#been consumed by the villain au

[ahhhwomen]

The calm before the storm.

Vampire Empire

Part 7.1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well... here it is. I changed the graphic parts, but it's still violent. This was supposed to be a hurt/comfort chapter, but it just turned into hurt, so I divided the chapter into two, this is the hurt part... and I will try my very best to make the next one a comfort... Writer block hit me like a truck with this one so please excuse bad writing...

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death  Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 3k

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Extreme violence, slightly explicit violence, talk of torture, scars, violence against a child

Taglist

(26 hours before the slaughter)

“Come on pretty girl, I know you can do it, keep your head above the water baby.” Gentle hands try to coax you, pushing against the back of your neck in an attempt to force your muscles into action.

It’s strange, the only other times you have been in the bath is when they were drowning you, perhaps you enjoy this more. It’s hard to tell, you can’t feel much of anything anymore.

Her grip loosens for a moment and your head lolls to the side, foamy bubbles collide with your left ear, the earlobe barely having made contact with the hot water before soft hands return with full force to catch you.

“Hmph.” A frustrated sigh gets drowned out by the insistent buzzing inside your mind. The sound consumes you from the inside, eating away any emotion that slipped past the initial reaping.

A creak slices through the still air as Natasha grits her teeth together, white bone clumsily gliding against itself, barely missing the inside of her cheek. She has been hunched over for the better part of half an hour, but she can do nothing but uncomfortably shift the pressure from one knee to the other, her hands occupied with you.

Wanda had insisted they set you into a routine. So, every night Natasha was tasked with bathing you, though you weren’t making it easy for her.

As her rolled-up sleeve dips into the water for the fourth time while she adjusts, Natasha debates yet again if she should call on Wanda for help, but as her eyes drift over your empty ones, she thinks better of it.

Guilt eats her alive as she works on finishing up your bath and tucking you in.

Three days ago (96 hours before the slaughter):

A wet washcloth is continuously dragged across your forehead as Wanda wipes the sweat away, her fingers follow the path of the moist trail as she feels your temperature and sighs in relief.

After two intense nights, your fever finally broke, but you had yet to wake up. She is just about to tuck you back in when her wife’s voice rings through the spacious room.

“How is she doing?”

Natasha leans against the doorframe while she watches her wife care for you. The wood digs into her shoulder blade, but she ignores it in favor of keeping her distance. As much as the younger redhead craved to be near you, she was cautious to interact with you when Wanda was there.

After the fever gave them quite a scare the day before, Natasha came just as close to losing her life as you. Wanda had fallen asleep with you clutched in her grip after an hour of settling your shaking frame from a nightmare. After a while, Natasha attempted to remove you from Wanda’s possession.

She was merely concerned about Wanda’s heated body irritating your flushed skin, but after almost losing an eye to a sleep-deprived redhead, she left the primal care to her other half.

Wanda hums, her fingers stroking your hair delicately as she kneels beside the plush guestroom bed. As she rakes through them, your hair strands lay clumped together, loosening them strand by strand she soothes herself.

“She needs a bath,” her fingers move from your hair to your face, gently tracing your features. When the pad of her pointer hits a sensitive spot beneath your jaw, you let out a breathy giggle in your sleep, and Wanda can’t help the lift of her lips into a pleased grin.

However, her smile is quickly wiped away as a familiar jingle of metal rattles against your throat as you shift in your slumber.

Natasha hummed her agreement, unaware of her wife’s fleeting attention.

The layers of filth that covered you had to be weeks, if not months, in the making. She was aware that you got a weekly hose down by the shelter, but depending on when Carol loaned you out, you could very easily have missed it.

“Should I get one started?”

With a huff, Wanda nods slowly. Her irritation radiates off of her as she looks you over.

Natasha tilts her head, at her wife’s strange reaction, her shirt gliding against her cheek. “Is there an issue?”

The older redhead looks down for a moment. The sheer uncomfortableness that settles within her very bones is not without reason. Her skin is cold with prickles and goosebumps. Perhaps it’s a ridiculous reaction, but the significance of what she is about to do is crucial to you, she knows that.

However, as the filth and stench of a certain blondie coats itself around the stark leather surrounding your neck, she knows it needs to be done.

She needs to remove your collar.

“Her collar. It needs to be removed.” The words are sneered, almost growled, as Wanda wills the uncertain into existence.

Natasha stiffens, her clothes which were perfectly fine a moment ago now feel disgusting against her soft skin, every stitch piecing it all together feel wrong and patchy.

A collar is a safety net in the power dynamic between a vampire and a pet. It’s always been a part of vampire tradition that the collar is a reminder of good faith. Removing the collar, without the owner’s specific request, means punishment.

If you wake up without your collar, you will never forgive them.

“I will do it.” With her head hung low, Natasha closes the distance between herself and you, crouching down beside her wife. Her knees creak as she sinks into position, her hands reaching toward you.

The sorrow that builds and sinks within her is laughable. They barley know you, and you definitely don’t know them, yet the pull between yourself and them is undeniable. In a lifetime of grief, Natasha was hoping it could symbolize a new beginning, a lifeline of sorts.

Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.

Just as her fingers struggle against the metal clasp, smaller, softer hands glide over her own and hold them gently.

“No.” The clan leader sighs out calmly.  

Natasha furrows her brows in confusion.

“But-“

“No. I need to do this.” With a sad smile, Wanda removes her wife’s hands and holds them to her lips, “She likes you.” It was the simplified truth.

To be frank, Wanda scares you, she can tell by the way you never find peace around her, even while you are asleep. You wouldn’t trust either of them when you wake, but at the very least she could lessen the burden that will lay on her wife’s shoulders.

With her tail tucked between her legs, the younger girl nods silently and raises herself into a standing position. The loose thread beside her zipper takes over all of Natasha’s attention, she refuses to watch.

Wanda removes your collar in an almost medical procedure, leaning slightly over your tiny frame surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets, she finds the point of no return and she places her fingers lightly against your skin as her fingers work on opening the clasp.

She knows immediately.

As soon as the back of her ring finger touches your neck.

She knows she will beat Carol Danvers until she is unrecognizable.

“Oh.”

The leather feels rough and scratchy as she clutches it in her grip while looking you over.

“So that’s why she is leased,” Wanda mumbles in a monotone voice.

That finally catches Natasha’s attention again. With a curious glance over Wanda’s shoulder, Natasha falls void of any emotion but one. Pure, unfiltered, hatred.

Back in the day, rouge vampires had a specific way of marking their property.

They called it The Noose of Misery. A name bound in irony, a mockery, as they scarcely felt sorry for this sort of thing.

It was deemed a form of entertainment.

The noose of misery; was to slit your victim’s throat repeatedly, leaving gruesome slashes through thin skin. The first slice was always the same, they would cut the vocal cords. It wasn’t precise, nor pretty, it was merely a rouge slash against vulnerable anatomy.

Due to this, they would often miss their target.

Which would prompt them to hold down their victims until they were satisfied, it wasn’t hard to tell when they succeeded as their victims would fall silent. Or a form of silence as they attempt to refrain from drowning in their own bodily fluids.

The vampires found it most entertaining when their prey ran around like headless chickens, choking and gurgling on their blood, trying their best to scream for help.

Despite the intensity of this game, their food would rarely pass away from it.

A vampire’s blood has a certain healing ability, and contrary to popular belief, drinking the blood of a vampire does not turn you into one. Only a clan leader could sire a new vamp.

So, the youngsters would often find new and innovative ways to watch their victim suffer, and only when the life seeped out of their eyes like the blood did their body, then and only then would the vampires slash their wrists and force it down their preys partially slit throats.

However, even with its healing ability, the blood of a vampire is considered poison. The pain that would sear through you after consumption has often been compared to being burned alive.

That never stopped them.

The ritual would be repeated until the owner was satisfied. Then the last round of slashes would be healed with a singular drop of blood, enough to keep them hanging on by a thread, but no more than that.

When the nasty gashes healed to raised scars, it would be proof of ownership.

In 1898, The Noose of Misery was banned across all clans.

Wanda Maximoff made sure of it.

Yet, there were always those select few that never listened.

Given the scarring, you couldn’t have been older than nine.

Nine?

Nine…

Nine.

There is an audible *click* as two sets of sharpened canines force themselves present as the two redheads look down at the horror.

There was a difference with yours; the first slash was precise and professional, cut right through the vocal cords. It was a given who ordered it to be done, but it was clear she was not the one to do it.

Or rather, she was not the one to do the first slice.

That also explained why you were a less permanent commitment to the shelter. It must have taken place during the trial.

There is a trial period when it comes to buying pets. Some test them for a week, others for a year, it all depends on the customer and how much money they are willing to pay. If they deem the pet unfit, they can return them for half price.

However, shelters and kennels alike have a strict policy against marking their brand. If the pet is marked before being sold, the responsible party is banned from buying said pet, and they have to pay a heavy compensation.

That whore must have paid half a fortune to make up for what she did to you.

Leased pets are damaged goods.

They will never be bought.

Anger crawls like ants within the older redhead.

“And so, the war begins.”

Her expression is blank as she speaks clearly. The anger within her digs in deeper until it mends with her very being. She means every word of it.

Just as the last syllable was worded out, Wanda looked down to see your scared eyes staring right back at her.

There is no telling how long you have been awake while Wanda was preoccupied with staring down at the scars, willing them to dissipate before her very eyes.

With a sigh, Wanda pats your head one last time before you cower away from her touch.

It hurt, but she knew what would happen once your only line of defense was taken away from you. The redhead stares down at the collar held firmly within her hands. She wished she was stronger, that she could return it to you and pretend as if she never knew.

But as you both glue your eyes to leather almost as old as you, the ants turn into giants, a soundly crack can be heard as the dirty material is ripped into pieces right before you.

And with it, you too fall into a disarray of pieces that will never fit back together.

That collar was all you had.

It was all you were.

Without it…

You are nothing.

Nothing but hers.

“Romanoff.” A chill runs down Natasha’s spine at the tone of her wife’s calling.

“Contact the Thor clan and inform them that they have 96 hours to give over Carol Danvers or I will kill them all.”

The command was said so bluntly Natasha could hardly believe her ears. But as she looks over to Wanda’s hunched frame, her nose snarled and her eyes a dangerous glowing red, she breaks out of her trance and excuses herself.

She can comfort you later, but there won’t be a later if she does not obey her wife.

Current time (24 hours before the slaughter):

Wanda has woken up screaming in terror many times in her lifetime. It’s not easy to live as long as she has, to see what she has seen. The same horror burdens Natasha.

So, the older redhead has lost count of the timeless times her slowly beating heart has broken at the sight of her wife crying and screaming in her sleep.

There was nothing more painful.

Or so she thought.

What she could never imagine was how it would make her feel to watch someone attempt to sob their long overdue sorrows, only for them to flail and choke against their own vocal cords silently. Nothing but weak gasps and hoars coughs, the sound itself making her wince in pity.

Breathing through her nose slowly, Wanda has to close her eyes to collect herself before turning toward her wife, who carries an expression not far from her own. With her lip peeled back and her eyes narrowed, Natasha cringes at the sound of your tiny frame fighting the bedsheets.

As her eyes glue themselves to the nanny cam, she set up on their bedside table, Wanda thinks of what limb to start with.

Carol seems awfully attached to those claws of hers…

She is quickly brought back to the present time when a loud gasp emits from the speakers, followed by a heavy thud as you fall off the king-sized bed.

Wanda is on her feet and halfway down the hallway before Natasha can get a word out.

You saw more of the ceiling that night than you did the floor.

Your hands swipe against empty air. The sounds around you are like a cold hollow inside an unexplored cave. Nothing but echoes of lies surround you as you desperately try to grasp the situation in a literal sense. Like a zombie, you growl and groan as your hands seek the source of your misery.

You can’t see her. With your neck split in half, you would have to use both hands to hold your head up.

However, it doesn’t hurt.

Not yet.

So, you fight.

You are far shorter than them, Master is almost double your height, and the other lady isn’t much shorter. If you could just get closer, your hardened hands may be able to grasp them and beg for forgiveness. You can’t really talk though…

The side of your vision darkens as the blood gushes and pools beneath your feet. You can’t see it, but you feel it, it’s like ice pouring down your body.

Streams like rivers, split and thicken into canals, as they cascade down your stomach and glide down your thighs.

Like a switch-

A sneaking wave hits you, suddenly the adrenaline is gone, and the crash is horrendous.

