#bizarre moments compilation

[mr-pancake-800]

[panvani]

I actually finished Monster a few days ago but I will state my feelings on it for posterity's sake: I think Monster, while composed of a number of well written and evocative vignettes, ultimately fails to execute its overall emotional arc well. If the story had been explicitly framed episodically with an overarching B-plot connecting these episodes, I might feel more positively towards it, but the fact that it must nominally develop its "main plot" each chapter while devoting most of its screen time to tangentially related stock characters was extremely frustrating. None of the twists or reveals actually felt consequential because information about the main plot is fed to you so painstakingly and in a way that's so repetitive that its conclusion is largely predictable and almost anticlimactic.

Monster ultimately does not do a very good job of developing any of its main cast. Its story and characters warp around Tenma, who is just not very interesting. I was frankly just fed up with him and the unilateral adoration that every character holds for him by the end of the story. Nina was extremely underdeveloped for the character she should have been and supposedly was within the story and any pathos that could have been elicited by her was neutered by first having her be barely present for the vast majority of the story, and second by also relegating her into being a Guy Who Just Loves Tenma. Eva was probably the closest any character had to a real character arc and her writing was just so absurdly misogynistic for nearly the entire story I couldn't enjoy any time she was on screen. Johan should have been an interesting character, but the manga got so long and drawn out that by the end I was just fed up with him.

The story overall was weirdly saccharine in a way that felt almost childish in contrast to its intended tone, and while that's not in itself a bad thing, its attempts to portray humanity as Overall Good felt simplistic and often cheap. It kinda goes hand in hand with how horribly it attempts to address WWII. "Well, The Nazis Felt Really Bad About It" and "If You Think About It, Japanese People Were The Real Victims" are not, uh. Themes that show a willingness to contend with complex morality or any real belief in human goodness aside from superficial self-reassurance. Also Urasawa Naoki is insanely insanely insanely afraid of sex.

Ultimately I think Monster would have been way, way better if it had just been shorter and had treated its main plot in any reasonable manner. It had a lot of interesting, evocative moments, and a lot of the ideas of the main plot could have been really good to chew on if the main plot hadn't lost momentum long before it was actually wrapped up. Nina and Johan are given very interesting treatment on occasion, and I have been thinking about their characters and relationship quite a bit since finishing Monster, but the plot was so bogged down in the Various Extraneous Dipshits and the need to conform every aspect of Nina's character around Tenma that there's no actual interesting conclusion to be drawn from them.

I think on an arc-by-arc level, Monster is quite well written, and it has a few really strong moments. It just makes such poor use of its format overall that it sours the whole experience.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i've really dithered around the puppet rabbit hole for my entire life, sometimes sitting by it and dangling my legs over the felted abyss, but by worm am i jumping headfirst into it now with perfect diving form

[askcatboyjotaro]

ummmm r u single 🥺 👉👈

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp." 

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up. 

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum. 

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one. 

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it. 

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary. 

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way. 

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only. 

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage." 

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible. 

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later. 

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people. 

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile. 

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable." 

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation. 

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe. 

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best." 

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly. 

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it. 

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense." 

 "Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved. 

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you. 

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter. 

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin. 

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out. 

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair. 

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always. 

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities. 

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up. 

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave. 

Not until it had its fun with you.

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out. 

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different. 

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it.  There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors. 

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move. 

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits. 

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel. 

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you: 

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag. 

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last. 

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet. 

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place. 

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously. 

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work. 

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet. 

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly. 

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner. 

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations. 

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers. 

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.” 

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.) 

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go. 

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in. 

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene. 

He’s maddening and distracting. 

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps. 

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports. 

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner. 

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies. 

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash. 

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun. 

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst. 

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is. 

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–” 

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.  

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.  

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is. 

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets. 

It doesn’t take him very long at all. 

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows. 

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you. 

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins. 

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting. 

“Better?” 

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close. 

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow. 

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity. 

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird. 

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across. 

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks. 

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat.  You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter. 

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed?  And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag?? 

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling. 

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show. 

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you. 

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you.  His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth. 

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses. 

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction. 

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air. 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this? 

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says. 

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer. 

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly. 

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens. 

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room. 

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in. 

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall. 

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to. 

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture. 

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him. 

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks. 

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange." 

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features. 

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again. 

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me." 

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map. 

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment,  the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life. 

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak. 

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,” 

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.  

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong. 

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt. 

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life. 

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time. 

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches. 

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop. 

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars. 

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate. 

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still. 

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”. 

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.” 

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words. 

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance. 

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition. 

The two of you sit in the silence. 

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse. 

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again. 

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you. 

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies. 

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt. 

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask. 

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops. 

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders. 

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.” 

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety. 

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. 

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you. 

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.” 

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?” 

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans. 

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing. 

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making. 

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring. 

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.  

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him. 

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.” 

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well.  I should have asked you before.  I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.  

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?” 

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears. 

 “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”  

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he? 

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing. 

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow. 

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late. 

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment. 

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise. 

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder. 

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed. 

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you. 

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown."��

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces. 

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there." 

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft. 

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly. 

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head. 

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension.  But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away. 

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.” 

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm. 

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.” 

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe. 

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance. 

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you. 

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of  you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention. 

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her. 

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter. 

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you. 

It’s her. 

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self. 

God that’s fucked up. 

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

[memorizingthedigitsofpi]

man "ship and let ship" kinda stops working when ppl are actively shipping minor and adult characters together like hello?? same with the "dont like dont read" mentality, some shit shouldn't be fetishised maybe??

You've got a lot going on in this ask, anon, and it's obviously not asked in good faith. If I were a smarter human being, I'd delete it and move on with my life, but it's 9am on a Saturday morning and I'm still on my first cup of coffee so I'm just dumb enough to take the bait and respond.

Ship and let ship doesn't mean you need to approve of what other people are shipping. It doesn't mean you need to like what other people are shipping. It means that what other people ship is their business and what I ship is my business.

If I don't like a ship, I don't read it. I don't search out the tag. I don't try to find creators for it. I don't watch youtube compilations or stare at gifs or read meta analysis about how the ship is supported by canon.

If I don't like a ship, I just... don't think about it. It really is that easy. And when I do think about it, I might be annoyed for a moment, but then I move on with my life because guess what? Shipping is a meaningless hobby that I engage in during my free time and I don't want to waste my free time feeling pissed off.

I've seen a lot of bizarre definitions of "minor/adult" shipping, but even if we use the definition of an adult sexually abusing a child, it's still very easy for me not to read that story on AO3. I'm assuming this is all about AO3? It always seems to be in this kind of ask.

AO3 requires people to use one of two warnings in those cases. Either Underage or Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings - or both. I use the filter system to remove works with those warnings from my search results and guess what? Those works might as well not exist for me because I've never seen one. And I've been on AO3 since about 2013.

