#The Nightmare is about to begin... again!

[hattersrabbit]

LOVE, ME NORMALLY

yandere batfamily x neglected! rogue! reader | sfw

CW! female reader, meta reader, hurt comfort, manipulation, hurt no comfort, overprotective batfam, misunderstandings, miscommunication, Timothy 'Stalker' Drake, all PLATONIC relationships, reader is described with having hair, yandere aspects near the end (srry possibly part 2 lol)

Summary! You were always the normal one. Another one of Bruce's flings children, who hid you from him and he was distant despite grabbing you the moment you were known. You were normal until this terrifying power appeared. And now their acting like your loved when you finally leave.

You had a relatively normal childhood. Just you and your hard working mother. A woman of high standing who would bring you to fancy balls and such.

Never had a father you realized at some point. You asked and never got an answer. Then death struck and your mother was gone.

Dead in the bed beside you. The one time you slept with her and hugged her because of a nightmare.

The media going wild when it was revealed that Bruce Wayne; the prince of Gotham had another child.

The man seemed to rush to your side. Icy blue eyes that were cold and dark as they laid eyes on your. Holding a kind hand out to you which you took hesitantly.

You had a father.

And when you arrived at the manor you lost your father once again. You showed your normalcy, and your siblings shared that same thought.

Normal is what you were. Too normal.

Duke, albeit the most sane of them all was distant. Holding a secret, and in fact they all were. Duke running out in the morning was suspicious to you.

Even in the mornings he seemingly ignored you. A quick wave of the hand that deemed to dismiss you than a greeting.

Your father was distant. He didn't come up really in the morning, and when you got home from school he wasn't around. At night he completely distant.

Duke was already in bed after dinner most times.

The entire family, your siblings were distant. Most turning a blind eye to you. There was always some kind of awareness to you guys. Almost like they didn't know how to talk to you.

It took some detective work but you grew to understand the secret that they held. The secret Alfred didn't share with you. A man who was kind but was just as distant.

Never in your god damn life ever expect everyone in the damn family to be Batman and Robin and former Robins.

Dick as the older brother was warm in the beginning. It almost seemed fake, and he was nice to you. He still is but once again; that theme of distance. He was always busy, and especially most of his attention stayed on Damian.

Robin as he was called was always irrational about your appearance at the manor. After all, he was supposed to be the only blood son. It was extremely hard talking to him, and he didn't make it easy with his hard attitude.

You'll give him that you guys shared a bright conversations about animals. He caught you sketching one time and he observed it. He hadnt said anything.

You have no idea if he liked it. He made no indication he liked it, so you only hoped.

Jason Todd seemed indifferent. He was rugged and beaten down by the Joker. You two were the farthest when it came to normalcy. You grew up in some luxury and new happiness. The Red Hood; him grew up in Crime Alley and died a violent death.

This disconnection proved to be both on your sides. Neither of you knew how to talk to one another.

Tim was...Weird. He observed you creepily, while nice and he was busy. He kept a sort of distance to not let you be suspicious which you did. Sometimes you would catch him swiftly walking past your room.

Odd, but you left it alone. Once again distance and wouldn't really allow you to ask him why he was being so weird with you.

Stephanie was some you found you could easily talk to, but there was unwillingness to share. She too grew up with a hard family life, while you had something good. If there's one thing you guys shared it was daddy issues, but that was all.

You were a simple girl that was a little in high standing thanks to your mother's job. Once again the distance to share was limited. Once more there wasn't anything to share.

She and Tim were close. So she too was looking at you albeit a little different now.

Cassandra was...you didn't know how to talk to her. She stare at you with blank eyes. Observing you in a less creepy way than Tim and annoying way (Steph).

Observing and seeing how uncomfortable she made you. Making an effort but once again there was a semblance to hide things from you. Like the past she's killed people before, and that scared you. She turned a new leaf and she was strong.

Her and Bruce's relationship in particular sparked a jealous mark in your chest. The want to be held and spoke to soft. Instead you got a father who didn't speak to you and was too busy too.

Everyone, even Alfred who cleaned up their messes, was too busy for you.

To you, no one noticed your sadness and eventual departure emotionally. No more tries in talking to them, or hanging out in the living room. No more trying to help out Alfred, and no more waves to Duke who was once again rushing to the basement.

You had no idea if they knew you knew. Did Alfred know that you knew? To you it wouldn't have made a difference because you'd only get in the way.

And this power you had was scary.

You're first kiss with a boy and you could have killed him.

In the hallway of the school. With no cameras and skipping class. With the one person you understood you; that being your boyfriend.

A man that didn't neglect you. Treated you like it was normal to be normal. Who wasn't a vigilante fighting people in the streets.

Hands on your hips and pulling you close. With a smile on your face you kissed him sweetly.

And then he went rigid. You couldn't pull away from him. Opening yours eyes you could seeing his skin becoming paler and sickly. Blue veins driving up his skin.

Almost as if glue was sticking you guys together. A rushing of power going through you and you couldn't stop it. It was nice being touched like this; but no. Not this way.

You pushed him away. Your back slamming into locker and he dropping to the floor. His expression blank and close to death. You couldn't help but scream.

Just as teachers were looking what happened you ran out of the school and to somewhere else entirely. You're whole body felt different. Faster and stronger than ever.

Using your sweater you tried to cover your body in the winter weather. Tears falling down your cheeks. Pulsing lips that ached with need.

You didn't know what would happen when you got home. What would they think? If they even cared? Duke was a meta, but he knew how to use your powers. This ability appeared out of nowhere.

If you touched them then you could kill them. You didn't want that at all even if your relationships were strained.

Using your phone you could see a white stream in your hair. Touching it you felt disoriented. Confused because what the hell was even happening to you.

A ding alerted you. A text from your father asking if you were at school. Missing from the school premise. Your blood ran cold at the reveal because what could you say.

You didn't answer and only made your way home.

A home that never really was a home to you.

You would leave because how else could you live. It was obvious touch was a no no. You could kill people and you didn't want that. You only hoped your boyfriend was alive.

God you pleaded that he lived.

You didn't go through the front door. Climbing in through the window was quite easy.

Grabbing gloves, and every piece of clothing that would cover you foot to toe. You felt hot and horrible. The breeze on your skin to never touch, nor would you touch anyone ever again.

No bare skin against anyone ever.

You heard the voices of Tim and Bruce talking frantically. Your heart shook wildly. Eyes looking between the door and the windows.

"He was found gasping for life! And she was missing from class." Tim's voice wasn't quiet. You held your breath trying to stabilize it. You didn't want to be caught.

You wondered why they suddenly cared.

Of course the first time you skip class is the moment their alarmed. Not sticking to your normalcy wasn't normal for you. You were supposed to be normal.

"You think she's a meta?" Bruce asked behind your door.

"More and more people are meta. Born to normal parents but end up having powers. I always felt an inkling about her, and her mother."

"Her mother?"

"She said she died beside her. Hugged her when they fell asleep, and in the morning she was dead. That's what [ ] reported. It's why I told everyone to keep sort of a distance. It could affect us, and her too."

You gasped and back on your mouth you clamped your hand down.

Tim knew?

He figured it out before you even knew. Looking at your hands you realized in horror that you killed your beloved mother. Tears welled up in your eyes.

Sure your power was terrifying but neglecting you in a way. Starved of connection and touch from your own family. It was bitter but you couldn't blame Tim from saying such a thing.

"They haven't found her. She read my text but hasn't texted back."

That's when you knew you needed to leave. Damn footsteps rang hard on the wood. Just as you swung a bag on your shoulder and out the window the door slammed open.

Tim and Bruce calling your name as you dropped from the windows. Tears in your eyes as you dropped to the ground and ran. Running far and away from this place.

They were right to stay away from you. It made so much sense. Waking up that morning feeling more refreshed than ever and then she was dead in the bed.

It was you that killed her. You could have killed your boyfriend that most likely didn't want you anymore. You could have killed all of them.

You didn't blame them.

Not at all.

You understood why.

School was over and the day was setting. Vigilantes were out and bout soon. The Batman would be upon you and you knew it.

They knew it.

They must have.

You were going to hide, even if it got you killed. A being of an ability that only killed people around you.

Never to touch anyone ever again.

The large screens in Gotham already altering of what happened at the school. Your face plastered on it along with your boyfriend.

He survived.

Feeling betrayed he said. Scared of you, and yet saying you were the sweetest girl ever to exist.

The entire Wayne Family underfire and continous questions about you. People calling for your arrest for almost killing an innocent boy. You didn't blame them, but the feel of a cold prison isn't something you wanted.

The manor was a cold prison. No love and affection from them. Afraid of you and this power.

You wondered what Duke felt about you. He was just as distant, yet being like you. However, his power wasn't destructive like you. The slightest touch from you would cause death.

You couldn't pull away anytime it happened.

Your strive for touch was a disease, and needed to be exempt from having such a luxury.

It was night.

You made yourself scarce. At least tried too, especially when your family were vigilantes; for the night belong to them.

"There she is!" You huffed as another goon from the Penguin tried to snuff you out. You knew it was a matter of time until they found you. No doubt Barbara was on top of making sure you were found.

Tim surely wasn't.

"Come quietly." The man spoke lowly. Catching sight how all of you was basically covered. Not a lick of skin other than your face. You're also toxic too. A mocking reminder of what led to this.

"You'll die if you touch me!" You scrambled to get away. Tears flowing out of your eyes. Anxiously looking around for your siblings, or your father.

"That's what we're counting on. Not me of course; but that you have the ability to destroy anyone. Poor girl, everyone's after you."

It was true. There was no one for you and no body to save you. You weren't to be cared for. In reality, you weren't supposed to have existed. Your mother having hid your existence from your father. Then this power appeared, and then he was the Batman.