Your knees crash into the floor, your body following behind shortly. The weight of your own body fights against you as you attempt to push yourself upward. With your hands grasping and slipping against amber liquid, your elbows give out under the pressure, and you fall into a heap.

Cracks of a weak child’s bones bounce off the wall as you lay defeated.

Soon, your mind and body become self-aware of your soon-to-be decapitated head, and you can do nothing but gasp and flop like a fish out of water.

It’s really scary.

The small hands of a nine-year-old child claw and paw at the cold floor as two adult women watch for the fourth time that night as a young pet watches Death seek her out.

They break your jaw open, then a wrist is forced into your mouth.

You are scared.

The blood hurts.

It hurts a lot.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Aga-“

*GASP*

On the other side of town (96 hours before the slaughter):

Carol learned at a very young age that vampires like Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff think they are invisible. And they were, not a single creature, human, vampire, or otherwise, ever came close to breaking them.

Weren’t you just full of surprises.

A puff of smoke surrounds the blond woman as she leans against the truck. With one leg crossed over the other, her pants rustle against each other as she swishes lightly to one side.

Men and women alike continue to shout and argue in the back as they finish loading up their gear.

Just as she flicks the cigarette to the ground and her boot crunches it against the pavement, her phone chimes.

BabyBoss:

You have 96 hours to give yourself over to the Maximoff clan or I will personally slaughter your entire hometown. Including your fucking childhood dog.

Read 2:13 am

Rolling her eyes, a chuckle builds up within her.

God, you really are full of surprises.

“You ready boss?” A gruff man in his late thirties asks her as she walks over to the back of the truck.

Throwing in her own bag she nods. “Lead the way.”

21 hours. 54 near deaths. 198 slashes. 32 scars.

Nine years old.

(This chapter really wasn't written well, I'm sorry.)

Taglist:

@thinking1bee, @tobiaslut, @esmeseasle, @skittlebum, @tia-thesimp, @maximilfsworld, @leenasayeed, @scarlethexelove, @itsalwaysskorpioszn, @observeowl, @tekanparadiae, @adelareys, @anqyuicka, @ichala, @thalia-is-not-ok, @lovelyy-moonlight, @wandamaximoff-simp, @opossumking03, @confidant-thoughts, @delivery-bird, @esouliie, @geydumbbetch, @dorabledewdroop, @mousetheorist, @herwagonempathkid, @mommysfavouritegirl, @auroraromaximoff, @roman0ffsheart, @morganna-la-faye, @kaosrsing, @marvelwomenarehot0, @lizzieswife101, @og-kxsh-420, @chibilauren, @sgm616, @cyber-juipter, @falloutboy-lover, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx, @likefirenrain, @cole2907, @rahhhha, @taliiiaasteria, @dehydratedcoffeeaddict, @viktoriaromanovaa, @julz2000, @ahintofchaos, @consti-ss, @broimjustadepressedlesbian, @rowiebear, @crispychaosmaker, @mary-20, @romanoff101, @alexawynters, @dinno-nuggets, @riddlesknot

(Does it work when I tag yall like this?)

[blue-mood-blue]

I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn’t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Celebratory 1k+ post! (+Official Reveal of "Him.")

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First of all, before I start, I would just like to thanks everyone from the bottom of my heart. I cannot begin to emphasize just how much it means to me that more than 1,000 of you decided that this blog was follow worthy.

The fact that so many people engage with this blog, whether asking a lore-related question to know more about the world of the AU, to joking around and making me laugh makes my heart swell with pride and joy.

This AU's purpose was not only to tell a story, but to also destress myself from my problems so I can keep my head on my shoulders and keep on living. So to know that many people found this passion project interesting enough, well... All I could really say is...

Thank you.

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to share an incredibly canon-divergent story that is so far removed from the original source, it may as well be considered as a standalone project.

Thank you for sparing a little bit of your time and attention (as well as a few braincells) to learn about the characters, the story, the history, and the world of it.

... And most of all, thank you for continuously saving me from the darkness that attempts to consume me everyday.

No one really knows what happens to me behind the screen, and I'd rather keep it that way because I don't wanna be such a downer. Even here, I want to keep things lighthearted so I won't be delving into that.

Besides that, there's unfortunately something I haven't been entirely honest with you guys. Everyone knows about the B.O.S.S. (B.loodthirsty, O.verburdened S.corned S.ouls) roster, and how they serve as the AU's antagonists, but there is a secret character who doesn't exactly fall into that category.

Rather, he's not just a normal boss antagonist. HE'S THE OVERARCHING VILLAIN OF THIS AU, and has been teased since WAYYYY back to the early poster of the Harlequin AU.

You may know this guy as "???" from the roster list, or "HIM" from the answered lore-related asks. Well, for the sake of a celebratory 1k post that won't provide much strain for me, I've decided to reveal who this is.

Now, without further ado, I'd like you all to meet-

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"The Patriarch of Puppets" - Official design reveal!

"Adorned in silver and reds, The Patriarch of Puppets (or simply, "The Patriarch") is an untouchable and powerful entity who constantly chases Pomni after she finishes a battle with a Boss."

No one knows what the fuck his problem is, But one thing is for sure: he first shows up after Pomni defeats the Skirmish General, and seems to like tormenting the Combat Harlequin by attempting to separate her soul from her heart and inflicting burning agony.

Pomni, in tandem, feels GREAT DREAD even at her first encounter with The Patriarch; she doesn't know why, but whenever he's in her general presence, her entire soul, AND her fight-or-flight instincts screams TWO THINGS: "DANGEROUS. RUN."

Pomni CANNOT fight him to save her life. Her sword hands starts to tremble and she can't move if she's around him for too long. She knows from the very beginning that this is a fight that she cannot win no matter what. He is the Hunter, and she is the Prize.

Bubble also seems to power off instantly and just crash to the ground with no warning, an immediate telling sign that he's already in the general vicinity. He seems to not care about the blimp in the slightest.

His classification is a King Harlequin; 1) a reference to "king-size", 2) a literal one of a kind Puppet, and 3) the tallest of Harlequins that no one even knew existed in the first place.

Just how tall exactly? Well...... here's the updated lineup.

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I hope that this is a fitting celebratory 1k treat for all you hungry lore eaters and Harlequin AU enjoyers!

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly! Prologue

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only.

Platonic! Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Alcohol, bad choices, stupid choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o fic, there is slight blood and gore, it's a vampire au, age gaps, because they're all significantly older, it's going to get suggestive from here on out, reverse harem, slight proofreading

Writer's Note: I want to thank @sophiethewitch1 for inspiring me and talking me through posting my writing. I hope it doesn't let you down! This is also my first time posting my writing on Tumblr, please be gentle. English is not my first language. Also, this is a why choose fic. So, it's Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian x reader. Maybe even Duke. I think four is a lot. Got to draw the line somewhere. Chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow.

It was midnight when you finally stumbled out of the latest club. Your heels were long gone, as you had taken them off the first time they got stuck in a grate. You’re pretty sure you handed them to a nice girl in the bathroom while her friend held your hair as you threw up copious amounts of alcohol and bar food. She had been super nice, you liked the way her short black hair was spiked, and her blonde friend’s eyeliner was superb. Anyways, now you are shoeless and desperately looking for the next bar on your crawl.

Gin’s. Ooh, that’ll do. You reach out and grab your friend’s bicep, point at the neon sign, and do vague gestures. Of course, your friend is not as well off as you are, so it takes a while to get your point across. Only they start crying again over their bullshit bar fling, and the fact you have no shoes.

It didn’t matter, none of it truly mattered. Not a single thing. This was your one night off after weeks of back-to-back grueling shifts at a job that doesn’t care whether you live or die. Yesterday you even took a quick unintentional power nap on the toilet. All of this resulted in you being slightly crazed and a little deranged as your night progressed.

But hey, Gotham just brings that out in people. In your job's defense, no one could take any more sick or inclement weather days thanks to all the random villain attacks next to or at your office. You blame the monthly rut.

At least you didn’t get stuck on the subway taped to a bench by the Riddler this week as he awkwardly rifled through a notebook of pickup lines. Life was certainly looking up.

See, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the propaganda you consumed, you were born an Omega. Which had never truly been an issue. Except for the fact that thanks to a few foul choices from the government, it was getting harder and harder to get access to affordable pheromone blockers. You wouldn’t have even chanced this outing if you hadn’t found that one pill that rolled a little under your cabinet. Hey, you were desperate for a night out.

“I’m going there”, you slur.

Yes, this was asinine, but you still managed to wheel yourself and your friend to Gin’s. You hardly noticed the dark shadows following you as your friends from the bathroom quietly herded you. As you and your friend jaywalked across the street, you didn’t notice the red-headed woman standing in the middle of the road, blocking traffic from actually hitting you. It also barely registered when the nice boy with flashing gold eyes took your hand and led you past the line and directly to the front. This. Was. Your. Night. Out.

“Hey man, she can’t come in here with no shoes”, the bouncer at the door complains.

He was going to say more until he looked at the man holding your hand so nicely. You could hear the slight choking noise, and in your drunken stupor, you stumbled a little into your guide.

“He’s going to shit himself”, you stage-whisper. Or what you think was whispering. You were screaming over the pounding bass spilling out of the door.

                “Shhh, Jackson, she’s with me”, your guide replies.

                “She can come in, her friend can’t. Sorry Duke, they’re way too fucked up”, the bouncer swears.

                You gasp and let go of Duke’s hand, instead reaching for your friend and pulling them tight into your embrace. While smashing their face into your chest. Even though you were the most drunk you’ve ever been, you didn’t miss the spike in pissed-off Alpha vibes that happened around you. Still, you smacked a hand against your friend’s ear in an effort to protect them from what was said. Then you got sidetracked by their hair. It reminded you that you wanted a pet. Although with your work and class schedule, it would probably die in a week. Three days tops. At least you had your emotional support friend.

                “I can’t leave them alone”, you say.

                “Hun, how about I call them an Uber, they look like they’re ready to pass out. They definitely can’t handle it anymore”, Duke replies.

                He gestures towards your friend, and you notice how they’re slowly swaying on their feet. Eyes half closed. Shit. It would be shitty if you left them passed out somewhere in the bar as you danced and drank. They were already on their fourth wind and fading fast.

                “Look, you see this nice car”, Duke continues.

                He turns you three, and suddenly you notice the nice black town car next to the road. You vaguely register the fact that it’s one of those high-roller cars. Ones that only the richest in Gotham could afford.

                “See, this is Killian, he works for Wayne Enterprises. He’ll make sure your friend makes it home. I’ll even have him text you when they get there. Won’t that be nice? You don’t have to worry at all (y/n).”, he tells you.

                You nod, and it all makes sense somehow in your drunken brain. He knows your name, so obviously you know him. He also knows your friend, since he rattles off their address and gently pries them from your clutches before handing them off to Killian.

You pay no mind to the mention of a name that would have sent shivers down your spine normally. Wayne. Mysterious and dangerous to all who get involved.

                “I need them back, don’t sell their organs”, you warn.

                Then he gives you a tight brisk smile as he turns away from you. A persistent thought is starting to nag its way through the cotton in your head. The slightest unsettling feeling. Maybe there was something wrong with that blocker pill you found on the floor of your kitchen. You were certainly feeling as though there were a lot of pissed-off Alphas near you. The undercurrent of anger was a tang you couldn’t escape. More and more you felt the need to run somewhere dark and quiet to hide.

                You ignore the persistent tugging by Duke as you watch your friend get loaded into the car and driven away. Well. That ends that.

                The next time Duke tugs on your hand, it causes you to slightly stagger. He easily catches you and spins you around and through the door before you can protest.

                “Can I have a Rum and Coke?”, you shout over the music.

                “Yeah totally”, Duke shouts back.

                It’s only until you are tugged past the bar that you realize that everything is not all sunshine and daisies. No. No. This is wrong. You want to go back.

                You put your heels in. Duke was not ready for resistance as your hand slid out of his grasp on the way to the V.I.P. section. He turns around to get a better hold of you, only to watch you slip into the crowd and get lost in the sea of swaying bodies. Fuck. He was told to bring you to them. You still had to be here, there’s no way you could have bumbled off far. Shit. One job.

                Duke ran a palm over his face as he scanned the crowd. There’s no doubt in his mind. Bruce was going to be pissed. He wasn’t supposed to know about your little excursion out. Everyone had agreed, they would watch over you as the day turned. You still weren’t used to Gotham; you didn’t know the sort of creatures that came out during the night. While the rest of the world was happy and filled with normal and meta shifters, Gotham was overflowing with the less-than-stable. All more than happy to take a bite out of the innocent. The only thing that kept it in check was the unspoken King and his disgraced hellions.

