#SCREAMS CLAWS BITES /POS

[hinamie]

happy to announce tht after a year of being a fake fan and putting it off due 2 illogical mental funk i have now finally finished jjks2 smile :3

[kalied0skull]

apparently these trains of thoughts are kind of sticking in my brain, and after doing one with soda i thought i should probably do some others

would like to thank @ rinajjbp for telling me to do more of them because unfortunately i DID want someone to just say it so i could have an excuse to do other characters 💀

ponyboy's the feeling of charcoal on the side of your hand from writing and drawing all day, hand turning a shiny grey from all that scribbling

ponyboy's the feeling of scrubbing your face with a warm wet towel to get dirt and grime and glitter off your face from a long day, letting the water trickle down and smudge across your skin

ponyboy's the feeling of cuffing your jeans, having to push them up to keep them off the floor so you're not getting heel bite — even though they still typically uncuff throughout the day

ponyboy's the feeling of putting a hairtie on your wrist and accidentally smacking yourself with it, instantly regretting the snap back and feeling the sting of the pain

ponyboy's the feeling of riding a bike through grass, rigged and wobbly as you have to awkwardly stand up on your bike to get through it, and even attempting to continue to pedal only to nearly fall over

ponyboy's the feeling of holding an ice cube on your tongue and letting it melt despite how much it makes the entirety of your mouth hurt from the chill

ponyboy's the feeling of when your face scrunches up as you flinch, all the muscles pulling up-and-in on defense as something flies past you or straight into you

ponyboy's the feeling of pulling grass blades out of the ground when you're bored, leaving empty patches of dirt behind as you grab and twist and drop back down into a new place

ponyboy's the feeling of flipping the last page of your book, the empty silence of finishing another perfect novel and needing to process that final sentence over and over again.

ponyboy is the feeling of hopping on a skateboard for the first time only to fling yourself off of it from trying to go too fast too early on, landing straight on your ass with a laugh

ponyboy's the feeling of sticking your head out the window on the back roads, feeling the wind scream in your face with music blaring behind you, that absence of melody into the loudest static-silence

ponyboy's the feeling of clenching your hand and feeling a bone pop, having to stretch your hand back out and wince, laughing to yourself about how it hurt

ponyboy's the feeling of constantly having to relace your shoes, always being stuck behind a group of people because those things won't stay knotted

ponyboy's the feeling of resting against another person, feeling the warmth radiate off of them and breathing in their air, taking their energy and letting it mix with yours

ponyboy's the feeling of dipping toes into the pool and pulling back because you're too scared of how cold it is, not quite ready to take a step in yet

ponyboy's the feeling of standing outside when the party's getting hype inside, cold air and awkward silence as you stand against the wall with a cup in your hand, leaving yourself to just you and your drink before someone walks out to join you

ponyboy's the feeling of the clouds when you're up in the mountains, suffocating and weirdly cold yet somehow humid, like touching the freshest air you could ever imagine

ponyboy's the feeling of tripping down a hill, rocks and dirt clawing at you and scraping your knees at the bottom as you're hitting the ground hard

ponyboy's the feeling of chewing on a pen too hard and suddenly tasting weird metalics, realizing you had bitten fully into the pen and nearly chewed into the ink.

ponyboy's the feeling of when zoning out feels too good, that warmth in the frontal-middle of your head as you chew your lip subconsciously and... get lost in just looking at absolutely nothing

ponyboy's the feeling of feeling inevitably small in a conversation, never being the loudest voice and constantly thinking you'd have to scream just to get a thought across

ponyboy's the feeling of jumping up high and suddenly getting smacked in the face by your necklace, making your face hurt as you laugh and go to hold it down so you can keep bouncing

ponyboy's the feeling of being too overwhelmed, sticking your hands into your hair and tugging and grabbing, making your scalp beg for mercy as you tear at your follicles

ponyboy's the feeling of flopping down onto the couch after a long day, curling in on yourself and sighing; letting your breaths get shallow and your eyes close slowly as you remember that you're home now.

ponyboy can be quite the feeling too sometimes, and i quite admire it

[multiversewatchpost]

Your mythology au is driving me insane I need them implanted in my brain I need to have thoughts about them constantly GOD THEY NEED TO KISS!!!!! GAAAHHSHDHDH

Don’t mind me just very late autism hours goijg apeshit frothing at the mouth I need to go to bed but god I wanna put on headphones and you just yap to me and turn on subtitles so I process something cuz YAY visual learner AND auditory processing disorder!!!!! HURRAHSHENNDD.

Fuck sorry I’ll shut up now boy oh boy I’m gonna explode you/pos

Don't worry they kiss eachother plenty.

They love eachother, they'd never admit it but they do.

Even amidst all his confusion and hurt dust still clings onto killer and horror. He'll twist himself around their essence and try and crawl up inside of it and cry or scream and they'll let him. They don't hold it against him when he lashes out and hurts one of them, they know he doesn't mean to and its never really cause any serious harm. Dust is barely even aware of anything other then how much he's hurting the majority of the time, and horror and killer are bound to him. The can feel that pain. Only a small fraction of that is more then enough. He's disoriented and delirious and horror and killer try their best to ground him and keep him somewhat aware at the very least. Dust spends a lot of time literally inside one of the others(which is possible given that their real forms arent exactly solid). It makes him feel safer, to be completely surrounded by them like that. He'll sometimes even join in on the possession a vessel, just crawled up in the backseat while horror or killer move that body around. They've been trying to coax him into being a bit more independent but...it's not going all that well so far. He freaks out if they leave him alone for any period of time.

Killer doesn't have any idea how relationships are supposed to work. He doesn't understand how he feels about dust and horror. He doesn't even know if he actually feels something or if his protective and possessive actions are just the result of them being bonded to him. He's rough, he's not careful with them. He'll bite their vessels and claw at their spirits, he sees it as a form of play. Killer likes going undercover as a mortal, he's the one of them that does it the most often. He finds it amusing to pretend to be worshipper of horror and dust when does that. He gives them a lot of offerings. Though they often aren't the kind that dust or horror appreciate a lot....will cling to one of them and just happily gnaw on them and see it as bonding. Gives dust all the flowers people try to offer to him. Except for the roses. He keeps the roses because he likes those.

Horror is...concerned. he's pissed of. He sees the decline in worshippers killer and dust have. He hates that most places actively go after any of Killer's worshipper then can find, he hates that people shun dust's. He can see the toll it has on them, even if they don't seem to notice themselves. They're weaker. Not by much but it's still noticeable. Horror hates it. He hates knowing that might get even worse if this continues. He tries to get his followers to follow them too but those stupid mortals refuse to correctly interpret the signs he sends them....he's worried about them. He won't admit it but he is.

[bltzgore]

im obsessed with waterboarding torture whump but i canNOT find much on it here on tumblr so i was wondering if i can have your twisted brilliant mind’s take on it……. /pos

Oh, YES! (and thank you 😈) this is gonna be a long one. I have some IDEAS.

Tw: waterboarding, panic, mentions of gasoline

Let's hit the ground running!

Waterboarding is fun, but it is so much better (in my opinion) when you go after someone who is especially susceptible to it. Someone who's afraid of the water, or has incompatible physical traits or powers.

Starting with water boarding the old fashioned way (we'll call it traditional) with the build up. The getting tied, or even better held, down on whumpee's back. I'm gonna lean into held down for how much more they can struggle. I think the amount of fear expressed can double if whumpee actually manages to get an arm free before it's grabbed back and pinned twice as rough.

You need to show that whumpee is desperate. They are convinced this is going to kill them. They are screaming, or growling, or maybe they snap (does your whumpee bite?). This just makes the whumpers laugh. "Damn, we got a live one."

Then the cloth goes over their face and and they feel like they're going to have a heart attack, whumpee is actually crying at this point, hyperventilating (which will only make it worse when the water arrives). The terror is so strong it hurts.

Let us recall that covering whumpee's eyes can make things exponentially worse. They can no longer predict and brace for whatever it is. It can come at any time and that kind of terror can do half the whumper's work for them. So keep things unpredictable.

From there it's a simple process for whumper. Half drown whumpee, demand information they cannot give, put the cloth back, rinse and repeat.

Whumpee feels like they are drowning and dying and being dragged back again. This is their own personal hell, and there is no escape. I like to wonder how much energy they'd have, and if eventually they'd fall limp. Whumpee no longer has the strength to fight back and now they're sobbing and just waiting to die.

I love when it's a fierce character who's breaking to this as well. They started out cursing everyone out and trying to claw at their captors and they've been reduced to begging and incoherent runs of "No no no no no no! Not again!! STOP! STOP-"

So I said before this was the traditional method, let's branch out a bit:

- I once read a very inspired whump post about using gasoline to waterboard someone, and holy shit I wanna write about that! (I was unfortunately unable to find the original post.) Just imagine how much more it burns. Choking on gas. Then whumper gets to threaten them by holding up a match.

- there's also holding someone under water. I don't prefer this necessarily, but it's a fun option if you don't have the means of restraining whumpee on their back. You could do this anywhere, and if you press their head down just right you can make sure they can still hear whumper as they make their demands.

- I could go on and on about water based whump, but for now I'll cut it here! Happy whumping!!!

[tommyssupercoolblog]

miscefelis culture is

Fish fish fish fish. Sushi, fish and chips, fishsticks, fish sandwiches, salmon and calamari and fish curry and-

You see something that makes you angry or upset and hiss. Hissssss.

Warrior cats kid

Napping all the time everytime, naps for days, naps forever

Sitting on things not meant to be sat on

"My nest is a crawlspace I made in my closet!" "My nest is a reading nook!!" "My nest is inside a tent or blanket fort" or any variation of box/enclosed spaces

I need to lay directly on top of my mate and no I will not explain why.

Headbuts and nuzzles and rubbing your cheek on their chest/against their hand.

"I will bite you" as a threat (I personally prefer "I will EAT YOU" but. Ok)

Advocates for violence as a joke (or not)

SCREAMS. SCREAMING. SCREAMSSSS.

You try to get your friends to pay for your food + you're always hungry

Climb??? Up high???

Paw socks and the clawing/claw hand motion

Boredom and so you just "MEOW"

Confused and must reboot when someone puts a hat on your head

Noise? Jerk still and stare. Stare.

