whenever he was in town. Jack thought she was attractive… maybe he could talk to her?Jack ignored the flirtatious stares of old flames in favor of talking to the young lass who was the apple of his eye.

Yandere Sheriff who began to court (your name). Jack is sweet with his words and he does his best to be gentle and soft for her. He brings her flowers and meals from town. His green eyes are filled with so much adoration for her. He swore she was sweeter than molasses. The more time they spent together, the more he wanted to be with her. Jack has never felt this way in his life. He wanted to protect her from everything. Jack wanted to come home everyday from work and see her waiting for him. For the first time in his forty years of living, he craved domesticity.

Yandere Sheriff who tries to take things slow but he starts to get touchy. Jack often holds her soft hands in his large, calloused ones while he shows her the town. His green eyes never leave his sunshine. The stubble on his chin tickles her shoulders when he rests his face on her shoulder while she wears his sheriff hat. Jack loves her… he loves (your name) so very much, it hurts.

Yandere Sheriff who can’t get her out of his head even when he dreams. Her face creates butterflies flutter in his stomach and her smile… her smile was just like sunshine. She was his sunshine… and he never wanted her to be taken away. The fear of his enemies harming her started to keep him up at night… he had to make it official so they could get married and he could keep her locked away and safe.

Yandere Sheriff who took (your name) out on dates on the weekends. Jack enjoyed taking her on rides on his horse, Gunsmoke. He adores how much smaller her body is than his. Their bodies fit together so perfectly… it was when Gunsmoke brought them up a hill where the sunset looked most beautiful that Jack felt like he should confess his love for her. The setting sun made her look like some sort of goddess on earth… a goddess he wished to worship until his final breath.

Yandere Sheriff who is shocked that she doesn’t feel the same way. They spent so much time together… why didn’t she love him too? Jack was upset that she didn’t feel the same way. Couldn’t she see herself with him? He saw an entire future with her… he saw children and a wedding. They were meant to be in his eyes… and he would teach her to love him.

Yandere Sheriff who doesn’t budge when (your name)’s fists beat against his chest while he kissed her. His stubble tickled her face and she could taste cigar smoke on him but his arms firmly held her against him. Jack was on cloud nine from the kiss. He sore lightning shot through his very being… she was so perfect. How could she not want this? How could she not want him? It wasn’t long before his lips moved to her neck to press hit kisses all over the soft, tender skin. His sweet whispers of love made her skin crawl.

“I love you… I love you so much.” Jack whispered into her skin, his hot breath tickled. “Let’s get married... my sunshine.”

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #Yandere sheriff #Yandere Wild West #Yandere cowboy #cowboy Yandere #possessive Yandere #yandere dilf #older yandere #Yandere man #yandere stories #Yandere oc #yandere obsession #yandere male #old man pussy #yandere original work #yandere original character #protective yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere horror #yandere au #Yandere #obsessive yandere #lovesick #lovesickness

[soulofapatrick]

Amortentia - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You brew Amortentia and it leads somewhere you didn't ever expect Words: 1.7k Warnings: none really Notes: I am alive I promise, been really busy as we're getting ready to move house

Y/N’s POV

Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. The way many people find their partners in Hogwarts and the most exciting class of the year. Everyone is buzzing around, whispering and giggling with their friends about the vial sat on Professor Slughorn’s desk, left completely unguarded. I take on glance at the shimmering blue liquid and cringe a little before finding the closest seat to the door, throwing my bag on the floor after pulling out the Potions book. 

“Hey Y/N,” Harry slides into the seat beside me with his signature unruly black hair and this bright green eyes that seem to hold a hint of mischief and determination, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He wears his Gryffindor uniform somewhat neatly, his tie slightly askew adding to this charm.

Ron isn’t far behind, grumbling about the upcoming lesson. His fiery red hair is as untameable as ever, and his freckled face displaying nothing but annoyance as he throws his arms over mine and Harry’s shoulders and letting his knees buckle while pretending to swoon, “Oh Theodore, my love, it youuuuuu-“ 

“Oh shut up!” I push his arm off my shoulders and he falls with a cry of surprise, Harry trying to catch him but ending up letting Ron fall to snigger behind his hand, “You’re probably going to fall head over heels for Snape… oh Snape, oh how I love thee Sn-“ 

“Alright, let’s begin this lesson shall we?” Professor Slughorn comes breezing in, not as well as Snape as he’s just too happy for that. Ron squeezes my shoulder before he slinks off to sit in one of the only spaces next to Neville who looks like he would rather be anywhere else. 

As the lesson commences, Slughorn goes over the instructions and safety precautions for handling Amortentia. The excitement in the room is palpable as we prepare to brew the potent love potion. The air is filled with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but I find myself feeling grateful for Harry taking over, using his special edition of the potions book that is full of scribbles and notes presumably making the potion better. The simmering cauldrons and swirling concoctions coming together creates an almost enchanting atmosphere, the scents in the air shifting and blending, giving the room an ethereal quality. 

A figure appears over my shoulder, surprise and curiosity coursing through my veins when I recognise that familiar scent of oranges, honeycomb and something darker like amber which can mean only one thing: Theodore Nott is standing behind me. His calm and composed demeanour a little intimidating as I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually smile more than a very small lift of the corner of his lips. Oh his lips, so plump and flush and-

“How’s the potion going Mouse? Have you blown up-“ He stops abruptly, leaving forwards over my shoulder and taking a very deep breath, causing me to stumble a little over the response I was trying to formulate. His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down my spine at the nickname he calls me. 

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s coming along.” I manage to stammer rout, feeling my cheeks heat up, “Haven’t blown anything up… yet.” 

Theodore’s lips quirk upward ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of what could be a hint of amusement. He leans in a little closer, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, sending more shivers down my spine, but it’s a delicious kind nervousness, a feeling I can’t quite put into words. Before I can fully process the situation, Theodore buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking a deep breath. My heart pounds in my chest so loud I’m sure Ron can hear it from across the room, and time seems to slow down. The scents of oranges, honeycomb and amber envelops us, creating an intimate and intoxicating moment. 

I can hardly believe that Theodore, the stoic and straight-faced Slytherin, is here, so close to me, and that he’s showing this level of vulnerability. His actions are unexpected but oh so incredibly thrilling. I dare to steal a glance at his face, and I’m met with a sight I’ve never seen before - a softness in his expression, a hint of something more than his usual guarded demeanour. It’s as if he’s letting down his walls, revealing a side of himself he rarely shows to anyone. 

My heart races, and I find myself yearning for more of this closeness, more of this connection. It’s like a spell has been cast, and I’m under Theodore’s enchantment. The excitement and nervousness intertwine, and I feel a sense of wonder at the unexpected turn of events, how close he is to me. I can feel his breath ghosting over my lips, knowing that I could just lean forwards ever so slightly and close the near non-existence space between us. The smell of oranges, honeycomb and amber suddenly gets so intense I have to grab the edge of the table and Theodore’s forearm. 

“Aha! We did it!” Harry exclaims, breaking the moment and has Theodore pulling back. Theodore’s eyes meet mine, and I see a spark of something familiar and yet different. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, emotions swirling around us like the brewing potions in the classroom.

“Oh god.” I choke out and I think Theodore actually smiles for the first time, the corner of his lips tilting up into more of a smile than he’s ever shown before, “Wh-what do you smell Teddy?”

He leans in once more, his nose brushing against my collarbone and neck. His closeness sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. And then, he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my jaw, sending shockwaves of sensation through me. It’s a sweet, tender touch that leaves me breathless. 

“You.” He whispers, his voice barely audible,  but the impact of his words reverberates within me. The world seems to stand still, and my heart swells with emotion. 

Theodore Tiberius Nott, the guarded and enigmatic Slytherin, had just confessed, in his own subtle way, that he feels something for me. My cheeks flush with a. Mixture of excitement and disbelief. It’s a moment I never thought I’d experience - being so close to Theodore, sharing this intimate connection, and hearing him express his feelings in such a heartfelt manner. In the heart-stopping moment, I can see the turmoil of emotions playing across his face. His eyes meet mine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. And then, without warning, he mumbles a single phrase that sets my heart racing even faster. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers, and before I can process his intent, his hand cups my jaw, and he draws me up into a kiss. It’s a surprise, but the moment our lips meet, it’s as if everything falls into place. 

The kiss is soft yet intense, filled with all the emotions that words can’t express. It feels like an explosion of passion and longing, an unspoken confession that’s now imprinted on our lips. Theodore’s lips are warm and inviting, and I respond with equal fervour, my heart soaring with joy and disbelief. Time seems to stand still, and the air crackles with the intensity of our shared emotions. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a revelation of hidden desires and unspoken feelings. All the walls Theodore had erected to guard his heart have crumbled, and in this magical moment, he bares himself to me in the most intimate way. 

Just as the world around us seems to disappear in the enchantment of the moment, reality crashes back in with an unexpected interruption. Ron, being the protective and ever-observant twin brother, appears out of nowhere and is shoving Theodore away from me. 

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Ron’s voice is filled with shock and indignation, “You can’t just go around kissing my sister!” 

“Ron!” I can’t help but practically facepalm at him as he’s… he’s being Ron, “Shove off,” I reach around Ron and manage to get a grip on Theodore’s sleeve enough to pull him back over to me. Ron's protectiveness is well-intentioned, but I can't let it ruin the magical moment that Theodore and I just shared. 

“I’m not… She’s safe with me, I promise.” Theodore's words are reassuring, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there's a tenderness in his touch as he holds my hand, a silent declaration of his feelings for me. 

“I trust him.” I say firmly, giving my brother a pleading look. Ron just looks torn for a moment, clearly struggling between his protective instincts and his trust in me. But then, he takes a deep breath and nods reluctantly. 

“Fine.” His says, his voice gruff but accepting, “But if he hurts you in any way, he’ll have me to deal with.” Ron eyes him warily but eventually takes a step back, giving us some space. ”Just remember, Y/N, he's a Slytherin," Ron says, his protective tone still evident.

"He's more than just his house," I reply, trying to convey the depth of my feelings for Theodore.

Ron studies me for a moment before he finally relents. ”Fine," he says, "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

With that, Ron turns and walks away, leaving Theodore and me standing there, still holding hands. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Ron didn't push the matter further. 

“Ahhhh young love.” Slughorn’s voice floats across the room , filled with warmth and nostalgia, and I do the only thing I can: bury my face in Theodore’s sweater, feeling a laugh rumble in his chest. 

“Indeed.” Theodore says, his voice laced with amusement as he wraps his arms around me in a gentle embrace. Slughorn giving us an indulgent smile before continuing with the class. The room seeming to take on a different atmosphere now, one that’s tinged with a newfound sweetness and magic. The shimmering cauldrons and swirling potions seem to mirror the emotions swirling within me, and I can’t help but realise how cliche this is. Expressing our feelings for each other during the lesson on amortentia… 

“I’ll wait for you after class.” Theodore murmurs, kissing my forehead then my cheek before untangling himself from my embrace before heading back to his seat next to a predictably sneering Draco Malfoy. 

“What just happened?’ I ask Harry, a little dazed still, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“I’m not actually sure.” 

-----------

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

New Tag List Form

#Theodore nott #Theodore nott x reader #Theodore nott x you #Theodore nott x reader #Theodore nott x y/n #Theodore nott fanfiction #Theodore nott fluff #Theodore nott angst #Theodore nott smut #Theodore nott x hufflepuff reader #Lorenzo zurzolo #Theodore nott imagine #Theodore nott drabble #Theodore nott one shot #Hogwarts x you #Hogwarts x hufflepuff!reader #Theo nott x reader #Theo nott x you #Theo nott fluff #Theo nott smut #Theo nott angst #Theo nott x y/n

[floswife]

“MAKE ME”- H.J.P x READER

Warnings: fluff, rivals to lovers, idiots in denial that they’re in love, Harry being stupid bc why not

Pairing: Harry James Potter x reader

Author’s Notes: idk I just felt a little silly 🤷‍♀️

Summary: Harry can’t seem to keep his mouth shut around Y/n

Harry and Y/n never really got along. Why? Godric knows. It’s been going on for as long as anybody could remember to the point that the origins often varied amongst everybody.

“Oh! It was because Harry accidentally hexed her hair to be snakes.”

“It’s because she struck him by lightning to match his scar.”

“He got a bludger thrown at her during one of their quidditch practices!”

“She dressed up as you know who for a costume party once!”

None of those reasons were the actual origin of their feud, though they were actual events that had occurred.

The irony was that they should’ve gotten along perfectly well together on paper, both being in Gryffindor, both on the quidditch team, both hated by Snape (though Snape hated almost everybody except for green eyes redhead Gryffindor girls) and they both had many mutual friends between them.

They were just constantly at each others throats, it was like it was a game for the two. They definitely did always argue with a wide smile on their face.

Take today for example, it was quidditch practice and like usual, they were arguing.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin I’ll bat this bludger at you!” Y/n pointed her bat threateningly at him. The rest of the team had learnt to ignore them at that point, learning that they just work better motivated by their frustration at each other.

Harry just threw his arms up, “do it, l/n, we all know it’s an empty threat anyways because you’ll miss my face again.”

She gave him a scandalised look, “again?! Who said I ever missed your face, scarhead?”

“Ron! The last time I went to the hospital wing.” Harry grinned triumphantly as she glared at Ron at his spot by the goal to which he just observed the sky with mild interest.

“Do you know how vague that is? You’re in the hospital every other day, attention whore.” She huffed and crossed her arms.

It was then that they got shouted at by Wood to actually partake in practice to which they finally listened.

After practice where everyone was going to the changing rooms, Harry trailed after her and spoke in a sing song voice behind Y/n, “you missed me.”

She turned around with a light scowl on her face, “shut it Harold.”

He had his stupid smirk on his face that often found it’s way there when he was around there as he stepped closer to her, she stayed still, “oh yeah? Make me.”

His emerald eyes flitted to her lips and she felt her heartbeat pick up at the decreasing amount of personal space between them, “bet.”

His smile widened at her response but not for long as she pulled out her wand and wordlessly did a spell to seal his mouth shut.

In a moment of pure panic she just rushed into the changing room, did i seriously just hex a boy after almost kissing him?

As anybody would after hexing a persons mouth shut after almost kissing them, Y/n avoided Harry. Dodging him in hallways, quite literally jumping into random classrooms (though that was a one time thing after seeing a couple of seventh years exchanging spit in there).

Later in the common room, she was curled up in the corner with her knees to her chest, reading a book to calm her nerves, while also covering her face with said book.

This half assed disguise clearly did nothing for her because Ron sat right on the chair next to her.

“Y/n! My dorm now!”

She gave him an indignant look, “Ronnil Wazlib! Me and you need to have words about what you spilled to Harold you little rat!”

Ron just shook his head at her exasperatedly.

“Don’t shake your head at me like I’m your nan with dementia, I will tell ‘mione about your undying love for her!”

His eyes widened and he clasped a hand over her mouth, “just shut up and go up to my dorm.”

She threw her hands up in surrender and got up to go to his dorm, she walked into his dorm first and as soon as she turned to ask him what he wanted to talk about, the door shut in her face, she tried to open it but it was locked. She tried to magically unlock it, but it didn’t work.

Her blood ran cold when she realised her mistake, Harold.

