#(but the first time scar sees him that day?)

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[i5uckersblog]

When It Hurt

Summary: Logan cares for Wade during a painful episode, showing him he’s not alone.

Wade was slipping.

The pain felt different this time—worse. It crawled under his skin, dug into his bones, and wouldn’t let go. He had stopped keeping track of the days, the hours. Time blurred into one endless stream of hurt, and the only constant was the hollow ache deep in his body as it rebelled against him. His healing factor, usually his greatest weapon, was failing him tonight. Every cell felt like it was tearing itself apart.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He was cold. So cold that his teeth chattered, even as sweat dripped down his scarred face. His body lay sprawled on the floor of his dingy apartment, too weak to rise, too stubborn to call anyone for help. Not that anyone would care, right?

The door creaked open, but Wade didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t muster the strength to react, not even when the familiar heavy footsteps approached. A low sigh cut through the silence, and then that voice, rough as gravel.

“Wade.”

Logan.

Wade’s breath hitched, his body convulsing in a painful shiver. He wanted to say something, crack a joke, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “Logey…? Thought you… swore off visiting my… beautiful face.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he knelt beside Wade, his gruff demeanor softening for a moment as he took in the sight of the man lying before him—pale, trembling, and looking more fragile than Logan had ever seen him. Wade was always larger than life, hiding behind endless wisecracks and masks, but now… now he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Christ, Wade. What’ve you done to yourself?” Logan muttered, his brows furrowing. His hands were steady as he gently touched Wade’s face, checking for fever. Cold as ice. “You’re freezing.”

Wade let out a weak laugh, the sound hollow and brittle. “Yeah… I’m a walking popsicle… catch me while you can.” His lips quivered, his voice breaking at the end. He hated this—hated being weak in front of anyone, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t bite at the joke this time. His focus was on getting Wade off the floor, his hands moving with surprising gentleness as he hooked them under Wade’s arms. “C’mon. We gotta get you warmed up,” Logan grumbled, lifting him with ease. Wade’s body was limp, too drained to protest.

The mercenary let out a faint groan as Logan guided him toward the couch, his muscles spasming with every step. It hurt. It all hurt. But he didn’t want Logan to see it—didn’t want to let anyone see how much it hurt.

“Logey, if you wanted to… cuddle, you could’ve… asked,” Wade slurred, trying desperately to keep up the act.

Logan just shook his head, his jaw tight. He laid Wade down on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much. Wade could feel the warmth of Logan’s hands lingering on him even after he pulled away. A shiver wracked his body, and his teeth chattered violently.

Logan grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, covering Wade with it. “You’re a goddamn idiot,” Logan muttered, but there was no anger in his voice—just something that sounded almost… sad.

Wade stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his vision blurry. “Yeah, but you… you love me,” he whispered, his breath catching on the last word.

Logan froze for a second, his expression flickering with something unreadable. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Wade could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, water running. His body ached, the pain throbbing in every limb, but for the first time in days, he wasn’t completely alone.

Logan returned a few minutes later, kneeling beside the couch with a steaming mug in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He pressed the glass to Wade’s lips, helping him drink. Wade gulped down the cool liquid, grateful for the relief it brought to his parched throat.

Logan watched him, his brow furrowed with concern. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

Wade blinked, trying to remember. The days had bled together, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anything besides a few sips of water. “Who needs food when you’ve got… cancer couture?” he rasped, but the joke fell flat, the usual spark missing from his voice.

Logan’s hand tightened around the mug, and for a moment, Wade thought he was going to snap. But instead, Logan held the mug up to Wade’s mouth, his touch so gentle it almost felt like a dream. Wade sipped slowly, the warmth of the broth spreading through his chest, taking the edge off the freezing cold that had settled deep in his bones.

“You’re not invincible,” Logan said quietly, his voice rough but soft. “I know you act like you are, but… this? This ain’t a joke, Wade.”

Wade’s breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. Logan didn’t talk like this. Logan didn’t do feelings. But here he was, sitting beside Wade like a goddamn guardian angel, watching over him with that stubborn look of his.

“Hey… don’t… don’t get all mushy on me, Wolvie,” Wade whispered, but the usual sarcasm was gone. His voice cracked, betraying him. “I’m fine… always fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Logan snapped, but then his tone softened again. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That hit Wade harder than any bullet or blade ever had. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the sudden wave of emotion that rose in his chest. The pain was still there, sharp and all-consuming, but so was something else—something warmer, something that cut through the icy numbness that had settled over him.

“Why do you care?” Wade asked, his voice barely a whisper now. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s steady gaze. “Why… do you always come back?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His expression was stoic, but Wade could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the edge of the couch like he was holding something back. Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and raw.

“Because you’re not alone in this,” he said, his eyes never leaving Wade’s. “No matter how much you act like you wanna be.”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat, and for once, he didn’t have a joke. Didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he just let the words settle, let the warmth of Logan’s presence wrap around him like the blanket tucked over his shaking form.

Logan stayed by his side, not moving, not saying another word. He didn’t have to. Wade closed his eyes, feeling the heaviness in his chest start to loosen, just a little.

It still hurt—God, it hurt so much—but with Logan there, it was bearable. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

[biggestqiblifan]

tw: mentions of self harm

*The anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan was round the corner.*

*Will woke screaming and sobbing every night* *He would go out for a walk, avoiding everyone. The memories and burdens made him work non-stop at the infirmary. HE had to be better. HE couldn't dare to fall behind. To let others down. To be useless. HE couldn't let others die. Him. It was all on him. Everyone counted on him. Him.*

*On and on it went in a cycle. Till a camper came in with head trauma. Will broke*

*Will handed the case off to Kayla, making up some excuse before dashing off and locking himself in a pitch-black room* *The sounds of the war, of the infirmary clashed in his head. All of them screaming for attention, to be heard. A replica of what he had heard that day. Images, red, white, grey, flashed in an unbreakable series. It wouldn't stop. Will began hyperventilating. His chest ached. he couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Every shook, every part of him trembled. His cheeks and clothes were soaked with his tears. His throat was raw, and aching, mouth dry and sour. Lips struggling to keep his screams, sobs and pleas silent.*

*Will felt trapped. In his own skin. He'd already made it red from clutching on it too tightly. Now he desperately scratched at his skin, trying to escape. The scrape bleed. * *On instinct, without hesitation, its a practiced movement from the number of times he's done it. Will reaches for the scalpel in his shirt. * *He cuts. For the first time in a while, Will is able to take a full breath. His chest unclenches a bit with every cut. With every stream of blood that ran across and down his body. More scars for the collection. *

*Will feels some tension his body by way of the numerous deep cuts. It was an escape. *

*The voices quietened. Quietened. Never silent. After all, the screams never leave.*

[random-dragon-exe]

Okay, MAJOR SALT COMING! Also a long post!

So I have the Disney Villains tarot deck but before I go into the salt part of the post, let's go into the positives.

The cards have stunning art and each card is appropriately themed to the villain generally speaking about 98% of the time. (IMO).

Another positive is the roster of villains included. Seeing even a few minor/underrated villains is pretty cool and impressive.

Some examples of these villains include Bowler Hat Guy, Madame Mim, Madame Medusa, and possibly Yzma.

Now onto the salt.

As impressive as the span of villains is, two villains are absent who (IMO) deserved a card.

King Candy

Frollo

First, there are other villains absent, but I'm sticking to these two since I've seen these movies. Now going in order, it is an absolute SHAME (IMO) that King Candy doesn't have a card, but I have an idea of which card suits him best.

The King of Swords. Although this card is given to Scar, and I do love how it looks, I believe that King Candy deserved it.

Plus, Scar appears on like three other cards, so I think it's okay for him to appear three times (sorry Scar, I do love you too).

Anyway, I'm going to go into some detail as to why I believe King Candy/Turbo deserves the card by going into the meaning of it and how it relates to him.

I'll admit, I have a lot of points and can talk about this for days, but I'm going to condense them to 3-ish. I'll do the same for Frollo too in a part 2 post.

Going for a two in one here: The card is about being an authority who uses reason and their intelligence for good. while the reverse of this is being cunning to deceive people.