"I will NOT be making eye contact" or alternatively "I am always looking at you autismly with my big ol eyes"

Pranks and sabatouge

Gift giving as a love language

Parallel play

Everyone keeps talking about their packs and you're just sitting there alone or maybe with one or two people you're bonded to (maybe a mate or smthn) like "what the fuck"

I am so small so tiny so little I'm just a little guy I'm so small I'm so itty bitty /pos

"Sorry I'm late I did not want to come"

If you give me one (1) instruction I will hate you forever

Silly zoomy times. Silly.

your response to fear is a mix of fight or flight where you slink/flinch away but also yell or get defensive to stop this thing/person from bothering you. You're like, crying and wanting to leave but also going "stop what the hell!!!!!"

no fucking bath,,, NOOO I don't WANT TO BATH,,,,

Alpha (or any dynamic really) directly translates to "tsundere" in your head

You think a/b/o would be so much better if everyone just chilled the fuck out and vibed with it you know, just had a fun little time, instead of forming hierarchies an shit

Calling babies "kittens" instead of "pups" (or of course just calling them babies)

Speaking of which, kitten as a petname comparable to baby

Unisex eyeliner

"Feisty" is a compliment to you

Spaces where omegas (or any dynamic) are expected to be "obedient" make you want to slam your head into a wall

You strike a fantastic balance between being independent/stubborn/unique and being clingy as FUCKKK like goddamn

[starheirxero]

I am back once more! :D Lunar and Earth finally talked, and by golly, it is everything and more! Watching them both go through their issues together, and realize their flaws is kind of…therapeutic? In a way??? There are also so many parallels! Between Lunar and Earth, between Lunar and Eclipse(which made me go feral), even between Earth and the Creator in some way!

The thing that really got me is the realization, that Lunar and Earth are opposites in almost every way, and looking at things through this perspective is so interesting!

Earth feels as though her feelings have no value, as though they don't matter! She always puts others before herself, even expressing guilt for her breakdown!

Lunar, on the other hand, has a habit of putting themself first. That itself isn't a bad thing, of course, but they made it a habit to force their emotions onto others, to the point where the people around them felt the need to walk on eggshells!

Where Earth is very down to earth, Lunar is always in the clouds. Where Lunar acts on impulse, both verbally and physically, Earth overthinks, to the point, that she forgets to act.

Even in their grief, they acted like polar opposites. One shut down, while the other screamed and shouted!

I am such a freak when it comes to psychology, so this is just- It's making me feral, it's turning me into a rabid animal-

Both reflect the places they come from as well.

Lunar is emotionally immature, due to the trauma they faced. They feel as though they are stuck being the kid they were originally created to be, never having the chance to grow, before another thing was thrown at them, causing a hold in their worldview, if that makes sense! They act out, and push their emotions on others, because Eclipse always disregarded them. He never took their feelings seriously, and even now keeps teasing them for it. So of course, they actively push them onto others, now that there are people who will listen!

Earth, on the other hand, was always created with a clear purpose. She was made to be the caretaker. She was made to be perfect. From the moment she first opened her eyes, the expectations of perfection were put on her shoulders.

It's really interesting to think about.

The Creator had too many expectations, and his positive relationship to Earth gave her the need to fulfill those expectations. Eclipse had no expectations. He never gave Lunar an objective to live up to, and would push them down, everytime they tried to look for one.

The Creator, despite his good relationship to Earth, never cared for her. He only kept her close, calling her his "dearest daughter" for his own benefit. There was never an ounce of care for her, to the point, where he simply dropped the mask and insulted her. Eclipse, despite his negative, and very unhealthy relationship to Lunar, did care for them in a strange way. However, he kept pushing them away, because he didn't understand love and care, probably afraid of it. He treated them like a tool and even took ownership of them by saying things like "you belong to me", because it was the only way to keep them close in his twisted mind.

Speaking of their "first person", both of them act different in that regard too!

Earth is nothing like her father.

Meanwhile, Lunar has been shown to share quite a few of traits with Eclipse. Even in this video alone, there's the way they used to act in anger. Like Eclipse, Lunar reacts with anger and violence, when something happens. Both bite and show off their claws. Ever since their death, they have been shown to act similar to Eclipse, though on a lesser scale! It is making me so unwell, these two will be the death of me/pos-

Though as it has already been pointed out, they are changing. They haven't acted like this in a while. They have become rather self-aware and calm very suddenly, which confuses even Lunar themself! Like Earth said, this could very well be due to their last emotional outbreak ending badly! Their brain might just be shutting down, as a way to keep them safe! I am definitely interested to see, where this goes-

One more thing to point out in all this, is Lunar's question! "Why do things keep happening to us?"

I just find their opinions on the matter really Intriguing!

Earth knew from the beginning, she wasn't in control. She is only in control of herself, but never the situation. She doesn't try to be. Lunar, on the other hand, feels a lack of control, both in their situation and in general, and desperately tries to keep a hold of it! It reminds me of a orange and black animatronic- Okay, I'll stop now-

ALSO, BOTH ADMITTING TO SEEING SOLAR AS A BROTHER FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!😭 BUT ONE WAS HELD BACK BY THEIR Trauma, AND THE OTHER WAS HELD BACK BY HER FEAR OF OVERSTEPPING BOUNDARIES-

-Stardust

STARDUST IM GNAWING ON YOU SO HARD OH MY GHODDDDDDD!!!!!! /POS

THE MESSAGES. THE THEMES. RHE OPPOSITES AND THE PARALLELS. AAUGGGHHHHH I DIDNT CONNECT SO MUCH OF THIS AT ALL HOLY SHIT.

I don't have productive thoughts I am just ABSORBING THIS SO HARD. Lunar who wanted to disconnect from Eclipse but adopted traits of him anyways, versus Earth who wanted to connect with the Creator as much as possible but ended up farther from him than ever.... MAN. AUGH. I can be normal about that (lie)

ALSO YEA OMG WHEN THEY WERE TALKING ABT THEY'VE BEEN DEALING WITH THEIR WHOLE..... EVERYTHING. I WAS LIKE. 👀 hey boy. awfully familiar words there HDJEHDJWHD

AND WITH SOLAR AUAHAVQHAGHHHH SONT EVEN WITH ME ILL BURST INTO TEARS ILL START CRYING RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW AAUAGGGHHHHHHH

[canonisdead]

Slendytubbies 1 AU-Chapter One

Teletubbies was a famous TV show starring four child stars and their father.

Was, being a keyword.

Because the show doesn’t have its targeted appeal with older kids, once the four got older, the show was announced as completed.

But we couldn’t allow them to go to a normal life, due to crazy fans wanting to get into ‘Tubby Land’. We certainly couldn’t allow this for the safety of the girls.

The boss is annoyed he had to assign security to secure a land that has no purpose to the outside world anymore.

The white tubby looks down at his map, while it seemed silly to own a map for a single piece of land…

It was very big, and you could ACTUALLY get lost.

Normally, the Teletubbies could be heard all over, but intel brought forth that it had been strangely quiet.

He couldn’t even spot any of the bunnies that usually would be around.

It probably would be easier to go locate Tinky Winky. As he is the tallest and biggest.

It was almost uncomfortable with how quiet it was.

The dome doors were motion-activated so they opened as he approached. He freezes on seeing Dipsy’s decapitated body.

What the hell? 

He was positive they would have known if someone trespassed. What kind of psycho would sneak in to kill Dipsy?

He shakes his head and hurries out. He ran up the hill that in the past Dipsy would jog on, Laa-Laa would sometimes join him.

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly assaulted his ears; it sounded like someone was in trouble. Just as he turned around, something purple tackled him to the ground.

Teeth bite onto his throat and claws hook onto his head.

He tries to push Tinky Winky off despite the shock. His eyes scanned all over trying to find something that would allow him to survive this encounter. 

His eyes widened seeing a small red form coming from the end of the path he was running on. He isn’t sure if she’ll help him.

The security officer was honestly too scared to speak or even scream. He tried conveying his BIG problem with his eyes.

Po looked up at the crazy purple Teletubby, then looked blankly at him. She didn’t show any concern nor alarm at how her best friend was acting.

His life came to an unfortunate end when Tinky delivered a strong punch to his skull.

Po cringed. 

Tinky got onto his feet and simply walked away from the corpse.

She looks down at it for one final time before stepping around and following Tinky Winky.

She wasn’t sure what was going on.

[fictionallyinparadise]

When,,,when the,,,,y,,,da n c e,,,,hnnnfnjfbfjf

[chocoenvy]

An Unaware Drunkard

Piece of shit vampire!reader x Yandere!Darling & Tsaritsa

notes: once again Eros has infected me with his wonderful brainrots. I wanted to add more to this but I wasn't sure how to continue so I'm just letting it out there, if a part two is requested I might make one >:D (also highkey stole the nicknames from @/nicebonescomrade bc they put "little love" in a fic once and i haven't been the same since/pos)

Warnings: Reader is a bad person, blood, mutilation, manipulation, kidnapping, implied(?) drugging, very yandere everyone in this relationship sucks literally

It wasn’t a bad thing.

That’s what they’d repeated to you over and over again, and it’s what you’d slowly come to believe.

That sitting complacent and useless on their laps wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it was a good thing. You were safe and well cared for and completely dependent on the two.

And yet as you did your usual routine of sitting on one of their laps, useless and ignoring the jealous glares around you, you urged for something. It stirred within your stomach uncomfortably until it got to your chest and then your throat.

The Tsaritsa looked down upon your form, “Hm? Are you hungry, little love?” She tilted your chin up with her hand, much larger than your own.

You didn’t even have to answer her, you didn’t think you could. Your eyes were slits, fangs elongated until they were poking your bottom lip, and your nails sharp enough to tear human skin to shreds.

“Oh dear,” The Tsaritsa frowned, already moving her wrist up to her lips, her own fangs- much larger than yours- peeking out behind her lips, “You should’ve said something.”

Her fangs dug into her skin and you were already mindlessly grabbing her wrist to quench the undying thirst in your undead heart. She merely giggled as you drank from her wrist, your fangs digging into her skin though never breaking it.

“Hm,” Tsaritsa wiped the blood off your lips after you’d pulled away, “You drank much more than usual…” You hummed, nuzzling into her soft fur coat. “Perhaps you’re craving Darling’s blood…” She mused to herself.

Perhaps you were, as the craving deep in your chest still ate away at your thoughts hungrily until the only thing you were thinking about was tearing someone apart just like you used to do before Darling and the Tsaritsa borderline kidnapped you.

…ah.

It clicked in your head what was missing. It wasn’t a craving for blood per say, but a more selfish desire. The same one that got you trapped in this grandiose palace as a lapdog.

The desire to hunt.

Because in your eyes, humans were puny little things. Cute, fun to chase, and exquisite in taste. Honestly you never thought you’d be the lapdog, you thought it’d perhaps be something similar to your parents. That you’d find a cute little human and have “mercy” on them by taking them in as your partner.

How cruel of the world to turn your expectations on their head. Because in two gods’ eyes, you were puny, weak and helpless and adorable.