There were plenty of reasons to not want you. A monster, and a weapon as this man said.

A tranquilizer gun in his hand. A foot on your stomach and holding you down. You struggled.

If you touched him then he'd go down. But you wouldn't be able to pull away and he would die. You didn't want him to die. Surely, yes using for you reasons that were dark, but you shared your father's beliefs in a way.

This power made you dangerous.

You couldn't go killing people.

Society of Gotham already didn't like you. Wishing for you to be taken away, probably Black Gate, and held prison. Such a dangerous simply by touch was horrifying for the public.

And you caused your family pain. They were being asked questions about you. Surely they knew nothing about you because of this power.

Maybe it would be better to end it here. Get the needle of the tranq deep in your neck. Maybe then you'll die and bleed out.

However, the goddess of life and or god of death weren't on your side. Light broke up the darkness. The foot crushing your stomach was gone.

The slam of metal meeting flesh was loud. Bright lights lowered and suddenly gloved hands were holding you. Immediately however your pushed them away. Rolling onto your stomach and on your feet.

Horror in your gut.

Signal and Black Bat right in front of you. Both eyes covered, and no mouth for Black Bat.

"[ ]." Signal, no, Duke spoke to you. A trembling voice. Watching how you backed yourself in the corner of the alley.

"Go away!" You pleaded. Pulling the scarf to cover your face more. Everything to cover you more. Feeling so claustrophobic in these clothes but people would die.

Cassandra and Duke would die if they touched you.

"We found her." Black Bat, or Cassandra. Her voice proved it. It was slightly shaky as she relayed that they have had you.

You were a danger, but the tone didn't make sense to you. Why? Why was it sad and concerned.

Why did Duke step forward without a care in the world. A bright light twinkling at his fingertips. Showing you, and yet you looked away.

"Get away from me-"

"I'm just like you, and I treated you terribly. Ignoring your waves, and above all not meeting you in solidarity." His voice was shaky. You didn't want to listen, because why did he care now.

There was a reason for the neglect, and it was because you were a monster. The slightest of touch could kill him. You didn't wish for that.

"Come home." A hand pulled at your jacket. Covered arms hugging you tightly. In horror, Damian hugging you. "Stop-"

"Never. Not until your home." Nightwing, Dick was smiling. You didn't like that smile. It was something else. "No one else will get you if you don't come home, now." You shook despite the fact his haunting eyes were covered by white lenses.

"Come home?! Why would I after all-"

"I'm sorry for that. I should have been more understanding. We all should have." Along side Red Hood was Red Robin. Jason and Tim looking at you. Feeling a stare.

"We all do, cutie." You jumped in Damian's tight hold. Spoiler, Stephanie poking your cheek with her gloved finger. "Oh, don't run away from us." She giggled behind her mask.

"The old man would be sad." Jason spoke lowly. "You wouldn't want that?"

"Yes exactly." Stephanie agreed. A sly look in those eyes of her. Sickeningly sweet, and toxic.

You blinked.

Yes, you would make Bruce sad. After all, he was your father that you longed to meet. He enthusiasticly picked you up, and then pulled away because of Tim's suggestion.

"It's Red Robin's fault." Damian own hands moving and playing with a strand of your hair. The white part of your hair. "How elegant, sister."

"Stop-"

"Stop what?" Dick giggled. "We're completely sorry for how we've treated you. Tim didn't expect you to find out so soon."

"Or the fact that your power manifested like that. Who knew some teenage hormones flared like that." Tim looked at you. It was familiar and it was still that creepy look. "I'm so sorry. I should have been more forceful with the research, but i couldn't defile your body by taking DNA. I couldn't do that while you were unconscious, especially when I wasn't exactly sure how your powers worked."

Dick's covered hands moved towards your face. You shook to get away but Damian, and Stephanie kept you close. Keeping you from getting away. The strength of yours that you newly gained made you able to twist your body.

"Oh no no. Don't run away from us." Your oldest brother cupped your face. "We're family, dear sister. I've lost too many of them to the darkness. We've all bounced back, and B would cry if you left."

"So come home." Cassandra begged quietly.

"Don't make Father wait, sister."

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When Bob realizes he's in love with you, and it sucks even more.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 3/?

Part 1 // Part 2

It took you a while before you figured out your true feelings for Bob. Unfortunately for him, he knew from the beginning.

Seriously. From the moment he laid eyes on you in that death trap where you all almost suffered a violent, fiery end, he was gone.

And, let's be honest, terrified.

You were beautiful, formidable, and watched him with this calculating stare that looked like a scowl if he caught it at the right moment. And he understood why. You were keeping your guard up until you were sure who he was and whether you could trust him.

Whatever this feeling brewing was, he knew it was unusual. He knew it was precious. And he knew it was dangerous. How did he know? Well, it was the only thing that hadn't made him feel like utter shit in years.

And, despite everything, he knew that things like happiness and hope were only tools that The Void could use against him. And maybe Void was right — he didn't deserve anything. At least, not anything good.

And you were good. You had a laugh that danced across the room, a sharp wit, and a bravery that he could only dare to dream about possessing one day. He watched you for months, carefully. And then you started talking to him.

It freaked him out. He didn't want it. He didn't want to get closer to you, because he didn't trust himself to handle it right. He couldn't handle anything right. So he withdrew into himself, trying not to give you any reason to want to talk to him more.

But damn it, you kept trying. And then, that one day, he had to give you a reason. He said he was scared. Of you. Which is only half true, because he knew all you really wanted to do was help people. And you quickly proved yourself by helping him, shaking hands and cementing a friendship.

And suddenly, his new family became something more. The others cared about him, looked after him, helped him learn how to live again. But you soon became the thing he lived for. He looked for you every time he walked into a room. He listened to your radio updates on the comms, and he stayed up on nights when you were out on missions. He never said anything to you when you returned — he just wanted to hear the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, signalling that you were back. (And alive, more importantly.)

You snuck him out to the movies that one time, and he hated it. He couldn't stop thinking of it as a date, which it definitely wasn't, but it gave him this horrific feeling of not knowing how to act. He looked around the room to see if he could get cues on what other couples were doing around them. But then you'd squeezed his arm, and he didn't feel so stressed. (Actually, maybe he didn't hate it at all.)

The nightmares and tiptoeing around his own emotions eased up around you. There was an ease he hadn't felt in...well, ever. And when those old horrors did bubble up, you were always there. Soon, he couldn't imagine how it could have ever been any different.

So yeah, he loved you quickly. But he didn't even know that's what it was until one night, when you'd fallen asleep on the couch. He knew you hated sleeping like that — it made your neck stiff — so he nudged you awake.

You woke up, looked towards him, and smiled. Your eyes were still lidded with sleep, you brushed your hair from your face, and you said, voice throaty, "Hmm. Hey, Bob."

And, honestly, that was it. Nothing profound or anything. He just watched you wake up, like he'd done before. But that was it. He was yours.

Or at least, he would have been. The next day, he walked you to the jet and took your hand in his, because for the first time, he was worried that there was a slight chance you wouldn't come back. You were more than capable, he knew that. But bad things happened to people he cared about — he didn't dare think about what could happen to someone he loved.

But he didn't need to think about it. His nightmares did that for him. That night, his spinning mind was quickly invaded by him. And he brought out the big guns: visions of you, bruised, beaten, brutal fantasies that dripped in blood.

And, for good measure, he even made sure Bob remembered what he'd already done to you during his brief life as Sentry, when he's easily toppled each Thunderbolt, including you, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you away like you were made of nothing.

He woke up yelling, covered in sweat and the sheets torn beneath his hands. There was no way he was sleeping after that. He waited until the sun rose and he heard the first clangs of life in the kitchen. The others were up, but you weren't. You weren't sleeping — you were hiding out in your room, consumed by your new revelation.

You didn't want to lose Bob. Let's face it, you needed him. Just because he told you to be careful, that doesn't mean he loved you too. So then what? You profess your new feelings to someone who's emotionally delicate, they freak out, and the most important connection in your life is gone, just like that?

You decided you would go find him. You could both read each other easily, and if you could just look at his face, you'd know if you were crazy or if there was something there.

Bob, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, listening to Bucky recap the night's antics, but not really listening at all. He was waiting for you to walk through the door, to see your face. If he could see your face, he would know what to do.

Then, you walked into the room. You were tired, wired, and weren't feeling like yourself at all. You looked at Bob. He looked at you. For a second, you thought he was going to cross the room and come to you. If he'd done that, you would have thrown yourself at him, asking him what it all means. But he didn't. He looked at you, then looked away. He ignored you completely, walking towards his spot at the window, and picking up his book.

You must be crazy.

Bob sat in his chair, the book trembling between his hands. He could have torn it in two right then if he wanted to. You'd stood there, so beautiful and brilliant, and he loved you. He loved you, and he couldn't. He wouldn’t let himself. He’d lost his family, his future, his sanity, and himself. He’d just about managed to forgive himself for all that, but this would be the end of him if it ended badly.

He's crazy for even thinking he deserved any part of you.

Next: When you and Bob tried to stay away from each other and failed miserably.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `sign of the times, dean winchester ༘♡

summary: dean likes to send you signs beyond the grave that he's still thinking of you. always. word count: 535 pairing: dean winchester x reader now playing;｡･:*♫♪ sign of the times - harry styles notes: no dialogue, no plot & story. something a lil different to the usual

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Sometimes, the end of a life is only the beginning of a different kind of love—one that lingers, unseen, but never unfelt.

Yet the world keeps spinning. Sunrise to sunset, birds chirping and the sun shining as if nothing ever happened.

Nothing ever changed.