The thing about these kinds of opinions is that they only ever come up in relation to shipping. I never see these opinions related to violence or drugs or swearing or whatever else you might find morally repugnant. But the handy thing about "don't like, don't read" is that it applies across the board.

I don't think I'm going to like the new Jurassic Park movie, so I'm not going to go to a movie theatre, spend $15, and sit in a dark room with strangers for two hours to watch it. I'm not going to read reviews of it. I'm not going to watch the trailer. If a friend of mine invites me to go see it, I'll pass. I won't stop my friend from going to see it, though. If they're going to enjoy it then they should - and they're not going to fetishize dinosaurs or paleontologists or the tourism industry when they do.

If you're not able to control your own reading habits, then you should probably be more careful on the internet. Use Net Nanny or other content filtering tools to make sure that you can avoid the content that you're unable to resist through willpower alone. But don't make your inability to stay away from things you don't like my problem. That's all on you.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bad Reveal AU Chapter 2 Part 2

As promised! Here's the compilation of every snippet I've written for the 1000 follower ask game. I added an additional 300 words to the end to round out the scene.

Story Summary: Danny loves the Waynes, loves living with them. After the GIW, after his parents, he never thought he'd be able to have this again. A family, a home.

Then he overhears a conversation.

The Waynes aren't just the Waynes. They're the Bats, part of the Justice League. And the Justice League works with the US Government. The same government that runs the Ghost Investigation Ward.

It was all a lie.

AO3 link

Tumblr Links: Chapter 1, Previous

Word Count: 2.6k

-----

Three days later and they were all ready to tear their hair out. Barbara had found nothing new on the Fenton parents, even after Tim and Bruce joined her in the search. Apparently everything about the Fentons had been hidden behind the best digital security they had ever seen. Everything except the basics. And the firewalls were so good that they were almost invisible which is why no one had noticed them before.

Danny’s room lacked any sort of clue. They opened every drawer and went through everything they could find, only for nothing even slightly unusual to turn up. Definitely nothing like the bizarre energy weapon he’d used.

Jason had asked around as Red Hood to see if he could find any leads on the weapon. But every rumor lead to a dead end.

They could find nothing that might lead them to the people who wanted to hurt Danny. And Danny never came home.

Dick was currently in Danny’s room, again, trying to find anything. He was under the bed searching for hidden compartments in the frame or box spring when sharp footsteps sounded in the hall. A moment later, Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway.

“Master Dick! I believe you were instructed to leave the cave so you could rest.”

Dick pushed himself out from under the bed and sat so he was leaning against the bed frame. He flashed a dazzling smile. “Sorry, Alfred. I just had the idea to check the bed frame for any hidden messages or compartments. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep without doing it.”

Alfred sniffed. “We have already been over every inch of this room. You will not find anything new and you know this.”

Dick sighed, letting the smile drop away, and rubbed his face. He looked down at the carpet as he picked at it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I just keep seeing his face. He was certain we were going to hurt him, Alfred. My own brother. How could I have failed him so badly?”

Alfred’s shoes came into view as he walked further into the room and sat next to Dick. “You haven’t failed him, Master Dick. And you know that. His fears were his own; based on experiences from before he ever joined this family. And we did not know there were problems to address. But we do now and I have full faith that you will solve this and bring Master Danny back home.”

“I wish I had your optimism, Alfred.”

“Then I shall just have to have enough for the both of us. Now, if you insist on being useful, Titus could use his afternoon walk. Normally Master Bruce or I take care of it…”

“But with B injured and the house full, you’ve got enough to handle. I’ll take care of it, Alfred.”

“Thank you, my boy. Now, help an old man up.”

Dick laughed; it wasn’t sincere, not truly, but he knew it’d make Alfred feel better. “Don’t even pretend you can’t get up on your own.” But he still did as requested and helped Alfred to his feet.

“When you’re my age, you will know what troubles I face.”

“Sure, Alfred. Now, where is Titus right now?”

Ten minutes later, Dick was outside in the late spring sun throwing a tennis ball for Titus. The dog was delighted with the game.

He rather felt like it should be raining or overcast or something. Not a balmy spring day with birds singing and bees buzzing in the clover. Danny was still missing; it shouldn’t be a nice day.

His next throw went much farther than he planned, and Titus bounded away.

Dick groaned and collapsed to the ground. He threw an arm over his eyes as he bit back his tears. Everyone was relying on him to hold it together. Damian was on a hair trigger and he was the only one who could keep him in line consistently; Tim was sunk deep into his research and barely surfacing for another energy drink every few hours; Jason and Bruce couldn’t be around each other for more than ten minutes without someone starting to yell. Duke was spending more and more time on patrol trying to find any information on the meta angle.

And all of them came to him to complain about the others. His family needed him. He couldn’t fall apart.

When a shadow fell over his face, he cracked open an eye expecting to see a cloud covering the sun. Instead he screamed and jumped to his feet as he came face-to-face with Clark.

“Warn a guy next time!”

Clark, the bastard, just laughed at him. “Hey, Dick. Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Before he could reply, Titus returned, ball clenched proudly in his mouth. “Good boy,” said Dick as he petted him. “Ready to go back inside?” To Clark, he said, “Most of us are staying at the manor right now. What brings you here?”

“We’re worried. Bruce called in saying he had an injury that would prevent field work for a few weeks. At the same time, Tim told Kon he’d be unavailable for Young Justice missions until further notice. And Damian canceled a sleepover with Jon with no explanation. So I made two of Ma’s pies and decided to come over for a visit. What’s going on?”

Dick sighed. “Danny’s gone. He discovered who we were.” He let out a hysterical laugh. “And apparently thinks that because we work with the US government it means we were just pretending to like him to gather information so we could turn him over to someone who would hold him against his will and torture him.”

Clark landed and pulled him into a hug. Dick clung on tightly. “Why does he think that?”

Dick shrugged and, reluctantly, pulled away. “Apparently his parents betrayed him once already. I think…” Dick closed his eyes and whistled sharply. “Come, Titus.” He held onto Titus’s collar and began walking away from Clark towards the manor. “We think he already has experience being held and tortured. And that it was his parents fault.”

Clark’s sharp inhale proved his horror at such a thought.

“Yeah. So now Danny’s gone and we have no idea how to search for him. Did B tell you he’s a meta? We knew he had some powers, but clearly we missed some because now we suspect invisibility, density shifting, and flight. So we’re trying to find the people who want to hurt him. But we keep hitting walls!” Titus whined when his grip tightened too much. Dick winced and let go immediately to pet the dog. “Sorry, Titus. You’re such a good boy.”

Clark draped an arm around his shoulders. “Well, why don’t you take me to the cave and you can go over everything you know. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will help.”

Dick shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. And maybe seeing you will remind Bruce he knows how to do more than grunt when people ask him a question.”

Clark winced. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse, if I’m honest. Danny shot him with an energy weapon before density shifting out of the cave. So now his newest kid is missing and he’s too injured to go out and search for him.”

Clark let out a low whistle. “Yep. That’ll do it.”

