#even if you somehow manage to read/watch the entire thing and completely miss that the shadow and living doll pairs are NOT the same person

[dearlybelovedemilyko]

shadows house is NOT "the selfcest bait anime". except of course when it is. and when that's the case i fully endorse it

[jjenthusee]

A Broken Mug

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

a/n: i wrote this because of @janybabyy hilarious comments on my last angsty drabble. It made my morning and I wanted to also contribute some fluff as an apology lol (there also might be a little steamy scene if u squint) i love reading comments and reblogs so leave some if your comfortable ENJOY (also the angsty drabble is here)

tags: tons of fluff, shameless flirting

3.5k words

When Jason went out on patrol, you busied yourself filling the time with aimless activities and chores until he came home. You didn’t plan on trying to shift your sleep schedule with his reversed one, but with your lenient job and bad sleeping habits, nothing was really stopping you.

You got to see him come back from patrol and took naps on the couch together, so you didn’t see any problem with it. Tonight was also any other night that you were walking around the apartment getting any chores done.

Your usual weekly mop and washing your dishes at three in the morning was productive. Until you tried to see how many mugs you can try to carry from the drying mat to the cabinet, then you dropped two mugs.

An old shark mug that would be missed and Jason’s birthday mug you got him last year. You wished you could reverse time, but you stood there watching the mess you created.

Now with the broken pieces, a tube of super glue and your will, you sat on the floor studying how to put the mug back together. The rug in your living room doubled as your current operating table as you laid your supplies around the fragments of Jason’s previous birthday gift.

You had two hours to make it looked like nothing happen, not cry and figure out if you picked up all the pieces. Then apologize to Jason and promise to never pick up a mug again.

…

You looked at your finished handiwork, eyeing the glued ceramic pieces of Jason’s mug.

It looked bad. The glue had settled in some of the smaller pieces, but almost the entire tube was gone and you were out of options. Maybe some last finishing touches, but that wouldn’t fix the problem of it being broken in the first place and you weren’t sure if this was even safe to drink out of anymore. If it didn’t leak.

Now your boyfriend’s precious mug became the victim of your carelessness. The handle broke off completely and the rim had several chipped pieces. With a final attempt you managed to somehow pray that the handle fit and it did, but there were definitely pieces that didn’t fit that smoothly.

Luckily, when the mug fell it didn’t fall onto the floor like the other victim, but onto the kitchen counter. The impact could’ve been worse, but some higher understanding kept most of the mug still intact, but ceramic was fragile, so only so much could be held together against the force of gravity.

“Maybe he won’t notice?” You sighed defeatedly picking at the dried glue.

“Notice what?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Jason’s voice. You didn’t expect him to be casually standing near the window, standing tall behind you in full Red Hood gear.

You always did manage to forget about his stealth and agility. You nearly smacked him with a pan when you thought a burglar was in your kitchen when you first started dating. Good thing the flowers he brought with him were unharmed.

After closing the window, he slowly removed his leather jacket and gloves with visible exhaustion in his movements, relieved to remove a layer of his nightly outings.

“Welcome home.” You softly spoke, but a bit of strain crept into your voice at the realization that you didn’t clean your mess in time. You whipped your head back to your crime scene that sat in front of you.

Trying to act as naturally as possible, you capped the glue shut.

“Another night of being a handsome vigilante taking down kidnappers and stopping drug trafficking?” You teased as you shifted your body fully toward Jason, no doubt the slight hesitation in your voice giving you away, but you grabbed the tube of super glue, quickly shoving it in your sweatpants pocket as you spoke.

“Nah, only drug trafficking.” Jason lazily said, not paying direct attention to your awkward movements as he emptied his hidden arsenal of weapons off his body. “I made Roy handle the kidnappers.” A hint of amusement in his voice as he stretched his body, muscles contorting. The movement more visible with his jacket off.

“Only drug trafficking.” You tried mimicking him, giving a bad deep voice impression. You slid the mug closer to you, flush against your back so he wouldn’t see it from his angle.