After Turbo hijacked Sugar Rush, he was very methodical about his approach to make it sound like he's their rightful ruler. He locked up their memories, then he fabricated the lie that she was a danger to their game. Turbo did his best to make sure nothing went unchecked and made sure to make the lie sound convincing to protect them (but mostly him). He's very strategic, and was able to come up with a plan to manipulate Ralph with 16 manipulation tactics in one go. He was even able to feign being concerned to play on Ralph's attachment to Vanellope.

I think the best line that best captures this aspect of the card is "Doing what's right, no matter what." AKA: He recognizes that it may sound harsh, but he makes his lies sound reasonable to protect his subjects and game.

The card also represents enjoying structure when upright. But it's controlling and oppressive in a need for order when reversed.

Turbo needs everything to be to be going his way, as he's a control freak.

Inserting the test animation here, he even says "You are a threat to my game, to the order I have maintained. And if there's one thing I can't abide, it's anything out of order!"

Also, the split-second something isn't in his control, he starts to fumble and break into either rage or nervously laughing. He's capable of coming off as cool and composed, but he's scared of being caught and it can cause him to lash out in anger (another aspect of the card).

Just as mentioned in the previous point, he made sure nothing went unchecked and made an entire world literally revolve around him. He can and WILL happily use all of his resources of excessive force he has like the cops, the Sugar Rush equivalent of S.W.A.T., and the fungeon to detain someone who stands in his way.

As a minor note, there's a line in the tarot guidebook that states the reverse of the card can represent "someone who needs to win at any cost." Which describes Turbo to a T. He not only wants attention but he's also extremely competitive. It's part of his programming, and it ties to his love for racing. To always come out on top and be #1. No matter who or what stands in his way.

That core drive (pun intended) was the cause of his villainy in the first place and earned him his infamous status in the arcade.

Okay, I don't want to sound too salty, but you can imagine my disappointment when King Candy didn't get a card.

Oh well, Its fine, I still love and use this deck.

So I guess we can call this the thrilling conclusion to the 3 part saga of including King Candy in Disney Villain merchandise.

Also as a sidenote: hypothetically if he did get this card, what would the imagery be?

I feel the card has the potential to get creative with the glitch effects. For example make it so that he's glitching between the Turbo appearance and the King Candy appearance. If we want to be a little cheeky, we could have it set in his castle, and out the window, we see a the cybug Ralph initially sent to SR flying outside a castle window. (similar to Hook's card as the crocodile is seen outside)

So basically, my interpretation would be a mix of these images and Captain Hook's card:

But, if anyone else has really cool ideas, I'd love to hear them! If you want, you could also draw it out to illustrate your point (pun intended) Honestly please do, I'd love to see other people's interpretations of this card for him. The possibilities are endless!

Join me in my antics next time when I analyze Frollo and and the card I think he should've gotten.

[tengensangel]

Fade into you.

Boxer!sevika x topside!reader

a/n - I really hope you all enjoy this fic! English is also not my first language so I’m very sorry for any mistakes! Anyway I love sevika so much I want her so bad.

Wc: 1258

It was just another day for you, you had just finished up classes and were on your way home from college. Being a nursing student was definitely not easy. You got home and greeted your mother and fed your cats, ladybug, and Leo. You head up to your room and set your stuff up so you can start studying and doing assignments when you get a message from your friend Sam.

Sam <3: be ready at 8pm tonight, we're going out with the others. Wear something cute ;).

You wanted to decline the offer, but you knew how stubborn Sam was, so you just sighed and agreed. You study for the next couple of hours before you decide to get ready to go. You really had no clue as to where you guys were going, you just hoped it wasn't anywhere dangerous. Walking to your vanity, you start applying your makeup, deciding to go for a natural look. After all that, you decide to put on some flare jeans and a black tank top, deciding to just leave your hair as it is. After getting ready, you get a text from Sam letting you know that she and the others are here. You weren't really close with Sam's other friends, but it was fine. You sneak out of your bedroom and walk over to the meet-up spot. You spot Sam and run over to her.

“Hey Sam! Where are we going exactly?” You were curious. Sam was never the kind of person to tell you where you were going until the last second. Her answer surprised you.

“We miss goody two shoes are going to zaun aka the under city to watch an underground fight!” Sam said very enthusiastically. You gave Sam a look that said ‘what the fuck?’ but she just ignored it before dragging you and the others down with her. Was this really a good idea? Probably not, but you don't want to look like a loser in front of everyone or Sam, so you didn't say anything. After a little bit, you guys arrive in the undercity. Everything was different here. The people, the buildings, the atmosphere, everything. Staying close to Sam while she's taking you to your destination.

“Sam, is this safe at all?” “Oh absolutely not. We're here though!”

Looking at your surroundings, you notice how there is a boxing ring dead in the center. Did she just take you to see an illegal boxing ring? You notice that there's a bar and dance floor off to the left. God, could this night get crazier? Taking hold of your arm, she takes you guys closer to the boxing ring. People started piling in and crowding around you all, you saw people placing bets and getting drinks. Maybe you should have declined Sam's offer.

You can't hold that though for long before the announcer starts hyping the crowd up. You see one big man enter the ring, but you don't even focus on him because you see a woman enter the ring and shake off her dark magenta-coloured robe. She must've been 6’3 at least, her short brown hair tied up in a bun. Her muscular body looked like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves, her scars made her look intimidating, but in a perfect way. The announcer introduces the man to the crowd, but you don't care, being too focused on the big muscular woman standing in the ring, finally he calls her name.

“AND TO MY LEFT IS THE ONE AND ONLY SEVIKA FROM THE UNDERCITY!!!”. After that, the crowd went absolutely insane. She must be very popular here then. He then tells them it's time to fight. Before the man can get any hits on Sevika, he gets knocked out. 45 seconds, 45 fucking seconds.

The crowd goes absolutely crazy, crazier than before. The announcer announces her as the winner and after that some people leave, some stay and go to the bar. You let Sam know that you are going to the bathroom and that you'll be back soon. You were so unfamiliar with this place, so you kinda assumed where the bathroom was. You find a red door and a similar one beside it, so you assume these are the bathrooms. You push the door open, now seeing Sevika was not on your list for tonight. There she was in her shorts and tank top, her hair now down a cigarette in her mouth. She's looking you up and down, yep, and that is how you get beat up and die!

“I'm so sorry I thought this was the bathroom! I'll leave right away!” she had to understand, right? It was just a mistake, yeah, an honest mistake.

“Relax dove, you look like you're about to pass out or something.” What? Did you just freak out for no reason at all? She's just chilling with this? Feeling relieved, you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. Sevika just continued to look at you, she couldn't lie seeing you in that crowd made her feel a sort of protectiveness for you. It was weird because everyone knew that Sevika never had relationships, she was a person who fucks and leaves. Sevika knew you and your buddies were not from around here, she'd never seen you before. Your friends have come here before on multiple occasions. It almost made her mad to see you here. You shouldn't be here.

“Name’s Sevika. You probably know that though, Dove. What's your name?” Oh, she wanted to know who you were.

“My name is Y/n. Yeah, I saw you knock that guy out in 45 seconds! That's actually insane.” she lets out a little chuckle and getting up, she walks over to her. She noticed the confused look in her eyes. She really shouldn't feel this way towards you. Why does she feel like she wants to know absolutely everything about you? How your days are spent or how you like your coffee. God. She needs to snap out of it. Love means weakness, Something Sevika can't have. She's only ever known violence in her life and she's never really questioned it. You felt her lean down a bit. She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I should go now, Sevika, my friends are probably waiting for me.” you fidget with your fingers, feeling a little nervous under her eyes. She backs up after a bit, giving you space. You really wanted to see her again, not wanting this to be the last time you two met.

“Come see me next week, Dove, I'm up again.” you nod and leave her room. God, what did you just get yourself into? Is this finally your way of rebelling against everyone in your life? Why did you feel this way towards Sevika? She's from the undercity, and she's a fighter, and you were the complete opposite. It'll pass. I mean it has, so you can't fall for someone who's from the undercity, can you?

You spot Sam and the others and practically beg for her to take you home. You felt tired and a bit overstimulated. you got to your house, and climbed the tree that's by your window and sneaked into your room. If your parents ever found out you were out this late they'd probably ground you for life. You hop into your bedroom and change your clothes before hopping into bed. The last thing on your mind before you drift off is sevika.