She turned to see him sitting on his bed and he wordlessly patted the spot next to him.

She furrowed her brows but listened all the same as she sat down next to him, “that’s a little too much effort to just talk to me, Potter, just say you love me at this point.”

He gave her a deadpan stare and she then realised he was still hexed so she pulled out her wand and undid it. She gave him an apologetic look.

“Why did he try so hard to get me in here with you?” She asked curiously.

Harry seemed to contemplate what he was gonna say before he finally said, “well I’m not gonna say I’m in love with you but I can say that I like you. A lot actually.”

She gave him an incredulous look, “Excusé moi?”

He just nodded, “you’re brilliant and beautiful and smart and funny and I like you. And I think- no I know you like me too.”

She furrowed her brows, “how can you be so sure about that?”

He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face and kept his hand cupping the side of her face, “because I know you.”

For once she didn’t argue against him and when he leaned in this time, she let their lips touch and she melted into the kiss. His lips were soft against hers and although they spent years with such animosity towards each other, it seemed to now just turn into blind affection as they naturally sank into each others arms.

When they pulled away with soft smiles still on each others faces, she spoke, “and you tried to get on my case for missing you in the hospital wing?”

Harry’s face lit up even more if that was possible, “so you did miss me!”

She rolled her eyes, “that was not new knowledge, get over it!”

He laughed and she decided to shut him up for the second time that day, except not with magic this time, but with another kiss.

It was then that Ron decided to burst in to the room, “have you guys killed each other ye- Merlin!”

He gasped at them as they jumped apart from each other. Harry looking proud while y/n looked slightly ashamed.

She threw a pillow at him as he ran off shouting for everyone saying he had money to collect.

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter fluff #harry james potter #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #idiots in love #idiots in denial #enemies to lovers #harry james potter x reader #harry potter blurb #daniel radcliffe gif #daniel radcliffe #daniel radcliffe x reader

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ miguel x spidey!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! NO SPOILERS !!!! splashes of angst. unprotected sex. creampie. cervix fucking. WORD COUNT: 1.8K PSD CREDIT!!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ @miguelism @pompomegranate come get ya mans !!!!! PART TWO HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can still see him here.

It’s not real and it never will be– not again, anyways.

“March 13th.” 

How long are you going to keep doing this? Your jaw tenses. Here we go again.

The argument is a solo act; there’s no one to talk to here but you. So naturally, you run the same trite script until it comes to the same inevitable conclusion: giving in to the self-indulgence.

The bad thing’s already happened. You lost Miguel– well, more like he lost you. You’re the one trapped in this purgatorial vortex. The space that lies between every what if, the border of every possibility.

And it’s so fucking lonely.

So it’s ironic that your multiverse jumping wristband is good for anything but its intended use. It mocks you, its amber projections burning red when you even so much as try to go home. Not to your original timeline– to HQ.

To him.

But you know that will never happen so you make do with what you have: the memories stored on your gadget, the device looking worse for wear with jagged claw marks running down its sides, disappearing into the scarred flesh that lies beneath it. 

He didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that.

You wish you could tell him.

You (metaphorically) furiously fan away that cloud of remembrance. You’re already stuck, no need to dwell on the last time your heart was ripped out. You lie back, resting against nothing but floating amongst everything. Limbo sure is weird.

Arm resting over your stomach, you train your eyes on the happier time playing out from the screen on your wrist. It’s not perfect; the vision cracks, sometimes glitches in reds and greens before going back to normal. It’s getting worse. 

There you go again! We’re trying to have a good time here. 

Right. Right.

Sorry.

Focus.

You take a deep breath, chest rising and falling steadily.

Focus.

You close your eyes and when you reopen them, fix them on the screen that shows you strutting in Miguel’s domain, it’s like you’re there.

It’s like you’re back home.

“You gotta eat, you know.” Tossing a paper bag way up high, it doesn’t surprise you that he catches it with lightning fast reflexes, even with his back turned to you. “And if you don’t, I’ll make ‘em take empanadas off the menu.” 

He’s still. Only sound coming from him is the rustling of the bag. At least there’s that, you think as you approach the floating platform. “Don’t make me come up there!” You holler, though you only get your own echo in return. 

Shit. He’s in a mood.

Throat flexing with a thick swallow, you decide to go up anyways– you sure don’t want to wait for him to come to you. Thing’s slow as hell.  

Webs whipping from your wrist, you fashion a slingshot apparatus to propel you yards into the air. Nothing beats the rush of a flight, even now as you descend into what could be a particularly thorny situation with a particularly grumpy man. 

But he’s your particularly grumpy man. 

“Hey,” Your voice starts softly, “Everything–”

He turns around, stopping you in the middle of what was going to be your magnum opus of pep talks to show he’s got a mouthful of doughy goodness that keeps him from talking. And when he swallows, there’s a damn smirk waiting for you to kiss.

You don’t fall for it, at least not now but god do you want to. But first…

“Asshole!” 

“You just jumped to conclusions.” Another bite of the savory empanada just to tick you off. You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, even if it’s all in good fun. Your cheeks puff up and your nose scrunches when your eyebrows furrow. He’ll kiss you if you won’t.

“Oh, real mature. Hiding behind–” 

In a flash, the empanada goes back in the bag and in red glowing binds gets fastened to the side of his computer mainframe, freeing up his hands to pull you close. A little too roughly, but you melt into his big frame regardless, lips pursing against his and giggling when you can taste meat and spice.

“How romantic.” You mutter and he laughs.

God, his laugh. Nobody heard it too often– nobody but you, that is.

When Miguel was with you, it’s as if you two were in a world of your own. A timeline of your own. Where past transgressions and terrible happenings were nonexistent. Where he could be him, the man he was supposed to be: sweet, charming, and kind. And where you could love him like he deserved.

Is someone else filling that role now? 

Great! You’re thinking too much again. Stop fucking this up!

“June 27th!” You blurt, warped back to reality when your thoughts strayed too far from the projection. 

The picture’s changed now. You’re home, your residence littered with reminders of Miguel. It’s empty, but not for long. The front door slams open and you and Miguel come pouring in, him taking the lead as the two of you blindly navigate the foyer with your lips locked and hands gripping each other for dear life.

Your cheeks in real time burn. Maybe you shouldn’t stay for this memory.

Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s literally you! The little voice in your head chastises and honestly… You can’t argue with that.

“M-Miguel, I don’t– I don’t have– I’m not on–”

“Shut up.” A tempered hiss is pressed to your lips, thick digits coming to frame your face as he pushes you further into the space you’ve come to share together. “Or I’ll change my mind about filling you up.”

You can’t argue with that.

“Say it.” His growling crests your ears, breath hot and fangs out just moments later when his pelvis is flush against yours, cock buried to the base in your sopping wet pussy. You swear he’ll drip drool on you at this point, the man driven to the brink of his sanity by the way your cunt hugs him so tight. It’s like you want to milk him for all he’s worth. 

Your hands paw helplessly at his chest, all your energy zapped as your eyes roll back under the curtain of fluttering fluffy eyelashes. “F-Fuck Miguel– f-fill me up!” 

“Keep going.” His voice is low, rich and dark.

The fat head of his cock presses up against your sensitive bundle of clitoral nerves, slamming hard when you whimper and cry for him, “Right there, right there!” You start to babble, the words freely flowing from your kiss-bruised lips because your brain is long gone, “F-Fuck me, need your cum– need you, need you, Miguel! Please don’t stop, please!” 

“Yeah? Can’t feel whole without my cock? Need it?” His tone seeped in pride, he loves seeing you unravel for him like this. “I’m givin’ it to you baby, right where you need it. You feel that? Your little pussy crying for me, so fucking wet. Fuck, you’re so good. Good for me.” He’s kissing you now, sloppy and panting into your mouth before his tongue ravishes yours and swallows every moan you give him.

Your legs locked around his waist still bounce, hips raised off the bed by Miguel’s brutish clutch so he can bully more of himself into you, harder and faster. Your lower body limply follows his every move, takes every slam and thrust all the while wet squelches fill the room. Your vision finally coming back, you see his nostrils flare and his eyes glazed over with a beastly kind of lust. It’s enough to make your bones shiver.

You can’t help but let your gaze rest there, even as he fucks you within an inch of your life, always so fervent with his thrusting as he stuffs you full, but you just can’t get over this view: his pectoral muscles flexing when you tighten up around him in just the right way, the way sweat gathers on his brow before trickling down his sharp jawline, and the way his lips stay agape because if he’s not groaning, he’s growling.

“That’s it, mi vida. Doin’ so good. Pussy takin’ me all the way in. Shit– I’m addicted. Might just fuck you raw every time. Want that?” One hand comes to your face, thumb just barely squishing your cheek and making you pout. “Say it.” 

“Y-Yes, yes! Please Miguel!” Tear drops glimmering in the corners of your eyes, you plead for him, “C-Cum inside me, I’m getting close!” Every sense of yours is on fire, everything burning bright for him and only him. Always for him.

And you see a similar inferno explode in his narrowed eyes just then and it’s immediate, the way he unhooks your legs from his waist and bends them aaaalllllll the way back until your knees are violently knocking against the mattress, his lumbering body taking yours in the mating press he so adores.

Because he gets to fill you to the brim. Bump and grind against your cervix until even that soft nodule is his. He’s staking his claim, making you his as the soles of his feet dig deep into the sheets, his toned limbs caging your bouncing body until you’re nothing but a squealing little mess for him to clean up.

His balls slap firmly and roughly against your folds, sticky webs of cum starting and breaking each time he snaps his hips. Your walls tremble around him, gushing out more of your essence every time. You’re just about undone. He can feel it.

But so is he, his already thick cock pulsating with another rush of blood as the coil in his stomach heats up. He puts all his weight into you, onto you the last couple thrusts – he knows you can take it – so he can kiss you. So he can taste you.

“‘M cumming, c-cumming…” Your words are muffled and tired, eyes wheeling back as your orgasm hits you hard and heavy, Miguel following soon after with plenty of cum to fill your pretty pussy up with and an animalistic series of grunts as his cock twitches and throbs inside you. It’s thick and so much, too much so that the opaque matter starts to pool out when his hard shaft finally leaves you, giving your featherlight folds another heaping layer of viscosity.

“‘Tch– it’s comin’ out already.” He huffs, though with a bit of a laugh. “Can’t have that.” So his fingers gather what’s remaining and slip into your cunt before he pops another kiss to your parted lips, nipping just a teeny bit on the bottom half to get you to squeal one last time for him.

And that’s how the video ends. That’s how you finish, having followed along with lithe fingers rubbing your aching clit and one or two at any time plunged and crooked inside you, but it’s not the same. 

It’ll never be the same.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #atsv x reader #atsv x you #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ marie writes! ꒱ #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for miguel. ꒱

[happy-hermit]

HELLO HELLO EVERYONE :D

This is a fic for an AU where young teenager TCD Scar comes through Grian's rift :) It's a trauma reveal folks <33

Enjoy!!

===================================

Grian was beginning to believe that the rift had some form of sentience, given that at times it appeared to become quite… temperamental. Some days it would be almost eerily still and slow. Others it would— Well, it would do what it was currently doing. 

The rift was swirling with more shades of purple than usual, dark patches appearing and disappearing with alarming frequency. There was an electricity in the air that made the hair on his arms stick up, and Grian had the strange feeling in his stomach that the thing was emitting some sort of sound that was too low or high for human ears. It felt a bit like a thunderstorm. 

Grian had set up shop immediately upon noticing something was different, resorting to sitting in a chair staring at the Rift waiting on it to do something. It was horrifically tedious. Grumbot — in true Grumbot fashion — was refusing to give him a straight answer. Grian was beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t have one. 

So he waited. With several cups of coffee and messy notes strewn around him on the ground, he waited. 

He was sleeping when the whole thing really started —  because the Universe hated him personally, he was sure. 

He was already sitting up by the time he regained consciousness, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide and darting around in confusion, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was too bright, and his vision was too blurry from sleep, and where in void’s name was that wind coming from?

The rift chose that moment to start spitting lightning at him, and Grian let out a strangled yell as he dove behind Grumbot’s messaging system, abandoning his empty coffee cups to an uncertain fate. He ducked down and shut his eyes tightly as the glow of the Rift got brighter and brighter, as the high pitched noise emitting from it got higher and higher, until finally something in the fabric of reality snapped under the strain. 

From across the room, there was a short, terrified yell, cut short by the impact of something hitting the ground, and a clatter, like the person had dropped something. There was sudden and complete silence, until it was broken by a quiet groan. Heart in his throat, Grian opened his eyes and shifted, peeking over his makeshift shield to check things out. 

The Rift was back to what he considered to be normal, glowing a serene purple, calm as anything. His notes were strewn about the room and burned at the edges. His coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen. 

On the ground was a person. They were curled up on their side, clutching at their head with gloved hands. Their clothes were ragged and torn, bandages peeking out from under them as the figure shifted slowly. And then they sat up, and their face drifted into view. 

Grian’s breath hitched, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blocks he was hiding behind. It was a kid. He had messy brown hair, jagged and uneven, like he’d cut it himself, and a bandage creeping up the side of his face from under his chin. He had a bandana tied around his neck, mostly a faded green, except for the faint splatters of dull red. His face was gaunt and his eyes were wide and scared as he patted himself down frantically, muttering to himself. The kid couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. He did not look like someone who believed he would live for much longer. 

Grian let himself poke his head just a bit higher over the barrier, frozen in shock and confusion as his unplanned visitor started whirling around and looking at the floor. His gaze finally landed on something that Grian couldn’t quite see, and his shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief as he went to pick it up. 

Grian… didn’t know what he was expecting. A sword, maybe? No. 

The raggedy little teenager had popped through an interdimensional rift in Grian’s basement, looking like absolute hell, and he picked up a gun. 

The kid checked that it was loaded in practiced movements, almost with the grace of a soldier. It contrasted sharply with the youth of his face, and the way his shoelaces were untied and tucked into his shoes. It painted a very concerning picture. 

His visitor was just beginning to gather his bearings, hauling himself to his feet with suppressed sounds of pain. He was favoring one leg. The gun was poised at the ready in his arms. 

Never let it be said that Grian was a smart man, given what he did next. 

“You can’t have those here.”

The kid made a strangled noise of alarm as he whipped around to face where Grian now stood apart from his makeshift cover, his hands raised in what he hoped was the universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’. And then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t the usual kind of chaos that happened around here, but he was going to try his best to take it in stride. What was the worst that could happen? He’d get shot? 

He’d respawn. But the kid was staring at him like he wasn’t aware of that. Like maybe he was counting on the opposite to be true. 

Grian forced himself to look past the very threatening weapon pointed at him to get a better look at the person's face, and he met his eyes. They were a striking shade of green, trained on him with pinpoint accuracy and refusing to waver. At first glance, he looked almost angry. Grian knew, though, that it was only a thinly veiled cover for the heart-stopping panic crowding in behind it. For the confusion and pain and fear. (And why could he read a stranger so well?)

“I won’t hurt you,” Grian said, calm as he could manage, wings tense behind him. “But you’ve got to put the gun down.”

“You can talk,” the kid said, quiet and shaky. Like it was surprising. Something about it made Grian’s chest squeeze. 