You feel him in the quiet moments. In the rustle of his old flannel that slid off the back of the chair without reason, in the sudden change of song on the radio when you listened to anything other than dad rock. The way it lit a fire inside you knowing that he’s here, somewhere.

That was the thing that made you hang on, just for a little longer. Those fleeting moments where he’s showing you, making you believe you’re going crazy. But you know one fact, is that if Dean were to ever die, he’d do everything he could within his power to show you he still cares. To let you know you have never once left his mind. You’re too entangled in each others souls to allow that to happen.

Grief has carved you out. Emptied you. In the hollow space it’s left behind, something stirred. Something gentle yet familiar.

It could be love. Or a memory. Or a part of him too stubborn to leave you completely.

The dreams were—are, a different story. Nightmares. Nightmares fueled by violence and blood. Luckily, your dreams outweighed your nightmares. The ones where you’d brush hands, sneaky smirks when he caught you looking. His lips lingering above yours, plump and blushed as his green eyes fluttered shut just before those lips met yours.

He was still loving you in the only way he could now. In shadows, signs and silence.

And then came the butterfly.

The first time it landed on the windshield of the Impala. Just as you were about to turn the key in the ignition.

Orange and black, wings like stained glass. Delicate and featherlight. It stayed momentarily before lifting off and drifting away into the morning air.

The second time, it waited atop the roof of the Impala. Still and solemn like it had been sent from above. A message.

By the third time, you stopped questioning it.

Maybe it was just a butterfly. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Texas is a resting and rebirth place for Monarchs. Every fall, millions of monarchs pass through Texas on their way to Mexico. And in the spring, they return north again. One journey ends, and another quietly begins. It makes sense, somehow, that here, where everything had broken, something may just begin once more.

That was the feeling. The feeling of being renewed. To be known. Loved.

That pull in your chest like a wire still strung between two hearts. Dean’s voice echoes somewhere deep in that memory.

There was no grave to sit by. No headstone to talk to.

Dean’s spirit was in the air. In the warmth of your skin when you closed your eyes. In the songs that you blared in the kitchen, pretending everything is okay.

Although he was truly gone, you never felt alone. Like his spirit had died.

Because Dean Winchester never did anything halfway.

Not even loving you.

Or even after death.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton is beginning to realize that his child is becoming just like him as they grow up. How would they feel about it?

Undertale Sans - That's a bit of an electroshock for Sans to actually start to care again about little things. He loves his child, but he doesn't want them to turn out like he did. So he puts some effort into becoming a better version of himself, so he doesn't feel bad that his kid chose him as a model. Well, it would work better if Papyrus didn't send Toriel to check on him every time he's cleaning something in the house because he's worried Sans is stressed about something and resigned to cleaning to think about something else, and so that must be something truly horrible.

Undertale Papyrus - He's flattered, and he doesn't see any problem with that. Papyrus asks Sans to make his kid a battle body so the two of them can match and save the day together. Every hero needs a sidekick after all and his child can perfectly be that for now. These two are going to be proud and loud and confident forever! Well... Papyrus is not ready for the day his teen kid will call him cringe and run away, hiding their face from him lol. Papyrus is going to be heartbroken.

Underswap Sans - He's walking in the street, holding his kid's hand. The kid is pulling him everywhere like a puppet and won't stop screaming, jumping, and running around him. Blue has a headache. Please, make it stop. This kid has way too much energy. Even his energy can't catch up to them. Is this what Honey had to suffer his entire life? Damn, no wonder why he never wants to go hiking with him.

Underswap Papyrus - Well, when Honey started to have suspicions his kid might be a hyperempath like him, he freaked out completely. But that's mainly because Blue never really understood it, and so Honey had to deal with that on his own during his childhood. Honey refuses his kid to go through the emotional tornadoes he went through as a kid, and so he starts training him really early about how to control it so it doesn't ruin his life. It's a great gift, but it's also a nightmare as he's absorbing everyone's feelings like a sponge, and sometimes, feelings can hurt. Honey hopes he can avoid some anxiety for his kid. He knows his anxiety is causing a bit of their anxiety, but he wants his child to be confident about who they are. Not like him.

Underfell Sans - Red is in denial and pretends he doesn't see how similar to him his kid is acting. First of all, because it's stupid, why the hell would his kid take him as a model when there's Uncle Edge or Taunt Undyne way cooler than him parading in front of them, and secondly, because he really doesn't want his child to turn out like him. Red made a hell lot of mistakes in his life that caused a lot of people to get hurt, including his own brother. He just doesn't understand what his kid sees in him, and that makes him uncomfortable.

Underfell Papyrus - Well, obviously, who else would they look up to? Edge made very clear from the second he held his baby for the first time that he would protect them and die for them, and so being grateful is the least that kid could be. At least until that tantrum in the shop where his kid refused to obey him and then screamed at him with all they had, absolutely not scared of any of his punishment threats, and then running away in the shop, cleverer than him and hiding in a place Edge can't reach. Edge is going to shriek in anger.

Horrortale Sans - That's probably bad. But that had to happen eventually, right? He's always with his kid and he won't stop showing them new things he likes to do, so it's quite normal they're taking after him. Ok, maybe teaching them to dig like a dog in the garden was not his best idea. Or throwing cow poops at people who are intruding the house. But, uh, eh, at least they have a really close bond, and he would not exchange it for anything in the world.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is big proud of his kid. They're responsible, they never hesitate to ask if he needs help with the chores, and they're just empathetic in general; that's all he could have asked for. But... When Willow caught them staring at themself worryingly in a mirror, he wished they didn't take so much after him after all. Willow feels guilty that he might have non-intentionally shared how uncomfortable he is in his body to his child, and that's really not what he wants. He keeps telling them they're beautiful, but it sounds weird when he's clearly not thinking that about himself.

Swapfell Sans - Well, there are good things and bad things with that. For the good things, the kid has a high esteem of themselves, which is what Nox wanted, and they're not letting anyone walk on their feet, so that's good. Nox was terrified he would have to protect yet another child, but turns out his training lessons worked well and that his kid inherited his natural talent at fighting, so he's not too worried about that. However... Nox can tell that each failure or mistake they made is making them so anxious they often break down or feel the need to hide to protect themselves. He knows it's his fault, because that's exactly how he reacts every time he can't reach the Queen's standards, and he knows that it's what led him to go depressed Underground. Nox tries to keep communication open with his child so they can talk to him when they're not alright, but deep down, he's terrified they're walking in his steps and might end up making a big mistake in the hope they please whoever they need to please.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus doesn't see what the problem is with that. Everyone else does, though. Rus pretends he doesn't see his brother trying really hard to encourage his child to do chores and to take care of themselves better, because it's hurting a little that he's acting like that now, when he's the reason Rus turned so bad in the first place. Rus is not jealous of the attention he's giving to his child; he's just hurt because he deserved that attention too, and Nox preferred to give it to the Royal Guard instead. Things are a little tense between the brothers, but Rus feels like he can't really talk about it as the past is in the past and they're not comfortable talking about these things today. So yeah, maybe he's encouraging his kid to be messy and to prank people on purpose, because that doesn't seem fair that they get to have his brother's attention.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Well, he doesn't see why it's a bad thing that his child doesn't let anyone lack respect to them. They deserve all the respect in the world. That is until he talks to them passive-agressively and then the child orders him to apologize to them this instant and then the little shit dared to attack him because he refused! The audacity! Your own father! Wine feels more and more like he raised his own rival as they grow up, and he's not too sure he likes the idea anymore by the time they become an adult.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Uh oh. He swears he didn't ask anything to his kid anything and he didn't ask them to be anxious or anything. He has no idea how that even happened. Ok, maybe he has an idea, but it's not his fault that when he's scared, his first instinct is to teleport with his kid in his closet to hide from what's scary. What if the danger ate them? You think about that?

[yuu-id24]

DRATCHET REVERSE MECHA AU

I love the entire Keferon universe, but lately, the Reverse Mecha AU has me on a chokehold, and I really want to expand on it, especially on the Dratchet department. This is how I imagine things going.

__________________________________

Drift/Deadlock would be an abandoned kid living on the streets, scraping by until one day the mecha program decides they need more subjects and cheap ones at that. Drift obviously accepts; he is a cold and starved kid.

In the beginning, everything was good food, warmth, a bed, and a roof. Who cares that the price for those comforts includes being poked with needles, sometimes experiencing hallucinations, and puking in the middle of the night? Sometimes they make him undergo surgery. Nine-year-old Drift couldn't care less; he has food and a bed. That's all he cares about staying in the good graces of the people feeding him. If he has to hurt others along the way, so be it.

By the time Drift is 12, half of the other subjects have died, escaped, or gone insane. Drift is the best by far, and he will keep being the best he's not going back ever again. His determination and stubbornness, combined with extraordinary genetic compatibility, are the only things keeping him sane and focused. During this time, they start to properly train him in military armament, mecha weapons, and tactics. Their job is to kill aliens as quickly and efficiently as possible.

At age fifteen, Deadlock is his new pilot name. He is the youngest and deadliest mecha pilot in the program. The heavy training and drugs to make him more compatible have turned Deadlock into an adrenaline addict. He begins stealing cigarettes around the base and smoking them in hidden places. The scientists don't want their pilots to wither away from anything other than their hand or fighting alien threats.

By the time Deadlock is 16, he's the best at killing Quints and handling firearms both inside and outside the suit. The stress, training, and drugs have turned his hair more white than black. He's always trembling and jittery. He needs to be moving, drugged, fighting, or killing but NEVER still, or he'll go mad. This makes the scientists realize that the more drugs he's on, the faster he becomes on the field. His reaction time lessens, and he turns into the perfect murder machine.