Jason stopped in the middle of his post-patrol routine to look at you. His helmet tilting at you slightly, analyzing you.

Shit. He noticed something.

“Jay, my love, did you shine your helmet recently? It looks shiny and I couldn’t help but notice—“ Your voice quickly died as your gaze shifted from his red helmet down to his hands on his utility belt, lazily resting on the release latch. The look was…wow.

“Cleaner and polish.” Jason spoke slowly, clearly feeling smug under his helmet. He was all too familiar with that look in your eyes. You could practically see the smirk forming.

Click. The belt released as it fell loosely around his waist. Your mouth felt dry. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts.

You can eye-fuck him later, you wanted to hide the cup, but delaying your apology until tomorrow didn’t feel right.

Jason gave one last glance at you, then resumed his attention to his gear as he took the belt off.

“I was thinking we could eat something simple tonight…or morning? I guess it’ll technically be breakfast.” You shifted to get up, grabbing the cup along with you. Thankfully you were able to grab the handle while keeping your eyes on Jason, making sure it wasn’t entirely noticeable.

Jason removed his helmet, a puff of air releasing as he placed it on the dining table.

“Wanna cook something or pick up? It’s kinda limited since it’s early, but there’s always something open.” His voice was clearer, more defined without the modulator distorting it. A slight raspiness that poked at you.

Without the helmet, you could see Jason’s messy hair, matted in some places and fluffier in others, a slight stubble pricking his jaw and that sweet exhausted expression that made him mellow. Your heart raced every time you saw Jason’s face after a night of patrol.

You need to focus. You were getting distracted.

A distraction. That’s what you needed.

With the cup still held behind your back, you walked to Jason as he was placing his belt on the back of the dining chair. He didn’t expect the sudden closeness, but didn’t refrain from it. He looked more…curious than anything.

Jason watched as you reached for his face with your free hand. You didn’t fully extend your arm, purposefully leaving some distance that he would have to fill himself. Giving him the time to come to you.

Sometimes Jason needed time to adjust after a night of patrol, some days he wanted to come to you and other days you had to step in and make baby steps towards him, guiding him back to the domestic life he shared alongside you. Either way you waited and were willing to wait as long as he needed.

This was one of the moments you reached out first, asking to touch him. It was a quiet signal letting your hand hang in the air. Sometimes he held that hand or he let you caress his face. Despite how much you told him he didn’t have to follow it every time, he always did. Like telling you ‘no’ would end him.

Like a magnet, Jason lowered his face placing his cheek in your hand, placing a kiss inside of your palm.

Your heart raced as you watched his careful movements.

He moved his own hand over yours, intertwining your fingers together, but keeping your hand on his cheek. His skin was slightly cold, but he kept your hand in his and he rubbed his face on your palm trying to absorb your heat. It must’ve been freezing outside, maybe you need to get him some hand warmers to keep in his jacket, but a part of you also wanted him to use you to warm himself up.

You felt him sigh as his lips touched your skin. His eyes closed as he fully lost himself in the moment, it felt like he was giving you a silent ‘I missed you’ as he refused to move from you and you squeezed his hand, hopefully giving the message back.

As he breathed your scent in, you counted his eyelashes while you waited, refusing to disrupt his moment from decompressing from patrol. You loved seeing his face from this angle because you could see that some of his eyelashes were white like his hair. It wasn’t that prominent, but your heart fluttered that you were probably one of the only people to know.

Your thumb caressed the edge of his eye, watching him lean into your hand more.

Jason’s eyes opened, barely enough to gaze at you, but you wouldn’t miss the devotion that sat in his eyes. He trusted you and is willing to give himself to you, to let you touch him. To ruin him, if you desired.

“Jay…” You breathlessly spoke into the intimacy pulling at you.

Jason stayed still, waiting for permission, for you to lead him in whatever direction you wanted. All of his resolve focused on what you desired. He was hesitant to even breathe too hard, if it meant you would move away.

You carefully leaned into him, mindful to not touch him more than you already were. Moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. Pushing your fingers through the edges of his hair, his labored breathing on your lips as you hovered over his mouth, just near enough to touch his lips if you spoke.