“Yeah, I can,” Grian said, gentler now. “So can you. Can you tell me your name?”

The gun trembled for a moment, just slightly, and then went eerily steady once more. The kid swallowed hard and glanced around for a second before locking back on to Grian. 

“You’re not… infected?” The kid asked finally. 

Grian frowned a bit in confusion, his brow furrowing and wings rustling in unease. Infected. It sounded like a word with more weight than was really warranted. Like it came with a history. 

“I’m— No, I’m healthy as a horse,” Grian said, cracking an awkward grin. “Eat my vegetables and everything.”

The kid tilted his head, just slightly, and the gun dipped just a bit more towards the ground. Or, well. Towards Grian’s stomach. 

“A horse?” The kid repeated slowly, still in that carefully quiet tone, and if Grian didn’t know any better he’d think that he didn’t know what a horse was. Maybe he didn’t. 

“Yeah, you know— sort of like cows,” Grian said, now feeling absolutely insane. He was explaining the concept of horses while held at gunpoint. “But they’ve got longer faces, I think. And you can ride them.”

The kid, if anything, seemed more confused by that, and Grian gave up on the agriculture lesson for now. 

“You don’t need that here,” Grian redirected, gesturing carefully at the gun. The kid flinched a little at his movement, and Grian softened his voice as much as he could. “You’re safe, here. It’s safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The kid's shoulders tensed even further, the gun recentering itself firmly on Grian’s forehead and those oddly familiar green eyes shuttering back into a mask of calm. Only the slight tremble of his mouth gave away his fear. He was scared. A tangle of frustration and heartbreak and helplessness coiled in Grian’s chest. 

“It’s not,” the kid said, firmly. “It’s not safe anywhere.”

Where had he come from, that he believed that?

“Look, you— You see that behind you? It’s a portal,” Grian explained, motioning to it in jerky movements. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re somewhere new.”

The kid shook his head, desperate eyes flickering from Grian to the Rift and quickly back again. They were shining with unshed tears, his mouth wobbling almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he looked terribly, horrifically young. Too young to be holding a gun. Too young to be scared of the world. Too young to be so convinced that it couldn’t change. That there was no more hope for things to get better. 

“But I— No. I didn’t go into any portal,” the kid said, voice raising a little, accusing. “Then how did I get here? Did— You did something.”

“No no no,” Grian said, hands raised again. “That thing has a mind of its own, I didn’t do anything. I just sat here.”

“Well I didn’t do anything, either!” The kid said, sounding slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grian said, as gentle as he could manage. His protective instincts were going haywire; he didn’t really know why. “Look, just— Weird things just happen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Then where am I?” The kid asked, voice shaking horribly. 

“It’s called Hermitcraft,” Grian said, voice still carefully calm. “We’re in my house. Well— Under it.” He paused, hesitating, and his next question came out hushed. “Where did you come from?”

The stranger let out a shaky breath, gun unwavering and silence hanging in the still air around them. He didn’t answer. Grian could guess that it was nowhere good. 

They had run out of ways to stall the inevitable, in which the kid had two options. Shoot him or don’t. They were at a standstill. Something had to give. 

A soft noise from across the cavern interrupted Grian’s racing thoughts, and it took him a moment to place it as a muffled baa from one of the sheep in his sheep farm. It was barely anything, and yet the kid reacted as if it were a creeper beginning to explode, whirling to face the noise with wild eyes, swinging his gun in that direction. Namely, away from Grian.

Before he could think better of it, Grian rushed forwards, using his wings to propel him, and he disarmed the other before he even had the time to yell. A stray bullet shot somewhere into the ceiling in the brief struggle, loud enough that Grian knew someone would be coming round to check on it soon, and when the dust settled he was holding a gun, looking into the pale face of a terrified stranger.

“No!” The kid shouted, the loudest he’d been since he’d arrived, pushing at Grian with shaky shoves as he grappled for the gun. Grian deflected his attacks, heart sinking into his stomach as he watched the other grow increasingly frantic, breaths coming fast. “It’s mine! Give it back, it’s mine! You can’t have it, it— it’s mine. Please, please, it’s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grian said, out of his depth, practically pleading. “Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? But you— you can’t hurt anyone else, either.”

The kid just shook his head, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes as he backed away, hands in trembling fists at his sides. He glared at Grian with all the fire of a hardened soldier and all the fear of a child, green eyes flashing dangerously. Something prickled at the back of Grian’s neck. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. Déjà vu, maybe.

“It’s mine,” the kid repeated, firmer and quieter. “It has my name on it.”

Grian looked down, mildly curious among the adrenaline and confusion. 

He stopped breathing. Froze completely, hands white-knuckled on the gun. His skin went cold, heart tripping over itself in his chest. 

On the gun, in capital letters, was a name. 

[ SCAR ]

A name that he knew. 

Slowly, Grian looked up, breath hitching in his throat when he met the eyes of the stranger(?), now looking a little confused himself. There was a bandage on the side of his face. Judging by the size of it, it was covering a pretty nasty wound. Likely to leave a scar.

Grian knew exactly what it would look like, when it healed.

“Scar,” Grian said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears, blank and emotionless. “Your name is Scar.”

“I named myself,” the kid — Scar — said, still shaking a little, glancing around near-constantly. 

Grian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, mind void of any clear thoughts.  “It’s a good name,” he said, chest aching.

“Do you have one?” Scar asked. His hands were fisted in the front of his jacket, twisting anxiously.

“A gun?” Grian asked faintly.

Scar shook his head. “A name.”

“I’m… Grian. My name is Grian.”

“Grian,” Scar repeated, nose wrinkling a little, like he thought it was odd. Scar — his Scar — had made the exact same face last week when he’d come across a problem at his park. Grian felt sick. “You’re—”

The rapidly approaching sound of fireworks cut off whatever the kid had been about to say, and he flinched like he’d been struck, turning wide eyes to the sky as he stumbled a few steps back, towards Grian’s content generator. Grian looked up as well, torn between relief and frustration. The kid had finally seemed to be calming down. 

“It’s okay,” Grian said, rushed and panicked as he held out a placating hand towards Scar. “It’s just one of my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“Friends?” Tiny scared Scar hissed, like the very idea was ludicrous, and Grian was mildly offended.

Before he could come up with a reply, there was a call of his name from above, and Grian snapped his gaze back skyward, heartrate accelerating. 

Of course, Grian thought, watching as Scar crashed unceremoniously into the ground a few yards away. Of course it was him. Grian took a steadying breath and prepared himself. This was either the best possible option, or the worst. There was no telling where luck would have him fall, this time.

“Grian, I heard explosions!” Scar said, elytra disappearing as he straightened up from his rough landing. “Are you blowing things up without me? You know how much I—”

The builder cut himself off with a strangled noise, face falling quickly into something haunted. Almost scared. Any doubt Grian might have had about who the kid was vanished. They had the same way of being afraid. 

The way Scar was looking at the gun Grian was still holding confirmed it. He was looking at it with wide eyes and tense shoulders, breathing quick and shallow. He was looking at it with recognition.

“Where did you get that?” Scar asked, in a voice that Grian had never heard from him before, dark and small and shaking. 

Wordlessly, Grian stepped out of the way. 

And he watched as Scar locked eyes with his younger self. Just another day on Hermitcraft.

#phil aresonist this ones for you /lh #goodtimeswithscar #grian #hermitcraft s9 #the rift #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 9 #tcd #jay's journal #gtws #desert duo #j writes

[lyrablack1883]

“Of memory long lost forgotten”

Memory is a fickle thing, especially children’s memory. It’s not certain at what point, your mind started to record your life. when Harry started to dream of a gentle humming and a familiar figure, he thought it was merely his imagination. Until the dream becomes more vivid each day.

When the wand’s tip touched his forehead, he managed to extract it. It was actually a memory long lost buried. He drop the silver strand to a pensive in his office, and plunged his head in it.

The memory begin, at first he couldn’t see anything, then a gentle humming surrounded the space, and in front of him he could see a figure, it was his mother, young and alive just like the one he saw that day in the mirror.

“Mum?” He whisper. The figure didn’t move and continue to hum the same song.

The baby in her arm opened his eyes. Harry saw himself, this version of him didn’t have the ugly lightning scar that marred his face. Harry step closer and watch his mother cradled him so softly. The image burned into his eyes and he struggled to keep his breathing even.

Despite this, he continue to watch this version of himself along with his mother closely. ‘We do have the same eyes’, Harry thought. The same shade of forest green. All his life he would hear the same phrase, and years seeing it through the mirror, photographs and ghost, he knows it’s a fact. but to see it in real person side by side, it filled his chest with warmth.

He watched the memory played out, and his mother softly caressed his cheek. She seemed to be saying something, but the memory didn’t catch it. Harry strained his ears and watch her mother’s mouth, trying to decipher her words.

But then he heard her laugh. For a second his thought was filled, about the fact that most of his youth, he was haunted by her scream and now he get to hear this. The tears he held back, streamed freely falling into the memory. He was reminded again that-

He was loved

He was loved

He was loved. And he no one is going to take it away again from him. He doesn’t want to forget this.

The memory is going to end, the space began to disintegrate. The last thing Harry saw was of his mother holding tightly to his little frame.

Just like she did that night, when the morning never came.

(Just little drabbles to accompany these illustration I made) (felt free to expand or write this ahaha, I ran out of words, I can’t convey my thought articulately most of the time)

#harry potter #lily evans #october 31 #marauders #microfic #illustration

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You meet an old friend of your professor’s, you learn some things about yourself. Tomorrow is going to suck.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley was born in the South. Shitty little town on the cusp of North Carolina and Tennessee. He doesn’t remember much about it other than his neighbors shooting at tin cans in the morning and his cousin Lucas, four years older than him so maybe eight at this time, teaching him how to catch lightning bugs. After that, after his dad hadn’t returned from what was supposed to be just a six month deployment, they went back West.

He remembers California. His grandmother’s mid-century three bedroom with two orange trees and a lemon tree in the yard. His cousin Jessica, only two years his senior but twice his size back then, pinning him down on that almost artificially green grass and squeezing lemon juice on his grazed knee. He remembers learning to ride his bike alone at that house, out of pure spite after watching a kid on his baseball team learn the skill with his father on a sunny day at the park down the street.

He remembers being so angry in that house. He hated Jessica, he hated that his Mom let his grandmother parent him. He enjoyed the citrus, and the sun, and the freedom to ride his bike as far as his legs would let him. His mother hadn’t been super attentive back then. She was angry too. But never with him. When she could manage to look him in the eyes, she would stare for so long, and remind him how much she loved him. It didn’t happen too frequently in that house.

After his grandmother’s house, then there was Phoenix. His first big city. He spent a stretch there from middle school until the end of his freshman year. He did okay there, but he hated the desert. He loved the person that his mother was while she was there. Working again for the first time since she had been pregnant with him, it felt like she had been reborn. He had missed her so much until they had gotten to Phoenix. It was there that he had found out what had really happened to his father.

Engine failure. Freak accident. Nothing ever found to bury. It hadn’t felt like the closure he had wanted, but it was something. He was grateful for the answer nonetheless. He started to resent his father a little less, now knowing that it wasn’t his fault. At this age, Bradley had wanted to write draw for comics when he got older.

By eighteen, he didn’t recognise anything about that short kid that stuck to his mother’s shadow in Phoenix. By eighteen, he had grown a foot and a half, he’d lost his mother and he was back in that fucking mid-century with the lemon trees. Only for a month, and then he was at basic training. His early twenties belonged to the government, and after that — after he was out, it all belonged to Natasha.

“Natasha.”

“Bradley,” She beams, her arms extended as she walks confidently towards him and drapes them around his shoulders. He hugs her and turns his head. She smells so much more expensive now than she had that first summer. He misses when the backseat of his car smelled like her, solely her. “You look so great. I’m so happy to see you.”

It’s unclear whether this is true. He never really knows where he stands with her. They should hate each other after everything that’s happened, everything they did. But, nonetheless, his arms still fit just as securely around her waist as they had almost a decade ago. It still feels so right. But it would be wrong for him to tell her that he’s missed her.

He has — he misses her constantly. But not her, not this woman that’s in his arms now. The girl from the beach who kissed the scar on his shoulder and told him that he didn’t have to keep on making himself so miserable. God, he misses her.

“Your hair is shorter.” He says it without thinking as she lets him go. Shit, this was what they had argued about last time. He always does this. He reaches out, taking the dark locks between his fingertips and exhaling. “I like it. It looks grown up.”

It’s not untrue. He likes the style, and it does look grown up. It’s just not what he wants of her. Not that Natasha has ever cared about that, and he still adores that about her now.

Classier now than she had been then, she gives him a polite smile and a curt nod rather than calling him an asskisser and smacking his chest. Her lips aren’t glossed, they aren’t matte, they sit somewhere between in a perfect shade of burnt rose. They quirk softly at him as she studies the same face she knew so well.

“Where are your students?” She asks him.

For the most part, his students are already headed downstairs, dressed and beyond curious about this party that Bradley was talking about. It hadn’t been on the itinerary and they’re excited that Bradley wants to introduce them to his friends.

There’s just one of his students that, as usual, isn’t following the crowd. You’re sitting on your twin bed, tapping your foot anxiously against the carpet as Malcolm chats along on the other side.

This room is less dusty. A twin bed with blue striped sheets and your suitcase at the foot of it. The window wide open, Robin’s palms had spent the afternoon braced against the wooden framed window as she leaned her top half all the way out of it to look outside. It’s sunnier here than Turin. Cleaner too. It feels infinitely further from home, somehow.

Hearing his voice should be calming you down but if you have to listen to one more detail about how his golf season is going then you might just start gnawing on your nails again. A habit your mother had trained out of you early on. One of many.

“And then that idiot snapped the driver clean in half! — Titanium my ass, those things were costume jewellery in club form.” Malcolm rattles away.

You hate golf. The sport itself is tedious and you’ve grown to associate it with being lectured by your father. Sitting in the buggy with a good book or a friend with good gossip though — that’s a sport you’re willing to invest your time into.

“So, I tell him—“

There’s only so much of this story that you can bring yourself to listen to, truly. It’s rare that you interrupt him. Your mother wouldn’t dare interrupt her husband, but your husband-to-be is nicer than hers. Your life won’t be like hers.

“I’m really nervous about this party, Mac.”

You’ve had this conversation before. Back in December. You’re only reminded of it because he laughs, just like he had back than.

“Honey, you’re going to have a great time. I know it.”

God, you’d gotten so wasted that night. You don’t even remember getting home. It was someone’s birthday, maybe Miranda’s. With limited drinking experience, a new dress and surging confidence, you’d had high hopes for the night.

You had woken up alone and in your childhood bedroom, and Malcom hadn’t returned your calls for three days. Reassurance from him now doesn’t exactly make you feel much better.

“You there?” He prompts.

“Yes.”

“Honey,” His voice is so warm, fond and almost teasing. You can see his smile behind your eyelids, imagine him reaching out and stroking your jaw with the tip of his index finger. “You’re alone there, right?”

Brows knitting closer together for a moment, you glance around you. Robin left a while ago. You’re definitely alone.

“Yes…?”