[bleachification]

⸻ EVERYTHING IS BLUE

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis:  when life gave you a second chance to meet your supposedly dead childhood friend, you never expected it to be in the form of a villainous encounter. your once beloved toya is now dabi—a cruel, twisted silhouette of the gentle boy he used to be. 

note: includes mentions of grief and insomnia

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

There is a very famous saying: Love conquers all. 

Supposedly love transcends time. 

Space. 

Death. 

It buries sin and cures suffering, lightening the world and its burdens. It is presented with such a peculiar resemblance to what some herald as Heaven’s gift from above—a sublime feeling only justifiable by the overpowering divine or mystical. You see it in the stars; unreachable. In the sunsets and dawn; dazzling.

But you also see it in the darkness; for the act of love has made fools of many, robbing them blind of reason and humanity. It has made liars and killers—corrupted and instilled madness. And it seldom lets its victims go. 

Love creates weakness. 

You vowed to never let it make you weak again. 

After all, the last time almost killed you. But who could blame you? Toya was dear to you. Toya was special. The closest thing to a soulmate you could ever fathom. The boy was your childhood best friend and the earliest memory of happiness you can recall. Now, that is all he is—a distant, fleeting memory that whispers of fractured promises and bygone dreams. He is never more than a nostalgic breeze tickling your skin, or a particularly bright star on an early winter night. 

He exists between the lines of your past. Simply there. But never next to you. Never in arms reach. 

As time passed agonizingly, you had slowly begun to forget the most basic things, such as the bright tenor of his laugh and the soft sound of his steps—sensations you used to know by heart. 

Sometimes, you can only remember the features of his face by looking at an old photograph you had kept. It is one of black and white film, stained on the back and crinkled at the edges from the wear of time. In it, Toya is smiling, a small hand raised up in a wave at whoever was behind the camera. You can’t remember. 

Was it your mother? His? You hope it was the former. She always adored Toya.   

His left arm was slung over your shoulder and the both of you had cake and icing smudged on your faces, courtesy of one another. 

That day—your birthday—is one of the last times you saw him alive. 

So why on earth do you see that little boy in the eyes of a villain?

The face of a young man covered in gnarled purple scars is plastered across the city. Video footage from a high speed chase is being shown in an emergency broadcast on every single screen covering the downtown core. 

His name is Dabi. Prominent member of the League of Villains. It is an organization the Pro Heroes—your colleagues—are adamantly trying to dismantle. 

The man’s picture is blown up on the big screens alongside three other criminals, each involved in the chase currently carving through the city blocks.

Something about him is so familiar, but you can’t grasp exactly what. 

Grief and nostalgia must be playing tricks again. To see a dead child’s face in a villain’s visage is ridiculous.

Laughable. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time you had… hallucinated Toya’s image. 

With a sigh, you peel your dry eyes away from the ward’s television and shut the channel off. The room is eerily silent in the late night, void of the tv’s noise. You like it. Silence helps calm the mind. Settles the chaos. 

You stand and make your way out of the ward, down the empty hallway, and into your personal office. The room is clean and tidy, the only thing out of place is a stack of research papers strewn across your mahogany desk. You round the corner and settle into the soft velvet seat of your armchair before running your right hand along the underside of the table. A familiar click sounds as you locate the button and a small cabinet pops open from the left shelf. 

Three bottles sit inside. Unassuming white ones with generic labels. You pop the smallest bottle open and dump a pill out. The red medication tastes like chalk as it grazes your tongue. 

After a second of consideration, you take another, hoping these sleeping pills will be strong enough to stave off the nightmares and vivid hallucinations. 

Hope. It’s such a small word, but also such a large one. Hope was all you had at one point. It was the only thing grounding you to a reality without him. You had hoped it was all a mistake—a joke, even. Toya would pop his head from the corner and yell: “Gotcha!”

He would be fine. Alive. 

Anything but a husk of a human, burnt beyond recognition, suffocating in the flames of his own blood.

Now, hope is nothing but a pretty word to throw around when meaning is lost. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to a dreamless sleep. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You are experiencing a startling sense of deja vu. The television glitches, interrupting regularly scheduled programming. A familiar figure appears. 

I, Toya Todorioki, was born as the eldest son of Endeavour. 

The world—your world freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the man on your screen.

You stand up, shaking. Then, you run. Heroes and medical staff alike shout after you, but it all fades into a blur. There is only one destination in your mind—and it is a dangerous, painful place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to locate him. The city is in turmoil, buildings have been razed to the ground and rubble covers the once bustling space. You spot Shoto and his father up ahead, mere steps away. And in front of him stands Dabi—no—Toya. Your Toya. 

His hair is white now, the natural color no longer concealed once he revealed his identity. The scars have spread from the last time you saw him online. No matter. You knew it. You knew it was him. How could you forget?

Enji rasps out something in disbelief. 

Toya only smiles wide and responds with a sardonic confirmation. You could see it in their eyes—a living nightmare had come true for the Todoroki family.

But you? All you cared about was reaching Toya. None of them have seen you yet, so you take advantage of that by quietly making your way closer. The muffled voices turn clearer as the distance shrinks. Toya is speaking to his father and brother, words spilling out in frantic turmoil. The rawness of his voice rings through. Such intense anger and hatred cannot be faked. The two others are stricken by Toya’s address. You don’t blame them; the brutality of his language guts even you. 

Shoto notices you first. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, but Toya notices anyway. Your old friend whips around in your direction. You freeze as his eyes land on you. Recognition immediately flashes across his face.

His face. You feel as though you have been hurtled through space and time, brought back to simpler days. A scraped knee on the playground. Food fights in the cafeteria. A million pinky promises made.

A kid you called your best friend, reduced to ash and bones. 

These memories, both awful and radiant, wash over you with so much force you almost collapse. You silently praise yourself for keeping upright against the emotional onslaught. 

“Y/N, get out of here!” Shoto yells out, urging you away in a panic. 

You ignore him. Nothing else exists right now. Not Shoto. Not his father. Only him. 

“Y/N.” The way Toya says your name is almost questioning. As if he can’t believe you’re even here. 

You’ve somehow ended up right before him. Inches separate you, if barely. 

“Hi Toya,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. It would crack otherwise. 

He’s stunned, looking like the air was knocked from his lungs. Seconds fade into forever as his familiar gaze locks onto yours, searching—but for what, you can’t tell. It takes a moment for him to seemingly gather himself. The cynical persona quickly slides back into place.

“This is a nice surprise, but I’m afraid you have me all wrong. Toya is dead, Y/N. Dabi is all that is left—all that I am.”

You swallow. The air tastes of blood. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Don’t? Or won’t?

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you still have faith in who I used to be. That kid you knew is dead. Gone forever.”

You shake your head, refusing to take in his words.

“And yet, you’re standing right in front of me… how…?” Without thinking, you raise a hand up to touch his cheek. You’re operating on instinct, not logic. It's the instinct to comfort him—just like he did for you when you were children. 

But you stop yourself right before making contact with him, unsure. Toya’s gaze flits to your hand for a split second before returning to your face. There’s a question in his eyes—one you aren’t sure either of you can answer. 

“Why pretend you care? It’s cruel,” he murmurs, a subtle accusation coating his tone.

“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” You answer, bewildered. 

Pretend? How could he even begin to think that? When you’ve spent your entire life missing him?

“Then why did you move across the world the second you hit adulthood? You couldn’t even stay.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I grieved until what felt like my last breath. I left because every single second I stayed felt like reliving your death all over again.”

“And when you finally came back you were, what, healed? Moved on?” He laughs bitterly, arms spread in mockery. 

“Moved on?” You shake your head, the pain in your throat almost suffocating. “I saw you everywhere. Not just in dreams and nightmares. Hallucinating a dead person… I thought I was losing my mind! Even right now I’m praying this isn’t some sick, twisted nightmare.”

He drops his arms as well as the smile on his face. “Well, you’re in luck, Y/N. This is very much real. See, I thought things could change. That the consequences meant something to them. They lived my death and nothing happened! They saw what it did to me—the power, the ego, the fucking obsession that ruined this family—and did nothing!

“He’s a disease, don’t you get it? They all are. I’m simply here to rid the world of that sickness. I’m the cure, Y/N. I’ll burn the rot right out of the earth.”

Endeavour scrambles. “Son, don’t do this! Don’t—!”

“Son? Son?” Toya sneers. “You lost that right a long time ago, oh mighty Number One Hero.”

“Toya, please.”

He turns back to you. “No. Sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but you don’t get to participate in this dance.”