You wanted his full attention.

You couldn’t tell if you tugged him first or he leaned in, but you were too lost in the kiss to care. You started with a gentle touch, but once Jason angled his face to bring your body closer to him, it felt like he wanted to engulf you.

You felt his fingers slowly itch onto your waist, playing with the fabric of your shirt. You flinched, surprised at the sudden, but welcomed touch. You moved your hand holding the cup—you forgot about the mug!

Luckily, your realization went unnoticed by Jason. He pressed into you, leaning your neck further back to adjust to his height. The new development let a sound reach his throat, but with your bodies this close, you could feel the murmur. Your stomach fluttered.

Before his hands could move toward your back, you maneuvered your arm still holding onto the cup to avoid getting tangled. You laid your arm on his shoulder, holding the mug by its handle, careful to not let the mug touch him, letting him get even closer.

The movement allowed him to breathe onto your mouth, lost in your contact. It made your stomach warm at the sound.

Your mind went blank and you instinctively followed the movements of the man in front of you. You lead him to this point, but with the permission you gave him, he followed his desires. You wanted him to want more, he barely asks for things and he deserved to be spoiled.

His hands found the edge of your shirt, placing his cold hands underneath onto your bare waist, rubbing the skin with his thumbs.

You shuddered. He watched the tremor in your body, resting his nose next to yours. Dwelling in intimacy and shaky breaths.

Once his hands started to warm against your heated skin, you looked up to him. Watching his reddened skin. Maybe you can mention the mug now.

“Jay…I broke—“

Jason was too infatuated with the moment and holding you in his embrace that he didn’t comprehend anything you were saying. He took advantage of your mouth opening to deepen the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, to keep yourself from falling and to somehow find a way to merge your body with his.

You took a sudden breath, releasing yourself from Jason’s mouth. A sudden…hunger in his eyes as he watched you breathe. You gripped onto the handle of the mug and Jason’s broad shoulder, overwhelmed by the combination of Jason’s touch, breathing and look.

He must’ve not felt any different as he nipped at your jaw, using his hand to cup your neck and angle your face up to give him more access.

“Jay—“ You breathlessly pleaded.

Clink.

The handle of the mug broke off, leaving the handle in your hand and the rest of the cup bouncing off of Jason’s back and shattering on the floor.

Both of your movements stop as Jason shoves you behind him, shielding you from the imaginary attacker.

You could only see the back of his shoulders and his flushed ears peaking out as you looked at the broken handle still in your hand.

“Jay…it’s fine.” You tapped his shoulder to point to the cup broken on the ground. “It’s my fault.”

“Wha?” Jason asked, still breathless as he was ready in attack mode.

“I was trying to tell you, but I—got distracted.” You cleared your throat.

Jason leaned down taking some of the broken pieces near his boot in his hands. Recognizing the fragments once he got a closer look.

“I’m sorry. I tried to fix it, but then I guess super glue isn’t as reliable as I thought—“

“Sweetheart—“ Jason soothed as he stood up.

“Then I forgot about the time and you came back before I could figure out what to do. I can buy you a new one—“

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He placed his hand under your chin, grabbing your attention. “It’s really alright.”

“But look at it.” You defeatedly gestured to the broken handle still clutched in your hand.

Jason could only laugh watching his partner sadly show him the aftermath of their handiwork, his full set of teeth visible, giving him the cute boyish look you loved.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s really okay.” He grabbed the handle out of your hands. “I’m glad you didn’t cut yourself from the broken pieces, but we don’t need to fix it.”

He had a smirk on his face.

“Especially with super glue.”

“Hey! I had to use what we had in the drawers.” You puffed.

He placed the pieces on the counter. Carefully moving you to the couch, so you don’t step on any sharp pieces. Cleaning up the mess of his cup.

You silently watched, making you feel worse. Jay noticed your sullen look and consoled you as he swept up any left over pieces.

“I have shoes on still and your in your socks, I just want to make sure it’s safe.”

You frowned further.