If you had been sober, you would have noticed the people slowly disappearing from the crowd. You would have noticed that tonight was absolutely not a good night to be out. One by one, shrieks of fear and pain were mistaken for fun. Jostling in the crowd was hardly registered as the violence spread. The whole night, you were in a sea of sharks feeding. Now you had finally ditched what you didn’t know was your only protection.

                 Not to worry, fear splashes hot and cold against your nerves as sharp claws grip your arm, your back slamming into the bar as a distended jaw hisses open in front of you.

                Yeah. Maybe you should have been drinking responsibly.

[yanderecrazysie]

hey, no hate if you deny this request, but au soulmate bakugou? Yes pls.

I don’t think I could ever deny a soulmate au XD

Title: Soulmate Song

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, soulmate AU, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, swearing

Summary: Your soulmate is not exactly what you pictured.

“Soulmates come by surprise

Bell curve it seems extremes arise

And those who beat the odds will call it fate”

-From “Soulmate Song” by Carson James Argenna

You weren’t one to look at tabloids, but even you had heard the rumors of how abrasive and rude the hero Dynamight was. You’re also sure the magazines had covered his soulmate mark. You wish now that you’d read at least one article on it, because then you wouldn’t be as taken by surprise as you were now.

You sat there on the dusty floor, coughing from the smoke in the air. The store your family owns was destroyed. Hopefully the insurance would cover it. 

Despite all the rumors surrounding Dynamight, he was undeniably a superhero at this moment. He was panting, shoulders heaving a little with each breath. The villains, however, are much worse for wear, lying knocked out on overturned shelves.

Somehow, the villains are the least worrying thing on your mind. The forefront thought on your mind is the mark on Dynamight’s left shoulder blade. A grenade with three small sparks around the top… oh so fitting for him. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you were that he was your match.

That’s right. Your own back bore the same mark. Bakugou Katsuki was your soulmate.

You didn’t exactly look your best. Your hair was blown in every direction, your clothes were covered in dust and soot, and you were sure your face was just as dirtied. But this could be your only chance to approach Dynamight, considering he was a famous person.

You got to your feet, swaying unsteadily. Dynamight’s back was to you and you weren’t sure how to get his attention.

“Excuse me, Dynamight?” Your voice came out as a squeak. He didn’t turn around.

Your hand reached out hesitantly and rested on the soulmate mark. For a moment, you admired the way it looked on his light skin, the next moment, he was spinning around, asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You curled your hand into your chest, heat rising to your cheeks.

“We’re soulmates,” you whispered.

“What was that?” Dynamight didn’t seem all that interested in what you had to say, but at least he was listening.

“We’re soulmates!” You said, a little louder than intended.

The blond hero stared at you for a moment before a derisive laugh left his lips, “Yeah, right, I’ve heard that line before.”

“No, I’m serious,” you protested, “I have a tank top underneath my shirt, I can show-”

“Listen,” Dynamight said, “My soulmate is not going to be a little wimp. If I have a soulmate, she’s going to be a strong hero who can stand by my side and fight. Not someone like you who cowers on the floor like a stupid little bug.”

It felt like the life had been sucked out of you. Your stomach plummeted and then rose with the fury consuming your body. 

“Fuck you,” you spat, “I’d rather have no soulmate than be with you.”

“See, that’s a little more fiery,” Dynamight snickered.

You spun on your heel and stormed through the employee’s only entrance. The backroom was spared from the damage the villains and explosive hero had caused. 

You held back tears. Like every little girl, you had dreamed you’d meet your soulmate and live happily ever after. Even as an adult, you’d held out hope. 

But this guy? You weren’t lying when you said you’d rather have no soulmate at all.

You’d cry later, you were sure of that. But for now, anger was your primary emotion.

How dare he be an asshole? How dare he crush your dreams of being happy?

Why had the universe paired you with someone like him? Had mother nature run out of pairs to match up?

Well, forget him. You didn’t need him. There were plenty of people who lost their soulmates, surely you’d meet one of them. Or maybe you’d meet a guy whose soulmate was a total bitch and you could bond over how much the universe sucked.

You’d be fine.

—---------------------------------------------

A month had passed since that day, and Bakugou hadn’t given it a second thought. Just another crazy fan trying to get him to date them. He didn’t even care about finding his soulmate.

At least, he didn’t think he did. Not until now.

You’re playing in the waves, splashing your friend on the mostly-empty beach. He recognizes you not just by your face, but by the symbol on your shoulder blade. 

You weren’t lying.

He approached you eagerly, feeling the pull of fate dragging him closer. Sure, you weren’t the strong pro hero he was expecting, but you were solely and uniquely his.

You gave him a dirty look upon seeing him and loudly suggested to your friend that the two of you head further down the beach.

The message was clear. He got it.

He started to walk away, then stopped. Looked back at you. Felt that surge of possessiveness shoot up his spine.

You were weak. And, for the first time, he wasn’t seeing that in disgust, but in worry. You were completely unprotected, defenseless…

You needed him. And who was he to protest?

The universe wanted you together, after all.

[galactic-rhea]

in regards to your padme post, what if padme WAS put into the space monk order and groomed by the literal devil alongside anakin? How do you think she would've turned out?

#you can't put tags in asks #but I'm doing it anyways #padme and anakin are some of my favorite star wars characters

The galaxy is fucked. That's it, thanks for your ask. /hj

The thing is that Palpatine is so...insidious (lol) that I fully believe he could groom anyone to be a Darth Vader if he has the opportunity.

Look at Luke, with Luke it didn't work because he didn't have years of manipulation and Luke did have more stable relationships and less all-consumming insecurities compared to Anakin, and a much less dogmatic understanding of bieng A Good Jedi (tm),,,AND LUKE STILL ALMOST FALLS.

Even if you want to take the sequels as canon...He also didn't have the time to groom Rey for years, and still almost succeds.

Padmé saw Palpatine as a sort of political mentor but could realize she was being played, but Palpatine didn't warp her into world-changing views.

But regarding your question, I think it would depend a lot and there's a lot of factors playing, like: Do she and Anakin bond? Why did Palpatine pick her? Or is this a reverse situation? Was she also brough as an older kid or was taken as a baby?

If we simplify it to "She was the one super strong in the force so Palpatine picked her for apprentice", yeah, I think we would have had Darth Amidala, perhaps less ruthless and murderous than Vader, more subtle and way more cold, but...idk, look at the other people Sidious got his hand into (Maul, Dooku).

If Padmé and Anakin had bonded, and Sheev had wanted Padmé as his apprentice, then I bet he would've find some way to get rip off of Anakin and anyone close to her, isolating and cutting away any ties to love or comforts is first and foremost.

Even if Anakin had been another apprentice to Sheev, then Palpatine was in for just some fun games and see how to get one of his apprentices kill, betray or in some way get out of the picture so only the best one remains.

Sheev is an incredible villain because he's always playing 4D Chess and he adapts his plan on the go.

When it comes to AUs like this, I think we're talking about the very human and sad nature that is being vulnerable to manipulation, no matter how smart.

Sometimes we want to think "oh if it hadn't been Anakin, if it had been -insert goodie good character-, things would've changed", but the fact is that no one is infalible. Groomers change their game and attack the weakness they see and adapt to their victim needs, and Palpatine is terrifying in that regard. And is a supporting system what helps people to get out.

Padmé is brave, smart and competent, but guess what, so was Anakin. And I think Palpatine would have exploited her weakness if he had chosen her as a victim instead of Anakin. But so would have anyone else. If Palpatine had chosen Obi-Wan, or Ahsoka, or Quilan, or Ayla, whatever, then we would have ended with a sith apprentice anyways; with their own particular personality and quirks, of course, and less unhinged perhaps because one of the biggest things in Anakin/Vader's views is that he was a slave and he sees the world in a very particular way, but yeaaaah.

If I must think of how could an evil Padmé would be...I think she would be very methodical and unlike Vader, she wouldn't be submissive to her "master" at all, she would plot against Sheev and harbour lots of hate and very little loyalty to him. She has the mindset of a queen, not a slave. In a way, that would make her more dangerous.

And I think she would ha v e some sort of…possesive views? Like, idk how to explain, kinda like how a queen sees a bestiary? Awesome, scary and cool beast to keep in a nice sanctuary, but they belong to her. I get this idea because of that bit from one of the novels, where she thinks that Anakin is like a vine tiger, dangerous and capable of murdering anyone else "but that runs to put his cheek against her and pur.r"

But like Anakin, then anyone can turn back as well and get away from the manipulation, and a sith Padmé could as well!

aLSO, before anyone says something because I'm starting to know how this fandom works... no, I'm not absolving Anakin of guilt, because victims can become abusers and should be held accountable. However, I am praising how terrifying Palpatine actually is when you think about it, literally any other character could've become what Anakin became had Sheev (or any other groomer, tbh) decided to play the cards that way.

Sorry for the long rambling I thing i sidetracked a lot, I hope at least it's a good answer nkljgndfjkgdfg

[m-jelly]

Requested:

Levi x reader + Narnia (base?/theme? from the three movies) 😊😅

I know the Narnia books and movies. I can work with this! Normally I don't do movie or tv or book inspired, but I know this and I can make it Royal AU with magic easily!

Another land with love

Levi x fem!reader

Royal AU, magic AU, fluff, romance, falling in love, villain Levi is actually the good guy, becoming a couple, Narnia inspired.

In your attempt to flee your terrifying partner, you climb through a closet and end up in a new world. You're soon captured by Count Levi Ackerman whom you're warned is evil. During your time with the Count, the two of you fall in love, discover your powers and learn the Queen is the true villain.

Warning, this is a long one because I was given too much free rein on this! It wasn't a scene. Sorry it's a tad long, I tried to cut it down. This has two parts to it.

@ladycheesington @darkstarlight82 @levisbrat25 @galactict3a @nyxiieluna

@li-anne @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @emilyyyy-08 @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird

@searriously

Panic consumed your very soul. The heat from your heavy breathing wrapped around you as you tried to stay quiet inside the closet. Tears stung your eyes as terror took over. Your body was working overdrive listening to anything. Fight and flight were kicking in.

As your partner's footsteps got closer to the room you were hiding in, you knew that he'd find you and beat you. So, you wiggled further back into the closet and felt cold air. Intrigued and hopeful that this could be your way out, you turned and shoved your way through the musty clothes towards the coldness.

Musty old clothes soon turned into rough pine branches covered in snow. Pain shot through your feet as you ran through thick snow, you were not wearing the clothes for this kind of weather but you would rather face a bitter winter than what was behind you.

It was like the trees were trying to help you be free because there was a push behind them. Eventually, you flung your body out of the treeline and slammed against the snow. With the momentum of your efforts, you rolled down the hill and smacked into a post of a fence lining a road.

You lay there for a while as you let the tears run down your cheeks, you were fed up with everything. After crying for a bit you pushed yourself up and started following the road until you noticed lanterns and a town in the distance. You needed to find someone to help you out.

As you shook from the bitter cold air you noticed posters about the dreaded Count, to be careful of him and to inform the Queen of any and all of his activities. Count Levi Ackerman seemed handsome from the drawing, but you knew better than to have anything to do with bad men again.

You stumbled into an empty tavern and over to the keeper. "H-Hello. I a-ah, need help."

He stared at you. "You're not from here."

You shook your head. "I came here through some weird doorway." You shivered. "I don't know what's happening."

He hurried around to you and guided you to the fireplace. As soon as he sat you down, he wrapped a blanket around you. "I'll get you something warm to drink."

"Th-thank you."

The keeper sat with you and explained you were in a snowy land called Paradis which was ruled by a kind Queen, but rumours are spreading that she might be causing the long winter. He informed you that Count Levi was the Queen's rival, he'd been raiding lands and taking it for his own. All people who use magic are with the Count.

It was clear the more this man talked, the more there was disgust and dislike for anyone with magical abilities. The Queen had linked magic to the Count and therefore all magical people and things were bad. The more he spoke the more uncomfortable you were becoming because you had come here by magic.

He stared at you. "Are you magical?"

You gripped your drink. "No. Magic doesn't exist in my world."

"But you came here by magic."

You put the cup down and held your hands up. "I'm not magical."

He stared at your hands to see a light pink light dance around your hands. "Filthy blood! You're a magus!"

You stood up. "I'm telling you, I'm not from this world. I don't use magic."

He grabbed your upper arm and dragged you out of the tavern. "You're all the same! Disgusting magus!"