“What? No, Toya wait–”

An arm circles your waist before you can get another word out, and all of a sudden, you’re being carried away at breakneck speeds. 

Your screams are lost to the wind. 

An explosion in the distance. Red taints the sky and fills your vision. 

You have never felt so helpless.  

The next time you see Toya—the little that is left of him—is at the end of it all. He is confined. Half-alive. Burnt beyond recognition. It is like he is dying all over again. 

“I should hate you.”

You sit at his bedside, speaking your turn after his family just left. 

Toya is… tired. You can see it in his eyes—at the lack of fire. The passionate, ambitious boy you once knew is truly and utterly gone. 

But some of his kindness has returned. Or perhaps he has just accepted his fate, which is all the more heartbreaking. 

“You’ve done… terrible things. Hurt so many people,” you pause, considering your next words. Three tiny things lodged in your throat, struggling to be set free into the world. “You hurt me.”

He doesn’t look at you. You’re not sure if that’s any worse than his silence. 

“I didn’t think you would ever hurt me,” you whisper. 

Silence drags on for what feels like the longest minute of your life. He still has not turned his head. Still has not acknowledged you. Your heart sinks. Maybe this really is it. Maybe there’s no affection left—all of it burned up with the last of his lingering sentiments. 

You stand up, turning your back to him, ready to leave. For good. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” Toya murmurs. 

His soft voice breaks the silence—and it is overwhelming. 

You haven't turned around to face him yet. 

“In another life, would you have stayed?” 

“I…” he swallows, voice rasping. “I don’t want to leave this life. Don’t want to leave you behind… not again.”

Tears are streaming down your face. You don’t care; you sit back down right next to him, where you rightly belong. The ache in your chest is so heavy you think it might pull you to the ground and bury you below its surface to try and muffle your misery. You almost wish it did. 

Despite the pain, you muster out your next question. 

“You think we could be happy?” You take Toya’s wounded hand in yours and gently squeeze, careful not to hurt him. 

To your relief, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes back. It’s faint but the action is felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could.”

And if another life exists, you are. 

Undoubtedly so. 

[tealottie]

What are your headcanons about Della?

I have so many, but tbh my favorite headcanons have to do with her having PTSD - so i can't promise this will be a fun post

MASTERLIST OF DELLA HEADCANONS BELOW:

Appearance:

Scars from the Moon

One across her beak on left side

Scars on her arms and legs

Other markings

Stretch marks especially on her tummy and butt

A few stretch marks on her chest and thighs

Freckles on her beak (because she had triplets and ducks IRL sometimes get freckles after pregnancy)

Other

Chubby pear shape

DD cup size

Squishy belly

Big eyes

Fluffy unkempt feathers (she's bad at preening)

Thin hair (also bad at taking care of it)

Short beak

Queer Headcanons:

Homoromantic

Bisexual

Prefers to just call herself a lesbian

Ciswoman (doesn't mind they/them pronouns and probably finds it entertaining if she's referred to as he/him)

Supports all of her queer babies

She also does not actively seek out romance, but she isn't offput by the idea entirely

Mental Health and Neurodiverse Headcanons:

PTSD

Hates being alone at any given moment and had to ask Donald if she could room with him in the houseboat for a few months

Genuinely cannot look at her reflection and will be needing exposure therapy

Does not like the feeling of movement underwater because it reminds her of the moon's gravity

Terrified that she'll never be fully capable of being a mom because of the 10 years she missed

Cringes at any moon or space themed items now - sometimes triggers her on a bad day or if she looks at them for too long

Her hair being too long is a trigger for her, so she always keeps it shoulder length or above

She ALWAYS feels cold even if her body temperature is normal and sometimes it drives her crazy

Lots of nightmares about what-ifs - what if it was my kids instead of me, what if it was my brother instead of me, what if i didnt have oxychew, what if i never met the Moonlanders, etc etc etc

The taste of black licorice will genuinely send her spiraling, and because it lingers - it wrecks her for days (she hates similar flavors such as rootbeer)

Finds a lot of joy in warm places so she now loves to be out in the sun

Had a period of time where she wasn't really talking with Penumbra because of the severity of her triggers/ptsd

Both finds peace in dead silence, but it also brings her back to the moon as well - she has a very complex relationship with isolation

Prefers silver over gold (even though she doesn't wear jewelry, she likes silver on others and silver on things such as zippers and buttons)

Spent quite a few years terrified of flying after the horror of her own trauma set in, but it threw her into a big depression since piloting is her passion

Hates taking care of her stump because she doesn't like taking her prosthetic leg off - she sees it as her own, so she hates taking it off even though she knows she needs to when sleeping or showering

She has a hard time looking at her stump and scars because on one hand; sick as hell battle wounds, but on the other; damn was that the worst time in my entire life

Depression and Anxiety

Even before crashlanding on the moon, she dealt with depression and social anxiety

She has a bit of a hard time keeping her room tidy and taking care of herself, but she's phenomenal at putting other people first

Feels as though she's not attractive enough

Wants to be a ray of sunshine in other peoples' lives

She's very scared that she won't be enough for people and therefore she must put 110% into everything she does for others

ADHD and Autism

Her sensory issues tend to directly conflict with her PTSD issues - like she hates silence because of the moon, but sometimes she gets overstimulated by noise and needs the silence or alone time

She does not sleep until her body physically passes out because the change in activity is hard for her to deal with

Goes insane if she feels understimulated because her brain begins to shut down and she dissociates

Many, many stims (sometimes doubles as grounding with PTSD): bouncing her leg, various hand motions, feeling the fabric of her clothes, physical affection with her loved ones, playing with the tightness of her prosthetic (loosening and then tightening it over and over), shaking her head to feel her hair around her shoulders (and solidifying that what she's feeling is earth gravity)

Really hard time understanding social cues that makes her come across as rather ditzy

Special interest in aircraft technology and was a top student at her flight school

Love/Hate relationship with reading because if she enjoys what she's reading she gets invested, but if she's understimulated, the words jumble together in her mind

Not good at math for a similar reason

Fish are a huge sensory nightmare for her; the scales, the smell, the taste, etc

Is generally pretty sensory-seeking, but has a few Hard Nos on textures (such as slimy scales)

Other:

I headcanon Della having compulsive sexual behavior disorder, and her libido especially spiked after being on the moon for 10 years, and it makes her feel really gross at times

Due to said hypersexuality, she gets intrusive thoughts that piss her off

Because of the moon not really having a clear indicator of night and day, Della lost her circadian rhythm and struggles with a Hell combination of non-24 and ADHD insomnia

The lack of general sleep makes it hard for her to lose weight and so she's insecure about that

Physical Disabilities:

Because she was on the moon for so long, the zero gravity and lack of proper breathable oxygen took a huge toll on her, physically

She developed really bad asthma and will likely be recovering from it for the rest of her life

Her lungs can only intake so much oxygen at a time, so she also struggles with shortness of breath

Upon returning to earth, her body was really broken down from the cold atmosphere - causing her to not be able to regulate her body temperature properly

Her bones were weakened upon arrival, so she has to spend years recovering physically from it

Her stump is irritated a lot because she doesn't like taking care of it properly

She owns crutches for when she needs to take breaks from her prosthetic just because of the discomfort when wearing it

She is not afraid to hit Donald with a crutch BTW

IF THERE ARE ANY OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS THAT YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT, SHOOT ME AN ASK! <3

[born-to-riot]

Idk if this counts as a Drabble but basically it starts as me theorizing an event in Prythian and then turns into ‘what if Azris’

WC: 3,325

(TW: A/B/O, loosely nsfw, talks of breeding, male omegas have cocklets and boypussies).

Okay but hear me out.

I want a Prythian mating run

Make it A/B/O (along with their regular magic powers) (however maybe there’s some traditional powder that participants are required to take so that it dampens their powers and awakens the alpha/beta/omega inside of them)

It’s primal, the lopers start first. Battling each other to find and make the best den and claim territory for them to bring their runner back to once they catch them.

After a while, they catch the scents of the runners filtering throughout the forest. That’s when the game truly begins.

the runners don’t make it easy (usually betas and omegas)

(What’s point of making it easy when you’re strong and want to make the alpha/beta prove they are worthy and can breed you full of strong pups)

(Any second gender is allowed to sign up in any position: runner or loper)

(For example, just last season the alpha prince of Adriata, Varian, shocked Prythian when rumors spread that he signed up to be a runner. The shock multiplied when it was rumored that he was caught by the scariest and tiniest alpha of Prythian, Amren of the Night Court. Legend has it the two came out four days after the mating run covered in blood and scratches but are now inseparable).