You couldn’t even break their skin to feed from them - and only them as they had told you, because you deserve only the best blood. You had no power here and no freedom.

Your nails dug into the Tsaritsa’s arm.

She giggled, “Getting sick of me already? Do you miss Darling that much?”

You didn’t say anything, a small growl exiting your lips as you bit down on her arm. With the humans in those villages, a bite of this force would have them screeching, their legs buckling from under them as they begged you for mercy.

How you longed to hear her scream in pain.

She merely grabbed your slightly pointed ear with her clawed hands and tugged on it, digging her nails ever so slightly into the skin there,“Come then, little love,” She sighed, but her smile never faltered, “If you miss them so much let me take you to them.”

You let go of her arm - angry at the minimal marks you had left - and met her eyes with a furious glare.

She wasn’t phased in the slightest, and picked you up with ease. Although it wasn’t in the slightest way romantic as she grabbed you by your collar, picking you off her lap so she could stand. Then she had you sit on her arm as she carried you to wherever Darling was.

You wrapped your arms around her neck to stabilize yourself (and even if you hated her guts, her coat was soft as hell and you were getting some desperately needed affection out of this). Darling wasn’t too far away - they never were - and the Tsaritsa plopped you on their lap.

“They missed you, I think they’re hungry.” Her smile was sickening, ruining your appetite.

You bit into Darling hatefully, putting your all into making them feel just an ounce of the pain and frustration you felt everyday living with them. You knew they’d make you feed on them either way, so you decided you might as well get your frustrations out before you became completely useless after drinking their blood.

The chuckle that escaped Darling’s throat made your stomach churn, “Looks like the little lamb,” Your fangs dug even deeper into them, “Is starving.”

They tugged you away from their shoulder, and you growled at the fact there wasn’t even a mark there.

Darling brandished their neck to the Tsaritsa and she gently bit down on the skin. Even her large and sharp fangs - ones that rivaled Morax’s own dragon teeth - struggled to break her skin. But they did, and she pulled away, spots of golden ichor on her lips.

Darling brought your head back towards their neck, a silent command for you to drink and like a dog, you obeyed.

The effects of their blood impacted you almost immediately. Your mind being covered in fog, uncaring of what they were saying or doing. You barely even registered their hand rubbing your back or brushing through your hair.

Ichor would kill a human, you and they knew that, but it seemed for you - who thrived off of blood - it had the opposite effect. And they used that knowledge to the very best of their ability. They were well aware of your bitterness towards them, your resistance, the way you’d constantly bite, hit and scratch at them. There was no fondness in your eyes, they both knew you wanted their blood to spill until there was nothing of them left. They knew that when you sucked their blood up eagerly, it was partly because of the addicting effects it had on your body, but also because you wanted to suck them dry. Until their bodies were unmoving for the rest of time.

That was your justification for why you were greedily sucking up Darling’s blood. You could at least pretend you weren’t severely addicted to the sheen golden liquid, that you were doing it in the hopes of finally murdering them. Even though you knew full well that it was just a fantasy. That even though you dreamed of their lifeless body and dead eyes that wouldn’t meet yours so condescending, you knew it’d never happen.

They’d always be there throughout your immortal life, haunting you just as you had haunted the people of Snezhnaya. Though at least they got the sweet release of death, you had no break from the constant pain of being seen as less than. No one was afraid of you, everyone thought you were just a pretty dog to look at to stare at. The rabid animal that the Tsaritsa and Darling had tamed.

You drank until you were forcibly removed, your fangs still bared and a growl still in your throat. Darling’s smile had bile tickling the back of your throat as they situated you on their lap once again, the wound on their neck sealing up quicker than it’d been bit into. Their hands weaved their way through your hair, playing with your fingers and whatever other part of you they wanted to.

You were motionless, your nose buried in their neck and eyes glazed over. You gently breathed in their expensive perfume, the aftertaste of ichor on your tongue, and the world faded away.

As usual you woke up in the dead of night, a habit practically burned into your soul and you thanked whatever merciful gods that Darling and the Tsaritsa weren’t forcing you to break it. Though you could feel your body pressed up against the Tsaritsa’s, her cold body temperature digging into your bones. Then there was Darling, directly behind you. Their warm lips right next to your ear but not a single breath fell upon your skin, their chest didn’t rise or fall.

With a sigh, you gently sat up in the bed, your head spinning. Darling’s arms - that were previously wrapped around you possessively - followed you up. Their hand resting on your waist before falling down to your thigh to rest there.

They were awake.

When were they not really? They merely laid with you and the Tsaritsa in bed and pretended they needed rest so they could keep their ever watchful gaze on you. Still, as you slipped to the end of the bed they didn’t stop you. Your bare feet touched the icy ground of the Zapolyarny palace, but no chill traveled up your spine. Your heart didn’t stutter with the realization of the freezing cold, and you didn’t immediately jump back into the bed, into the warm arms of Darling.

Because you were dead. Because you were a monster. And monsters want to terrorize and have power. You were no different.

You exited the room, you could feel Darling’s golden gaze locked onto your form like a cat ready to pounce on their prey. If you looked back at them, you’d be able to see their eyes clearer than day and the sickening grin that never seemed to leave their face when you were around.

You ignored all of it and stepped out of the room. The cold halls empty, the wind whirring in the background, almost as an omen for the night ahead.

A grin slid onto your face, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips. You always liked bad omens.

You disregarded the neatly laid halls in front of you and opted instead to jump out the nearest window. Not like the fall would kill you (if Dottore’s weird ass experiments and his newfound obsession with wooden stakes and the church of Mondstadt hadn’t killed you yet, nothing could), and you fell down gracefully into the snow. You stretched your limbs, the pops and cracks most definitely not something a normal human would find comfort in. In fact, if a human were to stretch their limbs like this they’d break. You knew, you’d done it to them before.

Still, after a few months (years? You sure hoped it wasn’t years.) of being domesticated your body had tightened up. You weren’t as nimble as you were when you were running away from the Fatui everyday, dodging and getting hit with literal bullets. Back then you also hadn’t drunk this much blood, much less ichor. Which no doubt had some affect on your mental and physical state.

But you didn’t care as you raced through the snow, the cold freezing over whatever was left of your heart from the centuries you’ve roamed and terrorized Teyvat. There were little tracks in the heavy snow, and you could hardly sniff out any prey, but that was fine with you. You weren’t hunting to eat, you were hunting for fun. The ultimate sin of a predator to a prey, to toy with them. To make their life a game, even more so with the intelligence of the human race.

Though you didn’t care. As you said, you didn’t have a heart and there was no room in heaven for a blood sucking monster such as yourself. So you didn’t care about sin, you only cared about having fun. And the most fun you’d get was from finally being back in control of a life. Not necessarily your life, but a life nonetheless.

That’s when you heard it among the howling winds. The sound of bustle, the late night outings before going back home. You bared your teeth in a grin and darted towards the noise. The moment your eyes landed on a human, their heart beating in their chest, your mind went blank.

In the end, you barely remembered what happened. All you knew was that their blood was disgusting, compared to the luxurious ichor you were fed daily, regular human blood now tasted like garbage. Even still, you didn’t stop. Red blood decorated your face, stained your hands crimson, practically covered you from head to toe as you relished in the fact that finally finally when you bit down on someone with all your force they’d scream.

Granted, no longer did their limb tear off when you bit on it. You were getting weaker, and the thought caused a chilling cold to overcome you. Though the cold realization didn’t last as you granted a different kind of high compared to the one Darling’s blood gave to you.

Your grin was maddened and the sound of men, women, and children alike screaming for their lives brought an immense amount of joy to you. The adrenaline coursing through you was enough to get drunk on even with the taste of their blood no longer bringing any satisfaction. At least in this moment you were, in some sense, free. You could control something now, and that was how many limbs all these people lost.

However, in your maddened state, you failed to hear the steps behind you. Or perhaps they had masked their steps or something of the sort. Either way, it was too late when you felt a harsh fist grab your hair and pull you into the chest of a sweet-smelling god.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun, hm?” You felt their grin and teeth on your ear.

A whine escaped your throat and you thrashed wildly, clawing at them, biting them, bashing your head against theirs, kicking, screaming and cursing. None of it worked as they tore the skin off their wrist and shoved it in your face.

“Drink.” There wasn’t any room for argument but you still tried to make room as they pressed it right up against your lips.

You drew your lips back in a snarl, but the sweet smell invaded your senses until before you knew it you were desperately sucking on their wrist. And god was it so much better than the regular blood red you’d been drowning yourself in. You couldn’t stop yourself from drinking, even whenever Darling’s grip went lax. You held their wrist up to your lips and drank until you didn’t even know what you were doing. You didn’t notice that you weren’t standing anymore or that you were being moved. All you knew was that their blood was truly divine until eventually your mind slipped away and your body shut down to sleep.

[plush-rabbit]

Guzma - Headcanons

A/N: There is no such thing as a basic ask here!! (guzma, my beloved, thank you for giving me a chance to indulge) i also have a headcanon that after the events of sun and moon, po town got cleaned up and team skull or ex team skull just reside there so that's mentioned briefly)

-

SFW:

Guzma is an intimidating man and a capable trainer but even the ex-gang leader has a soft spot. Unfamiliar with a loving touch, he will tense when you grab his hand. He won’t speak a word, only watch as you lift his hand and kiss his knuckles. Your lips will linger against his scarred hands, soft pecks against his calloused palm. He’ll hold his breath, waiting and watching as you kiss his hands, letting your breath tickle his hand. After a few painful moments of silence, he finally breathes. Tears will prick the corners of his eyes, stinging him for a second before he goes to curl his hand in yours.

He loves having you be close to him. No matter where you go, as long as you are near him, he’s always going to be touching you. Whether his hand is in yours or his arm is around your waist, he’s always willing and at times eager to just hold you. New to reciprocated romantic love and soft touches, he tries to be gentle with you. He’ll play with your hand, let his fingers run over yours, feeling every bump of your knuckles and wrinkles of your finger. He’s soft, testing every little action with care, watching for reaction and if you smile, a sense of pride washes over him.

If you were to sleep beside him- which has happened quite a few times- he’s either draping most of the blanket above you, a frail excuse for him to snuggle closer to you. During the times that you leave, he has the blanket that is faint with the perfume you use, always keeping it close to him during those dark nights. During times that you are out and if you give the hint that you are cold, he’ll drape his jacket over you even if it doesn’t provide much warmth. Despite that, it smells like him- a hint of tobacco and the smell of rain when it’s heavy in the air and beating against the rooftops. 