“When we’re on our honeymoon, and we’re laying in bed together — I’m going to want to hear all about my new wife’s wild life before she was all mine, alright?” He tells you, and suddenly there it is. The comfort that you were looking for. You close your eyes and his voice envelops you like a hug. “Go out there and make some memories. I love you.”

Savouring his voice like the last bite of a rich cake, you take a few moments and exhale softly.

“I love you too.” You tell him. The longing in your voice translates, crossing the Atlantic without issue. You smooth your dress out across your knees. “Now stop thinking about our honeymoon, we’ve got to make it to the wedding first.”

“Well, if you’d like me to think about our wedding night then—“

“Malcolm, you animal.” You scoff, and he grins in response, offering a breathy chuckle. Both of you know he’s not half as bad as he could be. You’ve seen his friends. The kind of misinformed animals who grope at their girlfriends chests and drool over their backsides — you’d never marry anyone who thought like that. “I should go. I’ll call tomorrow.”

You’re not walking with any kind of urgency after the phone call. You know the time, you’ve just got no real desire to be there. Glossed wood under your fingertips, carefully crafted molding bracketing the ceiling, the floors hardwood and dressed with neat, cream coloured runners.

This place is somewhere you would actually consider staying. A long shot from the dingy hotel back in Turin, this place seems a little out of Bradley’s trip budget. The cream runner is plush enough to pillow the sound of your footsteps, allowing you to pass along the halls almost silently.

Silently enough that you’re able to round a corner and bump almost right into a woman exiting a double-doored suite. You adjust yourself quickly to stop yourself from actually hitting into her, taking a few steps back, blinking as you take in the stunning white of her dress.

It has a deep drape in the middle, revealing deep olive skin, and ends just above the knee, revealing toned long legs. She’s not that tall, just slender enough that she seems longer. Stunning in a way that renders you quiet for a moment.

“Sorry! Didn’t hear you coming, you’re like a little mouse.” She’s smiling at you, and she’s American. Your lips press together into a polite smile.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

Dark brown eyes feel heavy as they start at your heels, powder blue sandal things, then trail your calves, examine the skirt of your dress and take their time roaming upwards. You’ve been looked at like this before, but never by a woman. You squirm under her gaze and force yourself still.

She’s stoic, poised — so classy. You envy her immediately, wondering if her mother was as cruel as yours could be, if it all paid off and that’s why she’s like this now. She doesn’t move and so you don’t either. You mirror her unintentionally. Lips pursed into a soft, polite smile, shoulders squared and spine straight.

“You’re one of Bradley’s students.” She tells you. Not a question by any measure, just an acknowledgment. She doesn’t give you time to answer either. She just tells you your name, then watches the way your face changes to discontentment. “He told me about you.”

If this is supposed to please you, it doesn’t. You know that whatever he has said won’t have been kind. It wasn’t. And yet, Natasha’s smiling at you anyway.

“Walk with me.” It’s an instruction by anyone’s measure, and you comply easily. She’s impressed, but not surprised. She had known from her conversation with Bradley that he must have pissed you off pretty well for you to have lashed out and hit him this morning. Well-reared young ladies aren’t known for socking guys in the nuts.

You’re quiet, pliant — seemingly waiting for some kind of approval from her. She knows that she looks different from Bradley now, that they don’t look like they could have ever loved each other. She wonders if you wrote Bradley off the first time that you looked at him. She wouldn’t blame you if you had; she had too.

He hasn’t ever dressed his age. When she knew him he was primarily shirtless, rarely wearing shoes, usually covered in sand. Some kind of sun kissed, sea-salted teenager who was actually twenty-four. Now that he’s an adult, he still doesn’t dress like an Ivy League professor should.

Bradley hates being told that first impressions matter the most. He thinks it’s bullshit. Every woman who has ever fallen in love with him hadn’t liked him at first glance. Maybe that’s why he’s so laid-back, so aloof.

“He’ll grow on you,” Natasha decides, shoulders straight and her chin pointed in front of her, her hair glossy and falling behind her shoulders. You know immediately that she’s talking about Bradley, you’re just uncertain as to why. She glances across and looks you over once more. “You’ll get used to him, rather. He won’t always be so annoying.”

“How do you two know each other?”

Natasha smiles. Looks across at you, lips quirked like there’s some kind of inside joke on her lips that you aren’t privy to. “Just old friends.”

“Do you work in history too?”

“Don’t call Bradley’s class history,” She corrects you quickly, still smiling. “But, no, actually. My husband and I are in the hotel business. I hear you’re getting married too.”

This brings you to a complete stop. Natasha can see the confusion on your face, standing there and wondering why you could have possibly been the topic of conversation long enough for her to know this.

“Anyway, did he tell you about the trip out to the other side of the lake tomorrow?” And with that, she’s done sharing — and you just have to live with that. It’s a kind of conversational power that you strive to have. You want what she has. Or, in this moment, you believe you do.

She leads you in, but you quickly lose her at the party. It’s hers. You notice this first when you catch glimpses of her shaking hands, like everyone in this room’s just waiting to meet her. Then, you see her picture hung behind the bar. Her and a handsome man with dark hair, their arms around each other and beaming, pictured standing out front.

This place belongs to her and her husband. She must be pretty fond of Bradley to let him come back year after year. You think that now, but you’ll grow to know that that’s not true. She hates him in a way she hopes you’ll never know.

It’s tough, being at a party so similar to the ones you’re used to, and being stuck with people that you truly wouldn’t rescue from a burning building. You sit opposite for a while too long, listening to their boring chatter, sipping on a glass of wine — just the one — you don’t want Natasha to think you’re sloppy.

Then, you make the mistake of speaking up. Just a comment, you barely remember it was, but Robin decides that it was dull. And then, she turns her attention to you.

“Y’know, I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you and Ashworth are getting down and dirty,” She leans back against Luke’s chest and swings her legs across his. He leans in and mumbles something, maybe for her to ease up on you. “I just can’t imagine you��”

Robin trails, then cocks her head like a spaniel. You try to straighten out whatever hurt expression must have given you away, but it’s too late. This was a bad idea, you should be halfway across the room, stuck to Pasquale’s side like a scared child.

She sits up quickly, eyes blowing wide open in excitement, “Holy shit — you’ve never fucked him!”

Quickly, the group acts in unison — a sharp look in her direction, and then their heads whip in your direction. The silence lasts seconds, too long, strange amongst the bustle of the party.

Exactly as fast, you’re sitting there, cursing your father’s name. Surely no grade is worth this ridicule.

Robin leans forwards, lips quirking up into a dimpled grin, “Have you ever fucked anybody?”

“Oh, grow up.” You bite back. They watch as you throw yourself upwards and storm away from them. Their laughter comes in whoops from behind you, you walk as far and as fast as you can until it finally drowns under the music. Out of the events hall, down one of those long, carpted hallways and into double glass doors.

You push at their wood frames and let them clatter shut behind you, stepping out into the fresh, evening air. There’s a chill to it that’s even more sobering than being made fun of by your peers. You cross to the stone railing of the balcony, bracing your palms against it and letting out a deep breath.

Ridiculous, really. That if you’d just laid back and parted your legs for the man you love, or even some loser that may have come before, they think that you would be different somehow. Fucking ridiculous. That she thinks encountering the male form makes her any different from you. You know intimacy. You’ve seen the man that you love cry, you’ve seen him delighted and you know his fear.

All she knows is physicality. That’s the easy part. She knows nothing like the things you know.

Movement in your peripheral breaks you from your grumpy stream of consciousness, making you lift your head and making you privy to a secret that you have absolutely no business knowing.

Bradley and Natasha stand on the balcony opposite you. There are four, bracketing the courtyard below. It’s not well lit out here, but not dark either. You can see them well, illuminated through the glass panes by the hallway light inside.

His hand’s on the back of her thigh, nudging her dress up ever so slightly. It’s not doing anything too incriminating, but for some reason, your brain fills in the blanks for you. You can picture it so clearly. His hand disappearing under that dress, her slender frame fitted against his broader one. Them, together.

Her plump, reddened lips parted and breathing his name. His brows knitted together, cheeks flushed and his skin hot, blushing and stretched taut across his muscles.

Briefly, your brain reminds you of where you are, and who this is — and what you’re seeing, and you almost move. Like cement has dried around your ankles, you’re stuck there, half perched behind a stone pillar, eyes trained in on the view seriously.

You think of her husband. You think of yours. You could never betray Malcolm like this. The elegant, intelligent woman from the hallway earlier fades in your mind like red wine splattered on a white rug. She’s not who you thought she was. He’s exactly as awful as you’d hoped he would be.

Just wait until the Dean hears what Bradley gets up to on these trips.

His other hand abandons her hip, coming up to clasp firmly around the nape of her neck. There’s a sharp, strong tug and she’s closer, his tongue is in her mouth and she hums against his lips.

You’re so caught up in him for a moment that your eyes almost forget to follow the movement. You’ve thought about this before. How Malcolm would touch you. If he would be gentlemanly and slow, or brash and sudden. If his fingers would sprawl the length of your nape like Bradley’s do hers, extending up into her dark roots and curling deeply into a fist.

Finally, you blink and catch the movement. Her manicured, slim fingers trailing downwards along the blue striped shirt covering his stomach, onto the khaki of his shorts. Her fingers extend and curl too, and suddenly you’re much more of a voyeur than you had intended to be. She squeezes her hand around the length of his manhood and you instinctively take a step back.

And yet — you can’t look away. It’s shameful to realise that you’re more intrigued by what’s before you than you had thought you would be.

All of those deep kisses, crawling into Malcolm’s lap, letting his hands explore under your shirt — nothing has felt quite as scandalous as this. Your eyes are fixated on her hand, on the outline through his shorts and the groan that she draws from his throat.

It moves forwards like a routine, he presses her backwards into the wall and pushes his hips forwards into her palm. As this happens, as her back touches the stone, they’re interrupted. Abruptly, enough fo make them pull away like they’ve been shocked by static. Not by you.

Abigail twists the handle on their side and swings the door open, flushed and stumbling. You had been looking right that way and hadn’t even noticed her rushing down the hall. “Bradley!”

Bradley turns and looks at her quickly, putting some distance between himself and Natasha. The moment has passed and been forgotten, both of them appear to be watching Abigail at first, concern coating their warmed features.

“Zoey’s throwing up.” She hiccups at the end and wobbles. Bradley takes a moment to just stare. Each year he regrets not making this a seniors only opportunity, and winds up dealing with some nineteen year old who got fucked up on cheap wine.

The vein in his throat strains. Perhaps embarrassment, from almost being caught. Shame, from kissing the girl he has tried to stay away from for almost a decade now. Frustration, from how badly he had wanted to go further.

The chill has disappeared now. You’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. You’re glad that you don’t flush the way that he does, or you’d be given away. Eyes on you, it’s a distinct feeling — especially when that person is staring. If your skin flushed half as much as Bradley’s does, Natasha would know just how badly you had wanted to keep watching.

Curiosity, you tell yourself. It’s just something new, exciting. It’s not the way his hands flexed in her hair, the way his jaw ticks now as he tries not to look at her again.

Natasha stares across at you, standing still, almost as statuesque as the pillar beside you. She knows that you just saw that entire thing. She glances across at Bradley, and finds that your eyes have widened when she looks back at you again. Her reddened lips quirk as Bradley rushes away from her, amused by you and the scared little look on your face. You think she’s going to tell him that you were watching.

Then, you straighten out your features and lean your palms forwards, calm. You’re going to tell her husband. Her smile just grows. You’re so much like her.

Bradley spends his evening arguing with one of Natasha’s employees about the cleaning fee for the stained carpet, and routinely checking on Zoey to make sure she’s sobering up.

Natasha’s on his mind the entire time. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over it. He’s still so angry with her. He feels it in the way that she kisses that she’s still pissed off at him too.

By the time he’s headed to bed, it’s almost three, and his mood is plummeting. His hand curls around the handle and he pushes the door to his room open, freezing in the doorway.

“Luke! God fucking damnit!”

Luke scrambles, knees slipping against the sheets as he tries to cover both himself and Robin. He’s over her, they’re both clearly naked — Bradley has already turned his head away, trying not to scream.

“Shit, I — I waited til 2am, and you hadn’t come back to I figured—“

Bradley doesn’t give him a chance to finish, slamming the wooden door shut again. He stands there in the hall, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, trying not to lose his shit.

Natasha’s probably wrapped up in her husband’s arms, secure in the knowledge that she made the right decision — that Bradley wasn’t ever going to give her this.

He glances from one end of the hall to the other, his gaze landing on the room next door. Pulling the master key Natasha graced him with, on the condition that he wouldn’t abuse his power, from his pocket, he turns and lets himself into your room.

You bolt upright in bed. It’s dark, so really he can only see your silhouette. He waves you off and closes the door behind him. It’s not like you don’t know what’s going on next door, you’ve heard every squeak of the mattress for the past twenty minutes.

“Don’t say a damn word, Mrs. Ashworth. I’m going to sleep, and in the morning, every single one of you owes me an apology.”

“You can’t just—“

He stops walking and even through the dark, you can feel the seriousness in his stare. He unbuttons his shirt and kicks off his shoes, then slips into the other twin bed.

Silent, laying on your back, you allow yourself one glance over at him. His bare shoulders, chest, extended from the blankets. He’s still wearing his shorts. You swallow softly, thinking about Natasha’s hands on him earlier, the way he’d pushed so eagerly into his touch.

“Stop staring at me.” Bradley tells you sternly.

“I wasn’t!” You bite back, turning sharply away from him and pulling your covers up to your ears. The second that your eyes are closed, all you can see is his hand inching up under her dress once again. You sigh. “It’s not my fault that Luke’s getting laid and you’re not.”

Bradley doesn’t answer.

…

@thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #trouble in paradise #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey #bradley bradshaw imagine #Bradley bradshaw x reader

[dmwrites]

Inspired by this post

——

Perhaps it was the lightning that exploded out of Gem when she died that made his vision all funky. The heat of the battle, the unfair 2v1, the victor and the villain against their terrified prey.

But Scar could have sworn, for a moment, that the woman standing beside him was dressed in green, not red.

“Scar?”

Pearlescentmoon moved to stand before him, breathing heavy, eyes a little wet, sword as red as her cloak. Her red cloak. Scar shot at her without even thinking. Pearl ducked.

“Come here, Pearl.”

Pearl giggled. “No!”

Their fight was an odd one. Scar shot and swiped with a single-minded focus, breath ragged. Pearl fought back, but there was a curious smile on her face, as if she was proud. Why would she be proud?

Their fight was a dance, elegance and stumbling and laughter between breaths. They made their way across the server, passing bodies and holes in the earth and bases, once so loved, reduced to rubble. It was the end of the world, well, the end of this one, at least.

They paused after a while, bows pointed at the others’ chests. They were both badly hurt and breathing heavy, that much was clear.

“Quick, look behind you, Pearl!” Scar shouted, but Pearl rolled her eyes at his meager attempt to distant her.

“Something behind me, eh? Okay.” She whirled around, to see nothing, of course, then back to face Scar. Too quick to shoot. “Two can play at that game.” Pearl looked over Scar’s shoulder. “There is really something behind you, Scar.”

“Nice try.” Scar said.

“No, really.”