It’s all about scent.

Only unmated faes can participate. Think of the occasion like an annual festival to see if two halves of a whole can find one another.

Not every pair who comes together will be mates as an actual mating bond is rare to find (also sometimes the pairs aren’t even the most compatible scent-wise be it alpha athleticism, an omega caught in a trap, or just the luck of the catch) but usually by the time an loper catches an runner, both of their pheromones have their instincts roaring.

But if you are mates or just are the most compatible for one another… oh the mother will let you know. There will be some other force pushing the runner to go faster, there is something that pushes the loper to be more violent about ridding the runner’s trail of other lopers running after the same scent. The closer they get to one another the wetter the omegas cunt gets the heavier an alphas cock, even betas will adjust accordingly depending on whether they are a runner or a loper.

Azris below the cut

Now let’s say Eris enters the race this year as a runner. Years prior he’s been forced by his father to sign up as a loper despite the fact that he’s technecially an omega, which is fine (but dangerous- some fellow lopers would get distracted by his scent and try to go after him. While he always fought them off he can’t deny the inner thrill of the chase) and Some years he’s caught good scents and has even followed some of them, hunted them. Usually though, his interest would fade and he would just return to his den and hang out in his nest until the event was over.

Not this year, this year, instead of just going to the Autumn run, Eris heard a rumor that a certain Shadowsinger would finally be participating in an intercourt run. He hated himself for being weak to the temptation but ever since he felt the other’s scarred hands around his neck Eris’ inner omega can’t fight the fantasy of being knotted by the Illyrian.

Eris doesn’t tell his father that he’s signing up as a runner, of course. He just lets the man know that he is going to try his luck with a wider pool of runners to choose from- which Beron accepted.

There is a gathering before the run, this is where runners and lopers can mingle and familiarize each other with scents that intrigue them. Legend has it that it is at one of these minglings where Thesan and his lover first made contact. Eris goes to this meeting and tries to mingle. He talks to many handsome and beautiful lopers, but he doesn’t feel his cocklet twitch until he makes eye contact with Azriel, who is staring at him from across the room, over the head of the third archeron sister. Elain.

Shit. Eris can’t believe he let himself forget about the newest object of Azriel’s affections. He can’t believe he even allowed himself to hope for just a minute that the Shadowsinger might return his interest. He can’t believe he let himself think that he smelt the other’s cedar infused arousal back when he whispered in his ear at the High Lord’s meeting.

Eris quickly sidesteps so that he’s out of view of the Shadowsinger but he can’t rid himself of the memory of his hazel eyes. Maybe his father was right, he should never be a runner because omegas let their thoughts get clouded by their cunts.

Eris knows he should leave the gathering before Azriel could have the opportunity to spread the word to whatever other members of the Inner Circle that are present. But his inner omega is waging war against him. Give him your scent. We are the most worthy omega in here. Eris isn’t so sure if he agrees with that, but he’s come this far and defied his father by opening up the possibility for a son of Autumn to be caught and bred. He supposes it won’t hurt to give the alpha a reminder of the scent he should be hunting.

So Eris moves, head held high. He walks around the edges of the room, dodging wanting alphas who approach him. He stops once he’s two meters away from the present members of the Night Court Inner Circle, facing the back of Azriel’s wings that separate him from the two ladies in front of him—Mor and Elain. The two female fae are chatting with one another and Azriel is clearly focused on analyzing the room around him— at least Eris assumes so based on the slight movements of the black haired man’s head.

Shining gold twinkles at the corner of Eris’ eye and grabs his attention. He spies a tall spring court alpha adorned in gold jewelry. The male is not Tamlin but he sure is beautiful, Eris can’t help but think. He sees the golden male approaching his direction at the same time Eris recognizes a semi-familiar shadow flitting by him. He has an idea.

Eris waits as the golden alpha comes closer and closer and he makes note that the shadow that was passing by has stilled and attempted to blend in with the natural darkness of the wall nearest to him. Eris feels a smirk form on his face as he thinks about the fact that the Shadowsinger has no idea that Eris knows each and every time the male is watching him.

Finally, the golden alpha gets close enough and Eris purposefully angles himself so that the other will ‘accidentally’ knock into him. The plan goes accordingly and soon Eris is letting out a pointed gasp as the Spring Court Alpha catches him by the waist with an apology. Eris laughs then, purposefully emitting his toasted maple and almond scent as if he was truly embarrassed. Eris waves the golden alpha away, smiling as if he wasn’t disgusted by his musk of freshly cut grass, and calmly readjusts his blazer before walking towards the exit of the gathering. It’s not until after he takes two steps out of the door that he hears footsteps behind him and sees a shadow in front of him that mimics the lines of the familiar pair of wings that never seem to escape his mind.

“Why hello Azriel,” Eris says, pausing his movements, listening as the footsteps get louder as the Shadowsinger approaches him from behind. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I think I should be saying that to you,” Eris can’t help but bite back a keen as he smells the other’s cedar aura. Azriel grabs him by the waist—his hand covering the exact same spot where the Spring Court alpha had held Eris earlier— and turns him around to face him. Eris is proud of himself for maintaining an unimpressed expression on his face as he feels his cunt clench around nothing.

Eris tries not to show how much Azriel affects him, he tries not to cry as the Shadowsinger releases him and puts his hands back in his pockets. He tries to convince himself that he isn’t desperate for this alpha to chase him tomorrow, to accept his challenge, to want him.

“Are you a runner or a loper?” Azriel asks, surprising Eris as the Autumn Court male was expecting some sort of snarky comment that is typical of a member of the Night Court when it comes to him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Eris smirks in a manner that he knows irritates the other, hoping for Azriel to let out more of his scent.

“I’ve heard you usually spend your mating run in Autumn as a loper… that you haven’t…” Azriel trails off, his scent growing stronger as he completes the sentence internally. Eris takes a step closer to Azriel.

“That I haven’t taken anyone back to my nest? That I haven’t been bred yet?” He asks, “What is it Azriel, what have you heard?”

What do you want, alpha? Eris shushes his inner omega.

“I’ve heard you’ve chased hundreds of runners but none of them have satisfied you enough to finish the chase.”

Eris spies Azriel gulp and his wings twitch as he says so.

“What you’ve heard is true,” Eris admits and shivers as he senses Azriel’s cedar musk grow stronger. He feels his own inner omega screaming inside of him, begging him to let out his own maple and almond in response. He feels heat pooling in his stomach and he knows he needs to exit this conversation soon before his inner omega takes over completely.

“Are you running?” Azriel asks, stepping even closer to Eris. Eris glares at him, hating that Azriel’s curiosity is feeding into his inner hope that the male might be interested in him.

“Maybe, not that it should matter to you with the remaining Archeron sister in the mix,” Eris crosses his arms over his chest.

“It doesn’t matter to me, I just want to know,” Azriel insists. Eris rolls his eyes. Liar.

“Okay Shadowsinger, whatever you say,” Eris nods at the other and starts to walk off towards his tent, trying not to get his hopes up.

“Eris, wait!” Azriel calls out to him, causing Eris to pause.

“Yes?” He asks, turning around to face the other who hasn’t moved from has spot.

“I…” Eris feels more heat pool into his core at the growl of frustration that Azriel lets out.

“I fucking hate you, but I need to know,” Azriel sounds a mix of conflicted and determined. That is more than what Eris was expecting so he’ll take a win where he can.

“The only thing I will tell you,” Eris starts as he approaches Azriel, figuring this is his best chance to let the other know his intentions. Almost as if the Shadowsinger is in a trance he takes a couple steps forward to meet Eris, bringing the two chest to chest. Eris is taller but Azriel is wider with muscles and his wings.

“Hmm” Azriel hums, prompting him. Eris watches as Azriel removes his hands from his pockets and starts to clench and unclench them.

Tell him, his inner omega encourages. Eris knows this is his only chance to get what he wants. If he were to get caught by another loper, not mate him, and his father finds out Eris knows he will never be allowed to participate in another mating run again unless it’s in Autumn and he is loping.