You screamed when he threw you hard out of his tavern and against the muddy road. "Ow!"

"You belong in the mud! You pig! MAGUS! MAGUS!"

"Tch, oi?" Both you and the tavern owner looked at a man sitting on a black horse wearing a thick black cloak, black clothes under, black undercut hair and the most devilishly handsome face. "Watch your mouth."

The tavern owner shook. "Th c-count!"

You watched him trip up his stairs and fall into his tavern and lock it. A shiver ran through you as you felt the Count's eyes bore into you. You turned your head and gazed at him only to see his gaze was not of rage or disgust, but something rather soft. Never in all your years has a man ever looked at you like that before.

He jumped off his horse and strolled over to you. "So, you're a magic user and by the looks of you, you're not from this world."

You gulped hard. "I fell into this world through a doorway. Please, don't make me go back."

He crouched next to you and felt his cheeks heat up at how pretty you were. "You must be frozen and scared." He pulled his thick cloak off and wrapped it around you before scooping you up into his strong arms. "Tell me, why do you fear going back?"

"There's only pain. A man is waiting who claims he loves me."

"He hurt you?"

You nodded. "Yes."

Levi gripped you tightly. "I won't let you go back." He sat you on his horse before climbing up and holding you. "I'm Count Levi Ackerman."

You gave your name. "Thank you for your cloak, but aren't you cold?"

"I use fire magic, I'm fine." He looked down at you and thought you looked adorable. "Rest, I'll take care of you and bring you somewhere safe."

You admired Levi's cold beauty. "O-Okay."

He held you close and activated his power causing you to feel a gentle warmth coming from him. He wasn't sure who you were, or where you came from but when he looked into your eyes he saw a connection with you. The two of you were bound in some way, and he felt a need or desire to take care of you.

He glanced down at you as his horse walked and saw you were clinging to him and asleep. He smiled softly and enjoyed the contact with you.

It'd been a few weeks since you'd arrived at Levi's manor. Everyone had cared for you and treated you like you were the Countess of the home. Levi treated you as if you were his darling love. He was so kind and attentive to your needs.

Magic lessons with Levi were fun, he was teaching you how to embrace your newfound abilities. You listened to every word he said and in return, he listened to you about your world. Levi was fascinated by your world and all the cleaning products you had access to.

The way Levi gazed at you, talked to you and smiled at you made you think he possibly had feelings for you. As the weeks passed, he started bringing you gifts that brightened your day. Some of you hoped he cared for you like you cared for him.

You reached out and watched a huge oak tree grow from the earth from your pink magic. You marvelled at how big and brilliant it was. "I can't believe I can make something like this."

Levi stood behind you and ran his hand down your arm stretched out. "You are brilliant. I've never seen this kind of magic before. You're almost as powerful as me. I believe if we work together we can stop the Queen."

You turned and faced Levi as he played with your hand and caressed your cheek. "I hate that everyone has you wrong." You leaned into his touch. "You're a good man who is misunderstood."

"I'm happy as long as you understand me."

Your cheeks heated up. "I need to ask you something."

"You can ask me anything."

You let out a shaky sigh. "I need to know how you feel."

He tilted his head. "How do I feel? I feel okay."

You shook your head a bit. "N-Not that, b-but I'm glad you're okay."

He released you and stepped back as he called your name.

You panicked a bit. "I-I'm sorry, I w-won't ask!"

He called your name again. "You can ask me anything. I was just moving back because look."

You lifted your head to see flowers everywhere and Levi was covered in them too. You gasped a bit and felt your heart race. "Ah, s-sorry."

He smiled. "It's beautiful. You must be feeling something good."

You stared at him and admired his smile, which only caused more flowers to grow around him and little lights of pink to float around him. "Levi?"

He looked over at you as some light landed on his finger. "I'm in love with you."

You gasped. "H-huh?"

He blushed hard. "S-sorry, but I just felt so compelled to say how I felt." He approached you. "It's true though." He held your hands. "I hope you feel the same way."

You nodded shyly. "I do. I love you too. I was going to ask you if you care for me, but now I have my answer."

Levi pulled you against him. "May I kiss you?"

You whined a little. "You may, but I will warn you if you do you might be swallowed up by flowers."

Levi chuckled and held you against him. "I'm willing to take the risk. Besides, I might end up surrounding you with my flames."

You gasped when fire danced up your arms. "Warm."

He leaned closer and spoke against your lips. "They won't hurt you. They're gentle like I am with you."

Before you could answer him, he pressed his lips against yours and hummed in happiness. The heat between the two of you was addictive. The two of you clung to each other as the kiss deepened. More flowers grew and combined with Levi's flame abilities causing big, bright and dazzling flame flowers to grow around the two of you.

Levi pulled back from your lips and sighed. "Better than I imagined."

You giggled. "Yeah, you're right."

"I think you're my soulmate." He groaned a bit. "Tch, that sounded so cheesy."

You cupped his face and kissed him. "I think we are, soulmates that is."

"I'm glad you feel the same way."

You nibbled your lip and noticed the flowers. "We made flowers together."

He held you close and looked at the flowers you mentioned. "They're...wow...incredible."

[villainofmyownstory]

Hi! I'm V (Villain or Vi) | she/her

!!!!!!!! 18+ only! MDNI (nsfw + dark content) !!!!!!!!

writing fat reader characters | my native language isn't English

WIP updated 07/30/24

Day Zero

apocalypse AU - ongoing - chapter 7

Simon "Ghost" Riley x plus size fem!reader

masterlist | taglist | AO3 | playlist

Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

______________________________________________________________

Three copies and some signatures

part 1 part2

Simon/Reader/(Johnny)

You and Simon are married. A deal, a contract made only to avoid being deported. However, not everything can be predicted, lies are slowly consuming everyone. You, Simon and his real partner - Johnny. Feelings are stronger than words written on paper.

______________________________________________________________

click 'keep reading' to see more of my works

Blurry

exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

ongoing - part 2

You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

______________________________________________________________

GIF by adultstim

part 1 Blindsided part 2 Anyone Else

for Cali’s Nameless Challenge

nameless COD member x fem!Reader

You can't get over the breakup and the fact that you were left alone. You keep coming to the place where you last saw him. To, perhaps, finally get some kind of answer. Some solace.

______________________________________________________________

Light years

oneshot #GhostChallenge

Simon “Ghost” Riley x android/hologram!Reader

Many decades of longing. A lot of years of waiting. Hundreds of light years away from an Earth that no longer seemed like a memory, but a fictional story. A fairy tale written by poets. Earth no longer existed, and life on Zeus 2 went on as if the years of intergalactic war had never happened. As if the destruction of most of humanity had never taken place. There were still a few people on the new planet who remembered their lives on Earth. A past that was a memory stinging under the ribs. A small personal utopia for the last living people. Paradise lost.

______________________________________________________________

Incapacitation

König x plus size fem!reader

| AO3

You and König contact each other every day. Literally, you talk all the time. As soon as you open your eyes you see or hear him. König accompanies you in every activity. But you are no longer together. Despite the distance between you, you still hope that he will come back to you. One day you find out that König has fallen in love with another woman. Something inside you breaks. Once again. You will not let him decide about his life again, not this time. You know better what is best for him. You know König very well. After all, you talk to each other all the time.

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Zultanite

Poly TF141 x plus size fem!reader

masterlist | AO3

After inheriting jewelry from your dearest grandmother and one visit to a fortune teller. Your life is changing. Not once, not twice…. but four times.

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, The Joker (more characters pop up later, will add them then.)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood, Angst, (let me know if I should add more tags)

Word Count: 584

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 7 - Gotham Transcends

She watched them swarm, at the behest of their white skinned jester whose hair was the same toxic color that painted her sewers. Born in a vat created by the corrupt, from the same poisonous liquid she tasted regularly. Whenever he appeared he stained her soil in the warmth of the living. Her Bat right behind him, protecting her, called him Joker.

And the jester would laugh.

A sound so chaotic, alluring, her attention captivated, ripped away from her Bat. Something in him resonated with the souls that walked her streets, that lived in her buildings, that wished for change. They would gather, hold him up and then recoil. He danced with her Bat unlike any other, fluid and unpredictable. His whispered thoughts, his actions, always directed towards her Bat. The jester needed him, loved him, loved her, wanted her changed. Her shadows played with the soundless song he wove. Enjoying their game.

Nightwing, her oldest bird went too far, in protection of the youngest, in reaction to the second. Her Bat had been gripped by something indescribable. Fear was at the forefront, determination followed closely. Her eldest bird sat hopeless, her youngest shocked. With rhythmic movements her Bat pounded his chest trying to bring him back. Her Bat could not, would not, let the jester die. Like with the others, she gave her Bat what he wanted, a helping hand. She plucked a bit of shadow and when her Bat cracked the Jester’s chest, she slipped in. Disoriented and confused he shot up, clutching at his chest, his laughter echoing, filling her with new sensation.

She had not known. She had been unaware.

She? …I?

I had not known?

The excuse fell flat. Ignorance did not justify the consequences of that night. What would transpire would be devastating. How would I have known that it was not love, what the jester felt.

No.

It was love, but it was twisted. It was obsession but more consuming. It was jealousy, but it was sinister. He wanted my Bat. His full attention and our birds would, have, paid the price.

Later, bound and imprisoned, he spoke to the shadows. He spoke to me in sweet hushed tones. Disappointed that his plan had failed, regretful. I could feel the thrill run through me, from him, when I would inadvertently respond. A flicker here, a subtle movement there. He saw me, followed me with his mismatched eyes and when he could, he would grasp the tether, trying to pull me in. The jester was dangerous and now he was aware, his connection to me, to my Bat.

It was hard resisting, but I would not be swayed. He was not brought back because I wanted him, his life is held within the hands of my Bat. All he had to do was let me know and I would cut the string, let the jester collapse like a marionette. Though he did not know the power he held, though he did not speak to me directly, though I brought him nothing but torment. My Bat still had faith in me. Cared for me.

I settled on him, dark tendrils wrapping around his neck, adoringly watching him work. I watched him fight, watched him run ragged for me. I curled in tighter, burying myself in his back. I smiled at the feeling, a laugh escaping, unheard.

Gotham is me. I am Gotham and the Bat is mine, the jester an after thought.

I had finally, fully, awakened.

This one was difficult to write. I like the Joker as a villain but now he has a bit of Gotham in him, like the robins, and that cannot bode well. Also, why does the last bit sound menacing? This is where the story led me T_T

I'm afraid to follow the path, but I must march on.

[kingkenzieofmold]

I got permission and love from @rarestdoge to show off this guy! Meet 'Overlord' Villain!Cameron Copperbottom. How he came to be, the idea of playing terraria together on master mode but as our villain characters. Realized Doge does not have a villain character and him wanting to play as his son and inspire by an abandoned construction site made this sad bastard. So Enjoy!

Ashley, Henry and Charles designs belong to @mai-mai-lim

Brutus belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen

The Incandescent Prince AU:

Cameron Takes over after private investigator and struggles hard with being in the leadership position. Ashley and Brutus trying to help him but they too are trying to figure out there new roles as his seconds. So hence the more angry and stressed out Cameron. Eventually they prepare the space station and have the toppat king ending style fight with the government and get out. Once in space Cameron determines that a next course of action is to recuse the remaining Toppats.

Charles and Seung-Jae are assigned any mission dealing with the Toppats because of their experience with them. This leads to the heist against the wall that Cameron prepares. Upon raiding the wall Charles and Seung-Jae are alerted to the situation and are sent in. This is where it goes revenged arc vibes. The rescue team ending up in the cafeteria and having the airship on stand by. Charles and Seung-Jae having land on the helicopter pad making their way down to the Toppats Location.

The Wall and Toppats are duking it out when they arrive and the main rescue team having gotten most of the Toppat on to the air craft. A few still behind, Right Hand Man is fighting with Cameron against Dimitri when Seung-Jae charges RHM and body checks him, causing him to lose balance and fall out the building. Cameron of course goes after him not really thinking. Which is the slight scene I drew where Honeymaple catches Cameron but was unable to save RHM. This leads to him being in critical condition. The mission was a success but at what cost.

This cause Cameron to spiral slightly. Reginald due to RHMs condition does not resume leadership and consoles Cameron as much as he can in his grief. Cameron continues being leader but with a bit more venom, he disliked the government before but now he hates the government. He hates Seung-Jae for Locking his dads up and being the cause that his dad might die. Seung-Jae is consumed with guilt and is not doing too good. Ashley and Brutus try to be there for Cameron but Cameron is isolating himself. He then imposes a new mission: to make the governments lives a living nightmare.