Pearl aimed over his shoulder and shot- Scar jumped, but heard the moan of a zombie being injured. He yelped and turned around, swinging wildly at the zombie behind him. Pearl! he then remembered, and turned back. Pearl was further away now. To shoot at him? To set her dogs on him? Scar shot at her, then beheaded the zombie that was still after him.

When he turned back, Pearl was gone. No red cloak in sight, no maniac giggles.

“Pearl? Where’d you go?”

There was silence, a kind of silence that Scar had never heard before. A kind of holding-of-the-breath, things still moving but it didn’t know why it still was.

“Pearl?”

There was no answer. Scar took a deep, rattling breath, and wracked his memory to when he’d just seen her- she’d gone down the ravine, that’s what. Scar tiptoed to the edge, shield out in case Pearl, clever, wickedly so, decided to shoot.

But all there was at the bottom of the ravine was a broken body, a pool of red fabric outlining what had happened.

She’s dead. You won.

Scar all but stumbled his way down the ravine, his own dark cloak fanning out behind him. There were zombies about, but Scar ignored them as he went to Pearl, knelt beside her. He looked into her face, not believing, not comprehending what fact lay before him. Pearl was tall, Pearl was strong and lithe and powerful. But in death, she was small. Just a broken body cushioned in a red cloak.

“Pearl?”

Scar reached out, put his hands on her shoulders. He watched as small, curling vines wrapped around his fingers, and gentle and careful. It didn’t make any sense, but Scar was numb to it all. How much had he felt turned away, abandoned, unloved? How many deaths had he seen today, how many had been at his hands? Sunflowers were growing out of his hands now, traveling up his arms like the veins pumping blood under his skin.

She’s dead. You won.

“Heh. These look familiar.” Scar said. It sounded hollow. “Well, I guess there’s just one thing to do.” Scar’s mouth felt numb. He bent down, kissed Pearl gently on the forehead. “It was a good fight, Pearl. You’re a true gamer.”

He wasn’t quite sure just how he came to stand at the top of the ravine once more. He looked back down at the body of his friend, his only ally, however temporary and shaky, but she was enveloped in flowers now. It felt right, Scar decided, and began to walk away.

With every step he took, sunflowers grew in his wake. The flowers sprouted from his hands, his feet, his chest, curling to form a heavy crown on his head. The petals tickled his lips, the seeds tinkled down his body as his steps dislodged them. Vines and leaves held his chest, his arms. It felt like a hug, gentle and meaningful, but wild at the same time.

The Secret Keeper, damned silent audience that had seen them live and die, loomed over him. It was covered in moss. Scar was covered in sunflowers and blood. He wondered, somewhere in the scattered remains of his mind, who was more powerful now.

“The task said,” Scar said out loud, “to win Secret Life. And I think I did that.” He looked up into that faceless face who had brought him to be the last in this now silent world. “So…”

Scar hit the succeed button. The vines and leaves and flowers growing on him squeezed ever so slightly. There was the chime of a task succeeded. Scar lowered himself to the ground, back against the succeed button.

“How on earth did the guy with no friends win?” He asked aloud. A small vine curled up his neck and brushed away a tear.

No one was around to answer him.

#secret life smp #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #throwing in a little esmp1 pearlo for the giggles

[maesterchill]

WIP Snip

Ha. I got tagged again, thank you @elskanellis @wolfpants @mallstars for the tags! This is Another snip from my Dronarry (8th year) - it's a bit earlier in the story than the last one I shared.

The only person Draco tells about the scar is Pansy. Pansy is delighted, of course, the cow, casting a Lumos under the bedsheets, and then smoothing her fingers over the zig and zag of it, her eyes dramatically wide. 

“What’ve Mungo’s said about it?” 

Draco laughs right in her face. As if, after the shame and carnage and awfulness, he would honestly present himself to a Healer and say ‘Yes, hello, how do you do? I have a lightning scar on my stomach. You know, just like that chap has, the one who just saved the world from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. That sort of scar.’ 

No, Draco won’t be doing that.

“Pomfrey, then? She might know.”

“No, Pans. Just drop it. It’s just a coincidence.” Draco buttons his pyjama top back up.

“But you said the Dark Lord used an Avada on you. That's— there's no way you’d survive that.”

“Maybe I misremembered,” Draco says tiredly, flopping his head back onto the pillow. He knows he didn’t though; the cold enunciation of the words had been crystal clear, the jet of light that hit him unmistakable in its sickly greenness. "Could have been some other spell."

“Unless.” Pansy rolls closer to him, smirking. “Unless it means that you’re the next Chosen One.”

“Har bloody har,” he replies. “Who’d choose me? And for what?”

“I would, Draco. You know I would. I could put you to very good use.” She slides even closer, her tits pressing against his arm, all soft and fleshy under her nightie.

Draco groans. “Go to sleep, you horny old hag.”

She laughs. “I’ll never turn you, will I? Such a shame, the most beautiful boy at Hogwarts.” She strokes his hair and he closes his eyes. He’s so grateful for her. For Greg too, and the others. 

He feels the delicious pull of sleep, tugging at him softly. Perhaps tonight he’ll be spared the nightmares.

It’s been helping having Pansy next to him. Holding him. They comfort each other. Pansy’s suffered from anxiety ever since Draco’s known her, but it got ten times worse following the war. This seems to be the only way they can get a proper night’s sleep. Millie and Greg have been sharing a bed too, both grieving. 

“You’ll need to tell Potter,” she whispers. “He ought to know.”

“Wrong on both counts,” Draco mumbles back.  He throws an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. She rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair smells of tea tree. “Now shut off that meddling brain and close your eyes.”

I'd love to hear a snippet from @starquestingfordrarry @rainstormradish @drarrymyheart @greattemptation @sillywives @hoko-onchi-writes @apricitydays-lazynights @annanother-thing @myrtlefics @geesenoises @basicallyahedgehog @pl0tty @stationintern if you'd like to share, that is 🥰

#wip snip #drarry #dronarry #maesterchill writes

[life-winners-liveblog]

Since a couple people are asking. could you.. describe how you view the winners’ appearances? Like the injuries and outfits maybe, me personally will figure it out from there cause I too wanna make fanart of this ✨

Also if you want, you could include some of the others like SL! Or LimL!Jimmy, DL!Scott & 3L!Scar 👀 /nf

-winners-

3L!Grian- Constantly bleeding from hi head, at this point in time the wound is covered by bandages and his hair. He has 2 purple wings one of which is bent and halfhazardly bandaged as well. For clothing either the classic red sweater (or the orange sun sweater) + a brown poncho... Eyes should be purple but sometimes have a red sheen.

LL!Scott: Start with Last Life Scott, add a star crown, lightning scars on his arms and neck and make his eyes kinda glowy and red or cyan in color whatever you prefer... That's about it.

DL!Pearl: Wears her Scarlet Pearl outfit except the hood has like crescent moons on it. She has a heart shaped burn on her shoulder (kinda unlikely you will need to know that for a drawing but who knows) and her fingers are a little blue... Her eyes are green but sometimes go red.

LimL!Martyn: Missing his left ear, there is no scar or anything It's just not there, only one whose eyes are still red constantly. Wears his mean gills fanon outfit and has coral growing on him.

-others-

LimL!Jimmy: Wears bad boy outfit glasses included and has 2 golden wings one of which is a bit burnt because of the tnt minecart exploding, before the enderian-ification his right eye was completely white like no iris or anything but now It's completely purple like that of an enderman ...he also has ender particles around him now.

3L!Scar: Still has gray skin but the color scheme of his clothes has changed completely. The brown of his pants, shoes and hat has been replaced by a very dark purple and his poncho is white and purple (normal not dark) with a repeating eye shape pattern. Ironically only one without wounds as the Watchers healed him.

DL!Scott: Just Double Life Scott except for 3 things, the cloud of explosion smoke that surrounds him, the glowing string (the soulbound) around his neck and his almost gray eyes.

SL!Jimmy: Similiarly to LimL!Jimmy he has two golden wings, the difference being that his are completely unhurt... his shoulder is covered in sculk but it doesn't seem to do anything.

[redacted]: gray skin, gray hair, the only color that can be found is the ////// of his sweater and the //// in his hands.

#asks #trafficblr #traffic series #author answers #character description

[tohokuu]

the birds - toji fushiguro

tumblr is based off a system of reblogs, not likes. reblog my work.

wc : 700 (it was hard to write that much)

a/n : it’s nothing special. just wanted to put it out

warnings : angst, mentions of suggestive content

“please, please let me fall out of love, toji. don’t do this. i’m begging you.” you pleaded him. he stood tall, soaked in the pouring rain while you crumpled at his feet, ice cold hands fisting his shirt.

his lips were pressed in a thin line. he wasn’t sure what to do. it was an uncomfortable situation but it’s one he figured he must go through now. his initial plan was to leave before you woke up. that way it’d be less on his heart and he supposes that’s selfish, but that’s all he’s ever been his whole life. he’s always been selfish so who fucking cares?

he had to leave. you weren’t supposed to fall for someone like him.

“it’s someone else, isn’t it?” you cried. your voice was drowned out by the roaring thunder and lightning that cascaded across the sky. he placed a heavy hand on your head, patting it awkwardly.

this situation could be compared to stepping on eggshells for him. he was never sure how to deal with negative emotions. most of the time, he spoiled you so rotten that you never complained. most of the time, he fucked you so good that you never complained. but this wasn’t his thing. this was a situation that money couldn’t fix. it was a situation that his dick couldn’t fix.

“i’m sorry.” is all that could come out of his mouth. “i’m really sorry, y/n.” he whispered. he doubt that you could even hear it. your cries were falling on his ears like the rain. you looked up at him, looking at the hard stare he offered. his eyes were as dark as the night that surrounded you two. you stood up, sniffling away the rest of your tears, wiping them with the back of your arm.

“it’s fine. it’s whatever. deep down, i always knew you were gonna leave, toji.” you croaked. he reached out for you as you almost slipped but you caught yourself on the railing.

“it’s fine.” you reached out. you have to catch yourself after he leaves anyway.

“i was just a temporary fix, i know. i couldn’t give you what megumi’s mom did. i know, i know, i know. just please, don’t leave me yet.” you begged him, fat tears rolling down your cold cheeks.

“just make me hate you first. i won’t be able to live like this, toji.” you rushed back up to him, pressing your front against his. you held onto his shirt, crumpling the soaked fabric once again. it clunged to his physique and you hated how beautiful he looked even now. his sharp green eyes staring at you with undetectable emotion, the scar on his lip quirking uncomfortably and his thin eyebrows pushed together as he looked at you.

probably pity, you thought.

“i can’t give you the life you’re lookin’ for, sweetheart.” he gruffed, grabbing your hands and gently pulling them away from him. “i’m sorry i invaded your life the way i did. i shoulda kept it movin’.” he sighs.

tears clouded your vision again. “no, no no no, please toji. toji, no.” you cried loudly. he turned his back, shoving his cracked phone into his pocket and began to walk away.

this hurt him more that he would like to admit. he fell and so did you but he’s the only one who had the strength to walk away, or rather the weakness. this wasn’t very just of him. he was walking away from the person that brought him happiness for his own selfish reasons.

he couldn’t go through what he went through with his ex-wife again. that alone was too much for him to bear. toji had to leave you before you left him. he cringed hearing your voice in the distance, screaming and crying for him to stay. your cries weighed heavy on him, making it difficult for him to continue. he grunted, fighting with himself and resisting the urge to turn back and take you back in his arms.

“keep walking.” he told himself. it’s better this way for you and her.

soon enough, toji was nothing but a speck down the dark street. he never looked back once and he left as quietly as he had come. he felt guilty for settling down in your heart and leaving it a broken place. your cried rang in his ears as he kept walking, making it down to the metro station and taking a train that would lead him farthest from you.

i gotta recreate the taglist bruh

#jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk x reader #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji angst #toji fluff

[minnesota-fats]

Continuation from my other TWIN AU

So I like to think Danny is SUPER good at acting and pretending that he doesn’t realize when he actually started to see Jazz as a sister when she would hold him close when he woke up from nightmares (like Damien would do) and call him a little astronaut, or when he would call him baby brother and make him feel special and loved—until it was too late!

Or when that nerdy kid obsessed with tech became his best friend by being a social outcast with him.

Or when that edgy goth girl who moved to Amity Park near the same time he did became his second best friend when she decked that stupid blonde kid for taking Tucker’s glasses before Danny could.

Danny at the age of 13 decided that these people mattered to him yet could never replace his baby brother of a twin Damien. It was a 13 when it look like his mission would be ending soon. And it was at 13 when he decided that when the portal would be working to blow it up (make it look like an accident) and grab Jazz and take her with him back to Nanda Parbat with him.

And if she refused….

Danny would deal with that when he gets there, for now he just sits and waits, training in secret everyday.

Today was his 14th birthday. “happy birthday Damien” he said out loud when he woke up that morning.

He goes downstairs and finds Jazz making him pancakes. This was nice. He hoped Damien was having a good birthday, maybe he got to train with grandfather that morning? Maybe their mother got him a gift? A new weapon perhaps, maybe a pet? Damien always wanted a pet—so did Danny but Damien was the more responsible of the two of them.

Jazz hugged him when she saw him, she smiled and ran to the other room to get him his gift. Danny sat and waited for her to come back before he started to eat.

Her parents barged up from the lab saying they finished the portal…. Jazz snapped at them saying that it can wait because it’s Danny’s birthday. Danny tells her it’s fine and that he is actually excited to see the portal. Danny’s mission will finally be over… he could go home and see his brother again, this would be an amazing birthday he thought. The Fenton parents excitedly pulled/carried Danny and Jazz to watch them turn on the thing.

Danny look on and watched as they made a show of connecting the extension cords but after a small spark and an excess amount of energy nothing happened….

Jack and Maddie both bowed their heads in defeat before saying they were going to take a break from the portal. Danny internally cursed the fates! He begrudgingly walked away with Jazz in tow, she asked what he planned for the day, it is the last week before school after all! Danny smiled and told her that Sam and Tucker were coming over to hang out.

Sam and Tucker hear about the portal and want to take a look, Danny uses this as an excuse to go down and try and grab the blueprints/look at where the Fenton parents went wrong.

He goes in and comes out dead….

As soon as he is out he is surprising calm/WAY more calm than Sam and Tucker who are crying because their best friend just DIED!!!

Danny manages to get them to calm down and tells them that he is ok.

They go home and Danny goes to take a nap cuz that was a lot! Sure Ra’s would get on Danny’s case for being so stupid and then resting, but Danny thinks he desirves a rest. He just got shocked and brought back to life, it’s not the first time but still! Lazarus Water really takes a lot out of you…. The more Danny thinks about it he gets more and more confused…. Why wasn’t he experiencing Pit Rage? Why hadn’t he gone an a killing spree like how he did when he was dipped in the pit when he was younger…? Danny held his hand out in front of him. There were scars running up his arm like lightning from where he turned on the portal, they glowed a faint green in the dark.

Death Scars. A voice in the back of his head told him….

Something about his experience with the portal was different than when he was dipped into the pit back in Nanda Parbat…. Danny stood on wobbly legs at the dead on night and using the shadows like how he was trained stalked down to the basement, it was almost like he was invisible…. Wait…. Was he invisible???? Another weird thing to look into….