“I’m tired of being empty, Azriel. I want pups, I want a partner, I’m tired of pretending I’m not interested in you,” Eris ignores how Azriel widens his eyes in surprise and continues before he loses his courage, knowing he would be executed by his father if the man ever found out Eris was so weak to his instincts.

“I know what I smelled in that High Lord’s meeting, your hands were around my throat but your alpha was in your eyes and he was daring me not to disobey. I could smell that you wanted me and I can tell that every time you’ve looked at me since you’ve been thinking about it,” Eris sniffs as he feels a tear coming to his eyes, he knows his dream is impossible but he also owes himself one last chance to see it through.

“Remember my scent, Azriel,” Eris shakily reaches out for one of Azriel’s scared hands and takes it into his own, ignoring how his inner omega screams in delight at the contact. Azriel doesn’t resist as Eris brings the shadowsinger’s wrist up to his neck and rubs it against his scent gland before releasing it. He briefly eyes how Azriel’s wings seem to spread wider around the two of them, almost like he’s trying to block Eris from the sight of anyone who may walk by. Eris refuses to get his hopes up, even as he notes how carefully Azriel brings his now-scented hand back to his side.

“Do know, Azriel, if you decide to try and catch me, I won’t make it easy for you. If you successfully catch me, I’ll try to break loose and force you to catch me again. If you give me no other options but to submit to you, I will never let you go. I don’t give second chances, I can’t afford to,” Eris’ amber eyes stay locked on Azriel’s returning hazel gaze, “I refuse to settle for anything less than what I deserve and do not think I will wait for you if some other alpha proves to be stronger.”

Azriel alpha lets out a growl at that statement. Eris ignores the surprise that blinks into Azriel’s eyes at his own reaction and he takes a step back so he can communicate his thoughts clearly—he also begs his inner omega to shut the fuck up about how badly Azriel’s alpha clearly wants them, Eris knows that hope only leads to disappointment. However, Eris also knows that he can’t afford to have any regrets here, so he must finish his piece.

“Think about what you want, Azriel. Don’t let your guilt or loyalty influence your decision. I will say this only once: I refuse to be your back-up option, if you come after me, you better want me.”

With that Eris turns around before Azriel can say anything or shift his expression in response to Eris pouring out his soul for the other to see. He quickly walks away, trying to ignore the eyes he can feel boring into his back as he does so.

That night in his tent Eris weighs the merits of following through with running. The mating run is about lopers chasing the most compatible scent. It’s a bloody affair, lopers often fight each other if they sense another alpha on the path to their runner of desire and even once the loper catches a runner any respectful runner will fight back and make them work for it.

The pre gathering is often a time for lopers and runners to first get familiarized with some scents so they can maybe find one they want to chase the next morning. If he is being honest with himself, Eris is a little embarrassed at how much weakness he showed Azriel in admitting he wants the other to consider him. But Eris also is someone who isn’t afraid to go after what he wants and he knows that realistically this is his only chance. Also he knows that Azriel’s family has probably planted doubts in Azriel’s head so Eris needed to make sure the other saw him as a possible mate.

As Eris lays down to sleep that night, he imagines how tomorrow could go if Azriel decides to choose him. The lopers would get up earlier and paint themselves in their chosen ritualistic symbols from their courts and that represent themselves. The runners would all gather behind the lopers as they line up to race into the forest, ready to compete to find and make the best den before the runners begin. Maybe if Eris is lucky, Azriel will give him a sign that he’s made his decision, that he is going to be coming after him. If that’s the case then Eris knows he won’t be able to stop his cunt from releasing juices as he bathes himself in preparation during the dedicated time while the lopers are in the forest and building dens. Eris would wait with the other runners once he was done, strategizing and planning against possible traps and obstacles that will be in his way. He knows he has an advantage as the heir of Autumn, even if the special powder they take dampen his powers, he grew up jumping from tree to tree along with all his siblings. Eris knows his inner omega will be singing and he will happily take a backseat once it’s finally time to run. He trusts his omega to guide him where to go and he trust in his own strength to keep him safe.

Eris knows he smells good, maple and almonds make a lovely mix and he knows his inner omega won’t be able to stop radiating his scent like a beacon. Eris is only interested in one alpha, and the powder doesn’t affect his wings as they are additional limbs. So he knows if Azriel comes for him, he would come from above. Eris imagines hopping from tree to tree staying under the cover of leaves. He imagines being stuck at one point, up high, the next tree too far for him to make the leap and a crowd of drooling alphas waiting for him to fall. He imagines Azriel finally swooping in and growling at them all, taking care of them viscously. Eris knows his cunt would be dripping at the sight but he also knows that he couldn’t watch he’d have to keep moving.

Eris doesn’t know how Azriel would finally catch him but Eris knows that he’d fight with every fiber of his being, he’d want Azriel to prove that he wants him, that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to claim him, that he’s strong enough to father their pups. He knows that his cunt will be throbbing once he finally submits and he hopes Azriel will take a moment to taste him before he flies them to his den.

Eris imagines that Azriel would probably set up his den in a cave on a mountain, higher than other alphas, easy to defend and probably close to a water and food source. He imagines that Azriel would be thoughtful and supply the cave with nesting materials for Eris to use once he brings him there.

Eris doesn’t even want to imagine what comes next as he knows the idea of Azriel breeding him over and over and claiming him will give him too much hope.

Eris falls asleep, oblivious to the shadows that occupy his tent, their master not planning on letting his dream omega slip away from him when he finally has a chance to make him his.

____________

OKAY so I wasn’t planning to write all of this, it’s kind of just a story I want to happen but I am too lazy to fully write myself.

But any thoughts?

Also lopers don’t have to kill rival lopers but there’s nothing against it if they do… azriel most definitely will eliminate threats.

(Also this is just an idea, if someone were to write something like this I would spread my legs for them especially if they added smut and gore WOOT)

[tyranasauruslex]

Give me modern AU Thranduil who, after a decade of mourning his wife and some serious grief counselling, has decided to start dating again except he has zero clue what he's doing. He's only dated and been intimate with his late wife so he's not really sure what he's supposed to be doing or how to do it.

His friends suggest dating apps but that feels too overwhelming and dangerous seeing as he still has his son living at home. It would be just his luck to get murdered by a potential suitor on the first date. Next is people he's not spoken to in decades throwing themselves at him or friends trying to set him up with people they know which gives Thranduil such severe anxiety that he always backs out last minute. Nobody seems to believe him when he admits he's actually quite shy.

Everyone keeps telling him that he's so pretty he won't be on the shelf for long which might be true from the neck upwards, but below that his body is a patchwork of burn scars, skin graft scars and holes and dents from various medical procedures he's had to endure. The thought of someone seeing him without his clothes on makes him feel riddled with insecurity. Having sex with someone else whilst on paper sounds great, but the realty is Thranduil hasn't even kissed anyone for a years and would no doubt be an awful bedroom partner.

He's often ill either with a migraine or the damage done to his eye which is a lot for someone else to take on and he has a kid, who comes first no matter what. There's not many people who'd be willing to take on someone with so much baggage as himself.

He tells all this Bard over the soy latte's his friend makes him at the restaurant he owns. Bard has always been nice to him and is also a widower so he understands Thranduil's trepidations about dating. He's also very nice to look at and Thranduil would much rather sit and watch him make coffee all day then go out with one of the suitors Elrond has dug up for him.

It take him three months and a not-so-gentle talking to from Elrond for Thranduil to realise that Bard has been flirting with him the entire time he's been moaning about his awful dating life. It takes him another month to actually do something about it and is genuinely surprised when Bard immediately says yes and spends the evening of their first date riddled with anxiety and speed dialing his therapist.

[daddiel-ish]

hi! ever since you started the pregnant law au (I don’t know what to call it other than that T.T) I was really curious how Garp would find out about the babies and Luffy and Laws relationship. I like thinking Garp finds out through the News coo and kinda laughs it off at first before he finds out that it’s TRUE.

Not worry! I've called it Pregnant Law myself so ahahahahah

For Garp, I imagine a thing like "Garp, it's your family again!". Maybe Sengoku threw him the newspaper where there was an article about Law's first pregnancy on the first page. A thing like "A child from the worst generation" and then a stolen photo of Luffy and Law in Dressrosa caught in a moment of intimacy (maybe Luffy touching Law's baby bump and kissing her). Garp obvs laughed cause c'mon that boy couldn't be Luffy. But the article was followed by a carousel of photos, and the scar under the boy's eye was confirming that the kid was, in fact, his grandson.