Dick pulled out his phone and opened the group chat. A quick text ensured everyone who was around would make their way to the cave. “I’ve told everyone to meet us in the cave. We’ll swing by the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery for the pie. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Clark ruffled his hair. “You know me, I’m too midwestern to show up anywhere unannounced without food.”

Dick gave a half smile, unable to muster up anything warmer.

Clark tried to keep up a stream of small talk as they swung by the kitchens to gather the plates. But Dick just couldn’t keep up with it. His mind was just too far away, on a young boy with blue eyes who loved hugs and had fit into the family so smoothly.

When they got to the cave, Tim didn’t even look up at the sound of the elevator doors opening. Dick followed his lead and ignored him, instead going straight to Bruce.

“You’ve got a visitor, B!”

Bruce only grunted and didn’t look up from his laptop.

Clark hid a smile. “I’m sure Alfred raised you better than that, Bruce.”

“Indeed I did,” declared Alfred with a sniff from where he was making notes in Bruce’s medical chart.

Bruce’s head whipped up at the sound of Clark’s voice and Dick bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Clark? What are you doing here?”

“Been worried about you and the kids, so I made some pie and decided to come on over. Kon and Jon are both waiting for updates as well.”

Apparently the appearance of Clark and Kon’s name was enough to finally drag Tim from the batcomputer for the first time in days. “Is Kon okay?”

Clark gave him a fond smile. “He’s fine, lad. It’s you—all of you—we’re worried about.”

Bruce looked away. “It’s Danny.”

Clark nodded and sat on the foot of the bed. “Dick’s told me a little. Let’s wait for the others to join us and you can all tell me everything.”

Dick checked his phone. “Babs said my text woke her up and don’t start discussions without her.”

Clark looked at him sharply. “Barbara is here, too? You really meant it when you said everyone’s been staying here, didn’t you?”

Dick shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s Danny.”

Tim laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he’s the only one who all of us like pretty much all the time.”

Clark frowned as he looked around at the people gathered, but didn’t say anything.

Alfred bustled in with a chair. “If some of you would help me set up chairs for everyone? We might as well be comfortable as we talk and eat.”

“Of course, Alfred,” said Clark, seeming relieved. “Be happy to help.”

Honestly, with how many people were there, it only took a minute. Jason and Stephanie arrived just as they were finishing up.

“Duke messaged me,” said Jason. “He’s on his way back from patrol.”

“Damian?” asked Dick.

“I am here, Richard,” said the boy as he walked into the medbay. “I apologize for my tardiness. I was with Alfred the cat and didn’t notice your message immediately.”

Dick went to his side and ruffled his hair. He ignored Damian’s glare with years of practice. “Glad you could make it. Come on, let’s get you a slice of pie.”

“I’ll start slicing,” said Clark.

By the time the pie was sliced and everyone had a piece, Barbara had arrived.

“Where is Duke?” asked Bruce.

Tim pulled up the tracking information on his laptop. “Looks like he’s only twenty minutes out.”

“He’d’ve said something if he’d learned anything new,” said Jason. “I say we just start sharing now. He’ll be back before we get through it all.”

“Agreed,” said Bruce.

Clark nodded and looked around the room. Dick just knew he was cataloging how exhausted they all looked. “What can you tell me about what happened?”

“Daniel lost his mind and attacked Father,” said Damian.

“Listen here, Demon Brat,” argued Jason, “you know damn well that’s not what happened.”

And when Tim backed up Jason, it became a shouting match. Dick buried his face in his hands. A headache was forming and he knew if he tried to intervene, he’d just make it worse right now.

“Enough!” said Alfred when it became clear the others wouldn’t calm down on their own. “We will go over it one at a time. Master Richard, you may start.”

So Dick gave all the information he knew. When one of the others indicated they wanted to add more, he let them. Alfred made sure no one overstepped. Duke arrived partway through and described what he saw when Danny disappeared and used his powers.

When everyone was finally satisfied they’d shared everything they knew, Barbara pulled out a tablet to show Clark the footage of the confrontation in the cave.

“And you don’t know where he got that weapon?” asked Clark after he watched it twice.

“No clue,” said Tim. “We’ve searched his room a dozen times since then, but there’s nothing even remotely like it.”

Jason nodded. “And I’ve been asking around. No one I can find has ever heard of one like it.”

Alfred added, “Even I was unaware he was in possession of such an object.”

Clark hummed as he replayed the last few seconds of the video where Danny density shifted through the stone. “He brought it with him when he left.”

“You’ve thought of something,” said Bruce.

“Could he have hidden the weapon inside something? Like a wall or the floor?”

Bruce hummed as he thought. “Is that even possible?”

Dick shrugged. “We know very little about what he can and can’t do.”

“Want me to take a look at his room with my X-ray vision?” asked Clark.

Bruce nodded. “Please.” No one commented on the begging tone in his voice.

And for the first time in days, Dick felt hope rising in his chest.

“And do we have any idea what he meant by Jason being in trouble, too?”

Jason shrugged. “Probably has something to do with how I died. I’m apparently the only one who can sense Danny’s empathy, too. And I mean supernatural empathy, not the normal person kind.”

Bruce agreed. “I found the most information on Amity Park when I found my way to supernatural message boards. Zatana is looking into some things for me as well. But it always leads back to ghosts. Though why Jason alone is of interest when others in the family have also died is uncertain.”

“I see. Well, I suppose we’ll find out when you get him home. Who wants to show me Danny’s room? We might as well start there.”

Of course, no one was willing to sit this one out. The biggest argument arose when Bruce insisted on pushing himself to his feet. He refused the wheelchair Alfred tried to insist he use, but a raised eyebrow and pursed lips did get him to take the crutches.

Dick and Jason exchanged a smirk at the scene. Alfred always got his way.

So, the entire group made their way out of the cave and through the halls of Wayne Manor until Clark stopped in the doorway to Danny’s room.

He let out a low whistle. “Whatever his powers are, he can definitely hide things in other objects. He’s left a lot behind.”

“Can you tell what they are?” asked Bruce.

Clark shrugged. “Some of them. There’s another item that looks like that blaster he had. Some…rope? I think? A tool box in the floor. A case that’s probably lead-lined. And a lot of stuff that I just can’t identify. I mean, a random cylindrical object. Some rectangles, maybe external hard-drives?”

Damian stepped forward, gripping the handle of his katana. “Then we will smash the walls to see what he is hiding.”

Dick rushed forward to put an arm around Damian’s shoulders and stop him from doing anything.

“Indeed not, Master Damian.” Alfred gave the boy a level look. “We want Master Danny to have a home to return to. And what sort of welcome would he feel if he came back to a destroyed room? Master Bruce, Mr. Kent, I am aware you have other collegues who can density shift. Could one of them be prevailed upon to come and remove the items?”

Damian scowled and kicked at the floor. Dick bit back his smile. The kid really did care about their missing brother, whatever he said.

Clark nodded. “I’ll call J’onn, Alfred.”