He sets a new rule to engage in combat with all government agents and to not show mercy. He begins these heist with high risk, high reward. He wants to government to surrender for one reason to get Henry Stickmin in the most humiliating way possible and then kill him in front of the whole clan for what he has done. Ashley and Brutus are of course horrified by the plan and start trying to reason with him. Which leads to ‘you’re either with me or against me’ argument.

Eventually His plan does work out and he gets Seung-Jae but also Charles as he not about to leave Henry alone to the Toppats. Cameron is pissed even more at the fact that Charles is here and he is associated with Henry but not even his brother can reason with him. At this point the Toppat doctors and Reginald managed to locate some scientists who can help save RHM, making him into Right Hand Man Reborn.

Cameron has prepared the stage for this judgment and execution. No body is happy with this but they are not about to stop their prince yet. The judgement has been made and the execution is to be delivered. Cameron facing down Seung-Jae as Charles and his seconds are trying to convince Cameron not to do this. Seung-Jae sacred by resigned to his fate. The Toppats unable to do anything without the risk of Cameron firing before they could stop him. Right Hand Man enters the Stage. Talking down Cameron and embracing him in a hug. Letting him know it’s alright. Cameron has a mental breakdown, his stress of being leader and everything that has happen, seeing his dad there and hugging him.

He cried.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

OMG. What if we were both villains and we kissed at sunset right outside our arch nemesis’s castle? That would be so weird. Haha. Unless…?

Don’t look at my multi-shipping ass also coming up with an AU based off of the perfect world Exubus tried to create in the Apprenticeship AU. Shhhhh

(Hi Puzzle3/Puzzl3 peeps, how we doing? I’ve been meaning to post more of this ship because it too is consuming my brain alongside multiple other ships)

[isjasz]

So there's this song. From the second game from a game series game called "I expect you to die" and it's giving showman Scar so much I'm OBSESSED

It's called "The spy and the liar" and it has old timey vibes?? Idk how to explain but this song has been CONSUMING my mind and I had to share

It's so good for the swap au??? Also a spy au would be cool too aaahh

I NEED more people to know about these songs istg I'm gonna explode

(COG IN THE MACHINE IS ALSO REALLY GOOD BTW)

https://youtu.be/d-NFcJAfugw?si=wN_SCJ2yc4Wrbq_8

EXPLODING YOU WITH MY MIND OH MY GODS THESE ARE??? AMAZING???????

The Spy and the Liar fit Spectacle PERFECTLY ITS UNCANNY AT THIS POINT "if all the world's a stage, lets set it on fire" "I'll be the liar" "I will tear part all these works of art that disguise you" rattling the bars of my cage this is so cool its so him ohymhojsozjdsoajdawoijwiejawo

AND I LOVE COG AND THE MACHINE AS WELL @boonbeenblade said villain tango real. ALSO THE FIRST SONG "The best of the best still die like the rest" SCREAMING

Dude im obsessed. im def watching playthroughs of these games like right after this these are SO COOL💥💥💥

[watcheraurora]

But For This? Absolutely

Actually writing the Ranchers on a ranch for once after my soul was consumed by the superhero/villain AU for so long. What a novel idea /s 4.5k words (Part 2)(Part 3)

—

A crash, a curse, and a yowling cat jarred Jimmy out of his thoughts where he'd been staring into the middle distance, finally taking a break. A speckled shape shot across the porch and disappeared into the wheat fields.

"Jimmyyyyy! Revenge got out again! He's heading for the gorge!" Tango shouted from inside.

Jimmy wriggled out of his over-shirt to free up his movements. "On it!" he called back. He ran from his spot on the porch's bench toward the stairs, unfurling his wings as he did. He hit the uncovered part of the porch and hurled himself into the air. The wind rushed through his hair and the sun beat down on his yellow wings and shoulders his tank top left exposed.

He soared low, catching glimpses of the black-and-tan cat running through the wheat and trying to keep track. The gorge was fast approaching. Parts of it were too narrow for Jimmy’s wings and the river at the bottom was fast enough that Revenge wouldn’t survive if he fell in. Meaning Jimmy had to catch the cat before he reached the gorge.

He swooped, arms extended and entire body battered by the wheat.

But he snatched Revenge by the middle and shot into the air before wheeling and heading back for the ranch house—or that was the plan.

Before he could roll, he caught sight of something. Across the gorge, a dark outpost loomed. The nearest neighbors to the ranch and not friendly folk in the slightest.

Partway down the gorge’s steep slope just below the outpost was a small shape.

Even from his distance, he could see the distinct shape of Avian wings. One of them broken.

Jimmy looked down at the cat screeching and thrashing to get free. “Alright. Alright. Calm down. Geez.” He completed his roll and plummeted back toward the house. Tango was waiting on the second floor balcony. Jimmy landed and set Revenge down inside before shutting the door to keep him in.

“If that thing wasn’t so good at catching mice I would have found a new home for that nightmare by now,” Tango grumbled. Jimmy chuckled.

“He’s not so bad.”

“Sure. Whatever you say buddy.” Tango held out Jimmy’s over-shirt.

Jimmy shook his head. “I saw something in the gorge. I’m gonna go investigate. Be right back.”

“Take it anyway. Might need it.”

Jimmy took the shirt and tied it around his waist. “Be back soon.”

Tango smiled fondly. “I know.”

Jimmy launched off the balcony, blowing Tango’s fire hair backward in sputters. He pinwheeled and sailed back toward the gorge.

The winged figure hadn’t moved. Jimmy spiraled and peered down. The wings were small. Caught between juvenile down and proper plumage.

Jimmy twisted into a sharp dive and plunged downward. He flared his wings out to brake and landed near the small figure.

The child was lying in a crumpled heap on a ledge. Long hair tangled around the head. Jimmy couldn’t tell if the hair was blond or what for how dirty it was. The wings, too, were filthy. Feathers were clumped and a dull grey-tan that might have once been white. The child wore a torn shirt and shorts and was missing a shoe. Clutched in one hand was a ragged ravager plushie.

Jimmy approached slowly. “Are you alright?”

No response. Not even a shuffle. He finally noticed a small trickle of blood on the ledge.

He sprung into action. He wrapped the child's broken wing gently in his over-shirt and scooped them up. He hurled himself back into the sky, careful to hold their wings in such a way that he wouldn't crush bone or feathers, but so that they also wouldn't increase drag or get any more injured.

Tango was still waiting on the balcony when Jimmy returned. Revenge was having zoomies inside, visible through the windows and balcony door.

Tango's eyes widened as Jimmy rotated his body so he could land. "Tha—tha—tha—that's a child," he said.

Jimmy nodded. "One of their wings is broken. They were below the outpost on a ledge in the gorge."

"Oh my—" Tango breathed, unable to even complete the sentence. "What do we do?"

"I can reset the broken wing bone. Splint it. After that, maybe we do what we can to clean them up? I know how to clean wings. That hair is a disaster, and there's dirt everywhere. I just... I couldn't leave them there."

"No, no. I wouldn't have either. Let's get started, then." Tango reached out and brushed the hair away from the face, so they both could see. The child couldn't have been older than seven. Gender was more difficult to tell with children, but if Jimmy had to guess, he'd probably say they looked more girlish.

Tango opened the balcony door, snatched Revenge, and held the door open so Jimmy could carry the child inside. Revenge got put in his crate—temporarily—and the humanoids left their bedroom to go to the washroom.

"I'm going to clean the wings first," Jimmy said. "I don't want to reset the bone wrong and cause an infection due to dirty feathers."

Tango nodded, already filling a small bucket with water and grabbing a bar of soap. Jimmy set the child down in the bathtub so he could wash their wings a little easier, making sure they were lying securely on their side.

Tango passed him a sponge and his—freshly cleaned—preening brush. "Thanks," he said. Tango nodded.

Jimmy cleaned the child's wings methodically and slowly with the bucket and the soap and the sponge. The brush would be for later. He did his best not to jar the break, but the child didn't seem to react to anything. They were still alive—Tango obsessively checked for breathing every few minutes—but deeply unconscious.

Gunk, dirt, and dust washed off between the child's feathers with every pass of the sponge, washing down the drain. The icky grey gradually turned to white. Pristine and slightly shimmery. "Look how pretty these are," Jimmy whispered, admiring the feathers.

Tango didn't say anything, but a small smile appeared on his face. While he kept checking for breathing, he started to wash and tidy the child's hair as delicately as he could.

Before long, Jimmy had cleaned the mess off the child's wings and preened them both with oil from their preening glands and his brush. Once they were as cleaned as they could be, he carefully probed around the break. Grian had drilled wing care into his head when he first grew his, so even though Jimmy wasn't really medically trained, he knew how to care for a busted wing.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he whispered.

He reset the wing.

The child's eyes flew open and a scream filled the washroom.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay!" Jimmy said, reaching to rub the child's spine right between their wings—a calming spot for most Avians. "Tango, can you grab—"

"On it." Tango rushed out of the washroom.

The child was panting, eyes wide. They were deep blue. The child's hair, now that it had been cleaned and brushed by Tango, was as white as their wings.

Tango returned with sticks and string. "Here, here," he said.

Jimmy quickly constructed a splint for the broken wing. "There you go. You're okay. It's okay. My name's Jimmy. What's yours?" He gave the child a soft smile.

They blinked at him. "S... Skye," they said.

"Okay, Skye. Nice to meet you. Do your grownups use she, he, they, or something else for you?"

"Sh... she. B... but I... I don't have grownups anymore. Just... just the pillagers." She shuddered. "And the cage."

Tango's hair burst into flame. "I'm burning that damn outpost down," he muttered. "Keeping a child in a cage?"

"Not now Tango. You're scaring her," Jimmy whispered, watching the way Skye gasped and shrunk away from Tango.

Tango took a deep breath, the fire of his hair slowly burning down until it was just hair again. Jimmy kept comfortingly rubbing Skye's spine.

"It's okay. He's friendly. He won't hurt you. This is Tango. He's just mad that the pillagers put you in a cage," Jimmy said comfortingly. Tango gave the girl a small smile. "See? He's nice."

Skye shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing them.

"We're not going to hurt you, kiddo," Jimmy said. "We just want to help you. See? I'm like you." He unfurled his wings a tiny bit, flapping them a little to make the feathers flutter. Skye's deep blue eyes watched his wings. She almost smiled. "Can Tango help that little cut on your forehead?"

She eyed Tango warily. Then looked back at Jimmy. Then back to Tango. Then nodded.

Tango slowly extended his hand, thumb raised. He rested the pad of his thumb against the little cut. Yellow-gold magic swirled around his thumb and when he pulled away, the cut had scarred over. "Better?"

Skye nodded again. "Th-th-thank you," she said.

"Of course."

"Let's get you out of those damp clothes and into something comfy and warm, okay?" Jimmy asked.

Skye nodded.

Jimmy leaned back and snatched a towel, helping Skye wrap it around herself without hurting her wing, using his own to maintain his balance.

Tango left the washroom and returned with one of Jimmy's over-shirts. Jimmy took it from him and held it out for Skye. "We're gonna leave so you can change. This is gonna be a little long on you, but pretend it's a dress. It's got the holes in the back for your wings. We're gonna be nearby in case you need anything, okay? Just call out for us."

Skye carefully took the shirt and nodded.

Tango took Jimmy's hand and led the way out of the room.

The SoulBond between them warmed. She "doesn't have grownups anymore"? Jimmy... Tango's thoughts said down their bond, his red eyes sad. Jimmy's expression mirrored Tango's.

I know. Do you think they're dead? Or do you think she was kidnapped?

Tango shrugged. I don't know. The way she said it... I don't think they're alive anymore.

So, what do we do? Jimmy asked.

Tango released Jimmy's hand to rest his fists thoughtfully on his hips. Well... if her family is gone... she needs time to heal. Is she even old enough to fly?

Barely. I doubt she knows much or would be able to stay in the air for long.

Tango pursed his lips. It's not like we don't have the room and resources...

You want to take her in? Jimmy almost didn't dare to hope.

She's just a kid and we're out in the middle of nowhere. If her parents are gone and she's been in a pillager outpost cage—someone has to take care of her. I can build another room up here pretty quickly. She'd be safe here. I'll reconstruct the ward to keep the outpost out of our business.

Jimmy smiled softly. I thought you didn't want kids.

Tango rolled his eyes. I'm not going to turn away an innocent child in desperate need of help just because I didn't want kids, he retorted. She's welcome stay here as long as she wants.