An odd mix of where he is both independent and dependent from you. He doesn’t need for you to be with him constantly nor does he need you to treat him like a child, but he is clingy, always pulling you for one last hug before you leave somewhere. He wants you to be with him, wants to depend on you for everything because he’s so broken by the system and from life and yet, he wants his privacy, he wants to be alone and prove that he can do things by himself without having to rely on you for the smallest praise even if it makes him breathless. He’ll cling to you and wish for you to not leave but in the same breath, turn around with squared shoulders and act as if everything is okay. 

Despite the mess of emotions that Guzma is, he wants you to be with him as much as you can. He’ll joke about having you move to Po Town, that the town can do some good for you- nice, cloudy weather and the rest of the ex-gang already like you well enough.  It’s a thinly veiled joke where he does want you to move in with him, where he wants you to be a part of his life without making the big, formal commitment, You already have you stuff at his place, you’ve already made yourself at home here- he wouldn’t mind for it to be permanent. 

NSFW:

As sweet as he can be, Guzma can be rather rough during sex. While he tries to work on his aggression in a healthy manner, there are times where he’ll pin you to the bed, your face buried into the mattress as his nails bite into your soft skin. He enjoys seeing the marks on your skin, how you have to cover them up to avoid having people look at you, how you’ll beg for him to mark you, holding his face down to your chest as he nips at your tender skin. He’ll rise with a smirk, his eyes narrowed and licking his lips. 

He can go for a while with you. While he does not have an unlimited stamina, he will continue until he is shooting blanks and his vision is starting to go black. As much as he enjoys the adrenaline of sex, the raw movement where you kiss him feverishly and he kisses you with just the same, there’s something about the slow, sloppy movement that makes him never want to stop. He’ll go until he’s panting out of sheer tiredness, pulling his cock out from your gushing sex, watch as his semen spills and ruins the bedsheets. He wants to feel you clinging onto him, his name nothing more than lost syllables that have you clinging to him as drool spills from your mouth and coats him in a thin, warm layer.

His sweet talk can go on forever. He knows what to say, he can be charismatic when he wants to be, lean close to you and kiss your neck and let his lips burn on your jawline. He’ll love you and sweet talk you until your heart is beating against your ribs and you're hiding your face into his broad shoulders. He wants to love you, to keep you close to him and whatever he tells you, it is all the truth, it comes from the heart. You mean so much to him that it’s terrifying and the only way he’ll ever tell you anything close to the poetry that rips in mind, is to have your bare body against his, your back arched in pleasure as he tells you how gorgeous you look under him.

The disgraced gang leader loves to please, to sit on his knees or lay on his stomach and give oral to you. A rather cheeky man, he loves to see the look on your face as you edge closer to your high, your hand knitting into his soft, white hair while you hold him close to your sex. His tongue will lap against your slit, twist on your pulsing sex and swallow your arousal as if it were a drink provided by something ethereal. He takes pride of knowing that he can get you to such a certain high with his tongue, to have you moan his name and hold him close. And, at the end, he’ll rise with a dazed look, cheeks pinched with red as spit and arousal drips down his chin, leaning to your touch when you tell him what a good boy he is.

Who would Guzma be if he wouldn’t want to have sex on his throne. He’ll have you sit above him, keeping your chest pressed against his as his hands wander to squeeze at your breasts, pinching at your pert nipples until you whine. He wants to face you, to watch your face pinch and your mouth to open in a silent scream, to hold you close as you move above him and chant his name like it’s the most important thing in the world. He wants nothing more than to hold you close in his home, to feel your body and see you in the most vulnerable state. His hands are over your body, feeling the pulse on your neck and the warmth breath on his thumb as he ghosts over your lips, only to meet you in a kiss where it’s consuming like fire and hands that claw on your body and leave his touch burning on you until water rushes past.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

This doesn't happen in this amazing short story but leave me be to my vices HAHAHHAHHAHAHAHA the fucking 2nd anon request is killing me-

gosh, this is just so wholesome omg,,,,, first of all, love the showtime bits they are so real to me married harlequin!showtime shenanigans my absolute beloved I need them injected into my bloodstream

secondly, WHY IS CADE SO CUTE HE ISN'T EVEN FULLY FORMED NOR DOES HE HAVE A PHYSICAL APPEARANCE YET BUT HE'S ALREADY WINNING MY HEART OVER AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I'M SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING AND BITING AT MY PILLOW FROM THE CUTENESS OVERLOAD I AM DYING

third.... Caine being afraid of being a dad..... it's okay Caine I'm pretty sure even planned parenthood has it's moments of "oh god what if we mess this up"

THE NEWLY FORMED PUPPET FAMILY,,,,, UEUUEUEUUEUEUEE SCARLET WHEN I GET YOU, WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU /POS

CLAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE

The events leading up to Cade? Hurt/Comfort, near death experience. The relief. The happiness.