-----

Several of you guessed this is where I was going to take it the minute I introduced Clark. Didn't see anyone mention J'onn, though. (But that might be because I was sharing such small segments, so fewer people were speculating.) Let me know what you think!

I've finally gotten around to making a Subscription Post for this fic, so follow that if you want notifications!

@hailsatanacab also started a fill for this prompt that I absolutely adore, so check that out here! (It hurts, it hurts so good.)

[savethegrishaverse]

We’re back with our next round of prompts Third Army! This week (January 14th to January 20th) we want to talk all about “resilience”. The theme of always coming back, the theme of making things our own.

We will never give up, we will never die out. And to aid that we are going to give out prompts and boost content about our Grishaverse, and we need your help! Come join us, send us your fanfics, post your art, and make sure to use hashtag #Third Army so we can see each post!

Writing prompt: "Genya felt like a statue as she sat at the head of the council room's table. She felt marble and cold and distant, but David's hand was across the table and out of her reach. She was alone here as she prepared to give her speech, but she had to do her best. She had to make the Triumvirate proud and win over the councilmen of Ravka, lest they continue to claim Nikolai a monster."

Writing prompt: Why not make an “incorrect quotes” post for Shadow And Bone! It can be a modern social media AU or a text post from the canon era, whatever you prefer!

Writing prompt: It’s a staple in the fanfiction community, but for good reason. Take your favorite ship and throw them in a “flower shop right next to tattoo parlor business rivals” AU! 

Art prompt: We've seen Dan Zollinger's art of the Saints, now draw your favorite Saint in your own style.

Art Prompt: Kaz says he will tear Pekka down “Brick by Brick” - let’s see that again, but with literal building bricks! Reenact a scene from Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows in lego form!

Photoshop challenge: Jesper says that maybe he likes Wylan’s stupid face - let’s photoshop that “stupid” face on all sorts of different things! The more bizarre the better!

Photoshop challenge: Let’s practice tailoring with Genya! Give the Shadow and Bone characters makeovers - maybe the Darkling is going through an emo/punk phase (it’s not a phase Baghra) or how about giving Alina a nice cottage-core makeover. Maybe even give Inej a kpop idol dream aesthetic!

Mixed Media challenge: Some of the iconic Crooked Kingdom book parts made it on screen, but not all of them! Why not draft up a gifsets/art/edit to show a Crooked Kingdom scene we haven't had on screen yet?

Video edit prompt: Compile together your favorite highlights and quotes for a "the Shadow and Bone cast once said…" video edit!

Question/Answer prompts: In the Lives of Saints, we learn to apologize and forgive - among other things. We also learn to stand our ground. Never apologize for campaigning for what you love, but maybe we should at the very least send an apology message to the poor Netflix social media managers who got caught in the crossfire of campaigning?

Every week I want to ask people to share happy/hopeful stories about Grishaverse and the campaign. Let’s talk about the friends we’ve made, the kindness in the fandom, and any moments of hope we can share to keep our spirits strong!

[neaverse]

i am here asking for your favorite fics (i can tell you have good taste<3) 🫶

hi bella!!! thank you for the ask<33

okay so i read a lot. When i say a lot i mean a lot. The amount of fanfiction i’ve consumed in the last three years is probably unhealthy, but what can i say really? I don’t have much going on in my life🤷🏼‍♀️

so going into this, i contemplated how i should categorise my favourites. Current favs? Fav fics per ship? In the end, i decided to simply compile a list of fics that i still think about weeks and months (if not years) after i first read them. Fics that punched me in the gut, fics that made me question my whole existence. I could probably go on forever with this list but i’ve narrowed it down to 10 to make the job a little bit easier for both me and you hahaha!

In no particular order:

The World Is A Violent Sky by anonymous

Harry Potter wants to die; Draco Malfoy wants to live — a story of life and death, everything in between and beyond — in the form of scatters of love and hurt like freckles of stars forming into constellations.

Crimson Rivers by bizarrestars

Regulus Black was fifteen the first time his name was called at a reaping. He's twenty-five when it happens to him again. A lot has changed in that time, and one of them is that he's ready to do whatever it takes to make it home. Nothing or no one will stop him, not even James Potter. James Potter has no plans to stop Regulus Black from making it home. In fact, his plans revolve around the opposite. He has his reasons, but he's made his choice to get Regulus out of the arena, even knowing it'll be the last thing he ever does. Sirius Black was sixteen when he volunteered to take his little brother's place in the arena. At twenty-six, without the option to do it again, he has no choice but to be a mentor to his brother and best friend, knowing that only one of them can make it back out. Two names called, a mentor on the verge of falling apart, and more secrets and grief between all of them than they know how to handle. None of them are prepared for what comes next, or how far they'll go to make it through.

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by @sobsicles

When Harry fails to keep his anger at bay and Voldemort possesses his mind, the events that follow lead him down a long road to realizing the world isn't as black and white as it seems. Chaos, hilarity, and tragedy ensue with a Dark Lord being honest all the time, a rival becoming something else, and a world demanding to be saved. Featuring frightened Death Eaters, deep conversations with a monster, Pureblood traditions being ridiculous, and the fight to do the right thing with no true options. Harry's life just gets more and more bizarre with each passing moment.

Art Heist, Baby! by @otrtbs

When James Potter answers a mysterious ad in his local coffee shop, the last thing he expects is to be thrown into a world of white collar crime, but how can he resist when the mastermind behind the operation has dark hair and brooding eyes and promises wealth beyond James' wildest imagination? He would do anything for that boy named after a star, including stealing millions of dollars of fine art.

Orion in the Sky by space_wingding

Draco Malfoy owns a bookshop in the Lake District. He’s also cursed. Enter: Harry Potter.

Berlin Angel by @de-sire-blog

Berlin is absolutely miserable in February. Or it’s just Sirius. Alternatively: A story of how Remus Lupin stepped into Sirius’ life, flashed his trademark grin, and reminded him that life is a beautiful thing meant to be enjoyed. No risk, no fun!

Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by firethesound

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

Dear Reader by @calamitoustide

never take advice from someone who's falling apart Regulus has been quite obsessed with this anonymous advice blogger Helios and becomes concerned when they begin to post cryptically to an unspecified “Reader” At the same time, he’s starting Uni and has to deal with his brother being back in his life and a certain boy he won’t leave him alone.

Starvin’ darlin’ by @showinalittlelife

The man suddenly drops the knife, he sighs like all his dreams have been crushed. “Oh, dear, I can’t eat you! You’re rotting! What a shame, thought I’d found a looker too,” he whines miserably. The thoughts in Evan’s mind are racing too fast for him to make any sense of them. He has so many questions—too many questions that are probably better left off unanswered, but before he can think properly, he opens his mouth and speaks. “You think I’m a looker?” or: Barty is a cannibal, Evan is dying and they go on a little road trip!

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

[crissiebaby]

The Pampered Curse: Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, humiliation, domination, masturbation/diaper sex, hyperwetting, mental regression, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: BlossomBitchDolly

-------------------------------------------------------------

“Mommy! Mommy! There’s a weird girl on the street!”