Garp went through a vast range of emotions, but in the end, he laughed. Sengoku looked at him like he was crazy and left the room murmuring "Your stupid family".

Then Garp immediately called his grandson ( he always had the number, found it, and kept it secret) to yell at him. "You reckless child!!!!! A SON?!?!? YOU!!!! WITH A PIRATE!!!! YOU'RE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME!!". The straw-hats listened to all convo where Garp yelled, and Luffy laughed.

He will never admit that, but he cried a bit... he was a great-grandfather, and he never thought to be granted that title-

For Baby number 2 (he still doesn't have a name), the one telling Garp was Law. She hated Marines but knew the importance of family, especially cause she saw how much Garp looked forward to Primrose. So she called him using a secret snail to tell him about his great-grandson. Garp yelled even this time, "You two need to find other things to do besides children!! Primrose is not even one!!", "WHEN I CAN SEE MY NEPHEWS, TRAFALGAR?!". He cried even this time, Law let him be, and she didn't tell anyone about it.

So, I can say that Garp deeply loves his nephews. He knew that even with them, he would fail all the marine things. Both their parents were pirates, and his grandson was the king of pirates! But this will not stop him from trying or loving them whatever they choose to be. He will not make the same mistakes he made with Luffy and Ace. He learned his lesson the hard way that day in Marineford.

Sorry, I would've liked to draw something, but I was exhausted, this ask was so----- I thought about it all day, and I needed to answer asap!!!!

[saltofmercury]

"A cycle"

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

A/N: Originally was going to make it back to spring but I lost the energy. Also excuse the indent I lost my page break and could NOT insert it due to lack of patience!!!

Words: 2k

Summary: You meet Jason again... but he's a little off. Brief mention of AK! Jason.

It’s been roughly 10 years. 

—Almost 11 since you lost him. You remember his last words spoken, 

“I’ll see you… unless death comes first.”

Gloom had surrounded the city, it was supposed to be another normal day. But you started to get worried when he never called. Days trailed on and you assumed he stood you up. 

Your life is at a standstill, you missing your other half, your best friend. It isn’t until you get the news and the invitation to a funeral.

Death came first.

Days turn into months, years. 

The numbness never goes away, it just settles into your stomach, carefully simmering until it boils throughout your body, releasing—erupting emotion of him on the anniversary of his death.

Some days are harder than others and when you finally think you can go a day without thinking of 

“Unless death comes first—“

the universe throws you another curveball.

He arrives on a spring day, almost re-birthed and renewed. 

He stands at his gravesite. Taller and broader. Your stomach twists and bile rises up your throat. But you tell your brain it's not real, you manage to count the petals on the daisies you’re leaving.

You stare up at him again, the wind knocked out of you. He’s breathless and pale, staring back at you. He’s got scars all over his face—including the shape of a J under his eye. His t-shirt hangs low on his collarbones and you can see scarring there too. His hair is longer, almost touching his eyebrows. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He says stone faced.  His eyebrows are knit together. Hoping you remembered what he promised.

You’re frozen, almost sick to your stomach. Bile is prominent on your tongue and this hallucination has taken over.

He can tell you don't believe him and he grabs your hand and places it on his face.

“It’s me, I'm here. I’m still here.”

He’s so much taller than you remember. 

His face aged and his eyes have turned green. There’s a new white streak in his hair that is so prominent. 

And he scowls now. It's like his lips have permanently stayed down.

You never know what to say to him. Where to pick up where you left off. He follows you home, like a stray dog. Loyal to his core. Loyal to you at least.

He never tells you what he’s up to these days.

You do have a clue. 

It’s not rocket science to place him and the Arkham knight together. It’s almost impossible to walk at night without becoming a victim outside. You’ve caught a glimpse of the man that strikes fear all over the city.

It’s not Robin in that suit.

You never bring it up. Assumptions linger.

He tries to fall back into routine with you. He still sleeps on his side of the bed. He still makes your coffee in the morning. Rubs your back at night, and settles into the crook of your neck. But it never turns into anything more.

When you bring up what you guys are, he shrugs it off, plays dumb. 

Did he come back worse? Or are you just sensitive?

There’s a time you remember when all he wanted was to be called your boyfriend. Say it loud, hold hands in public. But even then there were rules. It was kept a secret just between you two.

Now there’s a protectiveness to him, he’s sealed off from you. Tells you —

“We’re good at this. We’re good friends.” But even he doesn’t mean it.

Jason doesn’t want you to know what happened to him. He despises pity. He should’ve told you where he was going that night. He should’ve left a tracker with you.

It’s been years and the minute he was revived from the pit his brain told him Bruce but his heart told him to come back to you.

The pit also intensified his anger. He’s angry at the world. Angry that he’s been placed in this piece of shit city where the same criminals and sociopaths linger around every corner. Shit, he died a couple years, came back, and these same criminals are still here.

Nothing changes in this city. So maybe it’s time he changes it himself.

There's broken walls and broken dishes every time you come home. You think about leaving but he switches up. It's a sick game of hot and cold.

The days are longer and warmer now. There’s a humidity that surrounds the city and sunsets take your breath away. You come home exhausted from work. Your phone pings nonstop, your head pounding, cars and people outside your window are blaring.

He can sense your anxiousness. Your body language is limp. He can watch you chew your lip until it’s bright pink. He walks towards you grabbing your body with both arms towering over you.

“How about we sneak off, just you and me?”

He says with such intensity in his eyes that you feel the heat boil thick inside your stomach. 

He cowards you in until your back hits the wall. The coolness of it gives you goosebumps. He grabs your chin and then runs his hand down your hair, twisting at the ends.

“What do you say?” He says again, a little more agitated that he needs to convince you. 11 years ago you would’ve just said yes.

And maybe this time you’ll say yes…

“Where would we go?” 

“Anywhere that’s not here.”

He’s so certain you’ll say yes. He’s already thinking of setting this entire city on fire and restarting a life with you. A life where you don’t beat around the bush and you come home with a smile for him.

But you don’t. It’s not enough for you. There’s so much tension in the room. You say you need a bath and a nap.

He lets you go instantly, walking towards the balcony and slamming the sliding door.

You don’t even know him anymore. You dance around each other.

On the balcony he takes 3 deep breaths, then another 2, then another 4 until he realizes he’s on the verge of tears and he wishes he could just tell you the shit that’s in his head.

He sees how you eye him, nervous and on edge. He barely takes his shirt off around you because the thought of his autopsy scar disgusts him and he can’t have you be disgusted with him.

There’s so much hate in his heart. There’s so much violence that he beats the shit out of his henchmen and resorts to putting bullets on anyone he can’t trust.

He hears the water running when he enters the living room again. There are sobs coming from the bathroom and now he feels even worse.

He came back a monster.

Splashes of orange and red surround the skyline. Temperatures drop and the leaves crunch beneath you. You’re both home tonight. You’re so happy. The luxury of being in his presence at this hour. He tells you he can take a day off for his girl.

His girl. 

The nickname raises goosebumps on your arm to your shoulders. He’s changed a bit. He stays home more. Doesn’t leave you hanging as much.

After some take-out, you sit on the couch deciding to pick a movie. One of his hands curls up your spine to the nape of your neck, as the other scrolls down the movie list. His fingers play with the loose hair that won’t fit into your bun.

He knows you hate it. Especially when he starts to call it a little rat tail.

You peer over at him, slightly nervous. He knows what you’re going to say, but before you even open your mouth he cuts you off—

"What? I like it." 

His head inches closer to your neck, placing small kisses down your earlobe to your collarbone. The prickles of your skin now rise over your chest. 

“And I know you like it too.” He taunts into your ear. He’s pushing you back towards the couch, peeling your legs open with one of his. Both arms are above you, enclosing you.

His lips graze yours, you can smell the sweetness of the strawberry drink he had.

You inch closer, closing your eyes, but before you know what his lips taste like— he's up again, pulling a jacket and mask over himself and slamming the front door shut.

Tears cloud your vision. It’s always one step forward, two steps back.

The tv plays an interview with some citizens gushing over the new Robin. 

You know who’s under the Arkham knight. Telling him to either come clean or leave you alone.

The replacement hurts more than he thought. He was abandoned, forgotten, then replaced. There was no mourning. Jason thought he would at least be mourned.