A small tender smile spread across his face as he properly disposed of the remaining pieces and walked over to the couch. Your eyes followed his form as he kneeled in front of you, making him sit just below your eye level with your legs in between his, gently taking your hands in his as he methodically rubbed your skin with his thumb. His hands were warm now, probably from your earlier…activity.

“My love, it’s okay. We can replace it or get an entirely new one.”

“But it was a matching set.” You rubbed his hands back.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t choose a new set.” You looked up from both of your hands to his gentle gaze, filled with so much warmth and understanding. “I’ve been meaning to take us to that new pottery place you talked about. We can each make a mug, okay, sweetheart?”

You brought his hands to your lips, gently placing a kiss on his rough hands. A mesmerizing hum left Jason’s mouth.

“Can you make one for me and can I make one for you?” You quietly asked.

Jason laughed, the cute smile poking through again.

“I would love that.”

Maybe breaking Jason’s mug wasn’t so bad after all.

…

Your date to the pottery place was even better than you expected. You got to try something new, Jason made a few cheesy Ghost pottery scene jokes that the instructor probably heard too often and you got to watch Jason’s hands intricately make your brand new mug.

You were internally thanking your clumsiness for breaking his cup earlier in the week and blessing you with the scene of your boyfriend’s biceps. You wish you could brand the memory into your eyes.

Now you tried to concentrate as you painted Jason’s mug. You both decided on painting things about the other person onto the cup, a completely unique design.

You managed to decide on an overall simple red color (surprising, I know), paint a wonder woman emblem and a simplified doodle of Jason’s face. It was your proudest work.

You even snuck in a clumsily written “I love you” with a tiny Red Hood doodle at the bottom of the inside of the cup. A cheesy surprise for him.

“I don’t think I’m made for the arts.” Jason carefully held the paint brush in his hands.

“Don’t say that, your mug shape looks better than mine. Sorry that I made yours a little wonky.” You looked at the slightly slanted rim of the mug.

“I love wonky. You know me so well.” He playfully flirted.

You chuckled at your love-struck boyfriend. You could have given him a ball of clay and he would’ve proudly kept it on his nightstand. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowingly that you also didn’t care if Jason bought a plain cup and handed it to you. You would love it all the same.

A small quiet silence, both lost in your individual masterpieces. You looked up to watch Jay, who concentrated with furrowed brows, trying to add his iconic red bat symbol to your cup. When you noticed he also painted a couple cracks around the handle, clearly digging at the broken handle you religiously held onto earlier that week.

“You’re never going to let that down.” You sighed.

“Huh?”

You pointed at the handle, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart, I wish I could’ve gotten a picture of how sad you looked. I would’ve made it my wallpaper.” He chuckled.

“Don’t make fun of me, I was really nervous about telling you. And I lost a pair of sweats because the super glue decided to permanently close my pocket.”

“I’m not, I thought it was cute.” He looked up from your mug. “Besides I already saw it when I crawled into the apartment.”

“What!?” You almost shouted. “What do you mean? You knew?”

“I didn’t know anything, just saw it, but you gave yourself away after you called me ‘my love’ and then I just wanted to see what you were planning.” He finished painting the outline of his iconic bat symbol. “You always call me that when you’re up to something.”

“That’s embarrassing.” You put your paint brush on the table, attempting to cover your flushed face with the back of your hand, careful to not put any paint on your face. “I thought I managed to get past you, but I guess making out doesn’t really count as a distraction.”

“Oh, no, I was distracted, so I guess your plan worked.” He placed his finished work on the table. “But, you’ll have to try harder next time, my love.”

He was getting too cocky now.

“If I tried harder, you would have a hard time getting up in the morning, my love.” You teased.

Jason’s eyes widened. A second to process what you said, then a brazen look in his eye appeared.

“What if that’s my plan all along, my love?” He shamelessly asked.

You leaned in closer to Jason’s side, hiding your voice away from the other customers in the shop.