“Have you no shame?! What a disgrace you must be to your parents!”

“Hahaha! Hey, babycakes! Trick-or-treat was last Saturday!”

If Edan were to tally up every single embarrassing moment from his life and compile them all into a single highlight reel, he would gladly watch that footage on repeat so long as he could be spared the unreal humiliation he was experiencing in the present. Neither age nor gender nor sexuality nor astrological star sign made any difference. All who were in earshot were coming out of the woodwork to gawk, taunt, and degrade his infantile wardrobe. And worst of all, he couldn’t even blame them. If he had been just another bystander when some idiot came walking down the street dressed like he was, he’d be laughing his ass off. If only he had the luxury of such a lofty perspective.

Instead, Edan found himself waddling along the sidewalk of his very active neighborhood street, his diaper echoing a wealth of crinkles with each step as if the world had strapped an amp to his padding and cranked it up to 11. He didn’t even have his usual walking shoes to help him move faster, with his bare feet collecting dust and dirt as he continued on his warpath to that damned ghost’s mansion.

Unfortunately, by the time Edan found himself passing the final suburban house within his neighborhood, his need to pee had reared its ugly head yet again. “No! If I piss my diaper now, I might never be able to think straight again,” he thought, balling up both fists while he toddled forward. It wasn’t easy with control of his bladder falling to nearly zero but he somehow managed to keep from urinating as he reached the gravel road with the mansion at its end.

Trudging through the grass along the road was quite a difficult feat considering the ridiculously thick padding that Edan was dealing with but it beat walking on a gravel road shoeless. The bumpy terrain nearly had him tripping over himself but his determination and what remained of his speedy reflexes kept him upright. Before long, he spotted the mansion in the distance again, causing him to double his pace as he neared the finish line. His legs were nothing more than jelly as he rounded the structure and staggered up the creaky, wooden steps toward the front door. All the while, his heart threatened to leap out of his chest with how furiously it was pumping.

“Ghosts aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real,” repeated Edan to himself as he raised a fist to the door. For some bizarre reason, there was still a lingering part of himself that refused to face the fact that ghosts were a real and tangible thing as if the diaper alone wasn’t already proof enough. Regardless of what his beliefs were at this point, he’d come this far. Holding in a lungful of air, he reached out and shakily pounded his fist on the grand entrance.

*KNOCK! KNOCK!*

Unable to shake the haunting aura of the mansion, Edan stepped back from the house after two quick knocks, gaining as much distance as possible from the dilapidated structure. However, as he waited for the ghost woman or some other spiritual presence to show up, he found that he was still strikingly alone. It made no sense. Had he made this entire farce up in his head? If so, then the mortifying experience of touring his neighborhood with an overgrown pumpkin of a diaper on his hips would’ve all been for nothing.

Growing furious over the idea that his regression might have somehow been self-inflicted, Edan stormed back up to the door and proceeded to slam his fist repeatedly, his sanity draining all the while. “Open da fuqin doow and ged dis shid off me! Pwease!” he cried, beating the door as he finally broke down and began weeping openly. He no longer cared about his adult, hyper-masculine appearance. He’d shed as many tears as necessary at this point in hopes of guilting his ghostly enemy.

Yet despite his obvious remorse and the clear evidence of a lesson learned, Edan remained on the porch of the estate with not so much as a single ghost in his presence. With nowhere left for his rage to go, he wound his foot back in front of the shabby door. If the ghost wasn’t going to let him in, he had no choice but to break in. Tragically, as his leg swung forward, the diaper obstructed his forward motion enough to throw him off balance, sending him crashing to the floor on his butt. And while thankfully, the over-pump diaper cushioned the blow to his bum, the same could not be said for his bladder. With the impact jostling his body heavily during his harsh descent, he lost what little grip he had on the remnants of his potty training.

*HSSSSSSSSSSS!*

*BZZZZZZZZZZZZ!*

Urine had barely made contact with the inside of his pampers before its vibrations roared to life like a chainsaw slicing through his adulthood. In the blink of an eye, his eyes fully glazed over as the most euphoric sensation he’d ever felt gripped his body, and refused to let go. His mind no longer had the fortitude to resist, losing himself to the carnal desires of his stimulated body.

Opening her front door the second that Edan’s butt collided with the wooden ground as if waiting for her cue, the ghost of Madam Petunia Wick exited onto her porch with a smile that somehow toed the line between kindly and wicked. “Oh, dear! It appears someone left a baby all alone on my doorstep. Surely, a cute little pumpkin like you must have a Mommy hiding around here somewhere,” she said, feigning confusion as she pretended to search the immediate area for Edan’s missing mother, only to turn up empty-handed, “Though, I suppose “little pumpkin” isn’t very appropriate considering a pumpkin of this size would be a sure-fire to win the blue-ribbon at a county fair. No, you, my horny little devil, are Mommy’s HUGE pumpkin.”

As the word, “HUGE,” left Petunia’s mouth, she leaned down and pressed her near-translucent hand into Edan’s diaper, shifting its soggy, pulpy contents around his aching member. Edan’s response was as expected as he threw his head back as far as his neck would arch. With his grasp on reality fading fast, he wasn’t sure why he was here or even where he was anymore. Heck, he probably couldn’t remember his own first name as his brain turned into putty. Madam Wick’s putty, to be precise.

“Fear not, my sweet, autumn child. You can call me Mommy from now on,” said Petunia, gracing Edan with her intoxicating, ear-to-ear grin as she placed her arms around his torso and lifted him into the air with ease, diaper and all. In no time at all, she had him flipped over and cradled in her arms. To anyone watching from afar, the height difference between herself and Edan would’ve made for an awkward look. But from the point of view of the loving mother and her reborn newborn, no image could be more perfect.

Closing the door behind her, Edan was given his first chance to see the inside of the ruins that the formerly pristine mansion had become. Unsurprisingly, its interior was a decaying mess, with caved-in ceilings or crumbling walls making up the once-Grand Hall. For Edan, whose mind was now mushier than his diaper, the ramshackle manor was more frightening than his babyish brain would’ve preferred. He clutched his new Mommy’s torso, hugging his face to her enormous sweater puppies.

“Hehe! I’m sorry, pumpkin. I should’ve done this before we entered. Go ahead and close your eyes, sweetheart. And when you open them, you won’t have to be so scared anymore,” she said, watching her baby with pure, motherly affection as he happily shuttered his eyelids for her. She felt the core of her spirit-form flutter as she leaned in and pressed her lips to Edan’s forehead.

If Edan’s eyes were open, he would’ve borne witness to an incredible sight. Unbeknownst to him, Petunia’s magical kiss was laced with a powerful spell to usher Edan into her realm, welcoming him into the place between life and death. As her spell took effect, the mansion around him slowly returned to its prior glory. Soon, the run-down, old manor that Edan had grown so familiar with had disappeared, replaced with the inviting home that Madam Wick had made for herself and her beloved friends to live out their kinky fantasies for all eternity. And now, Edan was one of them.