A/N:ooooooh here we go! ✍️

SOUL BEARER

A HARLEQUIN SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: rough pregnancy, hurt/comfort

~~~

The first sign Caine had that Pomni wasn't herself was how exhausted she seemed after a simple retrieval mission of a charm. She didn't fight any bosses or even leave the City of Circuits, and yet she was dead on her feet. Naturally, she denied any assistance or examination. She's fine. Stop worrying.

Caine did not stop worrying. Pomni was sleeping later and later into the day without pulling all nighters. He had Bubble prepare a salmon sandwich for her. Maybe it would help her feel better. When Caine checked on her later, she barely touched it, and she was bent out the window throwing up into the bushes below.

"Pomni, my dear, please tell me what's going on. I've never seen a puppet get so violently physically ill like this, not without heavy binge drinking, but that's beside the point." Caine held her hair out of her face as she finished ejecting the contents of her pseudo digestive tract.

Pomni wiped away black bile dripping down her chin. "I'm...fine. Just...bad fish."

Caine didn't believe that for a second, but he wasn't to the point of forcing her to the workshop for an evaluation. "You can tell me if you're not okay, Pomni. Do you remember what I told you?"

Pomni ran her hand through her hair, her head was throbbing and her chest felt heavy. "...that you love me."

"Exactly. Through sickness and through health. I'm here for you. Please don't hide it from me. Let me care about you." Caine guided her back to bed and did a visual examination as he tucked her back in. Aside from the signs of exhaustion, she seemed healthy. Maybe he's pushed her too far with the amount of missions, but this is the first time he's ever seen her run out of steam.

Caine kissed her forehead and left her to rest. He has Bubble stay outside her room under orders that if she needs anything, to contact him immediately. He spent the next few days pouring through his notes on puppet physiology. How the internal flesh reacts to different physical and mental stressors. Nothing was adding up. Whatever was happening was new, and that scared him.

~

Pomni's health continued to decline. She tried to force herself out of bed out of boredom, but the extreme exhaustion would force her down every time. Caine couldn't take it anymore. He carried her down to the workshop and laid her on the examination table. Her letting him take her without so much as a grunt of protest out urgency in his step.

The first thing he did was open her chest to check her heart. Her internal flesh that sprouted from her D.I.E had almost completely retracted back. The fleshy vines were thin and brittle, starved of energy. Caine's hands trembled as he opened her heart, exposing the D.I.E that contained her soul.

Pomni was barely conscious on the table beneath him. She had just enough energy to lift her hand and grab his shirt, getting his attention. "I love you..." She said weakly and passed out.

Caine's eyes widened and he cradled her face. "Pomni? Pomni??" Now he feared he waited too long. He went back to her D.I.E. It's glow was very faint. He carefully extracted it from her heart, her body going dead still.

He focused energy into his palm, giving her soul a taste of his own. "There you go. Drink up. You poor thing. What is happening to you?" The more he interacted with her soul, the more he could tell what was off about it. The energy he was giving her was being syphoned elsewhere. He followed the flow of energy to a second presence within the D.I.E. "What in the world?"

Her type of D.I.E was designed to house only one soul. The presence of a second led him to the conclusion that Pomni's soul was fragmenting itself. He got a blank D.I.E and proceeded to extract the secondary soul. Afterwards, the larger fragment of Pomni's soul came back to it's original glow thanks to him feeding it his own energy.

The secondary soul flickered softly in his other hand, like low candle light. His energy examined it curiously. It felt like Pomni, but also...not? It was strange. "Where did you come from, little one?" The small soul reacted positively to his presence, like it recognized him.

Caine held the secondary soul right in his palm as he returned Pomni's D.I.E to her body. It took a few minutes, but Pomni opened her eyes. She sat up slowly, Caine helping her up. "Fuck...that was awful. For a second, I thought-..." She turned and embraced Caine.

Caine held her tightly to his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I went ten rounds with every boss I've ever fought all at once, but at least I can stay awake for more than five minutes. What happened to me?"

Caine opened his palm and showed her the D.I.E containing the secondary soul. "I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but it seems your soul fragmented itself. Say hello to the little troublemaker that knocked you on your ass." He chuckled.

Pomni took the D.I.E and looked at it closely. The small soul reacted excitedly, flaring up in her hand. What little energy she had to spare reached out to it, and it felt like interacting with Caine....but also not. "Are you sure this isn't just a part of you that clung to me when we...uh...bonded?" She asked with a subtle blush on her face as she remembered what they did.

Caine held her hand holding the D.I.E. "I really don't know. When I inspected it, it didn't feel like a part of me, but it also didn't fully feel like you either. Whatever- WHOever this is, they're new. However...because this came from your heart and it was such a hassle, even becoming dangerous to your health...I'll let you be the judge of what we do next. Do you wish to keep it?"

They sat in silence for a moment, just basking in the glow of the new soul. It felt like it was reaching out to both hands cradling it. Pomni felt a connection to the soul. It was new, but also a part of her and Caine. Was this...a child? "He stays."

"He?" Caine asked. "How can you tell?"

"I just can. Caine...I think we have a son."

Caine blinked in astonishment. The new soul being the result of esoteric procreation was not on his list of possibilities. He hand closed around Pomni's, who in turn closed around the new soul protectively. "We made new life..." He was still in complete disbelief.

"Cade." Pomni said softly.

"What?"

"His name. Cade." Pomni used her free hand to cover Caine's and held the combined parental embrace over the new soul to her chest. Somewhere, deep within her heart, her soul rejoiced in the presence of her new son. Perhaps the person's soul she holds always wanted to be a mother.

"That's perfect. I'll get on building him a body right away. If he is who you believe...maybe I should include physical traits from both of us."

"You don't think this is your son?"

"I don't know what to think, Pomni. I thought I was watching you die, so I'm a bit drained myself. It does have an interesting reaction to my presence. Otherwise...I just don't know yet. But, if you are certain this is our child, then I won't question you. It was literally inside you for who knows how long. You would know better than I."

"You're afraid." Pomni said flatly, looking him in the eye.

Caine sighed. "I never thought I'd be good father material. I suppose this just...has me feeling defensive. Not that the concept of children has even been considered possible since the fall of humanity, so this is extraordinarily unexpected."

"Yeah....you're right. I feel caught off guard too but, it...I don't know. I feel...connected to him. I can't just let him go. This is mine now."

Caine smiled softly and kissed Pomni's temple. "Congratulations, on becoming a mother."

"Thanks, daddy." She sniggered at her own joke the second it left her lips.

"WOW. I mean, wow Pomni. Thanks for ruining the moment." He tried to sound annoyed but he was half laughing.

Pomni leaned into Caine and kissed his lower jaw softly. "Let me try again. Congrats, you're a dad, and you're going to be the best."

"Maybe...I've certainly had enough practice wrangling all of you weirdos that live in the manor. What's one more?"

"Our little weirdo." Pomni smiled.

"Ours..." Caine smiled back.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Security Blanket

Prompts: So in a lot of your TSS fics Janus is the one taking care of everyone, giving sweet pet names, and hugging them, but what about a fic where Janus finally gets taken care of…? Just a suggestion! (I also suggest to include angst!) - anon

So many of your fics are Janus taking care of the others (and he is so valid in that, as are you ) (/pos) but it got me thinking of who takes care of Janus?? - anon

Hi! For a prompt, what about Remus and Logan comforting Janus? It can be really angsty or barely enough hurt for hurt/comfort - anon

ooof thank god i get to post something soft today

Read on Ao3

Warnings: hypothermia

Pairings: duckeceit, loceit, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 3586

As one might be able to imagine, keeping track of Janus at the best of times is an ordeal.

Even if the man weren’t part snake and literally the embodiment of deceit, he’s a private person. He keeps to himself, keeps to his shadows, and when he allows you to discover anything about him—and make no mistake, he is allowing you to do so—it is never enough to answer all the questions you might have about him.

Remus doesn’t ask that many questions.

He doesn’t care, not really, about the precise inner workings of someone’s psyche or the things that make them who they are. That’s Janny’s domain. He knows what buttons to push to make them jump and what things they’re afraid of so he can avoid them—or exploit them—if necessary. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention.

He knows Janus gets cold. He knows Janus has a hard time being touched. He knows Janus has a very hard going to others for help.

So when there’s an emergency in Thomas’s apartment and the heating’s on the blink, Remus knows he’s got to be the one that finds Janus.

He checks everywhere he can think of. The cupboard under the stairs, the big open carpet near the windows, the corner of the living room made up with blankets and pillows, and nothing. No Snakey.

As a last-ditch attempt, he checks the bathroom.

He opens the door and the thoughts slam into his chest.

It’s so cold, a cold he can feel right down to his bones as if his body is trying to break apart at the seams just to feel something. It’s so lonely, painfully lonely, every ounce of his body screaming for something, anything, someone, anyone. There’s the sharp sting of pain riding an undercurrent of betrayal so vitriolic it almost feels like a violation. And buried beneath it all is the quiet sob of alone, alone, alone, alone.

Remus blinks and finally sees the figure curled up in the shower.

The shower isn’t running, the figure isn’t naked. It’s a huddle of dark clothes, an askew hat, and a yellow blanket clutched tightly over the face. He tries for a breath and the metallic sting of blood hits him square in the nose.

This is so much worse than he thought it would be.

“Jan,” he calls quietly, “Jan-Jan, are you alright?”

If he hears him, he does nothing. He moves closer, stepping into the shower and crouching down.

“Jan-Jan?”

Janus doesn’t flinch, but he’s too still, his breathing too controlled. Fuck. Janus knows he’s here and he’s terrified.

“It’s just me,” he says softly, “it’s just Remus. Are you hurt?”

Still no response. He reaches out to touch his shoulder. Janus reacts to that.

“Whoa, easy,” he soothes when Janus flinches horribly, “I won’t touch you, I won’t touch you, it’s alright.”

He kneels, coming a little closer. Janus still won’t move, won’t speak.

“Janny,” he tries again, “Janny, I can tell you’re bleeding. Let me help you, I won’t be angry if you show me where you’re hurt.”

Janus clutches the blanket tighter. The message is clear; he doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers move a little and he notices that one is badly bruised.

“Snakey, I—easy,” he says, retracting his hand again as he curls tighter, “I’m not trying to take it from you, but you’re hurt, let me help you, please.”

It takes a long time. A long time of murmuring reassurances, a long time of the smell of blood getting stronger and stronger, a long time of wondering how Snakey turned into this frightened creature, before the blanket finally lowers and two eyes poke out over the top.

“Hey, Snakey,” he says softly, smiling and giving him a wave, “want to tell me what’s the matter?”

Janus shakes his head, pressing himself against the shower wall as he clutches the blanket tightly under his chin. Remus swallows a gasp of dismay at his split lip, bruised cheek, and red-rimmed eyes.

“Do you want to show me where else you’re hurt instead?”

Janus shakes his head again, harder this time, and a loose thread gets stuck on his bleeding lip.

“No?” Janus winces when the thread stays there. “Here, let me…”

His eyes go wide as Remus’s hand starts to move.

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs, “I promise, I’ll be quick.”

His chest aches as Janus watches his hand like it’s about to bite him, tenderly moving the thread back from his mouth and snapping it away.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it? Oh, you poor thing,” he whispers as fresh tears roll down Janus’s cheeks, “let me help, please?”

Please, Snakey, let me help you.

Janus moves slowly. Too slowly. Every single inch he manages to claw back looks like it aches, his split lip permanently curled into a snarl. If Remus peers close enough, he thinks he can see frost clinging to some of Janus’s scales.

And the blood is coming from somewhere deep within the folds of the fabric.

“Jan,” he says, “we need to get you to Logan, you’re hurt.”

Janus shakes his head, pulling away when Remus tries to help him up.

“Okay, okay,” he says, trying not to ruin the little bit of trust he’s managed to earn, “I won’t touch you, I won’t touch you.”