There in the lab Jack and Maddie were excitedly taking notes and running tests on the portal. Danny—using both his skills as an assassin and his new found invisibility—snuck down and watched them work. They may be eccentric but that didn’t mean they weren’t smart, they talked about theory’s and ideas for hours until they decided to go to bed. Danny watched and waited the whole time like how he was trained to do. When they finally went upstairs for the night, Danny slinked out of the shadows and took a look around.

As he was looking a green blob flew out of the open portal and began to mess with Danny’s hair. Danny jumped away to look at it and turned invisible, the blob mimics him and trills in excitement when Danny turns back and continued to mess with his hair. Danny looked at his reflection and was shocked that he didn’t find the usual image of Damien’s face looking at him but rather a white haired boy with Lazarus water in his eyes….

What is he?

What happened that made him turn into this rather than go mad like before?

…grandfather probably wouldn’t mind if he did his own research before coming home…. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

#fun #danny phantom #danny fenton #damien wayne #jazz fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #ra’s al ghul #talia al ghul #jack fenton #maddie fenton #dc x dp twin au #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp crossover #:3 #fluff

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lightning Bug - Chapter 21

Masterlist

Warning: panic attack, nightmare, mention of past turture, trauma dump, religious abuse, mention of murder, protective avengers

Word count: 5.1k (we are less than 3,000 words from this fic being over 100,000 words)

Wanda enjoyed this alone time as she mediated with her thoughts and how things in her life were changing. Sometimes her thoughts scarred and worried her. At times they were dark and depressing but she knew there was light at the end of the tunnel. The witch smiled. “I know your there,” she said. Her accent was thicker when she was in this state. Wanda opened her eyes and saw Vision standing in the doorway. He looked worried and conflicted. “What’s wrong?” She asked as her feet touched the ground.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try,” Wanda said. The android sighed, closing the door and sitting down in the empty chair.

“Miss. Y/n and I played a game of chess last night and she seemed rather upset,” Wanda frowned. She must have not gone back to bed once they left her. “We talked a bit and when she was going back to bed she asked if she could touch the mind stone and I let her.”

“You did what?” Wanda questioned in disbelief.

“I know it was incredibly irresponsible -”

“It could have killed her!” She knew her eyes flashed a hit of red but Vision remained calm. Gods, he was one of the smartest individual in the tower but he lacked such common sense.

“But it didn’t,” he folded his hands. “Similar to how it didn’t kill you or your brother when you came into contact with it.” He was right. It didn’t kill them but it changed them. “I know it was wrong of me to do but she trusted me enough. Doesn’t that say something?” Wanda nodded, taking a calming breath.

“What happened?” She asked and pulled up a chair to sit down with him.

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I do no know. She touched the stone and normally I can know what occurred similar to when you touch it. But I felt nothing. It was as if the stone didn’t want me to see what it showed her,” Wanda’s frown deepened. “I asked what she saw but she claimed she saw nothing.”

“Is she in danger?” Wanda asked. She would do anything to keep the young girl safe.

“I don’t know,” Vision admitted. “But something is coming and I fear our young friend may be caught in the cross fire. Maybe if you can get her to confess what she saw in the mind realm it could give us a clue on how to protect her.”

*

“What is happening?” Wanda asked as she stepped out of the elevator. Her head was spinning with Vision’s warning. She made him promise to keep it between them until they could get more information. It was unnecessary to worry the team if they weren’t sure something was coming. During the elevator ride up to her floor, she tossed around the idea of telling Natasha. She wasn’t sure yet. She was in need of a cold shower to clear her head but she saw Kate with scissors in her hand about to cut Y/n’s hair. The archer froze, smiling as if she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“She wanted a hair cut and no on that was qualified enough to cut hair was around,” Kate explained. “So here we are.” Wanda crossed her arms with an amused smile on her face.

“And you couldn’t wait for someone?” The young girl giggled.

“I did suggest that,” Kate defended. “But it’s very hard to say no to that face especially when she gives you puppy dog eyes.” The eyes in questioned locked onto her green ones. They were so much brighter compared to when she first saw that girl on the side of the road. Wanda promised herself to never let that light go out. With a sigh, she walked over the duo.

“Give me the scissors,” Kate sighed in relief and handed them over to Wanda.

“A life savor,” The archer praised. “Truly a life savor. I owe you a great debt Wanda Maximoff,” the witch rolled her eyes and stood behind the girl. “Now I have to go call Clint. See ya.”

“Bye Kate,” Y/n waved. “Tell everyone I say hi!” The archer gave a salute and headed off towards her room.

“So,” Wanda said, gently brushing her hair. It was freshly washed and it came down to the middle of her back. “Why do you want to cut your hair?” Wanda watched the girl’s shoulders move up and down.

“Never liked my hair long,” she began. “But no one would cut it when I was growing up and I didn’t really let people touch me to cut it,” she sighed. “I remember finding kid scissors in my brother’s room and I tried to cut it myself,” her body shook as she laughed. “Didn’t go well as you can imagine.” Wanda smiled as she set the brush down. “I was grounded for 2 weeks because of the mess I made,” her voice got soft. “I still have the scar on my shoulder where my father grabbed me and threw me into the wall.” Anger bubbled in Wanda’s chest. It was a mystery to her on how a father could hurt his child. She pushed the feeling down.

“How short are we thinking?” Wanda asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Maybe to my shoulders and we can go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wanda began to cut the long hair that was desperately need of a good cut. She wondered why her or Natasha didn’t suggest this to the teen earlier. Were there other things they were neglecting? “Vision told me that you and he played chest last night,” Wanda said. “Could you not fall asleep after your nightmare?” The teen shook her head. “Keep your head still,” the witch giggled.

“Sorry,” she said and Wanda could hear the smile in her voice. “I tried to,” she continued. “The room felt to small so I walked around the tower and found Vision. I like him. There is something abut him that makes me feel safe,” Wanda understood that feeling. He helped her overcome her grief of losing her brother and her actions in Laos.

“How are you feeling?” It took a minute for the girl to answer as she did a mental category of everything.

“Good, just a little tired and I have a headache but Kate gave me something for that.” The problem was Wanda felt the girl’s honestly and what worried her more was she wasn’t holding anything back. Wanda’s frown deepened. “Are you mad at Vision because he let me touch the mind stone?” The witch sighed.

“No, honey, but it was very dangerous and you could have gotten hurt.” The girl twisted around in the chair to face her.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said. “I promise. If I did I would tell you,” Wanda smiled.

“It’s okay, I believe you. Now,” she gently turned the teen forward. “Stop moving so I can finish cutting your hair.” The witch believed her. She felt no dishonestly in her words or in her mind. Whatever she saw or whoever she spoke with made her forget what she saw. That worried Wanda even more.

*

You didn’t like the feeling of loose hair on your neck so you took a quick shower once Wanda was done. You loved your hair, it was short and easy to manage. So many times people grabbed onto your hair to hold you in place or pull you back. It was nice to be free from that. You hung up the towel when your hair was dry and walked out of your room. “You cut your hair!” America exclaimed when you entered the main area. Her and Yelena were sitting on the couch with Natasha in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling your face flush at the attention. “Do you like it?” She continued to stare at you until Yelena hit her in the stomach.

“Yeah,” she cleared her throat. “It looks good. Yeah, good,” the blonde rolled her eyes and mumbled, ‘Ya Delayu Eto (idiot).’ “What did you just call me?” You giggled and sat down at the kitchen counter.

“Wanda said you asked her to cut your hair,” Natasha said.

“Actually, I asked Kate but Wanda took the scissors from her,” you giggled.

“That is probably for the best,” Yelena said, appearing next to her sister. “She would not have done a good job.” You smiled. Yelena hit her hip against the redhead, you didn’t like the way both of them were looking at you. You raised your eyebrow in question.

“Do you want to join Yelena and I for a walk?” You looked between knowing well they were hiding something.

“Yeah sure,” you said. “Sounds like fun.” You expected them to lead you outside to walk around a park but they lead you to the training area and onto the track. It was surrounded by windows that over locked the city and letting natural light in. You wondered what it would look like in the winter. The Black Widow due walked on either side of you. “So,” you said after you finished the first lap. “Are you going to tell me what you really want to talk about?” Yelena chuckled.

“There is no keeping secrets from this one,” you nodded your eyes.

“Helen suggested that adding exercise can aid in your recovery,” Natasha explained. “Plus I agree with Wanda and I think it’s a good idea to train your abilities so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Will that make me an Avenger?”

“Do you want to be an Avenger?” You shrugged.

“Not really. Seems like a lot of paperwork.” Yelena laughed.

“You are so right,” she said. “Those mission reports give me nightmares.” Natasha pinched her sister which caused the blonde to yelp. “It’s true! Maria made me redo one 3 times!”

“That’s because you wrote the entire thing in hieroglyphics, then piglatin, and finally English,” Yelena shrugged.

“As Deputy Director she should be well versed in multiple languages,” Natasha shook her head with a sigh. You liked watching the two Black Widows interact with one another. There were moments where you saw Caleb and yourself in them. They desperately wanted to protect one another, it was the same for you. But there were times you wished you and Caleb could be more playful as they were; joking around and teasing with one another. You both were focused on surviving. Sometimes you would sneak into his room and talk and () your laughter so you wouldn’t get caught. You loved those memories. “Natasha talked to Steve and myself, Wanda, or Maria will be helping you train. As well as Nat,” she added. It was a good plan and you felt safe with those people.

“There is more we need to talk about,” you figured as much. “Helen also said there is damage to your hippocampus. There is ways to heal it; exercising being one of them and you need to stop hurting yourself.” You never planned to let it get that bad again. You felt guilty for worrying everyone.

“Hippocampus,” you repeated back to her. “What is that?”

“It’s part of your brain that helps with memory,” Yelena answered. “Have you been experiencing memory loss?” You weren’t sure. There were moments you could remember crystal clear like you were watching a movie. Your memories when you were with HYDRA or living on the streets, there were gaps. Not everything was clear but you chalked it up to your brain protecting you from traumatic events. You nodded. “Those memories may come back,” you frowned, stopping in your tracks. The duo kept walking before stopping when they realized you weren’t following.

“What’s wrong, dorogoy (sweetheart)?” Natasha asked, walking back over to you.

“I don’t want to remember,” you whispered. You didn’t. You wanted to forget all the pain you caused, the blood on your hands, and the screams. The screams were the worst part. “I want to forget all those horrible things they made me do.”

“Who is they?” Natasha knelt in front of you, gently taking your hands in hers. There was a burning feeling to tell them. To come clean and wash away all the hidden secrets. They must know, right? You’ve told them you’ve killed, the your hands have been tainted red with blood. What other organization was in the business of kidnapping people and turning them into weapons? They were waiting for you to tell them, to take that leap of faith.

“HYDRA,” your voice shook. “They took me off the streets, promised me a safe place to sleep and food. I didn’t-” your lips trembled. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“Oh I know,” Natasha cooed, whipping away your tears tat fell. “Your okay,” she promised. “They won’t hurt you, never again.” You believed her and she brought you into a tight hug. You burrowed your face in her shirt, letting more tears fall.

“It’s hard when you start to remember the things you’ve done,” you turned to face the blood, still wrapped in Natasha’s arms. She was leaning against the railing with a frown on her face, starring at her shoes. “It’s like a scab over a cut so you always know it’s there but the cut opens it seems to hurt more than the first time.” Finally, she looked at you. The look in eyes reminded you of that day in the gun range, far off and dazed.

“How do you move on?” You asked softly. She chuckled, looking away. She clicked her tongue to the rood of her mouth.

“Like a scar, it takes time,” you wished she had a different answer.

“But you have us,” your attention went back to the Black Widow. “You are safe here and no matter what happened in your past it won’t change how we see you now.”

“Promise?” You questioned.

“Promise.” Yelena reassured you.

*

You stayed in your room until dinner, going over what Natasha and Yelena said. You were exhausted and grateful that those around you didn’t force you talk talk, you needed the quiet to decompress. Even Helen’s voice rang in your head, ‘you need to let them in and allow them to shoulder that fear with you.’ Oh but you were so scared to do that. Even with the promise that they wouldn’t look at you differently, you were still scared. So when dinner came around, you didn’t engage in the conversation as they asked Bruce how Wakanda was. Instead, you pushed your food around your plate to lost in your own thoughts. Once dinner was put away, Tony ordered ice cream for everyone. It was suppose to be a fun team bonding experience but the ice cream made your stomach twist as you listened to the team talk and laugh. “Hey,” America whispered, pumping your shoulder against yours. “Are you okay?” You sighed, not meaning it to be loud enough to grab the attention of other other Avengers. You swirled your spoon in your ice cream so the colors were mixed together.

“I,” you sighed again, feeling angry with yourself for not finding the correct words. “I want to tell all of you about what happened to me, if that’s okay?” The mood of the group shifted and you felt a little bad but you needed to do this now before you lost the courage.

“Of course, " Wanda smiled. “Take your time.” You crossed your legs and focused on your ice cream.

“I was born with this ability,” you started. You knew some of them knew that but you thought it was good to start from the beginning. Dropping your spoon, electricity danced around your fingers. “They didn’t surface until I was about 4 but even then my parents made it clear they wanted nothing to do with me,” you took another spoonful of your ice cream, hand shaking slightly. “They didn’t want a second kid and my mother didn’t know she was pregnant until a friend told her. He claimed God spoke to him through a dream and told him of the pregnancy. But I wasn’t going to be a gift, I was going to be a curse. That not even the Devil wanted me.” You heard Natasha scuff. You smiled at the sound, imagining the red head rolled her eyes and Wanda quietly having to tell her to behave. You kept your eyes trained down. “So they kept me a secret, only a trusted few new about me.”

“Why didn’t they give you up for adoption?” ate questioned. It was a good one that you asked yourself all the time.

“I learned quickly that my father enjoyed two things; power and control,” you answered. “There I was a young girl desperate for her father’s love. I did everything I could to get it, no matter how many times he hit me,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Anyways, I accidental shocked my brother. They were furious and locked me in a small room in the basement for 3 days. The only reason I survived was Caleb bring me food and water. He had to be careful too. He was my parents’ favorite but that didn’t always protect him. When they found out I lived, they sent a priest to form an exorcism on me to get the Devil out.”

“You were 4 years old,” you heard the anger in every word Yelena said. You nodded. Your father held you down at the priest performed it. It wasn’t the only one you had to endure but they didn’t need to know that.

“Obviously, it didn’t work,” you chuckled, trying to lighten up the situation. “I remember they made me kneel in the corner and pray to God to save me. I spent hours reading over the bible,” you took another bite of your ice cream. It was melted but it was a good distraction. “That went on for a year or two until they realized I could use my powers to benefit them. I gave power to the church, our home, and those who knew I existed but it was not good enough. Every bad thing that happened I was to blame, someone leaving the church, my father getting into a chair accident, or my brother getting sick. It was all my fault and one day I snapped,” you felt America tangle her hand with your free one, squeezing it tight. You were grateful for it.

“You don’t have to continue, sweetie,” Pepper said. You smiled at the CEO. You were almost done with this section of your story.