As the mansion retook its shape, so too did Petunia’s form. Color returned to her cheeks, filling her face with a warm glow while her tattered, ghostly outfit repaired itself, the fabric shifting and stitching itself back together until her sultry nightgown looked as pristine as it did the day she bought it. The Lady of the house had to look her best, after all.

With Edan’s soul now as bound to the lush mansion as hers was, Petunia lifted her plump lips from her baby boy’s head. “You can open your eyes again. The bad dream is over now,” she said, relishing in the adoring expression and widening smile that befell Edan’s face as he gazed around his new home. Any animosity she may have felt toward him disappeared with his old life. It didn’t matter who he used to be or how rudely he used to behave. He was her baby, now and forever more, “Okay, my yummy pumpkin. After such a long walk, I think it’s time you settled in for a nap. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Nodding his head rapidly, there wasn’t anything Petunia could say that Edan wouldn’t think sounded nice. He must’ve looked incredibly tired to his Mommy because the moment Petunia mentioned the idea of a nap, his brain and body instantly felt sluggish. A large yawn escaped his mouth, forcing his gob open for several seconds.

“Hehe! That’s a BIG yes from you,” said Petunia, climbing the winding staircase that lined the parameters of the Grand Hall to the second story. As she entered the main upstairs hallway, Edan was treated to a wide variety of blushy sights. From a sissy in the midst of some major nipple torture to a pair of lesbians engaging in a bit of rope play, it appeared that the newspaper had been spot on in its reporting of the fetish-filled house, much to his doughy-eyed delight.

Edan’s delight intensified as Petunia arrived at a pastel blue door near the end of the hallway. Upon opening the soft-colored door, his excitement reached new heights over the nursery that he now had the pleasure of calling home. It was the perfect room for a BIG baby boy like him, with everything he would ever need from an oversized crib and changing table to a seemingly endless supply of both childish and naughty toys. 

Laying Edan down on the crib’s soft mattress, Petunia didn’t even bother asking if he needed a change before sleepytime. With a diaper that size, he likely wouldn’t get the chance to test out that changing table for a long time. He didn’t seem to mind, though, raising his arms up and cooing for his Mommy, not a fresh diaper. “So restless for someone so drowsy!” she exclaimed, placing her hands on each of Edan’s cheeks and rubbing them until he was a giggly mess, “I think I may have an idea of how to zap that energy right out of you.”

Resting a hand against Edan’s diaper, Petunia amended her previous spell, permitting Edan to cum so long as it was her hand that instigated it. And since her hand was already nuzzled into the crotch of his plush padding, Edan’s reaction couldn’t have been more predictable.

“H-huhHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMM!!!” moaned Edan, his eyes going cross as his body skipped all of the build-up, launching him into the single most intense climax of his life without any means of bracing himself. His body quivered in Mommy's arms as her touch electrified every sensory neuron in his body. The head of his cock spewed cum into his diaper until his entire pelvis was coated in a thick layer of stringy semen. It was pure ecstasy and he never wanted the blissful feeling to end. Sadly, while he lasted far longer than he ever managed to do his own, his weary body could only go for so long, exhausted from three days of unending stress.

Luckily, Edan would never have the misfortune of feeling such stress again. Not with Petunia watching over him and filling his soul with every infantile desire that she kept locked away within herself. He may have once taunted her for what she enjoyed but now he was going to share in her joy for diapers and all things Little. She landed one, final kiss on Edan’s forehead as his eyes slowly drifted shut. “Sweet dreams, pumpkin. And welcome to your new life.”

THE END.

« PREVIOUS l FIRST

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Edited by AllySmolShork

[mr-pancake-800]

Update: Hold The Line Part 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36968062/chapters/105234945

[miwnet]

THANKS FOR PARTICIPATING! ♡

thank you to everyone who participated in motionless in white appreciation week with us! below the cut, we have compiled all of the posts made by all of you for this week — be sure to give everyone some love if you haven’t already!

this celebration week also sort of doubled as the one year anniversary of MIWNET! thank you all for the support we’ve gotten not only through this celebration week, but throughout this last year since we first started. we couldn’t do this without you. here’s to another year! ♡

DAY ONE: FAVORITE SONG(S)/LYRICS

not my type: dead as fuck 2 set by @ricky-olson

lyrics by album set by @heroeddiemunson

another life set by @mothellie  

assorted lyrics graphic by @watercoloredlie

voices set by @hereticstations

sign of life, synthetic love, & cause of death art by @arkquackie

assorted lyrics set by @vinmauro 

assorted lyrics set by @itconsumesyou

catharsis set by @feelingsofaithless

eternally yours art by @skyjanquest

assorted lyrics set by @skold 

lyrics by album set by @sherifftillman

DAY TWO: FAVORITE ALBUM

reincarnate set by @heroeddiemunson

reincarnate set by @ricky-olson

disguise set by @mothellie  

disguise graphic by @feelingsofaithless

scoring the end of the world graphic by @itconsumesyou

disguise set by @hereticstations 

infamous set by @skold 

infamous and disguise art by @arkquackie 

disguise set by @vinmauro

scoring the end of the world art by @skyjanquest

DAY THREE: FAVORITE MUSIC VIDEO(S)

america set by @ricky-olson

eternally yours set by @heroeddiemunson

assorted music videos graphic by @watercoloredlie

assorted music videos set by @skold

assorted music videos set by @itconsumesyou

assorted music videos set by @vinmauro 

thoughts & prayers music video art by @arkquackie

masterpiece music video art by @skyjanquest

assorted music videos set by @feelingsofaithless 

sign of life music video set by @sherifftillman

DAY FOUR: FAVORITE LIVE PERFORMANCE

synthetic love live in manchester set by @heroeddiemunson

reincarnate during tteotw tour set by @heroeddiemunson

warped tour 2016 set by @ricky-olson

deadstream ii set by @itconsumesyou

dark horizon tour set by @feelingsofaithless

deadstream ii photoset by @watercoloredlie

deadstream ii art by @skyjanquest

werewolf during tteotw tour art by @arkquackie

570 at scranton apocalypse fest set by @vinmauro

DAY FIVE: FAVORITE BAND MEMBER

ricky olson set by @ricky-olson 

chris motionless set by @heroeddiemunson

chris motionless graphic by @itconsumesyou

ricky olson graphic by @feelingsofaithless

vinny mauro set by @sherifftillman

ricky olson art by @arkquackie

chris motionless photoset by @watercoloredlie

full band art by @skyjanquest

vinny mauro set by @vinmauro

justin morrow set by @skold 

DAY SIX: COLOR

+ purple set by @heroeddiemunson

+ teal set by @itconsumesyou

+ red photos/graphic by @watercoloredlie

+ red art by @arkquackie

+ rainbow (voices music video) set by @vinmauro

+ purple set by @feelingsofaithless

+ purple art by @skyjanquest 

DAY SEVEN: FREE CHOICE

miw + jojo’s bizarre adventure set by @heroeddiemunson

miw iphone lockscreens by @itconsumesyou

chris, ryan, & justin cyberhex art by @arkquackie

vampire chris art by @skyjanquest

feral mode playlist set by @vinmauro

miw + in this moment graphic by @feelingsofaithless

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(this is from a gift compilation so I'm just posting it separately so it can be viewed for the story)

This Silent Realm was beyond bizarre. Warriors had traipsed across many worlds, but never one as eerie and magical as this one. The air had an aura of otherness to it, like he was a foreigner in a strange land, like he'd just been born and was discovering the world anew.