(Perhaps a horrifying or wonderful addition is that the higher-ups sometimes send Deadlock to assassinate senators or people who refuse to donate to the mecha program, just to add more angst and nightmares to his story. I’m not sure if it fits or how to incorporate it smoothly, but I wanted to mention it.)

When Tarantulas discovers Deadlock's drugged quirks, he takes full advantage of it by experimenting with all sorts of drugs on him. These are not pleasant substances to have pumped in his system, and half the time, Deadlock wrenches or goes crazy with paranoia. Sometimes, Tarantulas needs a clean slate to test his experiments, so he makes Deadlock go through a detox process ridding his system of any leftover drugs. The withdrawal makes Deadlock berserk and self-destructive, so they often lock him in a cell alone, with no food, only water and tea to speed up the detox process.

At 19, a new pilot arrives Wing. Wing is 30 years old and initially applied to the rescue bot program, but his high compatibility and reflexes were too good to pass up, so he was forced into the mecha program. There, he meets Deadlock and sees how everyone treats him like a weapon, nothing more than a machine to kil,l another asset. Wing disagrees with this treatment and begins to treat Deadlock like a human, like a kid his age.

Initially, things are rough. Deadlock doesn't allow anyone to get close, and he's been conditioned to believe his only use is killing aliens. When Wing treats him like a person, Deadlock doesn't know how to react, and it feels very strange. He tends to stay away from Wing because of this.

Everything changes when Deadlock comes out of a drug session with Tarantulas and is very out of it. The other scientists start criticizing him for neglecting his mecha maintenance and for the reports from the last mission. Wing, witnessing how they are mistreating Deadlock especially after such a rough moment, decides to step in and admonish everyone. He takes Deadlock to his room, offering him chocolate energy bars, and water. Deadlock gradually calms down and asks for more food. He falls asleep on Wing's bed out of exhaustion. From that moment, Deadlock begins to trust Wing because he's been the only one to treat him kindly.

Deadlock behaves like a skittish cat showing his trust by joining Wing during training sessions and sitting at the same table when they eat but on the other corner. Interestingly, whenever Wing acknowledges Deadlock's presence, Deadlock runs away. This pattern continues for about a month, with Wing consistently showing kindness sharing chocolate energy bars, and patience. After a particularly terrible drug session with Tarantulas, Deadlock seeks out Wing for comfort. It’s at this point that Wing decides he will adopt the kid and ensure no one mistreats him anymore.

To help curb Deadlock's violent tendencies, Wing teaches him the way of the sword. The increased training and discipline, male Deadlock slowly begins to calm down; he stops smoking and stealing medicines/drugs from the med bay. Wing also introduces him to meditation, which helps him find inner peace. Deadlock starts to embrace his Drift persona.

Seven months after Wing's arrival, they have their first battle together, one of the hardest earth has ever faced. During the fight, Wing dies protecting Deadlock from the piercing tentacles of a C4. This is devastating for Deadlock, and no one offers their condolences or treats Wings sacrifice with respect or dignity the bury him, they remodel his mecha and send another pilot to fill the role. They even want him to go out the very next day to kill more Quints. This hits Deadlock hard, fueling a hatred for all of humanity and aliens. He spends all his time killing, training, or overdosing on drugs to sleep. As memory Deadlock demands Wings swords be given to him, they do just to keep him happy, later on drift has 2 swords fitted to his mecha that sheath on the mecha hips, and Wing`s sword he carries it on his back as a reminder to what he fights for. 

His self-destructive path becomes so dangerous that the engineers and scientists put him under some sort of lockdown, so he doesn't kill himself. They need him alive and functioning to continue fighting the Quints. Three years after Wing's death, Deadlock is in a battle with a Quint mothership. The Quint mother ship is approaching, and Quints are emerging from every corner. Driven by bloodlust, Deadlock infiltrates the mothership with the intention of blowing it up. Prowl, the commanding officer and tactician of the mission, warns Deadlock that going in is a death sentence. Deadlock doesn't care; he charges headfirst.

He carves an opening on the side of the ship and fights his way inside, slicing and shooting his way through the enemy. The Quints are unprepared for an inside attack he keeps slicing everything in his path,  until he encounters a much more evolved looking  Quint with actual features, unlike the usual octopus looking ones. The creature screeches ear piercing upon seeing Deadlock and reaches for a console. Before it can do anything, Deadlock shoots the console. A bright light erupts from it, but Deadlock doesn't care. He lunges forward and slices off the Quint in half. His next move is to sink the ship, blindly destroying the main controls.

The light intensifies until it blinds Deadlock and the outside battle. Prowl watches from outside as the ship's front glows brighter and brighter, reaching a blinding point. He considers shutting down his optic sensors and continuing to give directions when the Quint´s stop and they start moving towards the ship. Thirty seconds later, the ship explodes. As the blinding light fades, half the Quints are on the ground, dead or twitching, moments away from dying. The ship crashes, crushing a valley and part of the city.

When they investigate the wreckage, they find a place that looks like the commanding room with what looks to be a perfect sphere on matter gone like it just vanished from existence. Prowl and the tactical team believe that Deadlock's actions saved everyone, but at the cost of his life. They hold a funeral, honoring Deadlock as a hero. The wreck becomes a valuable source of materials and research.

**EPILOGUE**

Who was prime to force him into a vacation in some isolated backwater tiny organic planet in the middle of nowhere, with the only task. Making sure wheeljack doesn't blow himself up . Ratchet grumbles and curses, he has nothing to do until Wheeljack inevitably causes chaos. Bored, he walks around the planet until he hears a crash and metal collapsing. Ratchet transforms and races toward the site.

In the crater, the material surrounding the area looks organic, very Quintesson like . Ratchet grimaces, realizing they might not be as safe as Prime thought. He slides down into the crater, transforming his servo into a scalpel. He sees parts of a destroyed Quintesson mothership, with a dead director. Ratchet doesn’t bother examining her, instead, he looks to the right and spots a black and white mech with yellow accents, helm down in the dirt.

____________________

This is all of it for part 1.

I originally wanted to write about Deadlock and Ratchet meeting, but I got carried away. I really wanted to explore Drift’s upbringing and life in the mecha program to better understand his behavior and how Ratchet’s presence affects him. Also, in this universe, I think it would be Deadlock who gets yeeted into space. To add to the story Deadlock is very violent, always growling and has bitten more than one guy. I don't think this aspect got shown but anyway stay tuned for the next chapter. The meeting. 

THANKS FOR READING

[peaceinpanem]

VERY important context for people who complain about katniss and peeta having kids. This moment from the first book says a lot:

"I never want to have kids," I say.

"I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale.

"But you do," I say, irritated.

Katniss begins the series trapped in a world where the Capitol’s control feels absolute. She can’t picture anything beyond survival. There’s no hope, no dream of rebellion, no future to believe in. The thought of having children doesn’t just feel impossible, it’s unthinkable.

By Catching Fire, a spark of hope has finally taken hold in Katniss. For the first time, she allows herself to dream of a world beyond the Capitol’s cruelty, a future free from fear and control. But she still can’t see herself in it. In her mind, she’s already made peace with dying, ready to sacrifice herself for Peeta, the person she loves more than almost anything. That tiny spark of hope isn’t for her. It’s for him. For the chance that he might live. That one day, his children might grow up safe.

As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe.

In Mockingjay, Katniss’s understanding of sacrifice and survival is shattered. She loses almost everything: her sister, her sense of purpose, parts of herself. But through the pain, she and Peeta find each other again. Slowly, the idea of having children, once unthinkable, becomes something she can finally accept. Not because the world is perfect, but because it’s better. With Peeta by her side, she finds a way to choose hope as a quiet rebellion against everything the Capitol took from her.

My children, who don't know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really away.

I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 35: Losing The Tower

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Not Beta read.

Word Count: 5522 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Two weeks later…

Sukuna no longer hated mornings. The feeling of your warm body against his, the sound of your light snores compared to his, and the privilege of being the first to see your face when he woke up. It was, without a doubt, what he enjoyed most about the day.

His eyes half-opened when he noticed you were still in bed. You hadn't gotten up to train. It had been a week since the last time you had, and Sukuna sensed that accumulated fatigue had something to do with it. Planning a wedding, visiting the commune almost daily, and taking care of their newly adopted children was more than anyone could handle. Whatever the reason, he was happy to have you in his arms for a couple more hours before duty called.

He approached slowly, pressing his chest against your back. One of his upper arms slid underneath yours, reaching for one of your breasts, until his hand came across something unexpected: a ball of hair. Confused, he lifted the blanket... and there was Choso, peacefully asleep in your arms. Sukuna's brow furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and jealousy at the sight of the little boy using your chest as a pillow.

"Damn brat," Sukuna growled, grabbing the boy by his pajamas and throwing him out of bed.

You woke up, jolted by the unexpected sound of crying. The now-familiar headache set in, sharp and throbbing, as it had every morning for the past week. Confused and still groggy from sleep, you slowly sat up in bed, despite Sukuna's attempt to hold you close, longing for a few more minutes of peace.

You looked around, instinctively searching for Choso, but the little boy wasn't even in the bed. You remembered how he had crept into your arms after a nightmare the night before, seeking comfort. The crying caught your attention again. You looked down at the ground, and your heart skipped a beat. There was Choso, lying on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Apparently, he'd fallen out of bed in his sleep.

"Now, now, now, my love," you said sleepily, approaching the edge to rescue him, but Sukuna pulled your waist to stop you.

"Let him cry, it builds character," Sukuna grunted, but it was just an excuse to have you all to himself.

"No way I’m leaving Choso crying on the ground," you scolded him.

You picked him up gently, cradling him in your arms as his sobs trembled against your chest. You held him tenderly, instinctively, as if by wrapping him up you could take away the pain. Patting his back gently, whispering sweet phrases, barely audible words that floated like balm in the gloom. Your fingers gently rubbed the little arm he'd pointed at through his tears, seeking to soothe both the physical pain and the fear.