He glances over his shoulder. At some point, someone is going to come looking for both of them. And that is going to go about as well as—well, it isn’t. It won’t.

“Why didn’t you go somewhere warm first,” he asks gently, “what happened?”

Janus doesn’t respond but his grip on the blanket tightens. He frowns.

“Did…something happen to the blanket?” Janus shakes his head. “Then why…”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

He can just imagine what Janus would expect the others to do if they found out Janus has a comfort object and that it’s a blanket.

Not that they ever would! Patton’s bed is full of stuffed animals, Logan can’t sleep without a galaxy pillowcase on his bed, Remus clings to his Morningstar like another limb, Virgil’s relationship with sleep is complicated at best, and Roman has a blanket too.

“But you didn’t know that,” he whispers to himself as he watches Janus curl up miserably, “did you?”

Janus doesn’t respond. Remus bites back a curse.

“You’re mad.”

He blinks, startled, and looks down. “Huh?”

“You’re mad,” Janus mumbles again, clutching the blanket tightly.

“…yeah, I am,” he says quietly, suppressing noises of concern when he curls tighter, “but not like that, and not right now.”

Janus looks up at him warily. “…no?”

“No. Come on, now,” he continues, frowning when he winces, “come with me to get you warm, please, Snakey.”

Janus just curls up tighter.

“If I brought Logan here, just Logan,” Remus tries, “will you let him look at you? I don’t have to be here, I can go, but—please, Jan-Jan, you’re hurt. Like, real bad, I can tell.”

The time it takes for Janus to shakily nod is quite possibly the longest twenty seconds of Remus’s life.

“Okay,” Remus breathes out, scrambling to his feet, “okay, I’ll get Lolo.”

He dashes out into the hall, down the stairs, almost smack into Logan.

“Remus,” he scolds, “watch where you’re going. What—“

“I found Janny,” he whispers, cutting Logan off, “he’s hurt. You need to come with me.”

Logan draws himself up immediately, snapping the first aid kit into his hands. “Where?”

“This way.”

The look on Remus’s face is enough to tell Roman to keep the others here, which he does by promptly picking up one of the blankets they’ve scavenged from around and wrapping them all in it, pulling them into his lap. Remus nods in thanks and leads Logan up the stairs. He nods to the bathroom.

“He’s in there,” he says softly, “be gentle.”

“I will.”

Logan takes a deep breath and opens the door.

His breathing catches when he spots the little heap of Janus nestled in the corner of the shower, exhale somewhere between a sigh and a noise of concern as Janus peers over his blanket.

“Hello,” he says softly, crouching down outside the shower, “I’m here to help. Can I come over to you?”

Janus doesn’t take his eyes off of him but he nods.

“Thank you. I’m going to go slow so I don’t make too much noise, is that alright? Alright, I’m going to move now.”

When he’s crouched in front of Janus, he can see why Remus was so anxious to get him here. Janus isn’t hypothermic just yet, but he’s hovering on the edge. The smell of blood is strong enough to be worrying, not enough to make him panic.

“I know it’s cold,” he says, “and I know you can’t move very much, but I need to make sure you won’t bleed out or deteriorate at a faster rate. I need you to move a little for me, just so I can see. Does that sound okay?”

A low whine and he shushes him tenderly.

“If you can’t move, that’s alright, I can help. Is that it?” Janus nods. “Alright. Can I touch you, please?”

Janus looks up at him, gaze piercing, as he curls around his blanket. Logan holds his hands up, empty, and waits. When Janus nods again, he reaches forward and gently, gently lays his hands on Janus’s shoulders.

“Shh,” he murmurs as Janus shakes from the heat, “shh, my dear, you’re doing great. I know, it’s a lot, but we have to get you warm, alright?”

Of course, the warmth just increases Janus’s ability to shiver. Logan hushes him soothingly and slowly, slowly moves to pull Janus’s arms away from his body.

“Lean on me if you need to, I’m warmer than you are, that’s alright, I won’t mind.” Logan peers at Janus’s stomach, seeing the blood drying where the scales meet flesh. “Alright, it doesn’t look like you’ve hurt yourself too badly, it’s just the temperature differential causing a little bit of wear and tear.”

Janus is shivering properly now, two of his hands still clinging to his blanket.

“You can’t stay here,” Logan says firmly, “we need to get you warm. If I help you, do you think you can make it to your bed or do you need me to carry you?”

Janus’s lower lip trembles. His brow furrows, mouth drawn into a hard line. He averts his gaze.

“You’re not being needy,” he continues, softening his voice, “I’m here because I want to be here. I want to help you, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Let me help you, my dear.”

The shock on Janus’s features is enough to make Logan want to summon Roman, who would smother the poor dear in enough affection to drown them all. Just to make Janus believe someone would. But he swallows that need and waits for Janus to figure out that he isn’t lying.

When Janus begins to shyly nudge closer to Logan he smiles, wrapping Janus carefully into his arms and standing, muttering something to Remus about making sure Janus’s room is ready.

Sure enough, when they’ve made their way through the Mindscape, Janus’s bed has a sterile sheet laid across it, warm pads at the ready, and plenty of surgical towels nearby if they’re needed. Janus’s breath is almost torn out of him as Logan crosses the threshold into the warmer room.

“You’re going to be fine,” he murmurs, laying Janus down on his bed. “But I do need to come and clean you off a bit while we warm you up, alright?”

Moving Janus’s arms out of the way is a process, one he sends Remus out of the room for, filled with soft coaxing murmurs as he gently manipulates the stiff limbs.

“You’re doing well, dear, we’re almost there. I know it’s cold, it will hurt less after a moment.”

Janus opens his mouth and tries to say something, only for air to hit his bare torso and it turns into a whine.

“Shh, hush now, dear,” Logan says softly as he begins to clean off the dried blood, “it’s alright. Once you warm up it will feel better. I’m just going to put something on the damages and then we’ll be done.”

“L-Logan—“

“What is it?”

Janus’s eyes are glassy, he realizes, as he looks up to his face. He lets out a concerned noise, reaching up to cup Janus’s face. Janus all but nuzzles into his palm as he does, a shiver racking his body.

“You poor dear,” Logan murmurs, mostly to himself, “you poor, poor dear…”

It ends up taking a little longer than he expected, what with only one hand, but if it keeps Janus grounded, Logan would happily take the rest of the day. It doesn’t come to that, thankfully, as he clears away the last of the medical supplies and gives Janus’s face a little shake.

“Janus? Janus, can you hear me?”

Logan’s face swims into view as Janus blinks away tears that he definitely knows where they came from. Logan’s hand is so warm, it’s so warm, as it cups his face, the soft stroking of his thumb systematically undoing every stitch of Janus’s defenses.

“Can you hear me, my dear?”

Janus nods on instinct, a wounded noise tearing from his throat as Logan’s hand leaves him.

“Hush, now, I’m not going anywhere. I just need to put this aside…there. I’m back, my dear, I’m right here.”

The warm hand is back on his face as the insecurity twists anew in his chest.

What is he doing?

“Shh, none of that now,” Logan chides, “I’m here because I want to be here, remember?”

“‘M not—“ he swallows— “I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“And I’m supposed to be cool, aloof, and uncaring,” Logan says wryly, brushing a stray tear from Janus’s cheek, “and Remus is supposed to be horrible and demented.”

“I can hear you!”

He gives Janus a look like ‘see what I mean?’ “So don’t worry about the roles we play right now, dear, it’s alright.”

Janus swallows again, a massive lump in his throat.

“Is that why you hid,” Logan asks softly, “because you couldn’t separate us from our roles?”

Fat shameful tears bubble at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, none of that, it’s alright, my dear, shh, shh, oh, come now, don’t cry, don’t cry, I’m trying to make it better, not worse, hush now…oh, you poor thing…”

Janus can’t hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears and the soft slide of Logan’s hand against his face. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps.

“Janus,” Logan says firmly, “stop.”

Janus freezes.

“Good. Now breathe.”

Janus breathes. Logan’s hand, on his shoulder, now, still dry and warm through his cloak, presses down firmly.

“There,” he says, softer now, “that’s better. Just keep doing that, then we can figure out what to do next.”

Janus squeezes his eyes shut, something cold closing into a fist around his heart as Logan pulls away. He wrenches himself into a seated position, starting slightly at the rush in his head. He keeps his eyes shut until he can blink them open, seeing Logan there, watching him carefully.

“Janus?”

“My apologies,” he says, surprised at how smooth his voice comes out, “I appreciate your assistance, but it is no longer necessary. You may leave now.”

He pushes himself to his feet and tries to make it to the door, only for it to fly open, and Remus bursts in.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he sighs as he takes two steps and wraps his arms tightly around him.

Janus’s eyes go wide. The door closes behind Remus as warm warm warm too warm not warm enough don’t let go please let go it hurts it hurts oh fuck don’t stop—

He needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop.

“Remus,” Logan says after a moment, “Remus, let him breathe.”

Remus lets him go but keeps his hands on his shoulders. Janus is shaking, staring at Remus like he can’t process what’s happening as fat tears begin to roll down his cheeks again. Remus lets out a noise of concern, reaching up to wipe them away.

“It’s okay, Jan-Jan,” he says quietly, almost too quiet for him to hear, “it’s gonna be okay.”

Janus’s face crumbles and he stumbles, scrabbling for Remus’s shoulders for support. Remus scoops him into his arms as he clings desperately to him, walking swiftly to the bed and laying him down as carefully as he can. He scrabbles frantically for his blanket, coiling around it and sobbing desperately into it.

“Ah,” comes the soft voice, “I see.”

“See? See what—oh!”

“Go and tell the others, I can keep an eye on him for now.”

Janus can’t tell what’s happening until he feels warm arms around him.

Logan, Logan, wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him into a hug. His eyes go wide as a sudden flood of warm warm warm solid Logan safe warm care love protection hits him, but none of it takes away from the fact that Logan is hugging him.

Distantly, he hears Remus chuckle as he starts to make his way down the hallway but then Logan’s hand comes up to press his head into the crook of his shoulder and he keens.

“Shh, dear one,” he murmurs, “it’s alright, I’m here, I’ll take care of you.”

His hands clench and unclench in the blanket, unsure of what to do, where to put them, until Logan holds him a little tighter.

“You can touch me, Janus, you can hug me, I don’t mind. Come, now…”

Shakily, he returns the embrace and has to hold back a whimper at the rush of warmth. He feels more than hears the rumble of Logan’s chuckle.

“There you go, dear one, that’s it. Hang onto me, now, that’s right.”

“B-but—I thought—you—“

“You can always come to me for this, Janus,” Logan reassures softly, “I will always take care of you.”

Janus lets out another shuddering breath against Logan’s neck and it’s too much.

“I doubt you’re going to get used to touch if you continue to deprive yourself of it,” he coaxes, pulling Janus closer. “Breathe, dear one, it’s alright, I’m not going anywhere.” He rubs his back. “Just let me take care of you.”

“Wh-where did—Remus—“

“The others are worried, dear, we couldn’t find you. No, no—none of that,” he says as Janus tries to mumble out another apology— “you were afraid and protecting yourself, we can’t be mad at you for that. Remus is letting them know we found you.”

“C-Can—“

“Do you want them to come here? Come help look after you?” When Janus nods shyly and buries his face in the crook of Logan’s neck, he holds him closer. “Alright. Can I call them now?”

Of course, when Logan does call for them, he has about two seconds before Remus is tackling the both of them onto the bed.

“Remus.”

“You got to hog him to yourself, let me have a turn.”

“Be careful.”

“He’s durable.” But Remus softens and scratches a hand through Janus’s hair. “Hey, Snakey.”

“Hi.”

“Pat, move.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Janus lets out a soft noise when Patton and Virgil curl up near the foot of the bed, tucking blankets and pillows into place as Janus moves. “Hey, sweetheart, you okay now?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re just gonna keep watch down here, J, we gotcha.”

The sheet beneath him changes, something softer, warmer. Then the pillows get a little easier to touch, the blankets no longer scraping against his scales. He catches a glimpse of soft red sparks as another pillow changes and looks up to see Roman’s brow furrowed in concentration as he works.

He catches Janus’s gaze and softens, reaching out to carefully set Janus’s hat aside and ruffle his hair.

“Hello, little snake. You just shush and get warm, hmm?”

“Ro—Roman?”

“It’s me, just me. I’m just making things a little easier, you close your eyes.” When Janus keeps staring at him, he raises an eyebrow and gently drags a finger down the bridge of Janus’s nose to make his eyes flutter shut. “There, that’s better. Let us keep an eye on you, now.”