Jimmy beamed, grabbed Tango's face in both hands, and kissed his forehead. Ohhh thank youuu! Thank you, thank you, thank you! His wings flapped happily and Tango shook his head affectionately. I really wanted us to be able to take care of her here. Even if it's just while she heals and we can look to see if her parents are still alive. Thank you, Tango.

Tango brushed his fingers through Jimmy's soft hair. You're welcome, pretty bird.

Jimmy went red under his freckles—

Right as the washroom door opened.

Skye stood there in Jimmy's over-shirt. It was basically a dress on her, the sleeves trailing to nearly her ankles.

Jimmy smiled and knelt in front of her. "Need some help rolling those sleeves up, kiddo?" he asked. She nodded and held out her arm.

Jimmy made quick work of rolling up the sleeves, being friendly and chatting to her. Skye watched quietly. Tango leaned against the wall and watched the scene with a smile on his face. "I'm gonna go get some stuff together," he said to Jimmy, setting a hand on the latter's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Jimmy said. Tango headed for the stairs.

Once he was gone, Skye shuffled on her feet. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Jimmy said. "You're just a kid—and you're hurt. Of course we're going to be nice to you."

"He looks scary."

Jimmy sighed. "Tango's family history makes him look scarier than he is. He's really a big softie. He went to go get some stuff to make you a room here. So you can be safe while your wing gets better. His magic isn't strong enough to heal your wing like he did the owie on your forehead, so he's going to do what he can to make sure your wing can heal naturally on its own really well."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. How are you feeling? Does your wing hurt?"

"Mmhmm." Skye nodded.

"Can I pick you up?"

"Okay."

He scooped her into his arms, still being gentle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Jimmy's heart melted. He snuggled her closer and carried her downstairs. She tapped his bare shoulder. "You have dots on your shoulder."

"They're called freckles. I have them on my face too." He tilted his face so she could see the splash of freckles across his nose and cheekbones.

"Why?"

"I get them from being in the sun. I'm supposed to wear a shirt with sleeves when I'm working outside so I don't sunburn my shoulders, but I forget a lot, and so I get freckles on my shoulders."

"Oh."

Tango was kneeling in front of one of their chests, building supplies he'd taken from it on the floor next to him. Jimmy took Skye to the kitchen counter and set her down on top of it. He'd noticed when he rolled up the sleeves of the over-shirt that she'd scrubbed herself off a little better, leaving her cleaner than she'd been when he found her. "Hungry?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I have just the thing. We've got some home-grown potatoes and chicken that you're going to love."

Tango hummed. "That'll be good for you to get your strength back, kiddo," he added, gathering his supplies into his arms and getting to his feet to get back upstairs. "Potatoes have lots of nutrients. You'll need them." He paused at the stairs and retraced his steps to the kitchen. He shifted his supplies to one arm and held a hand out toward Skye. "High-five? It's okay if you don't want to."

She stared at his hand for a second—before giving him a high-five.

Tango did a little fist-pump of celebration. "Yes," he said softly, smiling at her. She grinned, a small thing but still visible. Before Tango made happy, singsong noises and did a goofy dance up the stairs, still singing.

Skye giggled. "He's silly," she whispered to Jimmy.

Who grinned down at her. "See? He's a big softie."

She smiled a little brighter. "He's not scary," she decided.

"He's not." Jimmy pulled a potato out of a barrel full of others and stuck it in the smoker, stoking the fuel back to life. Skye giggled again. "Have you ever had a jacket potato before?"

"Why's the potato wearing a jacket?"

Jimmy blinked. "Also called a baked potato?"

Big blue eyes blinked owlishly at him.

"Okay. Maybe you've had one and just didn't know that's what it's called." He busied about the kitchen, pulling some butter out of the chest full of packed ice. Ice was nearly impossible to come by in this area, let alone packed, but a little magic from Tango had given them just enough for food preservation.

Upstairs, Jimmy could hear Tango breaking down one of the walls to start building. Revenge's meowing was also audible, and Jimmy assumed Tango had freed the cat from his crate.

The smoker finished cooking the potato and Jimmy pulled it out. He tossed it between his hands—it was hot—and set it on a plate. He put some chicken in the smoker from where it had been in the ice chest. Then prepared the potato, cutting open the peel and opening it to put some butter inside. "Want some salt and pepper?"

Skye blinked. "Er... sure?"

Jimmy smiled and added some.

Upstairs, Revenge yowled and Tango squawked in surprise. "You're fine!" he said. "What're you yappin' for? You can't whine for affection while you're draped over my shoulder you dingus."

Jimmy snickered as he pushed the plate toward Skye, handing her some utensils. "Go ahead. Eat up."

She took the utensils and stared at them for a few seconds.

Then set them down on the counter and picked up the potato in her hands and dug in.

Jimmy shrugged and went to grab her a serviette to wipe her hands off later, tucking it under the plate. He munched on an apple for a snack while he waited for the chicken to finish cooking, leaning one hip against the counter casually.

"Skye?" he asked carefully.

She looked up from the potato, a little melted butter and flakes of pepper on her chin. "Mm?"

"Have you learned to fly yet?"

She shook her head. "Too little," she said around a mouthful of potato. "Wings not strong enough."

Jimmy nodded. "I thought so," he said, ruffling his own wings with a shake of his shoulders. He stretched the pinions backward to ease an ache in the elbow joints.

Upstairs, a thunk closely followed by Tango shouting a Blaze curse made Skye and Jimmy both turn toward the stairs.

Jimmy boosted himself up onto the counter next to Skye. "Kiddo. When you say you don't have grownups anymore, were you taken from them by the Illagers?"

She sniffed and shook her head. "N... no." Her eyes started to water. "The... the pillagers had crossbows. And axes. My parents tried to hide me in our storm cellar. The pillagers..." She sniffed again. "They chased them. I heard Mama scream, and then Papa. And then nothing. The pillagers came for me. They kept me alive." She shook, putting the potato down, and started to cry. Jimmy wrapped his arm and a wing around her, pulling her close and rocking her soothingly.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," he whispered, letting her bury her messy face in his side. "Me and Tango just needed to know if we needed to ask around about finding you. I'm sorry, Skye." He kissed her soft white hair. She kept crying. He felt her tears soak through his tank top.

His other hand reached into the smoker and grabbed the chicken before it could burn, setting it on her plate.

Tango's footsteps echoed down the stairs and he reappeared. The SoulBond warmed again. What's going on?

I asked about her parents. They're dead. The Illagers.

Ohhh. Can I help?

I don't think so. How's the room coming along?

It's coming along fine. Not going to be anything fancy but it'll be comfortable.

Jimmy nodded. Thank you. He moved his arm around Skye to rub between her wings. She was still shaking against him. Tango nodded back and slipped nearly silently back up the stairs.

Jimmy started humming low, rocking Skye until her sobs calmed down. Once she wasn't shaking anymore, he wiped her tears with the serviette—and then the butter and pepper left on her face that hadn't come off on his tank top.

She looked up at him with big, watery eyes. "What... what's going to happen to me now?"

"Well, first, you're going to finish your food," Jimmy said with a warm smile. "And then, you can stay here. Tango and I will take care of you. For as long as you want. We'll help you heal your wing. And when it's ready, I'll teach you how to fly."

Skye gasped. "Really?" She looked hopeful.

"Of course! But your wing has to heal. And if you want it to heal well, you gotta give your body the energy it needs. And in order to do that, you gotta finish your food."

She nodded and went back to eating. Jimmy smiled.

He stayed on the kitchen counter with her until Tango returned to the kitchen, Revenge draped over his shoulder. His hands were covered in ash. Sawdust that had caught fire, probably. He grinned at Jimmy and inclined his head toward the top of the stairs. "Ready," he said, looking proud and pleased.

Jimmy handed Skye the serviette again. She wiped her whole face with it, and then her hands.

"Your room is ready, kiddo," Tango said, pitching his voice up just a little to sound more friendly.

Skye looked up at Jimmy. He nodded and slid off the counter, taking her hands to help her down. Tango led her upstairs, Jimmy bringing up the rear, still holding her hand where she didn't let go.

The second floor of the ranch house wasn't much. It was largely built into the roof. But Tango had adjusted so that the blank wall opposite the washroom—that originally led to a 5-block drop to the ground outside—now had a pastel pink wood door. Tango took a position between her door and the door to his and Jimmy's bedroom at the end of the hall, gesturing for her to open the door.

Skye looked back at Jimmy for confirmation, he nodded.

She pushed open the door and gasped as she entered the room.

The room was the same wood as the rest of the house. Oak and birch. But the bed was purple and the little table and chair were the same soft pink as the door. He'd even made a small balcony. Smaller than the one off his and Jimmy's room, but big enough for an Avian to take off and land from. The fence posts of the balcony had flower pots on them, each with a gentle but colorful plant in them.

Skye looked like she was going to cry again as she took in the whole room. "This is... mine?" she asked tentatively.

"Uh-huh," Tango confirmed with a small grin—not opening his mouth enough to show off sharp teeth—and a nod. His fire hair was flickering low and warm like a homey hearth.

Skye let go of Jimmy's hand and rushed at Tango, throwing her arms around his middle. "Thank you," she said. "It's really pretty."

Tango knelt to be at her eye level and hugged her properly. "You're welcome."

But Jimmy could see the way Tango's pointed ear twitched and his red eyes didn't quite meet Skye's. Jimmy brought the SoulBond to life between them. You feel guilty that you couldn't make it nicer, he said. Not a question.

Tango's ears pinned back to his head. We have the resources for an extra room. We don't have the resources for a perfect one for a little girl, he thought back. I did the best I could.

Tango. Look at her. She loves it. "The best you could" was more than enough.

Skye let go of Tango and rushed over to the bed, hopping up on it and wiggling in delight. Tango's gaze followed her with a small, fond smile.

I'm going to clean up the dishes. Stay here and chat with her, maybe? Jimmy suggested.

Yeah, yeah. I can do that, Tango replied, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that more than Jimmy. Who just pushed his fingers through Tango's warm, burning hair affectionately and slipped out of the room.

—

Tango sat up in bed. Moonlight streamed through the windows and the door to the balcony. His ears flicked and twitched. What had woke him? Probably Revenge whining to be let out into the animal yard—

His whole body went rigid when he realized what he was hearing wasn't the cat.

Skye was crying.

Slowly, so as not to wake Jimmy, Tango slipped out of bed. He slid out of their room and to the new door on the wall. He knocked. "Skye?" he asked softly. "Are you okay?"

Sniffling was the only reply he got.

"Can I come in, kiddo?"

He heard the creaking of a mattress and small feet tiptoeing over the floor. The door opened.

Jimmy had—somehow—managed to save her ravager plushie from death-by-filth. It was clutched in one of her arms, the other one hugging herself. Her face was wet and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. "Come in," she said quietly.

Tango followed her in. She went back to the bed and boosted herself up onto it. Her broken wing's splint was still in place, the other flopping across the mattress behind her.

"Can I sit by you?"

She nodded. Tango sat beside her.

"You know," he said. "I'm from the Nether. That's why I look like this. Buuut..." He leaned down to smile conspiratorially. "That's also why I'm really warm to hug. Any time you need a warm hug, you just let me know, yeah?"

Her deep blue eyes were dark in the dim light of the bedroom. "Can I have a hug?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

Skye leaned and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his side. Tango wrapped his around her and held her close. He wanted to ask why she was crying, but he had a good guess. Her first night of freedom after being in a cage for who-knew-how-long. Now that she was no longer fearful for her survival, her grief was probably catching up to her at losing her parents.

Tango copied how he'd seen Jimmy rock her gently, trying to comfort her. He wasn't as good at it as Jimmy. Jimmy just had a knack for people. He could connect to them on a level Tango didn't quite understand, but tried to. But Tango gave it his best shot for an innocent child who didn't deserve the hurt she'd experienced.

When her sobs eased into hiccups and her grip around his middle wasn't so deathly tight anymore, Tango felt her go slack against his side.

Having cried herself to sleep.

Tango smiled sadly down at her. He carefully scooped her up into his arms and turned her covers back down so he could tuck her in. He positioned her on her side the way Jimmy slept—the way Jimmy had set her in their tub to avoid jostling her wings—and tucked her in. He smoothed a few loose hairs out of her face and crept out of the room, easing the door shut behind him.

He lingered in the hallway for a moment, the fire of his hair warming the hallway with low light.

Setting his jaw, he slipped stealthily downstairs and out the front door. His Blaze Rods appeared around his head, spinning fast. He shot into the sky, hurtling toward the gorge. The ranch's wheat fields whizzed by below him.