"So we're sure that Gramps is here somewhere?" Warriors asked

"Well... not entirely, but pretty sure," Sky answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a running theory."

Warriors glanced around nervously. "It's too quiet here."

"You get used to it," Sky replied with a smile. "What you don't want to hear is--"

Sky stopped dead in his tracks, making the captain nearly walk into him. When he was about to ask what was wrong, Sky held up a hand to silence him.

Jingling. He heard jingling, or... chimes? Bells? Something of that nature.

Warriors glanced at Sky curiously and then saw some lights glowing up ahead. He furrowed his brow, trying to focus on what it was when Sky abruptly yanked him behind a bush, covering his mouth as he yelped.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Watchers," Sky hissed. "If they see us they'll alert the guardians. We need to figure a way around them."

The captain nodded. He still didn't know what guardians were, but based on how Sky spoke about them, he probably didn't want to find out. The pair carefully peered over the top of the bush, examining the area ahead, when something caught Warriors' eye.

Something... something looked off about the water. He swore he saw a person. Edging a little closer without making himself too visible, Warriors felt his breath get sucked out of him.

The person was himself. A younger version of himself, with his cap and less worn face, with Hyrule’s banner emblazoned on his armor.

It was him from the war.

As if in a trance, Warriors slowly reached for the silvery water with the oh so familiar face on it when a hand snatched him from behind. He yelled out, his scarf hastily stuffed into his mouth to silence it.

When he landed on something soft, he looked up to see he was splayed out on Sky’s lap with the younger knight watching him in a panic.

“Don’t touch the water.” Sky warned.

Warriors let out a shaky breath, resting on Sky for a moment. This place was insane.

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Why don’t you like jjk? Sorry if you’ve already answered this 😭

I like it but I just think it's ok. The interesting characters to me are either killed off, not utilized as much, or they just make me think of their character inspirations from Bleach. Like I like Gojo alright but every time I see him I just think "Man, I want to reread all my favorite Urahara moments from Bleach". Or I see Aoi and I'm like "Man, I really want to watch compilations of Kenpachi's best moments in Bleach." And while I appreciate Gege trying to incorporate his love for metaphysics into his series and think it's cool in theory, his constant exposition makes me wish he just turned this into a light novel. Here is an accurate rendition of Sloot reading the rules of the Culling Game

And I don't hate exposition, and there are lots of good series and good authors who use it well! Two of my favorite series are Jojo's Bizarre Adventure and Gambling Apocalypse Kaiji, and they use exposition all the time. But I find Araki and FKMT's way of writing exposition much easier to understand even when discussing complex concepts, and I find the way they incorporate it into their art more tolerable. JJK's exposition is in a series I already don't feel a real pull towards, and it really kneecaps the interest I have in the story/characters. Which is already not much to me personally.

Also I'm a petty bitch and the interest I have in watching something is of inverse proportion to how many people gas it up to me. So when I suddenly saw so many people recommending JJK, praising it for its woman characters being well-written (that...are marginally better than the average male mangaka which is the lowest bar possible. I will give props to Maki though, she's cool), etc. I just put off watching or reading it out of spite lol. The character designs are cool though and some of the characters are hot (even if I find nothing attractive about the blonde misogynist guy in Maki's family and legit do not understand the appeal) but it just isn't my cup of tea. I'll still write for it though since it does have quite a few characters that are good yandere/dark fic fodder

[abbynx]

Marriage with Rohan Kishibe

I love him so so much I was hit by a sudden urge to write for him in the midst of my Riddler Hyperfixation that's how powerful Rohan is

Just a fun bullet point headcanons with a bunch of compiled drabbles because I do so adore the mangaka so I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

I'd like to think that this can be an expansion of my old Rohan headcanon so yeah

💚 Y/N L/N is the sane roommate of Rohan Kishibe, at least that's what the rest of the neighborhood of Morioh thought due to the fact you display unorthodox manners of how one would assume couples would act. Keep in mind though, this was only the time where Rohan has yet to put a ring on it, but everyone thought you were Rohan's chill roommate that keeps him in check for most of the time if you're not attending to your life outside of Rohan.

But once they found out, some began to at least make sense of how the two of you are together. Koichi pointed out just how you seamlessly complement one another, how you can easily stabilise Rohan's 'Rohanness' just then Josuke and Okuyash started to see it.... That doesn't mean it will stop them from feeling sorry for you.

Sometimes, I mean when you have no one else to fall back to, you may mention issues with Rohan in a passing, nonchalant manner before you move on with another topic as if the information you just dropped was something out of a mundane life. It was Rohan you were talking about and his bizarreness may vary from the ends of extremes.

💚 I'd like to think you had fallen first, but Rohan fell harder. And once he realised his feelings for you, oh he was hellbent on keeping you. He was very determined and had gotten straight to the point when it came to ask you if you would fancy a relationship with him. He was sure you would accept, he wouldn't have any interest with you at all when he knows the sentiment is not mutual anyways.

"I admire you, Y/N."

He dared not to dilly dally the moment you arrived at the arranged venue he asked you to attend. You hadn't even taken a seat yet when Rohan suddenly drops this bomb on you. The mangaka did not feel dread when he was met with your silence, perhaps his sentence was vague and can be interpreted in any way.

"Why don't you take a seat first?" He gestures at the chair across him, before returning to his stance of having his elbows proposed against the table and his chin in his palm. "I've been meaning to tell you that the moment I found out last night."

You soften up. "Oh Rohan, I admire you too—"

"Not that way," he interjects, sensing the platonic interpretation in your tone. He then leans forwards, holding the table, his voice heavy on romantic emphasis. "I like you. I have feelings for you. I have fallen for you. Is that clear enough?"

Rohan was as cool as ever when he was once again met with you silence. Receiving such a revelation at a short period may be less easy for others to process and so he patiently awaits for your response.

"I... The feeling is mutual... Yeah..." you averted your gaze, evading his intense stare.

"Well then. What happens now?"

💚 What happens next, well, firstly he would have always been there by your side but there are times where he certainly falls short-- his manga keeping him from fully pouring his attention to you alone that sometimes he puts his manga first. There was an instance he forgot about an important date you set up for the two of you and he was not proud of that. But since then, he always tries his best to balance you and his works.

"I... I do not know what to say... I am so sorry I forgot about our date, I have no excuses at all. I promise this will not happen again. Let me make it up to you. Please..."

If you want him to kneel, he would in a heartbeat. He was that determined to keep you, but it was a lapse of time that was his mistake that he intends never to repeat again.