Well, between Logan’s arm around his waist, Remus’s hand in his hair, Patton and Virgil camped at the foot of the bed, and Roman patiently checking the wound on his stomach, Janus isn’t going to be going anywhere any time soon.

Keeping track of Janus at the best of times may be an ordeal, but if he thinks it’s not one they would gladly go through, he’s lying to himself.

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[thatoneteadrinker666]

I had another dream about the exterminator au (my brain has simply been consumed by this au /pos)

But anyway... I was a borrower (maybe I shouldn't have said I was glad my last one was in third person because clearly something is against me sksndn)

Honestly it was really funny, not really a nightmare or anything lol.

It started with me (tiny little borrower) staring at a glue square- and Wilbur is just watching me and I'm like "well... Uh- hi?" Because I'm speed running death apparently 💀 and he doesn't respond (like a prick) so I (oh so eloquently) tell him "I'm not stepping on the obviously glue square you dick." And he just grabs me and really- I should of expected that and he's like "that's okay, you'll taste better without the oil" and i- obviously scream, I'm clawing and biting, doing the absolute most- and then comes the profanities, and he pauses in his torture of me stares at me and is like "you remind me if Tommy" and obviously the only logical answer is to hiss at him and continue to claw up his hand (or Well- try to)

Then he puts me in a jar I hit the side of it a few times before realizing I can't shatter it and also it hurts to hit solid glass-

Anyway he shoves me in the cage with Niki while I continue shouting profanities at him-

-💖

Awwww Wilbur must have liked you then :) I’m sure the normal route of non-Niki borrowers have become pretty obvious by now lmao. It’s official: exterminator Wilbur has invaded someone’s dreams. I must’ve did good >:)

If I had to go up against Wilbur, I’d like to think that I’d win. Yeah I know I won’t since this man eats smalls for his job but maybe I’d put up a pretty good fight at least. Get a couple stabs in before going down the hatch 🤷‍♀️

[dear-yandere]

[ kinktober day 4 — devotion. ]

yandere! dio x f! reader x the world. oneshot.

summary. day by day, he’d fuck you like a man fucks his most expensive whore. a demon masquerading as a God, and you’ve come to realize that there is no true God who will punish him.

— word count: 2313. — prompts: mindbreak + size difference + degradation. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, threesome, biting), blood, religious themes, depersonalization. — art credit: @tyonoraora.

“How does it feel, little one?”

Little one—his voice is untouched silk, reserved only for when you’ve been good. Your heart pounds against its cage as if trying to reach him—it shows on your face. He lowly hums and buries his lips against the nape of your neck, easily enticing moans from your throat. The effect he has on you was disgusting at first, hearing remnants of praise for letting him violate you, seeing his body dwarf yours against the bed, feeling his powerful touch trap you against the sheets. You have no control, no freedom here—no one would come save you even if you screamed.

Sharp teeth graze the hollow of your neck, dangerously close to puncturing your jugular. Air’s trapped alongside your throat—you can’t breathe under the full weight of his body and the threat of death on your skin. Fingers hungrily knead and pull at your nipples, twisting when you don’t moan quite to his liking. “Answer me.” He hisses and nips at the skin beneath your ear.

Your throat dries up—his commanding tone enough to knock you down to Earth. “G-good—feels so good My Lord!” You bite back another moan, mind empty and gaze locked onto the snap of his hips against yours. You whimper, half wanting to look away from the way his cock disappears between your folds, the other compelling your hips to meet each thrust. Hips shamelessly and sloppily cant into his, the thrill of knowing that one wrong thrust and he could split you in two. Looking at it now, seeing his dick disappear between your thighs—it’s rapturous, addicting like ambrosia. Deep in the recesses of your mind, the thoughts strike you as foreign—that the image of dying by his hands is exhilarating. You want him to tear you to pieces, to use you as a cock sleeve until he has no more use for you.

Dying at his hands is all you’re good for now.

He says you should consider this an honor, a privilege to be personally fucked by your own God. You’re his favorite toy, he says—the other girls don’t come close, but you can’t help but question why you’re so special. Is it your defiance, your cunning? Is it how easy it is to strip it away, down to your fragile and wary bones? Or is because he gets off on how rewarding it was to break you, to hear your screams blossom from terrified to eager? Because he knows how to get under your skin, knows how to make you feel special, knows how to make you feel wanted as if you finally have a purpose in life, a purpose rewarded to you by the hands of a God himself.

Your purpose is to used.

A comfort, more than anything else. When did it happen exactly? The drugs had grown less potent, weren’t as needed when he was in the mood to take you without complaint. When was it? When did you become addicted to doing this act with him? When did you stop resisting and refusing refusing, stop kicking and biting and clawing at his thick skin? Resist has always been useless, when something so inhuman and inhumane heals before your eyes, when your hard works is all for naught. How do you fight a man who calls himself God? How do you fight a man who may as well be a God?

...You don’t.

“M-more, My Lord.” You shamelessly plead—anything to win his favor—and wrap your legs around his waist.

He stills, briefly, and watches you fall apart. “Oh?” Your whimpers of complaint are a serenade he finds himself indulging in. “How indecent. I taught you better than to beg, didn’t I?”

Your hearts hammers.

He sees the way your eyes widen and he smirks, content with the fear he’s struck into you. He’s made it clear he never liked needy women; you’re an exception only in that he enjoys fucking you most.

“Beg for me more, little dove.” He orders and begins gently rocking his hips. 

Desperate for the friction, you throw your head back and eagerly hum out countless, wordless prayers. This isn’t you anymore, not in the slightest; this is better in his eyes. And that is so much worse. But he is content, and so are you when his pace descends into harsh thrusts that leave your pussy throbbing. You take it like a bitch in heat, like a good girl, like a good concubine.

“Little dove...” You drink his praise up like water. His gaze travels downward, enraptured by how small you are beneath him. You could break in an instant. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” He asks—you waste no time anxiously nodding. “So full of my cock, it almost looks like it belongs there.” 

Tucked under his large body, pressed flush against the chest of a man who’d sooner leave you for dead — tears spill, but you’re overjoyed for once. He’s always loved making you cry, who are you to rob him of that? Even though your legs hurt from being pressed flat against your torso and your cunt is bruised bloody and raw, you weep and moan like you mean it. His arms are curled under your pretty legs like vipers, large hands pinning each of yours against the mattress as he buries his cock in your womb.

You can’t help but focus on the way his body presses against yours. His cock feels heavy between your folds, and he’s careful to keep his pace slow enough to drive you wild. Each harsh thrust is few and far in between, a perfect cacophony of impatience and frustration building a coil in your stomach. Dio runs his tongue over unused fangs, studying the way your features twist and contort with pleasure when his thick cock would press against your insides. He’s waiting, and you both know it; he wants to see you unfold, wants you see you whine and beg and claw at his arms for more. It’s a feeling unlike any other — his other women can’t compare, can’t beg like you can. You used to hate him, but he doesn’t see that hateful glint in your eyes anymore. You like this, you like being fucked — he’s finally broken you. This once prideful woman is his to do as he pleases with.

There’s no greater feeling in this world.

“Lean into me.” He orders like a king and you comply like a whore. Dainty arms weakly coil around his shoulders, not nearly long enough to touch each other; his body is too big, too monstrous, and the thrill of being torn apart by it only makes you want him more. He praises in hushed tones, allowing you a small, rare moment of bliss. Your face is always particularly cute when he utters such meaningless words to you, like a dog desperate for praise. It’s tempting to defile that innocence even further.

“Look how needy you’ve gotten, gripping my cock so tight I can hardly pull out,” he teases, lies right to your face. Unsheathing himself is as easy as you are, but he keeps that to himself—prefers to get your hopes up. You’re already whimpering at the sheer mention of how needy you’ve become; Gods, you’d feel so empty without him, but it isn’t your place to complain. He doesn’t have to please you, you only exist to pleasure him. And still, you can’t hide the disappointment on your features. Dio smirks condescendingly and utters assurances. “Stop making that face, little dove.” He jests and realigns himself to your cunt, not even so much as a warning when he slams into you once again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And you did — your eyes roll back into your head when his hips slam into yours. Fangs part your flesh as easily as meat, and droplets of blood quickly well from the incision, but he doesn’t care to lap them up; you always did look better coated in blood. You hadn’t even noticed his stand, The World hovers over the mattress by your head, its cock free from pants you didn’t know could be removed. His dick, thick and grey, is as large as your Lord’s; you already knew it was to go in your mouth, you just weren’t sure if it’d fit. The image alone made you want to come apart, it was already taking all your willpower to not scream with each thrust into your little cunt.

“Suck.” Dio pulls away from your neck long enough to bark out an order. That simple command is all it took to strip you of dignity. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another cock to please, would you?” He caresses your hips, his thumb sweeping over the raw flesh he’d gripped onto in his earlier reverie. You wince, but maintain eye contact—he prefers it like that. “Look how needy you are, little dove. Sometimes you just need the extra attention, don’t you?” He coos. “Need another set of hands on you, more skin to get your hands on.” Breathily, you nod and lean into his touch. There’s no use hesitating or complaining; you’ve turned a new leaf, after all. You’re a good girl now, and good girls don’t talk back.

Fangs return to your neck, digging deeper, harsher this time. You whimper, the new sensation of pain overwhelming when your thighs were already so chaffed and your cunt already so bruised, skin still raw from this morning’s session. But your mouth fell open anyways, the underside of your tongue pressed taut against your lower lip, ready to accommodate The World’s shaft. The creature grunted lowly, more akin to the growl of a wolf in heat, and slid himself into your tiny mouth. The feeling of being filled from top to bottom was so intense, so overpowering you feared your jaw would come apart. The World was markedly more gentle than his user, but it was hard to miss the excitement rolling off his body like waves; he’s not being gentle for your sake, he’s trying to hold himself back lest his length rip through the back of your throat. He’s excited, even if you can hardly hear his moans.

Dio chuckles but makes no further comment, too busy suckling on your sore flesh. The World stares down at you, locking eyes for only a moment before bucking into your throat. Your tongue instinctively swirls around the tip, drool soon pooling beneath your nose. Deep growls escape the Stand’s lips, and Dio feels every second of it. His cock is buried deep in your cunt and he can feel every lick and suckle of your lips.

Dio licks his lips, already feeling the bulge of The World’s cock inflate the throat he’s mercilessly sucked on. The chuckle that rumbles from his chest and into yours would be enough to send your body shaking if he hadn’t pinned it to the bed with his own. “What a well-trained whore.”

“Mm—”, you struggle to breathe out a raspy response, hardly able to formulate words when your thoughts are filled with cum and his thrusts refuse to relent. His stand’s dick press against your insides, blocking air from entering your jugular or from leaving your throat. The soft, rubbery skin of the stand’s balls stuff your nostrils — you nearly lose yourself in the bliss of being treated like a lifeless fuck toy. You could die right now and they might keep fucking you, and that alone fills you with joy. To be used until the very end... you could think of no better use for the new life Dio has given you. But, he doesn’t plan on letting you die just yet; you still have many more uses left in you. 

“Oh? Are you going to cum again? So soon?” His tone is mocking near the end, and he squeezes your hips. Fingernails rake closer to your inner thighs, coaxing you to tell him what he wants to hear. The World leans back slightly to relieve some pressure from your nostrils and throat, and you shamelessly fill your lungs.