The gorge plunged into darkness below him. He kept going.

When he got close enough, Tango started banking in a fast circle around the outpost, pulling back his arms and hurling fireballs at the dark oak wood of the outpost and its wooden cages on the outskirts. Continuing until it was fully engulfed in flames. He didn't like to fully indulge his Blaze blood often.

But for that sweet, poor child? For what they did to her? Absolutely.

[orfisheus]

An elaborate thoughtpiece on the recent state of EW

With the recent Youtooz announcement, I've been having a lot of thoughts regarding Eddsworld and the rumors about them returning Tord back to EW canon, so consider this a dump?? (For clarity's sake, the IRL people will be referred with their name and last initial. :])

I'd like to preface this by stating that I wouldn't mind the character coming back, as long as there's consent with Tord L. I'd assume that they would do this with the full intent of respecting his boundaries, so I'll give that the benefit of the doubt.

My issue, however, comes with HOW they're doing it. We are all aware that they've been teasing the episode, first with their post teasing their scriptwriting, and then Matt H. on Twitter confirming something big is coming with whatever they're working on next. Along with the YouTooz release and the removal of the Tord FAQ, it's very likely that this is what they're teasing. And yeah, that's fairly big news. The return of a fan favorite character who had a major impact on the plot? That would shift the current trajectory of their presentation and of the fandom. But, in regards to the fandom, they're aware he's a fan favorite. Want a quick buck? Be it for a charity or for themselves, he's the perfect tool to weaponize. Especially with a prevalent neurodivergent population in the fandom, he's especially easy to use. These fans will be dedicated, and they will buy it. I've seen multiple people say that they would for this sole reason. In no way is this a jab at any neurodivergent folks. I hope y'all enjoy your figurine. I would too. However, it ties into my next point. The dedicated fanbase that Eddsworld has isn't all too dedicated to the actual episodes. Look at content creators on tumblr. A majority have created their own elaborate AUs or headcanons so estranged from the own canon that the real canon holds little value. As each episode comes out, it will gain minute traction, only to swiftly be buried in the sea of fan-derivative content. I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't aware of this. In their comment sections on Instagram, oftentimes people will post GIFS of older episodes. Nothing to say about current content. Just GIFs. There's no drive for people to consume this media outside of their already preestablished footholds. So, how can people say something? How to bring in the quiet masses? Give them what they want. Give them Tord.

I made a theory a few days back with my friends. If a piece of media's lore has people begging for more, you'll likely see more AUs, more explorations of the characters outside of canon. I've seen this frequently when shows were coming out. The Owl House, for example, had budding fan theories and prevalent fan works and creators, such as moringmark, who played with fan theories as the show came out, exploring the potential the narrative had. However, by the time it ended, and the story was satisfactorily brought to its conclusion, this content diminished. Audience members felt fulfilled. When people aren't fulfilled, they ask for more. They make more. In this vein lies Miraculous Ladybug, a show known for egregious writing, to the point where content creators have basically transformed the entire show, disregarding a lot of the lore and establishing their own. Unfortuantely, with Eddsworld's current trajectory, the trend of AUs and headcanons feels more aligned with the latter rather than the former.

Another issue that's been plaguing my mind is narratively how his return would work. From the fandom, I've seen a few conflicting perspectives. Some people enjoy him as a villain/antagonist, whilst others prefer him as a member of the main crew. It would be impossible to satisfy both sides. Do they regard The End or not? And if so, how would they treat his facial scars and potential amputation? Ableism has been a plaguing issue in this fandom, and it makes me weary to see it potentially play out in the biggest form of media that Eddsworld uses. And I don't think people would be 100% okay if it was ignored, either. It's an extremely strange gray area where, no matter what, the consequence will be that someone will end up disappointed. To pull it off, they'd need a much more stable foundation and reputation. By the way the last few episodes have gone, I'm not too confident that they do.

After all, they've used this big episode so far to address a few criticisms I've seen for previous episodes. Aside from Tord's presence, they've teased the episode, which many had previously criticized Matt H. for his lack of transparency with the fandom upon production. The same goes with making it a sort of big episode. Beyond's episodes so far have been tamer and less narratively focused in comparison to later Classic and Legacy. That isn't a bad thing, but it's a major tonal shift that has felt awkward. Going back suddenly to the old formulas of narrative also feels a bit strange. The new narrative hasn't had success, sure, but every new creator will always have things to improve upon. Using what made Classic and Legacy successful in an era more focused on simpler narratives makes it seem like the showrunners don't know how to run in their own shoes, so they need to use someone else's to be successful. Here's the thing, you don't gain merit from being derivative, you gain it from making your own stuff work. Beyond wants to focus more on comedy than storytelling? That's great! That's what I've felt like those episodes were focusing on. Improving in that department will help overall. But changing something entirely because it wasn't working feels less confident, less focused on growth, and more on personal achievement. Especially when they have to use a fan-favorite character to get there. They couldn't make it on their own, so use what they know the people love.

I was discussing a book in one of my classes earlier, White Noise, when my teacher brought up how he wants us to constantly be aware of our society after reading this book, and how consumer culture greatly impacts our day to day lives. That's what the author wanted his readers to get out of it. Awareness. Every good work comes with a goal. What is Eddsworld Beyond's goal? What do they get out of bringing Tord back?

To me, it's the epitome of the current state of the entertainment industry. In Hollywood, where the animation corporations don't trust risk or exploration, they remake the old movies or produce soulless sequels. Kung Fu Panda 4, Megamind's sequel, every single live action Disney remake. And yet movies that take risks, like Strange World, no matter the quality, are shoved aside with little marketing. Cash grabs are easy ways to garner attention. They ensure profit. But they never garner the same soul as the original. To me, at least, the showrunners feel less confident in their own works because they've garnered little success from the 3 major episodes they've released so far, not including the shorts. Compared to Legacy and Classic, current Eddsworld has had nothing to say and very little gains from it. Legacy is a bit of a stretch for a standard, but it is a standard previously set by the show. This inflation is something so hard to achieve when a majority of fans have moved on, so I can't entirely blame them for potentially wanting to achieve this same success. It's just an empty way to do it.

I want to see this show succeed. I have a lot of love for it. I know there's a lot of love being put into it by the crew, and in no way do I want this to discredit their work. I see it as a current work in progress that's working out its kinks to reach its true potential. I just don't believe using the character of Tord is the right way to improve and garner traction. This is more of a critique on the writing and overall direction. Please understand this. I hope that, in the future, stuff starts going right for Beyond. Someday it'll succeed. But potentially using, for the lack of a better word, cheap tricks in order to obtain this is not the way to go as a creator.

Feel free to share your own thoughts. I'd love to hear what y'all have to say. And feel free to give helpful critiques as well! I'd love to make more elaborate writing pieces like this, so anything helps! Thank you, and farewell.

[runariya]

I just found your blog and turns out, I like your writings. Infinity is so cool, I miss reading other AU like aliens. Although I'm looking forward for chp 4 of My Beloved Villain, will you ever consider writing Jungkook's POV for Infinity? Just a short drabble on how he find her (lying on the wilderness' floor; maybe a bit extra when he clean and take care of her when she's unconscious) and how he react when she ran from him in the shop. Thank you so much for sharing your writings. I'm still binge reading from your masterlist. Really looking forward to your next update. Take care and stay healthy.

Hey anon 💕

tysm for your kind words and taking the time to explore my blog! I rly feel you with Alien!AUs, it's such a weak spot for me too. And considering the infinity!couple is special to me and your suggestion sparked such a joy to me, I couldn't help but to write 3.5k for your drabble request lol

So, yeah, hope you enjoy and tysm again for your support 🥰 you take care and stay healthy as well!

• (drabble below cut) •

Jungkook had been chasing a ghost ever since the day he came of age, hurtling alone from galaxy to galaxy in the quiet solitude of his spaceship. He was a drifter among the stars, born with markings that no other Nepturian possessed, a curious anomaly. From his first breath, he was set apart, regarded with a mix of reverence and envy—a strange creature in the eyes of his people, a mystery even to himself. The elders spoke of him in hushed tones, their awe thinly veiling their curiosity, while his peers cast sideways glances tinged with bitterness.

For most of his life, he had lived with no understanding of his place in the universe. Then, as his legal age approached, everything shifted. The council of wise men summoned him and his family, revealing at last the truth that had been hidden from him: his destiny was bound to the very essence of his home planet. It was a burden he hadn’t known he was carrying, and when he reached his age of majority, there were no cheers of celebration, no revelry marking the occasion—only solemn farewells. His journey began that day, a lone traveler cast out into the stars with nothing but his ship and his mission.

The years stretched long as he wandered, his search ceaseless, his heart tethered to the elusive promise of saving. Along the way, he consumed every scrap of knowledge he could find about humans, the strange, fragile beings who had once roamed the galaxies. But the more he learned, the heavier his heart became. 

It became clear, with every text, every conversation, that he had arrived too late—the human race had vanished, extinguished like a flame snuffed out in the dark. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence, a small, stubborn hope clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t get rid off. That hope sparked to life again when, in a seedy starport tavern, he overheard a pair of Stranpy whispering about a human female. They claimed to have seen her in a brothel on a distant planet, a fading relic in a world that no longer recognised her kind.

Jungkook hadn’t hesitated. His ship roared to life, cutting through the void of space as it carried him seven galaxies away to the desolate outpost known only as Morthak. When he landed, the brothel wasn’t the dilapidated hovel he had expected—it was sleek, high-tech, a tower of hollow decadence in the midst of a barren, wild world. Yet something within him shifted, and as he stepped towards the entrance, his body recoiled. His markings, usually dormant, flared with a light of their own, casting a pale, blueish glow over his arms. 

His instincts screamed at him, tugging him away from the gleaming doors, as he could feel it in his bones—a pull, an insistent force driving him away from the path he had set out on. His feet stumbled, then steadied, as he veered off into the tangled underbrush that surrounded the facility. Each step felt lighter, as though the very ground beneath him was trying to push him forwards, his breath fogging and uneven in the cold air. He didn’t understand the compulsion that gripped him, didn’t know why his chest felt tight as he fought through the dense jungle, but he could feel that he was drawing closer to something—to someone.

When the foliage parted into a small clearing, the sensation hit him all at once. His instincts snapped into focus, narrowing his vision until all he could sense was the space in front of him. A scent lingered in the air, sweet and intoxicating, as potent as sugar dissolved in flame. It curled around him, drawing him in like a whisper in the dark, a promise of something precious and everything he searched for. 

And it was at the edge of the clearing, where a small, scaled creature—something wild and feral, with scales and sharp eyes—snuffled around in the dirt. It pawed at the ground as though searching for its next meal, its snout grazing a damp patch of earth. 

Jungkook moved closer, his heart thrumming with an unspoken warning. There was something wrong here, as he could feel it in his marrow, a tension building under his skin. The creature’s intent was clear, but what lay beneath its paws was not prey. He shooed it away gently, his voice low and steady, his hand sweeping the creature aside, and what he found beneath its paws twisted something deep within him.

Lying in the mud, half-buried in filth, was a human. You were small, fragile, your body covered in muck and leaves, as though nature itself had tried to reclaim you. Your skin, pale and bruised, seemed barely capable of sustaining life, your breath shallow and uneven, fogging in the night. It was as though the universe had abandoned you here, forgotten and broken, as if your very value was lost. Jungkook’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sight of you, as he knelt beside you, his hands hovering over your frail form as though afraid to touch, afraid to break whatever fragile tether still held you to this world.

“What have they done to you?” he whispered, the words a soft breath of anguish that he barely realised he had spoken. They were more for himself than for you, a bitter question aimed at the universe that had allowed such cruelty to exist. One glance at you, and he could see the scars, the suffering etched into your skin, the shadow of torment that clung to you like a second skin. It didn’t take a word from your lips to tell him the truth—your life had been hell.

Gently, he gathered you into his arms, your body light, almost weightless, as though the burdens you had carried had stripped you down to nothing but bones and breath. His markings, which had been flaring wildly only moments before, began to calm, their soft glow dimming into a shine that seemed to soothe not just him but you as well. 

He didn’t care that the mud and grime smeared his clothes, didn’t care that the non-existent weight of you in his arms made him feel sick. All that mattered was getting you to safety. All that mattered was that you were no longer alone in this unforgiving world. 

He would protect you now, with every breath in his body, with every beat of his heart. And nothing—no force in the galaxies—would take you from him.