“Caleb went to school,” you continued. “And my father wouldn’t stop yelling. I don’t remember why he was upset,” your voice began to shake. “The pressure was building and I couldn’t stop it. It became to much and I let go. I woke up to the house around me was burnt to the ground. First responders were on their way and I ran,” you finally looked up at the Black Widow, seeing nothing but warmth in her eyes. “I learned later they said it was an electrical fire but it was me.” A heavy silence fell among the group, it was Tony that broke it.

“Look I’ll be the first one to say it since we are all thinking it. They got what they deserved,” Pepper gasped, slapping the billionaire.

“Tony! I can not believe you said that!” She shirked. You fought a smile that was forming on your face.

“What? I know we are all thinking it, tell me I’m wrong!” No one said anything. “See my point. Look kid,” he stopped mid sentence. “I have words for wisdom to tell you but I fear my wife so I’ll tell you when we are alone.” You laughed, whipping away a tear that fell.

“What I think Mr. Stark is trying to say,” Vision said. “We are very sorry you had to endure that as a child.”

“Yeah, shit,” Rhodey said. But there was a second half to your story. That was a nice intermission. You finished your melted ice cream, set it on the table, and leaned back onto the couch still holding onto America’s hand. It grounded you.

“To no one’s surprise,” you continued. “I was an easy target on the streets by the other kids, adults, and authorities. I was a quiet kid to afraid to fight back because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But I survived the best I could then a man approached me,” you looked down at your lap. Sometimes you felt so stupid for trusting him. “He promised me a safe place to sleep, food, and that other ids were going to be there. I went with him.”

“You weren’t stupid for believing he was telling the truth,” Sam said. You shrugged.

“He brought me this black van and he drugged me. When I came to I was in a cell and I found out I was with HYDRA. Very quickly they learned they couldn’t use their normal methods because I could redirect the electricity,” you smiled. “Pop quiz, what is great conductor for electricity?” You looked up, watching the gears turn in Bruce and Tony’s head.

“Water,” the doctor said. You nodded, keeping your eyes on the floor.

“If I didn’t complete the mission, they would fill a tub of water, force me inside,” you looked at Bucky. “And electrify it.” The color drained from this face, making his blue eyes pop. “I tried to redirect it but the onslaught was to much.”

“What did you do for them?” Steve asked.

“Anything they wanted,” you whispered. “I did everything that man told me to. I was his little spark and he was papa,” Bucky licked his lips. “I tortured, killed, and helped reset the Winter Solider,” it was so silent. You feared the could hear the beating of your heart. “Do you remember me?” You asked Bucky. “Because I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you.” God, you could hear his screams echoing in your head.

“So am I,” Bucky got up suddenly, leaving towards the direction of his room. The others watched the man leave.

“I’d go make sure he’s okay,” you told Steve. “Those few years weren’t kind to us,” the blonde hesitated to leave but you nodded. “It was an endless cycle. He’d hurt me, I’d hurt him, it wasn’t fun.”

“How did you escape?” Natasha asked. You sighed, resting your head on America’s shoulder.

“I did what I do best and burnt the place to the ground,” you said softly. “I made it back to the states and lived on the streets until Natasha found me.” You were exhausted. It was an emotionally charged day.

“Shit,” Sam said. You chuckled at the blunt comment. “Not sure if I want to hug you or hurt everyone that has hurt you.”

“Get in line, Wilson,” you saw the same anger in Natasha’s eyes when you told her about the incident a the Barrera house or when the shop owner put his hand on you. Everyone seemed to share the same look, even Bruce looked upset. You smiled.

“The past is the past,” you said. “Can’t change it. I just have to keep on moving forward.” America squeezed your hand.

“With all of us by your side.” Yeah, you thought, that sounded nice.

*

“Buck,” Steve said, chasing after the man. “Bucky, hold on.” He finally caught up to him and grabbed onto his arms. He could see that he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“I can’t,” he struggled to say. His blue eyes were wide, frantically looking around. “I can’t be in the same room as her. I-”

“Sh,” Steve cut his boyfriend off. “I need you to breath for me. Can you do that for me?” Bucky hesitated but shook his head. The blonde sprang into action. He brought Bucky to the ground and sat with his back against the wall and Bucky between his legs. With Bucky’s back flushed against his front, he wrapped his arms around him. Steve started to breath, in for 5 and out for 5. Repeat. Repeat, until he felt Bucky’s breathing calm down.

Physical touch was usually never the answer to ground Bucky, especially after a nightmare. Steve learned the hard way when Bucky grabbed him by his throat and wouldn’t let go. But there were expectations to the rule especially when he couldn’t regulate his breathing. Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He waited for Bucky to gather his thoughts. “Lately, I’ve found myself starring at her,” he began. “It was my body remembered her but my mind refused to.” Steve hummed, indicating that he was listening. “I almost killed her.” His voice shook.

“You and I both know that wasn’t you,” Steve said. Bucky turned around to face him.

“You don’t understand. When she said they held her down in that tub that was me. God Steve she’s just a kid.”

“And you were tortured and held against your will with no choice but to do those things,” Steve countered. He cupped his boyfriend’s cheeks, drawing circles with his thumb. “Do you blame her for what she did to you?”

“No..” Bucky whispered.

“Then I wish you’d offer yourself the same level of forgiveness,” Steve whipped away tears that fell from his blue eyes. “I can not fathom the guilt you carry, baby, and the path to moving forward is long and messy but you have to remember what you did for them wasn’t your choice. You were trapped,” Steve bit his lip before he could say it was partly on him that HYDRA got to Bucky but this wasn’t about him and Bucky didn’t need to hear about his guilt.

“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to face her.” Steve sighed, dropping his hands.

“I don’t think she blames you, Buck. But if you need time to process everything I’m sure she’ll give you that.” Bucky nodded, chuckling softly.

“What would I do without you, punk,” Steve smiled, kissing his forehead.

“Do you want to go back down or head to bed?” He had a feeling what he would chose but wanted to give him the option.

“Bed,” Steve chuckled, stood up, and pulled his boyfriend to his feet. He kept his hand tightly in his. Sam was right, the tower seemed to attract HYDRA’s puppets. He believed it was because everyone in the tower could help heal them.

*

You were fighting to keep your eyes opened as you rested on Kate’s lap with a movie playing. It was a Scooby-Doo movie but you were lost on the plot with sleep clouding your mind. Also, Kate running her fingers trough your hair wasn’t helping. But you were scared to fall asleep. You worried what monsters your mind would create. You were powerless to fight it and fell asleep.

*

On either side of you was a guard as you walked down the familiar hallways. They were armed with assault rifles and military armor with orders to shot on sight if you tried to escape. You weren’t going to escape. Every bone in your body hurt. There was a dark hole growing over your hear; accepting your fate here. They opened a door and pushed you in, not entering with you. Inside was a man, long brown hair and blue eyes. He was strapped to a chair, unable to move and no light in his eyes. The most striking part of his appearance was his one metal arm. “Hi little spark,” he stepped out of the corner. “Come here,” you took a few steps and took his out stretched hand. “This man right is very important to us. You can call him Winter.”

“Winter,” you said slowly but the man didn’t move.

“But even though he’s important to us doesn’t mean he’s free from punishment. Just like you.” you moved you behind Winter where there was a wooden box. “Up you get,” As you stood on the box, he let go of your hand. “Punish him.” He told you. You had a feeling what he wanted you to do but you couldn’t. Maybe he was mistaken. This man could die. Before you could protest, he grabbed your hands and put them on either side of his head. “I won’t ask again.” You nodded, licking your lips and focused your energy to your hands. It was a small electrical discharge, Winter didn’t make a sound. “Stronger,” you obeyed and this time Winter made a small noise. It was no where near your full strength and knew it. He grabbed on your hair and pushed you against the wall.

“Stop wasting my time,” he put his forearm against your throat. It was hard to get air into your lungs. “I will have him kill you, do you understand?” Kill me, you wanted to screamed, I want to die. You wanted this to be over.

“Yes papa,” you whispered and he released you. You sucked in some much needed air and stepped back on top of the box. Placing your hands on the side of his head, you let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled and released the electricity. He fought it and you were impressed by that. Soon he couldn’t fight it and he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

*

You jerked away and fell onto the floor with a thud. “Jesus Christ,” Kate said. The movie paused. “Are you okay?” You scrambled to your feet, starring at your friends and heart pounding.

“Yeah,” you said, licking your lips. “Yeah, I’m great.” You chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle everyone.” You felt your hands shake and you placed them behind your back out of view. But Yelena saw. The Black Widow stood up and took your hands in hers. You tensed at the contact, you didn’t want to hurt her.

“A nightmare?” She questioned, sitting you back down on the couch. You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “Okay, then we can sit here until you are okay.”

“I’m fine,” you didn’t believe the lie you told your friends.

“Your shaking,” America whispered. You weren’t even aware you were.

“Oh,” you spoke softly.

“It’s okay, bud. We’ll sit here and watch the movie until you feel better.” You nodded as America continued the movie. As the movie played, the visual affects and funny dialogue helped your body relax. But in the back of your mind, all you felt was fear.

When your body stopped shaking, you excused yourself to your room. You took a cold shower to wash away the dream and changed into a long sleeve shirt and sleep shorts. But you knew you weren’t going back to sleep. So you sat on your bed with a book in your hands. It was going to be a long night.

_

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[adultish-momma]

Unsolicited Scrapbook

Listen, if it'd been your first time in front of a good mirror in quite a bit of time, and you'd gone through some pretty messed up shit, you'd be in an introspective mood too.

Or better yet, Yuu catches sight of their reflection and well, reflects.

Warning: Gore, graphic description of wounds, description of violence (enough to get the idea of how those wounds were formed), descriptions of scars and scarring. If it relates to scars and/or wounds and you can be triggered by it, it's probably in here.

A/N: This was one of the first ideas I came up with for this rewrite au. Not this scene exactly, but this concept. This is a game about villains. This is a game that has so much potential to cover dark material. I. Want. Consequences. This is the result. Enjoy.

Admittedly, it was... well it was a lot.

They hadn't truly been faced with this problem before, with the busted mirrors around the dorm that they haven't found the spare change to replace. And it's just been getting so cold that even the thought of running around in anything considered short sends shivers down their spine. So for one reason or another, they've gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots, without ever having to see a ton of their skin at once.

But now they're at the Scarabia dorm, in this bone-melting heat, faced with a literal wall of gold polished so well it's more reflective than the Dark Mirror, and they'd sooner eat Grimm's tail fire with a side of his fancy cat tuna than even attempt to slip on anything resembling a sleeve.

And they've somehow gone half a school year, a whole semester, and now four overblots without having to face the fact that this was a lot of scarring.

The newest one is, obviously, the worst. Objectively speaking. It's barely scabbed over, still raw and red and swollen, still throbbing, still hot to the touch. Four deep puncture wounds surround their right shoulder, the viper's fangs leaving a perfect imprint of its jaws. Surprisingly enough, this was the only wound an overblotted student had given them that didn't require a trip to the infirmary. The inky venom in their veins had disappeared the moment the overblot was defeated, and most students from the Scalding Sands know how to treat snake bites.

Kalim was very insistent he patch them up personally. He also insisted they let the wound be exposed to the water of the oasis, hence why they've removed his very professional wrap job.

And if seeing the physical evidence of what he did humbles Jamil even the tiniest amount, well they aren't going to complain about that.

At least they look a bit more balanced now with Jamil's contribution to the collection of scars they're beginning to possess. Before the winter break, a small part of them had felt a bit lopsided. True, the scars from Leona's Unique Magic had drastically decreased from their original size right after his overblot. But the patch of lightning strike scars cracking along the skin of their left shoulder and upper arm messed with their overall symmetry. At least now there was something on either side of their neck, although the part of them that seems to care about this (like seriously why does this matter scars are bad things to have wtf brain) will have to ignore the difference in size.

(That'd go over well. 'Hey, Jamil I need you to make your hair do the inky viper thing again and bite me some more so my scars are more equal in size'. Mentally scar the poor guy some more why don't you Yuu.)

The scar that surprises them is the necklace of circles that, well, encircle their throat. The bruising after their fight with Azul had been gnarly, splotches of deep purples and blues mixed with sickly yellows and greens. Deep indents in the shape of octopi suckers among the clear shape of tentacles wrapped around their throats encouraged the early emergence of turtlenecks and scarves into their wardrobe. By the time the bruising had begun to disappear, they'd genuinely needed to cover their neck to fight off the cold, so this is the first time they'd gotten a good look at their neck in a long while.

Hmm. Maybe it's a good thing that Azul's attempt to strangle them left a scar in such a visible place. Maybe next time Azul tries to pull some shady business, they'll rock up to the Mostro Lounge in something low-cut.

Sevens knows Leona only became so cooperative (if you can call it that) during that whole Octavinille debacle because he got an eyeful of all the bandages they were still required to wear lest Professor Crewel literally whip them for disobedience.

Although, if they're being honest, there is one scar they are dreading for people to see. Everyone knows about the other three, at least everyone at the oasis knows about all three. The bandages were too hard to hide, and they all witnessed what happened with Jamil. But they've managed to hide the two scars on their left thigh ever since their first week in this world.

The thing about entry and exit wounds, is they don't scar like you would expect. You would think they'd scar over fairly flat, but they don't. They don't ever fill in correctly, your skin remembers the folding in on itself that it has to do when something pierces it, and your skin remembers exploding outward when something exits it. But the wounds where Riddle's thorn had staked their thigh and left a hollow straight through their leg had easily been covered by pants all year. Only those who had been there for that battle had seen the true damage done by the enraged Roseheart.

But unlike everyone else who they have helped overcome an Overblot, Yuu has watched Riddle Rosehearts actively try to change his ways, learn from his mistakes, and take some personal accountability for the havoc he wreaked. So they kept the scar he gave them hidden, not wanting to remind others, Riddle, or even themself of just how dangerous he could be.

And now, because, again, they'd rather lick Crowley's desk than entertain the thought of pants in this insufferable desert heat, now that scar was going to be on display. They were going to get questions. They were going to have to relive that memory, that phantom pain over and over again.

They were going to have to relive all of those memories again.

The ripping sensation, the heavy feeling of something foreign, the absolute gushing of blood. The dry cracking, the peeling, the flaking apart at the literal seams. The threat of bones snapping, the drowning on dry land, the fear of a lung collapsing. The fire of acid in your veins, the teeth tearing flesh, the invasive screaming in their head.

All of it. Every time someone saw their scars, every time someone asked a stupid question, every time they saw someone else stuck in their own memories of Yuu's scars, they'd be stuck reliving all of that pain again.

With a heavy sigh, already feeling the exhaustion running through their every fiber, they finally drag their eyes away from their own reflection. The first thing they see is Grimm. Looking at them. Looking at their scars. A haunted, faraway look in his eyes.

Well, that settles it. Something must be done about these nuisances. Sooner rather than later.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rewrite au #rewrite lore #Yuu is involved in overblot fights #and these are the consequences #i will gladly answer any questions comments concerns #this is the most fleshed out idea of this au and i don't feel like i did it justice #Mirrors are Never to be Trusted

[sword-brainrot]

Toukentober Day 1: Leader

sword: Hizen Tadahiro contents: angst with happy end word count: 2500K cw: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, PTSD, Scars, Blood, Bad Injury, Mentions of Death

overview: First mission out that Hizen has given the leadership role. An unexpected outcome to the killer's sword but the saniwa put their trust into him, even if he is quite distant from the sage. However, when he arrives back with the first team - things are not what the saniwa had expected and runs to confront Hizen.