“I’ll, aah—” A moan catches in your throat, and his Stand gives you enough space to speak. “I’ll cum as many times as you like!” There’s a spark of boredom in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly you wonder if you’d imagined it. You...you hope you imagined it, and a feeling of realization and disgust washes over you like a cold wave. You want to cover yourself, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and die, anything to escape the way he looked at you just now. Like you’re trash on the street. A charity case he picked up out of pity. A pet he’ll discard at the drop of a hat.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, and before you can ask, your mouth is stuffed again. He watches your shoulders squeeze together and your throat bulge from the sheer size of his Stand. The tip of The World’s cock pushes against the back of your throat, pinning your head to the mattress—you would have thrown up if Lord Dio hadn’t train you so well.

“Then cum.” He orders, stuffing your mouth and your cunt full. “Cum as many times as I want. Cum until I’m done with you.”

You obediently nod. You can’t see his face anymore; whether that’s a blessing or a curse escapes you, so you stop thinking and simply oblige. Your past self would be laughing at you. Chastising you, encouraging you bite down on his cock and fight back. What happened to that girl, you wonder? Did Lord Dio tire of her? Did he dispose of her? Will he dispose of you too?

What a terrifying devotion. When did you lose yourself?

When did he become your world?

dear-yandere 2019-2020, all rights reserved.

[dsmpkinfessions]

auauauauauauaua GROWLS BARKS SCREAMS BITES JUMPS AROUND EATS DIRT CLAWS AT THE WALLS /POS - tommy👹

.

[musicprincess655]

It hurts.

Ithurtsithurtsithurts.

Atsushi can’t stop screaming through the pain. His whole body is on fire, and he can’t escape it. He barely hears Akutagawa shouting at him, asking him what’s wrong. He barely notices when his face is shoved into the bed, when Akutagawa climbs on his back and holds him down.

He knew what this was, didn’t he? Before his entire world was flames, was embers, was pain? What had he known? What does he know?

No. 6, a part of his brain offers, one that isn’t as affected by the pain, one he used to use as a detective. You saw this in No. 6.

The wasp on the back of the neck. The corpse that was too shriveled and old to match the only person it could be.

“Hold still.”

Atsushi clenches his hands into the sheets, gripping them for dear life.

“Good.”

A cold line cuts into the back of Atsushi’s neck, but he doesn’t scream again. He bites hard on the blanket, gritting his teeth as Akutagawa reaches under his skin and pulls, and when he lets go, the pain finally stops.

Atsushi’s muscles go limp, exhausted from the panic, strung out and finished. He vaguely hears Akutagawa ask once again what this is, but he doesn’t have the ability to answer. He’s just so tired.

So tired, in fact, that he doesn’t even flinch when the door bangs open and Gin returns with Dazai and Chuuya. He does, however, hear Dazai accuse Akutagawa of somehow doing this to Atsushi, and despite their differences, Atsushi will not allow Akutagawa to answer for something he didn’t do.

“Saved me,” Atsushi mumbles, trying to force it out through numb lips. “He saved me.”

Atsushi passes out so completely after that he doesn’t even feel Akutagawa climb off his back.

***

The next time Atsushi wakes, it’s to a furious burning in his throat. He needs water. He needs water, throat so dry it might tear just from swallowing. He stumbles to his feet, blanket sliding off his shoulders, and realizes that he’s still on the bed.

Gin is stretched out on the couch, fast asleep, but there’s no sign of Akutagawa anywhere. Atsushi doesn’t have much time to worry about that, though. He has to find water.

Atsushi walks on unsteady feet towards the door, rubbing at the bandages wrapping his throat, but a flash of white in the corner of his eye stops him. He slowly creeps towards the cracked mirror hung on the wall, and reels back in shock.

His hair is shocked white, only one streak in the front remaining of the color it had once been. Starting under his left eye, a pink line like a scar starts, and Atsushi can see a peak of it by his collar where it must wrap around the back of his neck before it dips under his shirt.

Exhaustion and thirst forgotten, Atsushi rips the bandages off, his shirt right behind, trying to track the line down his body. It cuts across his stomach, uncomfortably close to the scars he still carries on his ribs, the ones he can’t touch, can barely look at without feeling bile rise in his stomach, and continues under the edge of his pants. Atsushi wrenches them down, trips getting his left leg out when he realizes the scar wraps itself around his thigh once and then around and around his calf and ankle.

Finally, bare but for his underwear, Atsushi takes in his appearance and tries to convince himself this is a dream.

His hair is white now, practically glowing in the darkness. The scar – is it a scar? It doesn’t hurt, but what else could mark his skin like this? – twists down his body, doubling back on itself around his shoulder blade, coiling a death grip around his leg. The only thing that remains is his eyes, still purple and gold and just as inhuman as they’ve always been. Now the rest of him matches. Atsushi barely looks like a real person anymore. He crumples to his knees, scar resting at odd angles with itself.

Atsushi has never been vain. It’s never been something he could afford, not with the scars the orphanage left littering his body, not with his scrawny frame from years of hunger, not with eyes that had made everyone call him freak and sometimes monster growing up, but even still, to change so drastically in the blink of an eye, to have to alter the very image of himself he holds in his mind all at once…

He can’t breathe.

“This is why I can’t stand you, you know.”

Of course, of course Akutagawa is here now. Atsushi glares up at him from the floor, wrapping his arms around himself like he might be able to protect himself from Akutagawa’s harsh, cold gaze.

“You’ve got this bleeding fucking heart and nothing to back it up,” Akutagawa continues. “That’s not something you can survive with. It’s going to get you killed, and the only reason it hasn’t yet is because people have always protected you. But this is a world where only the strong survive. You’re weak. You’ll always be weak.”

The thing is, Akutagawa’s right. Atsushi isn’t brave, not really. Sometimes it’s more like he’s just too stupid for his own good, too reckless, too quick to act and too slow to think. Sometimes, he sees someone who needs his help, or a question he can’t keep on his tongue, and he pursues before he can consider all the reasons he really shouldn’t. That’s not bravery, but it is all Atsushi has, sometimes.

Atsushi is a creature of anxieties. Maybe it’s inevitable from the way he grew up, or maybe it’s something that just lives inside him regardless of his circumstances. His whole life has been a series of repressing them, a deep hole of fears bitten back and shoved down, bitten back and shoved down, stifled until it kills him. And then a tiger roars free.

“Fuck. You,” Atsushi snarls, picking himself up, standing on his own two feet to face Akutagawa down.

“You’re growing a spine now?” Akutagawa scoffs. “I’m not interested in your theatrics now, Jinko-”

He cuts off with a cough when Atsushi shoves him against the wall, and Atsushi finally realizes two things.

One, Akutagawa might be taller now by an inch, but Atsushi outweighs him, because scrawny as he is, Akutagawa is still smaller, only the leanest of muscle covering sharp bones, and even though Atsushi doesn’t know how to fight in the slightest, if there are no weapons involved, if he fights Akutagawa for real, there’s a chance he could win.

Two, even if he can’t, it’s not actually going to stop him.

Atsushi gets one good punch in before Akutagawa even sees him coming, knocking his chin back so hard his head slams against the wall. Akutagawa snaps his eyes back forward, teeth bared and feral, and goes for Atsushi for real, nails like claws reaching for his face, and…

Atsushi’s back hits the ground hard where he’s been flung. Akutagawa hasn’t moved from the wall, because Gin is suddenly in his face, furious for having been woken up. Atsushi and Akutagawa both watch her with bated breath.

“Are you two serious?” she snaps. She points at Atsushi. “You’ve been in a coma for three days, and the first thing you do is start throwing punches? And you,” she continues, rounding on Akutagawa. “Stop picking fights! You got hit and it was your fault.”

“But he-!”

“He was-!”

“I do not care,” she growls. “Since neither of you can be trusted on your own, you’re both coming with me. And put some pants on.”

Atsushi bothers to feel a little bad about disturbing her. Even if Akutagawa deserves to get punched, Gin seems to really need her sleep, and he didn’t actually mean to wake her up.

Gin hauls them both up to Dazai and Chuuya’s door. It takes a few rounds of furious knocking, but none of them want to open the door without permission. Atsushi might not understand how Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship works, but he does know there’s a good chance of getting an eyeful of something he doesn’t want to see if they just barge in.

Chuuya finally answers the door, obviously blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Nakajima’s awake,” Gin says. Chuuya just nods, waving them all inside.

The room Dazai and Chuuya share is smaller than the one next door, but without all the clutter, it also seems reasonably spacious for two people. Atsushi plunks himself down on the couch, and Gin very pointedly sits between him and Akutagawa. Akutagawa is still rubbing at his jaw, bruise blooming purple and red, and Atsushi is still feeling vindictive enough to think good in his general direction.

Chuuya sits on the other couch, facing them across a coffee table, and Dazai joins them, blanket around his shoulders covering his hastily-applied bandages.

“So, Nakajima,” Chuuya starts. “What the hell happened?”

It’s an obvious first question, but it’s not one Atsushi has quite considered until now. It takes him a minute to even gather his thoughts enough to answer.

“There was a wasp in the back of my neck,” Atsushi says. “Akutagawa cut it out before it killed me.”

“So it would have killed you?” Chuuya asks.

“How did you know it was a wasp?” Dazai asks, curiosity evident in his voice. “We couldn’t tell from the pupa. You haven’t even seen it, have you?”

“I haven’t seen this one,” Atsushi says, and though both siblings and Chuuya suck in breath at that, Dazai doesn’t look very surprised. He probably already calculated a few steps ahead. He’s probably even farther along than Atsushi. “We had a case back in No. 6. A woman died mysteriously. Her corpse was old and shriveled, but her ID showed she was a young woman. There was a dead wasp in the back of her collar. We thought it might have been some kind of weird allergic reaction at the time, but now…maybe it actually came out of her, and it got stuck in her collar.”

“So there are killer wasps now,” Dazai muses.

“What do you think?” Chuuya asks.

“More than you,” Dazai says.

“I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t know yet,” Dazai admits. “Even I need a minute to think things through, Chuuya.”

“Fine, go scheme it out,” Chuuya sighs. He promptly ignores Dazai to focus on Atsushi again. “Is this going to happen again?”

Atsushi doesn’t know the answer to that. He hopes not. He doesn’t think he can bear that level of pain again.

“Is he possibly immune now?” Gin suggests. “He looks different.”

“To parasitic wasps?” Chuuya asks. “I guess anything’s possible, but can you be immune to that?”

“This might only be a problem inside No. 6,” Akutagawa says. “We haven’t heard of anything like this happening, and Kyouka would have told us if she had. If it’s only happening inside No. 6, maybe it’s only affecting people there.”

“Nakajima is the only one who spent a lot of time there,” Gin agrees, clearly considering.

“It does have No. 6 written all over it,” Chuuya says, face gone dark. Atsushi wants to ask. Badly. He’s just scared enough of Chuuya still that he doesn’t.

“Then for now, we can say it’s not our problem,” Akutagawa says. “If Jinko’s the only one affected, and we already cut it out of him, we’re all safe.”

“What about everyone still in No. 6?” Atsushi asks.

“What about them?”

“They don’t all deserve to die!” Atsushi protests. “My dad’s still in there! My friends! What if this gets them next?”

“No. 6 deserves to come down,” Akutagawa says. “And besides, what do you expect us to do?”

“Maybe there’s a cure,” Atsushi says. “I survived. If we could get a message inside for what to do-”

“Unnecessarily risky,” Akutagawa cuts him off. “I’m not sticking my neck out for anyone in No. 6.”

“That’s enough for now,” Chuuya says before Atsushi can snap back. “It’s late, everyone’s tired. Get some sleep, and we can deal with it tomorrow.”

Akutagawa pulls Atsushi back before they go back inside their room. Gin throws them a dangerous look, but lets them go.

“That’s two you owe me,” Akutagawa says. “I’m not saving your life a third time.”

Atsushi doesn’t understand Akutagawa at all, doesn’t understand his view of life as a zero-sum game, only helping someone because it might benefit you, this bizarre system of owing and being owed. But at least he can understand the rules Akutagawa operates by.

“One.”

“What?”

“You saved me from No. 6 because I saved you when we were kids,” Atsushi says. “I only owe you one.”

Akutagawa blinks, eyes narrowing in anger.

“Thanks for saving me, for what it’s worth,” Atsushi says.

“Jinko-”

“My name is Atsushi.”

Akutagawa looks like he swallowed a lemon.

“Jinko,” Akutagawa says more emphatically. “Never thank me for that again. Not that I’ll ever give you the chance.”

They both return to the room, Akutagawa to his couch, Atsushi to the pile of blankets he’s been slowly collecting with Kyouka’s help to make the floor more comfortable. It’s an uneasy silence they fall into, but they’re both alive, and they both have enough to think about that they don’t go for each other’s throats again that night.