Sukuna watched silently, almost motionless. He'd never seen you like this before: so sweet, so patient, so deeply maternal. Something about that image disarmed him. Although jealousy burned in his chest, he couldn't help but feel a strange warmth growing inside. A warmth that surprised him, uncomfortable and comforting at the same time. He wanted you, yes, but at that moment it wasn't just desire: it was a longing to be treated with that same sweetness, to be held in your embrace as well.

When Choso finally stopped crying, you slipped back into the sheets with him still in your arms, as if you didn't want to let go. You nestled against your fiancé's chest, seeking his warmth. Sukuna wrapped his arms around you, even though the child in between robbed him of the direct contact he craved. He squeezed a little tighter, resigned. The king would have to put up with it… after all, he himself had brought that little brat into your lives.

➽──────────────❥

Breakfast had begun as usual. The servants were lined up silently against the walls, Sukuna presiding over the table from his seat at the head, and the cursed ones closest to him occupied their usual places, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the food.

Once upon a time, only you and Sukuna shared that enormous table. But now things were different; the strange cursed family had grown. Beside you were Kechizu, Esou, and Choso, silently waiting for the food as you had taught them. On Sukuna's other left side, in the place that had once belonged to Kenjaku, Mahito now sat, smiling and unhinged as ever.

Luckily, the headache that plagued you in the mornings seemed to have subsided, at least in part. Perhaps, you thought, it would finally dissipate after eating something.

Uraume, accompanied by the cooks, began to serve the dishes in front of each diner with ritual precision. In front of you, like at every meal, rested a small bowl of fresh strawberries. It was a love gesture from Sukuna. Ever since he'd noticed how much you loved them, he'd made sure you never ran out. It brought a tired smile to your face. You took one without thinking twice and brought it to your lips.

But as soon as the sour taste, with that sweet undertone that used to enchant you, touched your tongue, a wave of nausea swept through your body. You forced yourself to swallow it, fighting the disgust that had suddenly and disconcertingly taken hold of you.

"Is something wrong?" Sukuna asked, noticing your strange behavior.

"No, nothing's wrong. I'm not in the mood for strawberries today," you said with a grimace of disgust.

"What are you in the mood for?" Sukuna inquired, seeing how he could resolve the situation.

You didn't even have to think about it. "Cheese, the goat cheese I tried last time was very tasty." Your eyes sparkled as you said it.

The king, without taking his eyes off you, made a slight gesture with his hand and ordered Uraume to bring you goat cheese. He didn't need to raise his voice; his low, firm tone was enough for Uraume to immediately disappear in the direction of the kitchens.

Breakfast continued amid the sounds of cutlery, plates, and low conversations, but not for Sukuna. His ever-attentive senses picked up the brazen murmuring of a pair of maids whispering to each other in a corner of the room. Their words were barely a whisper, but the audacity of doing so in his presence was enough to irritate him.

With a suppressed roar, Sukuna raised one of his powerful hands and slammed it down on the table with a resounding thud. The wood trembled beneath his force. Everyone jumped, the cutlery stopped clinking, and the entire dining room fell silent. Their gazes were fixed on him in awe.

"Something you want to share?" Sukuna exclaimed, so the old women could hear him.

The servants looked at the two maids who were whispering. They looked at each other, as if telepathically deciding who would tell the truth. The oldest bravely stepped forward.

"We think the lady might be pregnant. Her mood swings, strange appetite, headaches, the nausea... I went through the same thing before I found out I was going to be a mother," she commented aloud.

This brought a drastic change in Sukuna's attitude, going from annoyed to interested. His gaze fell on your face, searching for an answer, but all he found was your same surprise. You were stunned too, your thoughts whirling rapidly as the pieces began to fall into place in your mind with disturbing clarity. The maids also matched your mother's symptoms when she was pregnant with Nanako and Mimiko.

It all made sense now.

"Are you pregnant?" Mahito asked excitedly. "I suggest we name it Dick if it's a boy, Jemaima if it's a girl."

"Maybe... I'll have to ask Kenjaku later when I come back from the commune," you explained, trying not to get too excited in case it was something else.

"Do you have to go to the commune today?" Sukuna asked you. "I'd prefer it if you stayed this time."

"I'd like to stay too. But the wedding is in two days. If I don't go today, I won't be able to go until later in the month," you explained.

"Why can't you go until later in the month?" Sukuna asked, confused.

"I'm working on a little surprise gift." You said with a big smile. “Right, Uraume?”

Uraume was stunned by that. They had no idea what you were talking about, as they had just returned from the kitchen with a small board of goat cheese for you. Their gaze flicked between Sukuna and you, trying to decipher what they were missing, completely oblivious to the conversation.

For weeks now, you had included Uraume in what you had called a “surprise,” giving them small tasks here and there to keep Sukuna distracted, without raising suspicions about what you were really planning to save the commune from the imminent war. Mahito was the only one who knew the true nature of the surprise you had planned for the honeymoon. The only one you had trusted enough to reveal the surprisethat now seemed to take shape with terrifying certainty.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Uraume said abruptly.

“You are a great secret keeper.” You winked at them, congratulating them for "playing along." They just looked at you, even more confused by your attitude, causing Mahito to mock them for their reaction.

➽──────────────❥

The villagers were already eagerly awaiting you every time you appeared with the large basket of letters dangling in your hands. For them, your arrival was a breath of normalcy amidst the chaos, a direct connection to their loved ones back at the castle.

You didn't feel like training with Naoya. Even less so after the discovery that still simmered silently inside you like a secret about to burst out. But you also knew you couldn't afford to falter. The war was still looming on the horizon, relentless, and you had to be prepared. Even so, you postponed training for a while longer, taking refuge in the excuse of delivering the letters with Higuruma. It was a way to avoid him without feeling like you were running away.

With Higuruma, you began distributing the envelopes efficiently and carefully, making sure each one reached the right hands. The goal was clear: to get them to respond as quickly as possible, so you could bring the answers back before nightfall. Some offered you a still-warm piece of bread, or a piece of fruit freshly picked as a gratitude gift. It wasn't for the letters themselves, but for your bravery: they knew you were crossing the cursed village alone, facing dangers few dared even mention. You considered telling your best friend about your possible pregnancy, but you preferred to wait until it was confirmed before telling him.

"What's new?" You asked Higuruma for updates.

"Yesterday, a pack of curses attacked us. Three died." Higuruma sighed in anguish.

The people who had received cursed weapons just a month ago were growing impatient. Their hands itched, eager to wield them, to do something more than wait. The thought of having power within reach and not using it gnawed at them, like extinguished embers still smoldering beneath the surface. Higuruma tried to maintain control. He asked for their patience, but the pressure was beginning to reach his head, even him. He felt the weight of expectations, the need to protect the people while keeping the plan intact.

He knew there was a strategy in motion, a line drawn by your calculating mind. But he also knew what it was like to look into the eyes of people hungry for answers, desperate to survive. And while he understood the value of silence, hiding the truth from those who would risk their lives in war was beginning to seem… unfair.

"How long will we have to hide our weapons? They're killing more of us every day." The Judge was the one speaking. You knew perfectly well that serious, stoic, direct tone that made any villager tremble at the difference in intellect.

"Until the king has no interest in the commune. I know it sounds complicated, but we have to hold on if we don't want to ruin our efforts. I promise you, the day will come soon," you explained.

“Easy for you to say,” the Judge muttered. You frowned at his annoyance. “You sleep in the castle in the arms of our traitor, while we slowly die.”

You understood perfectly the place Higuruma found himself in. On one hand, he was your friend, loyal to a fault, willing to throw himself with you into the heart of the worst tornado if it meant getting you out alive. He had proven more than once that your well-being mattered to him more than words could admit.

But on the other… he was the Judge. The unwavering arbiter of the people. His word was law, and his duty was to protect the common good, even if it meant standing up to you. That role wasn’t a simple responsibility, it was the principle that had governed his existence for as long as he could remember, the axis around which his identity revolved. To renounce that duty, to fail in his role, would mean denying everything that kept him upright. It would take away his purpose, his reason, and leave him reduced to the same as everyone else: just another man, mortal and fragile.

“They would all die if it weren't for me. I'm practically saving their lives in the long run. Believe me when I say I'm doing my best to protect them from my trench. If they use weapons now, they could kill me, those in the castle, and potentially every human Sukuna has at his disposal.”

“And are you really doing everything you can?” Higuruma stood up to you. “Or is this just an excuse to save yourself first?”

“Saving myself? I'm risking everything just by talking to you right now! Don't you believe me?” You asked, annoyed by that vile accusation.

“It's hard to believe you when you're just as much of a liar as Yorozu,” Higuruma stated. Your breath hitched at the mention of her name. “Speaking of. I haven't heard a single word about her.”

Higuruma's words were like an invisible slap, sharp and precise, that left you frozen in the middle of the road. You gripped the letter basket tightly, your fingers tense on the wicker, as if you could contain the rage that was beginning to boil inside you. You were giving everything. Every step, every decision, every carefully constructed lie, it had all been for them. To save them. And this was how they repaid you... By airing dirty laundry that you could never wash, not even with the truth? Frustration began to escalate, relentless, not only against Higuruma, but against the world that demanded you be strong, fair, silent... and grateful.

"Is she still alive?" Higuruma asked bluntly.

You dropped the basket without thinking, letting it fall to the floor with a thud, and in a single movement you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, containing your fury in the fabric. Higuruma didn't have time to react. He stepped back, more out of surprise than fear, but the uneven terrain worked against him. He stumbled and fell back onto the ground with a thud. You fell on top of him, still clutching his shirt, as if your anger refused to let go. You landed on his lap, breathing heavily, your eyes boring into his, as full of rage as they were of pain.