💚 Grand gestures of his love can vary at times, but the grandest of gestures are mostly reserved in private. One moment he would be snarky towards you, but the moment someone tries to steal you away, he is going to show them just how much of a simpleton they are compared to him by treating you like royalty. And it wasn't a matter of showing the other person that he is better than them (although, he already knows he is lmao) but the fact he can treat you better, best.

"Really Rohan?" You chuckled when you he secured his arms around your midsection. He just had to pull you in the middle of a circumstance and just before that he had sighed in annoyance when you had told given him a diabetic nickname. Rohan simply buried of face against your back, grumbling incoherently.

💚 Always at a constant need of new experience he can adapt into manga material, he often strings you along these trips because he genuinely wants to experience these new things with you as well. Sometimes these trips were spontaneous decisions, those who are uncomfortable with a sudden shift of schedules are in trouble because of that but once Rohan comes to know that discomfort, he would make sure the next time he intends to take you with him in these trips, was to make it known in advance.

Just so you know, the trips will not be the same without you. But he will not let that feeling be known... Directly, at least.

💚 But if you do come along...

Rohan had said nothing about where would you be heading, but judging by his vehicle of choice, it was just nearby. He said it was a surprise. He takes you on a motorcycle ride by the scenic road by the sea, with you seated behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. You sigh in content, nuzzling your face against the back of his shoulders, unaware of the smile etching within Rohan's countenance, soft from your gesture.

"Where are we going exactly?" Your voice was muffled against him.

"You'll see."

Upon arriving at a certain spot, you were caught off guard when you saw a picnic set up under a shade of a tree by the shore. You couldn't help but to smack Rohan by the shoulder with a smile.

"So this is what your hiding from me?" You lean your head against his shoulder, taking his hand in yours.

"It wouldn't be called a surprise if I told you." He smirks, before leading you by the hand to the set up.

💚 Unbeknownst to you, Rohan had asked Koichi a favour. Something Koichi can't refuse, due to the fact that he finds it adorable but he really doesn't know how to organise a romantic picnic by the seaside so Koichi had to ask help from Yukako, Josuke and Okuyasu. Funny little tidbit, Yukako initially thought Koichi was setting up the picnic for the two of them... Josuke had to explain to the girl bevahse Koichi was stuck on words.

Just so you know, Josuke was not doing this for Rohan, because in a way, he was seeing that he is doing this for you. Koichi is just happy to do favours for Rohan and if Koichi's happy, Yukako is happy. Meanwhile, Okuyasu was merely sulking and begrudgingly helping with the set up.

Once they heard the motorcycle, they hid behind a nearby shrubbery... And now, they are now tasked to take pictures.

💚 His top one love language has to quality time. The knowledge of knowing you're there in the same space as he is grants him a piece of mind to know that there can be people who can stand to exist next to him. Joking aside, he likes your presence lingering beside him, so that there will be someone to respond to what's supposed to be questions for himself asked outloud becomes a question for you.

"Say, what do you think may be the worst pain I can inflict on my protagonist that shall impact them for the rest of the narrative?" Rohan asked, not looking up from his pencil work.

"Physical?" You briefly glanced from your book to look at your boyfriend.

"I was thinking emotional."

"Betrayal?" You suggested.

Rohan seems to take it into consideration from the way his unfocused gaze became analytic, before nodding. "I'll see what I can do with it. Thank you."

Aaaaand suddenly he was winning another award because he decided to follow your suggestion.

💚 He loves act of service. He adores it when you would go out of his way to do things for him, those things being chores, along with the thoughtfulness of you bringing him food while he's working as he does get a little into deep his drawing that he forgets to refuel.

And in his gratitude, he gives you gifts. Not just out of gratitude, really, he just loves giving you things, especially those you love.

💚 When it comes to physical affections, he is like a cat. Not the type of cat that hisses when you lay a finger on them no, he's the type who will just allow himself to be scooped up and cuddled and will fall limp and look as though he does not enjoy it. Do not be fooled, he loves the attention. But when it came to him seeking physical attention, he will shamelessly drape himself across your lap and if you don't dare to stroke his head he will threaten to push a cup off a table and will sulk.

💚 Words of affirmation comes to him naturally, second nature even and he means every single one of it. If it's not snark coming from his mouth, it is his utmost love for you.

💚 A life with Rohan? In Morioh? Oh the hijinks had doubled.

You were calm. You promised to be calm just so you can listen to Rohan explain himself. But the longer he talked, your barely concealed anger became less restrained.

"You failed to notice the house was BURNING?!" You intend to keep your cool, when your voice uncontrollably rises another octave with rage.

"Y/N I assure you, it was more than just a game--!" He flinches away out of fear, something only apparent to you as those who do not know him the way you do appears to be nonchalant.

"YOU LET THE HOUSE BURN DOWN??? FOR A GAME???" You had both hands raised midair, a great sense of control was holding you back from wrapping your fingers around his neck, fingers shaking from the restraints.

"I CANNOT LET HIGASHIKITA WIN! NOT ESPECIALLY WHEN THERE MIGHT BE FOUL PLAY AT HAND!"

"OH SO YOU SUSPECT HE'S CHEATING BUT YOU STILL TRIED TO WIN AGAINST HIM?!"

Or alternatively...

"You sold the house?!"

You supported Rohan in his noble but albeit self-serving task of buying a piece of land, saving the natural beauty of the trees to save them from the grubby hands of a corporation intending to make a resort... But the sell your whole ass residence?

"I have. Along with some properties."

You had to have a double take. YOUR PROPERTIES?!

Before you can ask, he further clarifies. "Except for my wedding band and your belongings, of course. I had them sent to your hometown."

Oh he'd be fucking dead, close casket dead, if he were to sell his own wedding ring for manga material.

"But why did need to you sell the house?"

"For the forest." He says.

"The forest?" At this point, you were manic with madness you couldn't help but to smile widely.

"And two hills." He adds, thinking it would justify him.

"Here, I have saved a couple of funds for you to use. Maybe you can stay over with your friends for awhile." He takes your hand and places a wallet on your palms. "Meanwhile, I'll be staying with Koichi."

"Rohan..."

"Y/N please... This something important to me. I promise this will be over soon."

Eventually, you just sighed. This was the life you accepted and you will be sticking with it. It was just another part of Rohan you will be living with... But he did promise this will not last for long.

"Fine."

Pressing a kiss against your forehead, he pats you by the shoulder before turning away. "Let's not keep your bus waiting, then. I've already packed for you."

"Promise me you'll watch over yourself?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Oh please, you think of me as a child?"

The way you narrowed your eyes at him, tells him that was not the answer you were looking for. He sighs and nods begrudgingly.

💚 It did not take long for him to board the nearest bus out of impulse when weeks went by and dropped himself off to your friend's house because he misses you. The first thing he does was to play it cool appear civil with your friend before he hopes for you to take him in his arms, because he dare not make the first move to appear desperate. You're aware of this. Do whatever you will with this information. Grant him this chance or watch him squirm.