Being back on his spaceship, he wasn’t sure where to place you—whether to settle you in the small, shadowed spare room of his ship or to let you rest in the white room, typically reserved for the stray hitchhikers he picked up from time to time. After a moment’s consideration, he decided the spare room, with its deep, dark colors, might overwhelm your frayed nerves too much. So instead, he opted for the white room, its soft, sterile light a break from the suffocating darkness you had surely endured up until now. 

There you lay before him on a smooth surface—a table he had summoned from the blank wall with the brush of his hand. Your chest rose and fell faintly, as though each breath took more from you than it returned, your unconscious form trembling slightly as you fought the cold and exhaustion that gripped you. His movements were careful, tender, as he began to strip away the remnants of the dirty rags clinging to your skin, each piece of fabric came away, falling in a rotten heap beside him. 

The act of undressing you did not stir within him any sense of awkwardness or discomfort, as for Nepturians, the body was something sacred and pure, beyond any shame. It was a vessel of life, and life itself was to be honoured, not hidden. Nudity was no more remarkable than the stars. 

Once you were free of your soiled clothes, he took to washing you, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied his strength in so many ways. Warm water flowed over your body, trickling across skin that bore the stories of suffering in the form of countless scars he already noticed through the mud—pale ridges from poorly handled wounds against your otherwise smooth flesh. 

He touched them lightly, his fingertips tracing their jagged paths with an almost reverent sorrow. Your bones seemed hollow beneath his touch, fragile as a bird’s, and he had to temper his strength, fearful that one wrong move would break you even more. Your skin, cold and pale with the bluish tint of chill, stirred a deep ache within him that nothing had ever managed to provoke.

The sight of you—so broken, so fragile—unraveled him, let him feel as the most powerless creature in existence. He had thought himself immune to such feelings, had survived the burden of the fall of his own planet without much more than a fleeting ache. But now, seeing you like this, something in him splintered like old battered wood. 

The weight of his homeworld’s destruction had been bearable, even trivial, compared to the devastation he felt at your past suffering. The prophecy, the grand destiny he had been given without wanting to, all seemed inconsequential now. None of it mattered, not the council’s words, nor the fate of his people. His sole purpose in the universe had crystallised into one clear, unwavering truth: he had to protect you. Whatever had happened to you, whatever horrors had led you here, they would never touch you again. You were his mate, his responsibility, and the thought of anything or anyone harming you again sent a rage simmering beneath his skin.

Still, he knew his feelings, his protective urges, would not help you right now. As he gently wiped away the last remnants of the grime, revealing more of the soft, delicate flesh beneath, he debated how he would face you once you woke. If your body was this ravaged, this close to collapse, then your mind must be even worse off. Whatever torments had taken root in your spirit would likely outstrip those your body had endured, and the last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you with emotions you couldn’t yet comprehend. He would have to suppress his own instincts, stifle the fierce need to comfort you with touch, to tell you that you were safe now. You needed control more than you needed affection, and he knew it.

He pressed his feelings down, locking them away beneath a cloak of detachment he truly didn’t want but knew, that it was a necessary restraint. He could not afford to show you the depth of his connection, not yet. You needed stability, a sense of distance, of control over your surroundings. Anything less might send you into a panic, and he couldn’t risk you seeing him as a threat. You were so vulnerable now, both in body and mind, and he feared that a rash instinct of selfdefense could shatter whatever fragile connection remained between your soul and this world.

After he had dressed you in his clothes, the oversized black fabric swallowing your petite form, he draped a thick blanket over you, tucking it gently around your body to help coax warmth back into your cold limbs and watching how your shivering gradually eased. 

Jungkook took one last look at you, his expression full of tender longing despite you being near, before stepping away from the room. But even after he left, he didn’t truly leave you, as he retreated to the cockpit, where he kept a watchful eye on you through the CCTV screen, his gaze never wavering as his ship flowed on autopilot through space and time. You lay there so still, so quiet, almost peaceful with the small smile grazing your lips in your slumber, yet every flicker of movement on the screen caught his full attention, every subtle shift in your breathing or twitch of your fingers quickening his pulse with a quiet anxiety he wasn’t familiar with.

He didn’t know how you would react when you woke, didn’t know if you would panic or strike out or collapse back into the depths of your broken mind. He only hoped, with a longing he had never known before, that you would remain calm—that you wouldn’t see him as a danger, hoped you wouldn’t hurt yourself in a desperate attempt to protect yourself from him. Because if you did, if you recoiled from him in fear, it would destroy him far more thoroughly than anything else ever could.

Jungkook stood by your side, as it took weeks for you to begin feeling even the faintest flicker of comfort around him, though the wariness never left your eyes completely. Always on edge, you carried yourself like a creature awaiting the next strike of inevitable doom, poised for a danger he knew would never come. Jungkook understood, though—deeply. It would take time, time measured in baby steps, in small moments where trust could be tested and proved, over and over again, and that was okay. Each small step forward, each moment you chose not to flinch away, filled him with a secret, quiet joy he had never known. Progress, however halting, was a balm to the ache that had taken root in his chest since the day he’d found you.

It was during one of these stretches of fragile peace that he noticed the rash creeping along the lower curve of your back, the angry red patch of skin making him frown with concern. You hadn’t mentioned it—probably hadn’t wanted to out reasons unknown to him—but he’d seen it. So he decided he needed to gather some herbs to help soothe the irritation. That’s when he decided to make stop at Thraxor, a planet known for its medicinal offerings. He suggested you come along, gently persuading you that the change of scenery might do you some good, offer a breath of fresh air to your mind. You hesitated but ultimately agreed, which felt like a surge of quiet triumph. It was another small victory, a moment where you chose to step out of the shadows, if only for a little while.

Jungkook’s instincts prickled the moment you entered the Silvex shop, an unshakable feeling settling low in his gut, as his eyes scanned the room warily, watching every shadow and movement with a sharpened eyes. He tried to keep his tone light as he conversed with the Silvex behind the counter, suppressing the uneasy twist in his chest. He didn’t want his nerves to ripple into you, didn’t want you picking up on his unease when you’ve clearly took a chance. So, he encouraged you to wander the shop, hoping the distraction would keep you occupied while he finished his purchase.

The Silvex, with its slick, slithering voice, made his skin crawl, but Jungkook pushed forward, asking about the herbs he needed, his nerves burning with each passing second. Then, out of nowhere, the Silvex uttered a single sentence that turned the air in the room to ice despite the heat on the planet. 

"She's a nice slave," the Silvex giggled, the words slipping out carelessly amidst the discussion of roots and tonics fitting for your rash. "How much do you want for her? I could use her just perfectly for my other business."

In that instant, a deep, all-consuming red rage flared across Jungkook’s vision. It was as if a switch had been flipped, his blood boiling with an intensity he had never known he was capable of. “She’s not for sale,” he growled through clenched teeth, each word a barely contained explosion. 

But it was too late. In his fury, he hadn’t noticed the shift in your stance, hadn’t seen the widening of your eyes, hadn’t felt the tremor of panic rise in you while hidden behind the shelves. You had already taken off, bolting through the door before he could stop you.

His heart shattered in a sudden vice of terror, panic flooding him as he watched you disappear from sight. "Stop!" His voice rang out loudly as he lunged after you, barely aware of the Silvex scrambling to follow. The suns above beat down mercilessly, its blinding light burning his eyes as he stumbled into the open market. He squinted against the glare, desperation coursing through him as he spun in frantic circles, trying to catch a glimpse of you, but all he could see were the different shapes of strangers, the colours and sounds of the market merging into a dizzying chaos around him.

He began asking anyone he could find, breathless, his voice rising in desperation with every question asked. "Did you see a human? A girl? Where did she go?" Some shook their heads, others pointed vaguely towards the far end of the market, but none of it was fast enough, none of it got him any closer to you. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, each beat hurting more than the other.

Then, piercing through the noise around him clogging his ears, he heard it—your scream. It echoed off the narrow walls of an alley not far from where he stood, a loud short cry that sent a wave of new icy terror crashing over him without him having time to breathe. His heart sank, a sickening dread twisting his insides as he sprinted towards where your scream disappeared.

‘She should know,’ he thought frantically, his mind racing. ‘By now she should know she’s safe with me, that I would never let anything happen to her.’ But clearly, he had been wrong. His chest aching with self-loathing, anger at himself for failing you so completely. 

You clearly didn’t trust him, and it was all his fault.

Jungkook shoved his way through the crowd, desperate to reach you before it was too late. He couldn’t lose you—not like this, not after everything. His breath burned in his lungs as he finally spotted you in the distance, standing there, your terrified eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, hope surged in his chest. But then you were off again, fleeing before he could even call out. His voice broke, your name a desperate plea on his lips that fell on deaf ears.

He didn’t know what else to do—he had never expected you to be so fast and agile, so desperate in your escape. The Silvex appeared some distance before him, and for a split second, Jungkook cursed the day he had ever set foot in that forsaken shop. His mind raced, his very soul a storm of chaos and regret, until finally, in a move he would never have considered under normal circumstances, he did the unthinkable. "STOP HER!" he shouted into the crowd, the words tearing from his throat, filled with a desperation that scattered his bones. 

For a brief, agonising moment, nothing happened, but to his immense relief—though it was tinged with a bitter taste of shame—a Necrovian stepped forward, his long, spindly arms reaching out to catch you as you passed. You struggled against him, but he held fast, and Jungkook’s legs nearly buckled with relief, but the anger for himself didn’t lessen any less. 

The desperation that had gripped him moments before shifted, almost violently, into a burning anger, that surged through him, only directed at himself and at you. Anger at his own failure to protect you, to make you feel safe enough. And anger at you—for being so reckless, so unbelievably reckless, to run like that. Did you not understand how dangerous it was? How stupid it had been to run when you stood no chance of surviving out here alone? You would have been lost, or worse, if he hadn’t been there to chase after you. 

He clenched his fists as he walked towards you, his jaw ticking with frustration, the heat of his emotions blazing through him even worse than all the suns in existence. He needed to do something, anything, to make you see—to make you finally realise that nothing could hurt you when you were with him. You needed to understand that. He needed you to understand that.

But still, you were safe now, and at the end of the day, it’s all that matters to him. 

He would bring you back to the ship, and there, at last, he could breathe again and make things actually right this time. 

Infinity ML • other work

[gentrychild]

AU where the great deity Gentrychild gets yeeted into the canon BNHA-verse and single-handedly consumes AFO's soul, effortlessly saving Japan as her rat companions feast upon his flesh

1 - In true isekai fashion, I was hit by a truck and sent to the canon bnhaverse. Barid was driving it and was distracted by Moonpaw's shiny colors as the neon cat was walking down the street.

2 - I landed in the middle of Mustafu, immediately recognizing the canon BNHAverse and thinking that no one would bat an eye at my appearance since it's a post Dawn of Quirks world. I was very disappointed to see all of those people running away screaming from me. I guess that appearance-based-discrimination is still a thing.

3 - Despite what the prompt asks of me, I have no intention to derail the story. Izuku is in the middle of his beach training and yes, I took one thousand pictures (and several selfies) but apart from that, I didn't intervene in any way. I want All Might to have his Kamino moment. Instead, I keep stealing Nighteye's merch and watch him implode in fury, putting dirt all over Chisaski's stuff and ripping Destro Junior's remaining hair tuff by tuff.

4 - All was well until someone not only tried to cut the line to get raspberry ice cream but actually elbowed me to do so? Who does that? I politely informed him that I was here first and that he better get back to end of the line. The very rude man wearing what I first believed to be a Mandalorian helmet insulted my feathers then said that my quirk was fascinating and was about to put his hand on me! So I did what everyone would do in this situation! I ate his soul, messily and painfully. He begged a lot on his way out of life and into my stomach. But hey, at least, the line cleared out and I got my ice cream faster than expected to wash out the taste!

5 - Unfortunately, I eventually realized that I had just killed AFO, aka the main villain of the story. Shigaraki couldn't be expected to replace him, as he was still in his League of Legend phase. So I figured out that I could just kinda piece him back together and use him as a puppet so he could still play his role. After all, I have written so many AFOs, it should be child's play to keep in character and probably make him a more competent villain than what we've seen lately in the manga. Unfortunately... I didn't realize that wherever I go, the rats follow.

6 - I tried to tell them to stop by screaming that they didn't know where AFO had been but they only chew faster.

7 - Since AFO is dead and BNHA is now deprived of its villain, I have no choice but to take responsibility and to assume the role. I shall now become the new villain of the BNHA world. Wish them luck.