"You don't even know half of what I went through in that horrible castle just to survive! I've been stepped on, slept on a metal bed, eaten human flesh, almost been eaten by a bear, Hiromi! A bear! My own sister tried to kill me to be Sukuna's new queen! So forgive me for doing everything in my power to survive and protect the only place I can barely call home!" You screamed in his face to get it through his head that you were really on his side.

"No, I didn't know..." Higuruma babbled, shocked.

"Of course you didn't know! You live in a commune miles away, protected during the day by a prohibition that won't last long! You can say I live in luxury, but guess what, Hiromi?! The cage may be made of gold, but it's still a damn cage!"

Higuruma stared at you, mouth agape, paralyzed, as words tumbled from your mouth like blades propelled by rage. Each cry was a release held back for too long, an open wound finally bleeding freely. He tried to speak. He barely mumbled your name, searching for a defense, an explanation. But his face, incapable of understanding the damage he'd caused, only fueled the fire inside you.

With a sharp shove, you let go of him, leaving him on the floor as if the contact burned you. You stood up without looking back, your steps firm, your heart beating furiously, walking towards the place where you knew Naoya was waiting for you for training. Higuruma called you. Once, then again, and again. His voice grew more desperate with each attempt. But you didn't turn around. You didn't want to hear him. Not this time.

➽──────────────❥

Naoya held your leg tightly as he continued the training. Ranta, meanwhile, held onto your arms, preventing any attempt to escape, any instinctive defense. You took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable. They were going to cut it again, for the third time that day.

Although you'd been through this before, although the technique was familiar to you, your body couldn't fully adjust. Every time the blade pierced flesh and bone, it felt like something more than a limb was being ripped off. There was a part of your soul that screamed as well, with each cut.

You hastened the healing as soon as the damage was done, applying your technique almost instantly, hoping the pain wouldn't become too deeply embedded in your memory. But each use of your energy drained you faster than before. You felt slower, heavier. As if the price of being whole again was your very vitality. And yet, you couldn't stop. Not when the war was approaching. Not when so many were counting on you to resist... or so you wanted to believe.

"Ready?" Naoya asked you.

"No." You could barely be heard through the handkerchief wrapped around your mouth.

"Of course not. I'm going to cut off both of your legs." Naoya mocked you.

It was the only way he could still exert control over you. His last resort. A twisted way to ensure you never flew higher than him. He clung to the role of cruel master, not to guide you, but to hold you down, to tie you to the ground with pain, with fear, with dependence.

"Just do it!" Ranta scolded him.

"I'll do it on the count of 3." Naoya snorted, preparing for the goal. "1..."

He didn't even make it to two.

With the brutal precision of a swordsman trained to kill, Naoya severed both of your legs in a single motion. It was so quick, so surgical, that it took your body a second to register the pain. There was no time to scream. Only the emptiness of shock, the frozen instant in which you understood he'd betrayed you.

But you didn't lose your composure. Instinct was stronger than the pain. You channeled your energy with suppressed fury, regenerating your legs instantly, as if your will refused to budge for even a heartbeat. And in the same movement, you delivered a direct kick to his stomach, with all the force of your newborn rage. Naoya was thrown backward, falling heavily on his back against the ground, the air escaping him in a dry gasp.

"Son of a bitch!" You screamed in annoyance as you tried to wriggle out of Ranta's grasp so you could keep hitting him to vent the anger from your argument with Higuruma.

"At least you don't feel the phantom pain anymore," Naoya commented, holding his stomach in pain. "She has an incredible kick," he thought, he would never admit it out loud.

"We're almost at the finish line, miss," Ranta told you in an attempt to calm you down.

"And what's the end?" you asked, frightened.

"Kill you," Ranta replied seriously.

"What?!" you exclaimed in shock.

You writhed like a worm thrown into salt, every muscle forcing itself to break free from Ranta's grasp. Your body ached, but you could still move. You could still fight. With one last desperate effort, you managed to wriggle out of his arms and ran, without looking back. The forest greeted you with its shadows, and for a moment you thought you could lose yourself among the trees, hide from the pain, from them.

But Naoya was faster. He always had been. He caught up with you before you could get too far away. Sensing your intentions, he grabbed you tightly from behind, lifting you off the ground like dead weight. You writhed in his arms, kicking, cursing, but he didn't budge. His grip was a cage, and you were a beast trapped in flight.

"Y/n, stop now." Naoya fought you.

"No way, I won't let you try to kill me," you told him, frightened by the activity.

"You were able to heal your limbs with absurd ease. You can do it to your internal organs; it'll just be a cut in your stomach." Naoya tried to calm you, but it only made things worse.

"Don't you dare, you fucking idiot!"

Before, you were fighting for your freedom. Now, you were fighting for something much more fragile and precious: the life that was perhaps beginning to beat inside you. You stomped hard on Naoya's foot, a sharp, desperate blow, searching for any crack in his control to force him to release you. It worked. The grip loosened for an instant, just enough to separate you from him and prepare for the unthinkable.

You channeled your energy, determined to open your domain. But Naoya, far-sighted and lethal, sensed it immediately. He lunged at you, intending to sever your hand before you could complete the gesture. You were faster. You pulled your hand back at the last second, your fingers vibrating with pent-up energy. There was no escape. You knew it. No matter how hard you ran, he would always catch up to you. You had only one option left: fight. Face to face.

Naoya didn't hold back. Each blow was accurate, brutal, born of a technique perfected over years of cruelty and obsession. He was stronger, faster. All you could do was resist. Defend. Block. Survive. And as you did, you thought about what was inside your body. About how you couldn't allow it to die.

"It'll just be a slice across the stomach!" Naoya tried to convince you.

"I'm not going to let you near my stomach! Cut my throat or aim for my heart!" You said, your voice cracking from the effort you were making to stay upright.

Naoya shook your head; that would never work. If he cut your throat, panic might cause you to lose focus and actually die. If he aimed for your heart, it would kill you instantly. The safest thing to do would be to go for the stomach, for a bloodless death. Slower, more manageable.

"Why don't you just let me..." Naoya stopped, realizing why a woman would be so protective of her stomach. "Are you pregnant?" he asked.

He hoped the answer was no.

Naoya needed it to be no.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

It. Wasn’t. Fair.

Because if there was something beating inside you, something more than magic and flesh, then this battle was no longer just personal: it was political, it was war itself slowly unfolding. At the end of the day, he carried the name Zen'in in his blood. And if he destroyed what grew in your womb, he would be robbing the enemy of their next heir, the symbol of your loyalty to the king. He would be robbing Sukuna of something more intimate than a throne. What you and he had created out of love… Naoya wanted to destroy it out of spite.

You tried to move, but your body didn't respond. Ranta had you trapped, frozen in that instant, like a puppet hanging on invisible strings. And then Naoya lunged at you. Like a slashing shadow. You saw the flash of the blade just before the pain. A blink, just that, was enough for Ranta to deactivate his technique. Too late.

You fell like a broken doll to the ground, your hands covering your stomach, feeling the blood slip hotly between your fingers. You gasped for air. The world shrank to a fiery, desperate vortex. You didn't scream, because you couldn't even do that. You just doubled over, trembling, searching inside for the strength you didn't yet know you had left.

And you found it. Through an agony that seemed endless, you began to regenerate. Every second was an eternity of pain. But you clung to life, to that small chance of continuing, for yourself, for what you carried inside.

"Leave!" The scream burned your throat.

"Do you think you'll intimidate us with that?" Naoya asked before aiming his weapon at you.

"Get out, or my body will be the reason Sukuna gets rid of every Zen'in who ever sets foot on this land!" You threatened them.

Naoya gave a carefree, almost mocking smile, as if bloodshed were just another game in his repertoire. But Ranta didn't share his levity. His gaze fixed on you, his mind coldly calculating the risks. Something in the air had changed, an electric tension that foreshadowed consequences. Unlike Naoya, he knew how to recognize when an apparent victory was actually the beginning of disaster.

"We have more than just information now; we must report to the king now." Ranta tried to reason with him.

Naoya hated to admit it, but Ranta was right. He had been there not to take your life, but to extract the information he needed, to tear at your insides with questions, not knives. Killing you now would be unnecessary; what he truly wished, even if he didn't admit it, was that all this hadn't happened.

He looked at you for the last time, his gaze cold, but not filled with hatred for you. No, that anger was directed at himself, for having allowed himself to be swept away by something as pointless as love. He had made an irreparable mistake by getting involved, by feeling, by doubting. You had no idea when he would see you again, but he was sure it wouldn't be pretty.

Without another word, the two of them walked quickly away, as if they were running out of time. They left you behind, trembling with rage, on the ground. The fury inside you overflowed into hot tears, which you couldn't tell if they were from physical pain or from the helplessness of your situation. You had recovered your organs, but you had no idea if you had saved your baby.

➽──────────────❥

Returning to the castle with a renewed attitude was more difficult than you had anticipated. You took advantage of the time during the carriage ride to release the tears you had been holding back, the silent cries that rose from deep within you, like a torrent of frustration and pain. You wept silently, with no one able to hear you, no one able to comfort you. Only the rhythm of the carriage and the pounding of the wheels on the ground bore witness to your suffering.

Upon arriving at the castle, you headed straight to Kenjaku's room, accompanied by Mahito. You didn't want to think about anything other than what would happen next. Kenjaku greeted you wordlessly, his smiling, meticulous gaze as he approached your belly. His expert hands touched it with calculated delicacy, checking for every possible sign of damage.