“Aruji!! The first team is back!” 

Lightning crashed with the thudding rain droplets, the citadel shook as the silhouette of someone in the doorway to the library that the saniwa was currently resting. Their head rose and looked at the poor sword that was drenched from the heavy rain outside. What weather to welcome back the first team, perhaps they should treat them to some cookies for their hard work and make up from the lousy weather. Most of the swords were huddled together somewhere in the citadel staying warm from the bitter cold, yet the swords that just arrived home had to walk through the raged storm. The saniwa closed their book as they sat up in their big chair near the fire, a smile on their face as they looked at Hotarumaru.

“Lovely. Please tell Hizen to see me to give me the overview of the mission when he cleans up. What a shame that on his first mission he is the leader and he has to come back to such miserable weather.” They clicked their tongue slightly with a fond smile on their lips as they rose to put away their book, “Please tell him to take his time. I don’t want to rush him after he worked so hard.”

“Um…” Hotarumaru started only to fall silent. His hands fiddled with one another as he rocked back and forth on his feet. His green eyes stared at the ground, refusing to make eye-contact as he tried to find confidence to start the next sentence.

Immediately, the saniwa paused from putting the book back into the bookcase and looked over at the small Ootachi. This smile fell as the cold air of the storm swooped in and stole their breath away. Even being so close to the fire, it felt as though winter had come early and threatened to freeze them alive in the very spot they stood. They tried to wait patiently for Hotarumaru to continue but it seemed like they weren’t going to be able to do so without further prompting. Their heart raced as they asked: “What is it?”

The firefly sword snapped out of his nervous trance, his body straightening and his arms falling to their side as his grassy green eyes locked with the sage’s. His eyebrows were knitted in concern as he said the words that the saniwa never wanted to hear.

“He was taken to the infirmary. He was badly hurt and-”

Thunder boomed almost as loud as Hotarumaru’s words. The book that almost made it back to its home in the bookcase crashed to the floor as the saniwa sprinted out of the library, not bothering to hear the rest of what Hotarumaru was about to say or to grab a form of protection against the storm. It didn’t matter how the thunder rattled their bones or how the rain pelted their skin as they ran to where Hizen laid. What mattered was that the sword they chose to lead the mission was now badly hurt and the responsibility rested upon their shoulders. It was supposed to be an act of trust from the saniwa to Hizen. He was always so distant and always reduced himself to just being a killer’s sword. He was there to kill and that was it. It didn’t matter that he liked sake, or sweets. It didn’t matter that whenever he killed, he shook from the action of it.

But it mattered to them. Hizen mattered to them.

It was meant to be a simple mission with no killing. They made sure of it. They did their research so Hizen could see that they could lead a group. That he was more than capable of doing more than just killing and he didn’t have to settle to be defined by his past. Why did this happen?

The door rattled as they pushed it open with a rushed and forceful movement. Their body was dripping wet, their cheeks rosy from the cold, and their body shivered from either the cold or the situation that was presented to them. Inside the Infirmary, Hizen laid in the bed as Monoyoshi dabbed at his wounds and wrapped them in clean wrappings. Hizen’s hair had droplets of rain that was mixed in with his red and black locks. His eyes were painfully closed as new wounds littered his body. He was bleeding from everywhere. Any new bandage was quickly colored red. His left eye opened faintly to look at the saniwa, only to painfully shut once more as Monoyoshi dabbed on more medicine to his shoulder where the deepest wound lay. It was already stitched shut but it seemed like needed a bit more disinfection before he could wrap the bandages around it. 

“What happened?” A ghost of a voice rose in the quiet room that was drowned in the music of the thudding rain. It was shaky and barely recognizable, but it was surely the saniwa’s voice. When did they speak? Their mind was everywhere, yet only in one place at the same time. 

Monoyoshi finished dabbing the ointment on the tender flesh before throwing away the new soiled cotton ball. A normally shining face now only gave the faintest smile as they walked over to the saniwa and brought them to the corner of the room, away from the hurt sword. Hizen’s tired red eyes watched as the duo left him, his eyes trying to focus on them from the bed but quickly his eyelids felt too heavy and closed once more. His breath shaky as he started to drift off ever so slightly.

“He is alright, Aruji. He may not look at it from his wounds but he will make it.” Monoyoshi gently grabbed their forearm and it was only then did the sage realized how much they were shaking. Of course Monoyoshi would comfort them when they look like a leaf threatening to fall off the branch in Autumn. “Hizen was the only one that was hurt in the first team. We were tracking Prince Ōama when suddenly Kebiishi appeared. We were split up at the time but… Hizen told Chiganemaru to find the rest of the team while he ran and held off the Kebiishi. I’m not sure what would have happened to the team if it wasn’t for him but we were able to retreat before anyone broke. I’m sorry to say but we couldn’t meet our mission’s goal…”

“Nonsense. You making it back alive is what truly matters.” They sniffled, bringing their sleeve up to their face to wipe the wet droplets. One great thing about rain is that you can’t tell tears from rain droplets. A heavy sigh left their lungs as he looked at the sleeping figure on the bed. Even so close to breaking, he looked so peaceful. “Monoyoshi, would you mind giving me some time with him? As well as telling Mutsunokami and Nankaitarou about him? I’m sure they will want to rush over to see him.”

“Of course, Aruji.” Monoyoshi gave a small bow before looking over at Hizen. His forced cheery smile left as his brows knitted in concern. “I gave him some medication to help with the pain so he is probably going to be very sleepy for a while as he heals. Please let me know if there is anything I can get the both of you.”

A final smile found its way to his face as he gave the saniwa’s hand a small squeeze of comfort before leaving the room as quiet as he could. With the small rattle of the door closing, they looked over at the sleeping form. His eyes finally were not squeezed shut and looked peaceful. The scowl that normally resided on his face was now replaced with a neutral expression as he drifted into sleep. Their steps were hesitant as they made their way to his bed and to the seat that sat next to it. The heavy blanket to keep him from the cold seemed to hide a good majority of wounds that now painted his body. However, there were still many more shallow cuts on his face and chest. As well as the deep shoulder wound that Monoyoshi was just taking care of. Their eyes gazed at Hizen’s neck, an area of his body that was often covered by bandages. A scar imprinted onto his skin. It surrounded his whole neck. That’s right… Hizen’s previous master was beheaded and now Hizen wears the scar as a reminder. Hizen never talked about his previous master to them or anyone, for that matter. All they knew about them was that they were a killer and had some connection to Ryōma, Mutsunokami’s previous master. 

Staring so earnestly at the scar, they failed to notice that Hizen had shifted and began to wake. It was only when his head fell to the side to look at the sage, did they notice. His red eyes were still barely opened and it seemed like he was struggling to even focus his gaze upon who was sitting next to him. 

“Stop staring…” He groaned as his eyes fell shut once more and he took a deep breath. “I failed. You can leave.”

A deep-set frown was placed upon their lips as they looked at Hizen’s pained, yet forced sleeping expression. Clearly, he wanted to drop the topic and distance himself even more from the saniwa. He was hurt and was not in the mood. All these things were so clear… But they couldn’t help but speak.

“You came back alive and that is all I wanted.But Hizen, you shouldn’t have faced the Kebiishi all alone. I know you were protecting your team but you could have died. Please, be more careful next time.”

“What use is a sword that can’t kill when ordered to? Should of broke on the battlefield.”

A cold air filled the room. Hizen’s narrow eyes turned to the wall, away from his new master. An unsettling silence settled between the two figures as the saniwa bit their lip, hands clenching at their robes on their lap. Their shoulders shook as they tried to hold back tears from their eyes.

“How could you say that?”

“I’m a killer’s blade. If I can’t kill, I’m better off broken. That is the only use I am good for.”

“That isn’t true!” They screamed, making Hizen flinch in the bed and finally look at them. Their head was lowered as they tried to control their shaking body, taking deep breaths as Hizen watched in shock. He always knew the saniwa who was gentle to all the swords and only strict when giving direct orders in stressful movements. He had never heard their voice become this loud that even the thunder outside couldn’t overpower them. 

Their hand shot out and grabbed hold of Hizen’s. His body shuttered slightly from the sudden physical contact and he stared at them frozen. Their head rose to reveal tears threatening to tip over and run down the cheeks as they looked at the sword in the bed. Their hand was firm, yet gentle. Hizen wouldn’t be able to slip from their hold unless he actively tried. Yet, it wasn’t forceful where he felt a lot of pressure. Despite the cold and the shivering of their body, their hand was warm.

“You are alive, Hizen. You can feel my hands holding yours right now, right? You enjoy so many things in the citadel, I see it! I see how much you enjoy sake or sweets I bring home from the market. Why else do you think I always make sure there is something sweet here? Hizen… Your job is no longer assassinating people, I will make sure I never put you in that position. Your job is to protect people. You already proved that you can do that! Today! You took on a powerful foe so you could protect your team like a great leader! Your past doesn’t define you, Hizen. Not anymore if you don’t allow it to. Please… Never talk like that again.”

Their joined hands fell to the soft bedding as the saniwa cried. Their shaking was nearly uncontrollable. Hiccups filled the room and sniffles of trying to catch their breath. What could be said to such words or to make them stop crying? It’s not like Hizen was ever put in such a position before. The drowsiness in his body had begun to fade from the scream. The raising tension in his body lessened and his red eyes focused on their joined hands. He slowly grasped their hand, rubbing his rough thumb over their soft skin. A familiar action that the saniwa once used on him after a night terror. A moment he tried to block out of his mind from how pathetic he thought of himself. Yet, the saniwa said nothing about it. They calmed him down and sat next to him, rubbing their thumb over his hand while holding it. Sometimes even petting his head to lull him into sleep. Even flinching from the physical contact, he enjoyed the soft feeling of it. He never had someone treat a killer so kindly before.

“Sorry.” He muttered softly. So faint that he was sure that the heavy rain outside drowned him out and he would have to repeat himself again, even if he wanted to die from embarrassment from doing so. Luckily, they shook their head softly and their thumb gently rubbed against Hizen’s hand.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. Seeing you so hurt and hearing how you feel about the mission really upset me but I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

Another silence fell into the room as the saniwa rested their head against the mattress, exhaustion coming over them from the sobbing and adrenaline rush of the news. The silence was comfortable compared to the one before. Hizen’s hand hesitantly stroked the saniwa’s head, trying to mimic the gesture from the memory yet unconfident in their abilities. 

“I will try… to learn how to… l-live another way.” 

They looked up at Hizen, making his hand freeze in the air unsure where to put it. Their expression was pure shock as they lifted themself up. Hizen never actively spoke to them and they were accepting that the conversation of the night would have ended at the sorries before they left the room. A soft blush could be seen on his face as he looked down at the blanket that covered his body. Part of the saniwa wanted to ask if he was sure and have a further conversation on it. They knew the sword better than they thought and knew that would only make him more uncomfortable.Instead they smiled, and gently patted his head with him flinching slightly, only to lean into it.

“Thank you, Hizen. I will be by your side as you try to learn to enjoy life another way. We will go at your pace, I promise.”

#ToukenTober2023 #Touken Ranbu #Touken Danshi #Tourabu #Touken Ranbu Headcanons #Touken Ranbu Imagines #Touken Ranbu x Reader #TKRB #TKRB Headcanons #TKRB Imagines #TKRB x Reader #Hizen Tadahiro #Hizen Tadahiro x Reader #Hizen Tadahiro & Reader #Hotarumaru #Hotarumaru & Reader #Monoyoshi Sadamune #Monoyoshi Sadamune & Reader #OneShot #angst with a happy ending

[soullesserror]

q!Tubbo Headcanons

This is gonna be a long one, so buckle up! There’s gonna be several sections and some headcanons are from other people and I will not care if you ‘steal’ mine, in fact I will actively encourage you to do so

All of this will be about the cubitos, even if I didn't put q! before every name

Visual (Outsider perspective)

His eyes looks like they’re clouded in a way? very muted, almost grey, green

He has a bunch of scars running across his face and assumably the rest of his body that looks like lightning or cracks

Brown hair with blonde tips, but when he joined it was just blonde

He’s missing an arm from spinning the wheel and replaced is with a robotic one that he can change depending on what tool he needs

He looks like some sort of avian. Sometimes.

...and sometimes, he looks like some sort of dragon.

Sometimes he looks like a goat!

Species

Tubbo is a very specific type of shapeshifter! He takes on traits from the people he hangs around the most, or the people he trusts a lot. And the eggs recognise that which is why Chayanne calls him an egg - because they do it too!

Some traits include

— The blonde hair, he got it from Phil, the reason it’s mainly brown now is because of Coypiso (will explain more)

— Feathers that kinda look like wings, got them from Phil

— Fangs, he got them from the eggs

— Talons/claws, from both Phil and Pac

It’s mostly from Phil, because they knew each other before Tubbo was unfrozen, and also I think Tubbo would say his prosthetic is enough mimicking Pac and Fit

He can hide these features, and he does with the wings because they get in the wings. When he first joined the island, he shifted between the different traits he's picked up on over the years (goat/bugs/avian/dragon) and depending on who he was talking to he was a different one. All of them included talons, and later on fangs after meeting the eggs.

Tubbo and god.

Tubbo is friends with a lot of demigods and knows a Goddess, who happens to be the wife of Philza!

The three that are the most present in his life on the island are

— Tommyinnit

— Bekymon

— piso4 / coypiso

Some posts that are related to this

What they’re demigods of

Who Tubbo follows also more thoughts on the demigods, how Tubbo connects with them etc

Who Tommy is connected to (and also how that relates to Phil and Wilbur)

The lightning that strikes him down? I don't think that's the feds. I think the admins and federation should be seperated more because they are. The admins are the ones striking Tubbo with lightning and blinding him. The admins are a higher power. That also absolutely hates Tubbo's guts because he has befriended three demigods, possibly more, and knows the Angel of Death, and the actual Goddess of Death. And their son, Wilbur.

He gets possessed by people a lot!! He's such a vessel and constantly has people talking inside his head or taking over his body. Chat is actually voices inside his head.

Just silly extra stuff

This is kind of species thing but also.. not? Tubbo can hear machines in a way only really aypierre can? Even then it's very different, because pierre speaks to the machines. Tubbo doesn't. Tubbo just like.. gets them.

Tubbo straight up has a phone. Why? Who knows! How did he get it? Good question! Why on god's green earth is the federation letting him keep it? Because they don't even know he has one. Who does, you ask? Nobody! Except for Chayanne because he called Jack Manifold that one time. Tubbo only uses it to call his friends and text his parents. He doesn't even realize he could use it to get out of here, or that maybe he should tell people he has phone.

The reason for Tubbo's eyes looking cloudy is mostly visual design! His vision is so much worse because of the fact he gets blinded by the admins so much that it permanently affected his eyesight. His goggles help him see better, he added prescription to them so he could see.

This post will absolutely get added onto as time goes on, I hope everyone who read this like my silly headcanons

#qsmp #qsmp tubbo #q!tubbo #qsmp headcanons #q!tubbo headcanons