It rains one night and your car won’t start. The tow truck service won’t be here for another two hours and there’s a flash flood warning for your side of the city. You stare at your phone, your finger hovering over his name. 

“This is only strictly for emergencies” his voice clouds your memory.

You dial.

“Sweetheart?” He picks up, tense on the other side.

“I-I.. hi. I know you said this was only for emergencies but my car won’t start and there’s a lot of downpour. Can you come get me?” You feel yourself flushed, embarrassed, and tired. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him.

“I'll give you a ride, don't worry. I’ll be there in 10.” 

You don’t even question how he knows your location but sure enough in 8 minutes there’s a motorcycle revving down the street from where you are. It stops in front of your car. 

He gets off the bike, knocking on the passenger side of your car. You unlock it and he climbs in. His side of the car bounces and sends waves throughout your car.

He pulls the red hoodie down. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a new shade of green. 

“You ready?” He asks gleefully 

“I’m not getting on that thing Jason.” Your head nods towards the bike in front of you.

He laughs. It’s one of the best sounds you’ll ever hear. The crinkles set around his eyes and how wide and toothy his grin gets.

“Why not?” He asks, the smile lingering on his lips.

“You know why.” You respond curtly. 

“You want to get home don’t you?” He leans in toward you, eyebrow raised.

He gets so close to you that you can feel the warmth he radiates. He’s nicer these days, less moody. He’s a lot more rested too.

“Come on, there’s nowhere safer than the back of my bike.” 

And you know it’s true. 

The safest place would be with Jason.

It still doesn’t comfort you knowing it’s pouring and he zooms in and out of traffic with no care.

“No, it’s raining outside and that thing only has two wheels!”

He laughs a little harder now. He shakes his head.

“Fine. We’ll stay until the tow truck shows up.” His hand finds yours as he reclines in your passenger seat. You recline too, watching the sunroof get hit with water droplets. His fingers rub circles around your wrist.

These days you’re not as tense around him. You shuffle in your seat to get a better look at him. 

His eyes are closed. The scar under his eye is fading, and the white streak in his hair is more prominent. 

“You’re staring” he says, opening one eye to look.

“I can’t help it.” You shrug. 

He turns towards you. Wrist still his hand, he pulls you over on top of him. You settle yourself, nestling your nose in the crook of his neck. He finds your neck and places kisses down your collarbone.

He stops. Pulls your face close to him. Hands encasing your face and he stares deeply into your eyes. It’s almost so unsettling you try to count the eyebrow hairs on his right brow.

“I’m sorry for...” He says quietly, trying to find an answer in your eyes.

“Hey, look at me.” He pulls your chin in between his fingers and kisses it softly.

“I’m trying to be better, and I know I can be… difficult. But I’m going to try harder.”

It’s the most he’s said to you all these months. He sounds like he means it. You peer down at his lip, caught underneath his top lip.

“Okay?”

You nod. 

A light halos above you. Jason gets out to talk to the man. He turns back to you — the helmet is snug on your head. Your stomach does somersaults as the rain and wind blow past you.

You hope that these changes come soon.

[neverlostmycrown]

I'm extra proud of this one :)

#30daysmusicchallenge2024 for Daughters of Darkness!

Day 23: A song by a band (artist) you want to see live:

Evanescence - Haunted

I wish I could see evanescence live during that time when they started their shows with this intro, it was truly haunting.

Haunted is the fifth track from Evanescence's debut album, Fallen. It was originally developed during the 2001-2002 demo sessions. Amy wrote the song and referenced a short story written by Ben.

Ben Moody's story about Haunted:

"A little girl around eight or nine in a little white Easter dress is walking down a neighborhood street bouncing a little red ball. As she approaches an obviously deserted large house with a sinister demeanor, her attention moves from the ball to the house. Not paying attention to her bouncing, the ball hits the curb and ricochets toward the house. As she chases the little red ball toward the house, the ball picks up unnatural momentum and bounces right into the huge gaping front door. The little girl pauses for a moment, looks up at the house, which now appears to be staring down at her, and cautiously enters the house in search of her little red ball. as she slowly walks into the atrium, she surveys the decaying mess that once was obviously a beautiful mansion. She becomes mesmerized by the exquisite detail of every inch of the banister winding up the seemingly endless staircase in front of her. Suddenly her thoughts are broken by a horrifying commotion. She whips around to run out the front door, but finds only a blank wall where the door once stood. Frightened, she runs down the first hallway she sees, trying desperately to find a way out, but with every turn the world behind her changes, bending to the will of the house, so that even finding a path back to the atrium where she began becomes impossible. Terrified, the little girl sinks into a corner, puts her head in her hands, and weeps.

10 years later....

The little girl wakes up in a panic, now a young woman. Dirty, scarred. She's now clothed in black pants, work boots, and a black wife beater. Her skin is pale and dirty. Sun has not graced her flesh in over a decade. She wakes to find a meal placed on a dirty silver tray before her, just enough to sustain life, just like every morning before. Placed there by a figure she can only see in passing, around a corner, walking through a door.... a figure that has become her only friend, and her only hate. Her entire existence has become nothing but to hunt and destroy this shadow that keeps her here. As she hunts him relentlessly day after day, she becomes lost in the dichotomy of her being. This thing that keeps her here, this person that repeatedly rapes her mind and watches her when she sleeps, has become her only friend. For if this person left, she would cease to exist. For she live only to kill him. But lives only FOR him. Every day the house changes around her, so that every day she wakes in a foreign land. The only constant... is him. She hears his heart beating, she smells him, she can only think of finding him, but he is also the only thing she knows of love."

(x)

[angeart]

[To the Rest of Our Lives Together, Unafraid]

absently, he fidgets with the ring freshly on his finger, as scar's jaunty whistling reaches him.

they're married now.

really, truly married. for life.

for lives. because they're going to have multiple. they're going to have an endless number of them, all of them shared, bound and meant to be together.

--- Scar here

[nerosdayinanime]

drawing my au sabitos- this ones swap au :)

I only really have 1 full scene for this au- and it started from me thinking him & Shinjuro both being depressed drinking buddies, lamenting about their deceased dark-haired beauties

When Sabito became a pillar he turned the water estate into a sort of training hub for all breath of water users, to try and help more people to mastery. He pretty regularly spars with people in his downtime, makes comments and tries coaching people from the sidelines very often

Most people are kinda weirded out by him- hes aggressive and stern, very snarky, but he never takes off the mask and it makes him look perpetually sad- sometimes he has this air of melancholy around him, listless, the mask fits in better when hes in those moods. But aside that hes usually very kind and genuinely tries to look out for the skayers under his roof, very hospitable as long as they stay out his shit.

So hes very well received, but no one has seen his face- ever. They have all kinds of rumors and theories about why he wears it, what his face looks like, what the mask is even supposed to mean. Some of the more daring(/disrespectful/immature) inahbitants try to sneak a look in the mornings before he puts it on- but he's always wide awake, sightless blue eyes of the mask staring them down from an inch away the moment they open it

Anyways, one day he's out in the yard sparring with a higher ranked slayer in front of a group doing their own training and whatnot too- theyre both intensely into it, movements hard to keep track of and training swords clashing so loud it echos in the area. The slayer accidentally aims at his mask, the mood changes with a sudden pressure in the air when Sabito deflects the swing and reaches towards them in a flash- a harsh grip in their hair and yanking them so theyre centimeters from his face

"Don't touch the fucking mask."

Everyone drops dead silent at the utter malice dripping through his tone, a moment passes as Sabito realizes what he did and lets go of their hair. He gently ruffles it and straightens his back instead of posturing over them

"I deeply apologize. ...I think i should call it a day." he says in an uncharictaristically quiet voice before putting his training sword up and going to his room

NO ONE bothers him for the rest of the day, or the day after, they give him plenty of space and try their best not to prod at him or tick him off like they usually do- the slayer who was sparring w him was scared shitless and tries their damndest to stay out of his way and not piss him off again. They've never seen him genuinely angry like that- he gets pissed off and annoyed plenty, daily even, but that sudden cold fury over the near hit of his mask was terrifying to witness.

[yeonban]

I think the most prevalent scars on Tobias' body are the burn scars from all the cigarette butts he's been used as an ashtray for

[merriclo]

what if Mask had scars caused from redeads holding him. what then.