Mahito, standing against the wall, watched you with a mixture of calm and caution. By the king's orders, he wouldn't let Kenjaku do anything beyond what was strictly necessary. If he tried anything out of line, Mahito would intervene without hesitation. You stood motionless, your body rigid, as the air in the room grew heavy with unspoken tension.

"When do you think the conception took place?" Kenjaku asked after hearing your symptoms.

"About a month ago."

"It may be a bit early to know if there's a baby, but at the moment I don't feel any swelling of any kind. Perhaps it's just tiredness from your busy schedule. My medical recommendation is that you rest completely before the big day, and if the discomfort persists, let me know so I can give you some medicine and figure out how to proceed," Kenjaku suggested.

Although the situation wasn't necessarily negative, only you knew the hidden truth behind everything that had happened. You had likely lost your baby, and the worst part was that you felt it was your fault.

You should never have asked Naoya to train you. You had been naive, overconfident in your own strength, in your ability to control the chaos he created. The pain of that realization pierced you like a dagger, sharp, relentless. Everything you had tried to do to protect him, to protect yourself, had crumbled like a sandcastle.

You silently scolded yourself, the weight of your thoughts so crushing you could barely breathe. How had you gotten to this point? How had you not seen what was coming? You had lost an important rook in this game of chess. You couldn't afford to lose another important piece.

You gently knocked on Sukuna's office door, and the answer was almost immediate, in his characteristic voice, full of strength. As he opened the door, his gaze lit up at the sight of you. His smile widened as he realized you had finally returned home. But as soon as his eyes caught the dejection on your face, that smile vanished like a passing cloud.

You approached the desk, feeling the heaviness of your steps in the thick air that had remained between you. You placed the basket of letters on the table with a gentleness that contradicted the turmoil raging inside you. You knew what to do, you knew those letters needed to be reviewed by him, but you couldn't help but feel that, at that moment, everything else was unimportant. Sukuna watched you silently, his penetrating gaze trying to read the layers you were hiding.

"Have you been to Kenjaku to have him check you yet?" Sukuna asked.

You just nodded, wordlessly, before walking around the desk and throwing yourself into his arms. The king, visibly worried, instantly put aside his duties, as if everything else at that moment no longer mattered. He hugged you with a firmness that conveyed a mixture of protection and bewilderment, saying nothing, just letting you fall into his embrace as if it were the refuge you so desperately needed.

You melted completely in his arms, feeling the weight of the day melt away in the warmth of his touch. His hand gently stroked your head, like someone caring for a wounded animal, with an unexpected tenderness that bordered on vulnerability. It was just what you needed after such a long and tiring day, a respite in his presence.

You both fell silent, the only sound between you the deep sigh that escaped your lips. Sukuna, without pressuring you, waited patiently. He knew that, in the end, you would be the one to break that silence, the one to speak of everything that tormented you. He didn't rush you or urge you to say anything. He stood there in his silent vigil, as if the entire world had stopped moving just to allow you this brief respite.

"How do you carry so many responsibilities?" you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Sukuna didn't know exactly where the question came from, but he imagined you were tired from all the hard work you'd been doing lately. He'd seen your body slowly deteriorating, gradually. He'd tried to stop you, but the only person who could do it was yourself.

"I just do what I have to do to achieve my goals. Focus on what's important." He answered at the same volume.

"What if something goes wrong?" you asked. Sukuna pulled you away from his body a little to look into your eyes.

"You can only keep going," Sukuna whispered to you. "We keep going." He promised before depositing a kiss that rejuvenated you.

You had made a mistake. A serious one. One of those that leave invisible scars and weigh more than any physical wound. But it wasn't time for regrets. Not now. You had lost a key piece on your board. But the game wasn't over yet, and as long as your king was still standing, so were you. You couldn't, you wouldn't allow yourself to lose.

Next →

Masterlist.

taglist:

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(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[readingtoinfinity]

Thunderbolts*

I'm so glad a Marvel movie is good again. I've been tapped out since Endgame and Spider-Man: No Way Home, and it's just nice to watch the thing I like entertain me.

The Thunderbolts: a ragtag team of misfits, moreso than even the Avengers, all sent on a mission where they turn out to have a lot more in common than they think, and also be in way over their heads.

First some negatives, because even though I enjoyed this movie there are some problems. Namely: Bucky and Ghost aren't really given anything to do in this movie, and are just kinda along for the ride. Taskmaster isn't in the movie very much, and it's a little disappointment to not have them for long or give them a second chance.

But man, what a cast! And what a fun plot. A lot happens and it's hard to remember it takes place over less than 24 hours because you get so endeared to these utter assholes. Yelena is the standout here, where it feels like this is almost her movie, and Red Guardian and US Agent are both excellent supporting characters in the central theme of depression.

Speaking of: Robert "Bob" Reynolds AKA Sentry AKA (spoilers?) the Void. What a fun, dynamic new character! Everything about him, from his introduction to his powers to his turn as a villain was perfectly executed, especially his design as the Void.

It's hard to compare the two, and it almost falls into the trap of giant cloud adaptation, like Galactus in Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer or Parallax in Green Lantern (2011), but I hold it as a much better version of that trope. Because of course the comic-accurate Void is a mess of limbs and proportions that would be a nightmare to animate, so while the Void in Thunderbolts* is technically a lot simpler, I think it works because

The rest of the execution is good, so it is bolstered by its constituent parts.

Their own design is highly creative; that's not him being shadowed by the sun, that's just a black void where a person should be. You only ever see his eyes or (in one notably terrifying scene) his teeth.

If I may offer one complaint that makes this movie merely a fun treat rather than a delectable meal, it would be the surface-level treatment of depression. As someone who suffers from it (and of course I do, I'm on Tumblr) there's a nature to the hole in your heart that the movie doesn't quite grok.

There's scenes that feel familiar (Yelena, going through the motions; Red Guardian, drowning in alcohol and nostalgia; Walker, desperately trying to earn approval; the self-medicating, the self-loathing) that's touched on and brought to the forefront. I was also touched by the final resolution of the Void plot being a lot more about empathy and understanding than it was about fighting, which I appreciated. And the core thesis that spending time with people you love and helping other people will help alleviate symptoms.

But it is very surface level, or entry-level might be more accurate. All the characters are people who haven't been taking care of themselves who now have to figure out what their own mental health has to look like. It's Hollywood's obsession with origin stories: everyone wants the bold beginning, but the muddy middle makes for a complicated conclusion. I just hope these characters retain these flaws and struggles in the future and we get to see their good days and their bad days.

All in all: I had a lot of fun. The parts that were good were rarely great, but nothing felt bad.

(also: you can make a fun game by watching the way this movie dances around political lines. John Walker is a case in himself about how removing the conservative angle from his politics kinda weakens the nature of his character as a whole, but there's a number of times in this movie where politics are discussed and the movie very clearly goes out of its way to not say Republicans or Democrats. It's hilarious)

[whumpdoyoumean]

hi, I was wondering whether I could send something in for the numbers thing?

How about White collar and nr. 12?

Thank you so much!

xxx "Everything's okay, go back to sleep."

"Hey, honey."

Peter looks up at the sound of Ellie's voice, straightening in the hospital chair. She looks tired, worry etched into her features, but still beautiful, as always. Still composed and put together, her very presence a balm for Peter's frayed nerves. He, on the other hand, is an absolute mess. He's still in his suit pants and dress shoes, but is wearing half a pair of scrubs in lieu of his white shirt and jacket and tie. They'd been covered in blood—Neal's blood (some of it is still trapped under his nails and down near his cuticles)—when they got to the hospital. Multiple staff members tried to convince Peter to go home and change while Neal was in surgery, but when it became clear that he wasn't going anywhere, someone had finally offered him the pale green scrub top. The tie is the greatest loss. Ellie had gotten it for Peter for his one year anniversary at the Bureau.

"How is he?" Ellie asks, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Well, he made it through surgery," Peter says. "Hasn't woken up yet. They're keeping a close eye on him the next few days to make sure there are no complications, no bleeding that they missed..."

"And how are you?"

Peter takes a deep breath, scrubbing one hand over his face. He doesn't even know how to begin answering that question. He's been scared for Neal before. But today had been different. Neal, bleeding out under Peter's hands, crying out as Peter ignored his pleas pressed down on the wounds to try and slow the flow of blood. The only thing worse than the agonized sounds had been the silence that followed, when Neal lost consciousness. He knows that silence is going to be haunting his nightmares for a while to come.

He finally answers as honestly as he can. "I think I'll be okay once he's out of the woods. Or, I'll be a little better, anyway; I think it might take some time to get to okay again after today."

Ellie bends down and pulls Peter into a hug. The tears are flowing before Peter can try to stop them.

-

Other than the occasional medical professional stepping in to check in, it's just Peter and Neal again. Ellie had stayed for as long as the ICU staff would let her. The only reason Peter wasn't kicked out with her is because nobody wants to argue with the FBI badge. Ellie had asked Peter if he wanted to go home with her, just for a bit. She hadn't pushed when he said no. In that moment, Peter had never loved her more.

He looks over at Neal's sleeping form. There's a cannula in his nose and IVs in both elbows, and one more in the back of his hand. A pulse ox rests on the pointer finger of the opposite hand. He looks fragile, with his pale, scruffy face and bags under his eyes, propped up in the hospital bed against pillows that Peter knows from experience are less than comfortable. Certainly not the kind of luxury Neal is used to. His pillowcases are probably silk, or maybe Egyptian cotton with an absurdly high thread count.

He's still musing on this when Neal's eyebrows twitch into a sleepy frown, and he makes a small sound.

"Neal?" Peter says, reaching forward and placing his hand on the arm nearest him.

Neal's breathing picks up a little, his eyes moving beneath the lids, and he lets out something like a whimper. Peter leaves his hand in place, running his thumb across Neal's skin.

"Neal," he says again, and Neal's eyes open. There's a confused haze, lingering effects from the anesthetic, but his eyes are open and if he hadn't just almost died and then had emergency surgery, Peter would hug him. "Hey, bud."

"Peter." It sounds painful and scratchy. Neal swallows thickly. "You okay?"

"Am I okay?" Peter says, and he wants to laugh and cry all at the same time. "I'm fine, Neal!"

"Tompkins was shooting at you," Neal rasps, as if he hadn't been the one to actually take two bullets from Tompkins's gun.

"Yeah, but he didn't hit me, Neal. I'm okay."

Neal nods slowly. His eyelids are already growing heavy again.

"Go ahead and rest," Peter says gently.

Neal's eyes slip shut, and then snap open again with a small gasp.

"What if he tries to come after you here?" The words are slurred and heavy, but the urgency is clear. "You should go."

"Jones and Diana got him, remember?" Peter smiles. "He won't be going after me, or you, or anyone else for that matter, for a very long time. Everything's okay, Neal. Go back to sleep."

Neal's face relaxes and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Peter will be right here.

xxx

[wizardsvslesbians]

It's time for another recommendation masterpost! Thanks again for your recs. They make the podcast go.

Please please please do an unkindness of ghosts its sooo good!

The issue with this one is that Alexis and I have both read it and neither of us remember anything about it, which suggests either that we'd have nothing to discuss or that we've been traumatized. Enough people have recommended it to us at this point that I'm going to dip back into it just to see.

--

inspired by one of the asks I saw: Kat Howard's short story Once, Future is about King Arthur and very wizlez for a future short story episode!

This makes four short story recs we've received since the last short fic episode, which is unusual. Time for another roundup!

--

Has the podcast considered doing The Stars Undying? It might be more Wizards vs. Bisexuals, I guess, since it’s Space Cleopatra and Space Julius Caesar and Space Lesbian Marc Antony, but a lot of people compare it to A Memory Called Empire, which I think you regarded positively.

Alexis has read this and says it's fine - we'll put it on the backup list.

--

if you ever feel like exploring the darkside superwholock version of fangirl, ship it by britta lundin is a wild ride. it has queer female characters, but also genuinely unhinged rpf shenanigans, terminally online microlabel discourse, and utterly baffling decisions from almost every character. the author wrote for riverdale, if that helps give a sense of the tone and stakes

In the nicest way possible, this sounds like a complete nightmare!

--

Seiya, our most prolific recommender, hits us with:

Coming in with yet another recommendation: "Direct Descendant", the latest by Tanya Huff.

As always, I adored it, but the publisher described it as 'cozy horror' which... I cannot even begin to imagine describing Tanya Huff as cozy. I'm not sure if this was foisted on her, or if she decided to skewer the cozy genre. There's also some things about class in here that hit odd but I can't put my finger on it.

That being said, I loved it a lot, would love to see what people who are actually good at textual analysis think of it

And

ope coming in with another rec which is “The Manor of Dreams” by Christina Li; it’s big Siren Queen meets Haunting of Hill House vibes! what if the wizard is the hollowness of the american dream? or ultimately, intergenerational family trauma?

On the to-read list they go. Alexis particularly is interested in Siren Queen/Haunting of Hill House vibes.

[coffee-in-rain]

A few weeks pass and Will misses Hannibal everyday; yet understands little Hannibal is a blessing to witness. He wonders how long this'll last.

During nightfall, sometimes little Hannibal whimpers or speaks Lithuanian or even screams while asleep. Chiyoh always needs to be the one console him if he wakes up. Last night, Chiyoh had taken little Hannibal up on deck for some fresh air, letting him cling onto her hand. Will had grown curious. He waited for a half hour and went up deck, too.

Little Hannibal's head was laying in Chiyoh's lap again. He was bundled in a blanket; tear tracks visible on a red cheek. He'd been calling for motina (lithuanian term for mother) after a nightmare, voice shaky and slurringthrough a childish scream. Like his mind forgot he's not spoken that word in decades. He sometimes forgets the rest of his family is dead; asking where they are in clumsy french (because he's still learning).

Two more days pass and Hannibal seems to begin relaxing around Will. He stares at Will often and watches him from across the room with childlike childlike wonder, especially when Will grows strong enough to steer the boat again. He seems to be less afraid now and it's far more relieving than Will ever could've hoped for. Today, Will is steering the boat. Chiyoh is sick and resting below deck. Little Hannibal is drawing a few feet away at the small coffee table, kneeling on the floor. There are signs to know how young or old little Hannibal is feeling; by checking the state of his left thumb; whether it's red and gleaming and a touch raw, with tiny bite marks; or if it seems normal. He's sucking on it now; drawing with crayons in silence. He doesn't speak much when this young (likely around the age of six years-old).

Will doesn't want to startle little Hannibal, sitting down quietly on the outdoor couch. Then something stirs inside Will's chest: shock, fondness, and disbelief; because on the paper is a child's drawing of a dog that looks identical to Winston, Buster, and the rest of his dogs; like little Hannibal might be remembering. He doesn't want to disturb the moment; muted scratches on paper as little Hannibal colors in the grass.

For a moment, time seems to still as little Hannibal sets down the crayon and turns around slowly. His cheeks are damp and almost red (a soft pink to match his eyelids). Like he's been rubbing at them, wiping away silent tears. He's clutching the paper to his chest and taking cautious steps towards Will. Like he wants to sit down. Like he wants to be close. Like he wants to show the drawing to Will.

Will pats the nearby seat cushion, heart in his throat. He waits for little Hannibal to sit and settle. "Can I see what you've drawn there?" He asks, and doing so feels monumental; like something is about to change.

Little Hannibal is gazing at Will now, eyes tearing up and breathing shakily. He drops the drawing in Will's hand, gulping in a little breath; like he's fighting back a sound; like he's feeling uncertain. In the drawing is a new addition; an imperfect version of a human; with the name 'Will' at the top. He lets out a strangled breath; a rising cry warping his voice when he utters: "tėtis." He's sinking against Will's side, another little cry shuddering against Will's neck.

Will holds him without hesitation, pulling little Hannibal closer. He can barely muster enough steadiness into his own voice, but he speaks because little Hannibal needs him right now; for the first time ever. "Hi, sweetheart."

Post-Fall. Hannibal falls unconscious once they're out of the ocean. Then Chiyoh is stitching them up. Will is stitched first. Then Hannibal (who starts stirring awake). Because of the cold water, Hannibal mentally regresses. For precaution, Chiyoh tied Hannibal's wrists together because they didn't know how he'd react upon awakening (if he ever did) and this is distressing for little Hannibal (who only recognizes Chiyoh; not Will). He is able to remember Chiyoh because he met her before moving to France. He is mentally 12 years-old and having the gunshot wound be stitched up without any numbing cream is agonizing and scary. He's writhing and letting out little sobs and whimpers. This is something Will can't ever forget: Hannibal being regressed on the boat; being shy and afraid around him; preferring Chiyoh's company over him; wetting the bed during the first night because he was scared of passing by Will's bedside.

That kills Will. The fact little Hannibal had laid in a puddle of urine all night because unknown men were perceived as a threat. The next morning, Hannibal had been reluctant to get out of bed (as if awaiting to be scolded); but Chiyoh had taken care of him and the mess without missing a beat; and surprisingly enough, she seemed softer when interacting with little Hannibal. He watches her every move when in the room as if worrying about being left alone with Will; a stranger.

There is a moment one afternoon, where little Hannibal seems even younger. He's resting a temple on her thigh. Chiyoh is stroking his hair and his side; eventually, he brings a thumb to his mouth as if wanting to suck on it; but hesitates until Chiyoh leans down to speak softly against his ear; quiet enough Will can't hear. But Hannibal's demeanor relaxes inch by inch and now a thumb is sliding into his mouth. Then, he seems to squirm or jolt once her fingers gaze his side. He laughs; almost a squeak of surprise; and it is enough to make Will's eyes sting; seeing little Hannibal being at ease and clingy with Chiyoh; that he so obviously wants to be given affection and reassurance; that at one point, Hannibal was indeed a little boy in too cruel of a world, without the skill to block it out and shield himself; right now, he was a little boy who felt safe with Chiyoh instead of Will. How telling that is, Will thinks with a surge of anger; that something awful and life-altering must've led to this reaction; this response to keep away from men who could harm him; or worse.

For Will, seeing little Hannibal shyly seeking affection from Chiyoh (showing her his clumsily-drawn pictures) is the sweetest thing ever.

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[serpentface]

Don't get too attached

[moviesiverecentlywatched]

930: Silent Night, Deadly Night: Part 2 [1987]

It's over.

2024’s 12 Days of Christmas… Movies:

5/12

Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 // Dir. Lee Harry

[seyamu]

me, on the brink of falling asleep: someone should put jiang luo and chi you into an unlimited flow universe for enrichment

[accultant]

"You seem familiar somehow," he muses, one hand rubbing his chin as he thinks, "Have we met before?"

"Is that so? I must have one of those faces," they answer flatly. They do not have ' one of those faces ', and, rather, their unmistakable markings and admittedly unsettling eyes should make them unforgettable (for better or worse). Their only saving grace is the general disorientation their presence often brings- they can often go completely unnoticed by someone merely two feet in front of them, unseeing eyes glossing right over them ('like a ghost' they had explained to Puck once). People forget their face, their name, their very existence if they so will it. Often, those who meet Iago are left with only a vague impression of the encounter, the details of which remain just barely on the tip of their tongue.

More likely, though, this individual (with quite an interesting face of his own..?) was referring to- "You've probably met my brother, Puck. He looks a bit like me if I were a bit taller and looked completely different."