“One of us isn’t going to be able to walk and it won’t be me.” You joked, both of you laughing at one another. You moved away from Jason. “I think we better stop before we get kicked out, your Ghost jokes earlier already have us on the instructor’s last straw. If it’s not cringy jokes, we’ll be kicked out for indecency.”

“There goes my plans of making out next to the kiln.” Jason shook his head. “I guess it would be bad if we couldn’t pick up our mugs later.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriends hidden plans. A small twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes.

“We have to change up our make out spots once in a while, can’t let them catch on.” You playfully nudged his arm.

Jason smiled and brought your hands up to his mouth, a small kiss on your knuckles that were covered in paint.

A flutter inched in your stomach at the brief contact.

“Then we should schedule a knitting class tomorrow.”

[worldlxvlys]

running

part seven of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

a/n -> read the previous part for context !!

ever since the day he apologized, matt had been acting weird. there was a very obvious tension between us, but neither of us said anything about it. his brothers on the other hand, were quick to point it out.

“ok, what’s up with you two? did you fuck again, or something?” chris asked, earning a quick hit and an incredulous look from nick. matt just rolled his eyes, answering with a brief “no”, before turning in the direction he came from.

he was distant and quicker to anger than he usually was. it seemed like the smallest things set him off, he was just so mad. his recent attitude has made me quite distant myself because being around him wasn’t very enjoyable.

he had his moments where he seemed like his usual self, but for the most part, he was miserable. of course i was aware that this was partially my fault, as right after our conversation about the night we slept together his entire demeanor changed.

i felt terrible, and i wanted nothing more than to help him feel better. but i tried to figure out what was wrong, and he just pushed me away. i wanted to be there for him, but he was a grown man at the end of the day. if i did or said something to upset him, he needed to communicate what that was.

so for the past week, we didn’t hang out unless it was with his brothers. we barely spoke two words to each other, and he couldn’t even look at me on the rare occasion that we did. i tried not to let it get to me, but he was supposed to be my best friend. now he couldn’t even be around me ?

MATT’S POV

just when i think i can’t possibly make things worse than they already are, i prove myself wrong. i somehow managed to completely drive y/n away, and now i couldn’t even look at her.

every time i saw her, i felt the shame and guilt eat away at me. i’ve treated her terribly for the past week, and now she couldn’t stand being around me.

at first i just wanted a little bit of distance, because i knew that the second i felt her soft fingers on my face or watched her plump lips pull into a smile, i would be gone. she’s constantly running through my thoughts, and i have no way of stopping it.

every day chris made these sly comments about how i should make a move on her before someone else did, and that pissed me off. his words constantly rang through my ears, and it made me paranoid.

every time she smiled at her phone and typed away at her screen, which was happening a lot more often recently, i got more and more annoyed. i did my best to push it down and ignore it, but it always seemed to make things worse.

whether she was talking to someone or not, she was growing more and more distant by the day. i found myself missing her when she was in the same room as me, which made me realize just how bad i let the situation get.

i decided to go over to her house to talk to her, knowing i had to clear the air. and that’s how i ended up here, standing at her doorstep anxiously, trying to gain the confidence to knock.

before i could force myself to do it, her door swung open. i must’ve looked like a deer in headlights, my eyes widened as she caught me off guard. she let out a chuckle at that, “i saw you on the doorbell camera, i thought i’d just make this easier for you”

well that’s embarrassing. “you saw that whole thing?” i asked, hoping it wasn’t true. when she nodded her head in response, i closed my eyes shaking my head slightly as i cursed myself. “it’s ok, matt. it was cute” she spoke, a small smile on her face.

i felt my face heat up while i prayed she didn’t notice the deep shade of red that my face turned at the comment. “come on” she motioned to the inside of her house, choosing not to comment on my flustered state.

READER’S POV

when i moved to the side to let matt in, i caught sight of a small paper bag in his hand while he passed me. he led the way to my room, pushing my door open and making himself comfortable on my bed.

“i was thinking we do a movie night?” he asked hopefully, emptying the bag of its contents; an array of different candies, snacks, and a drink for each of us.

whenever matt and i had a disagreement, our way of calling a truce was to have a movie night. we would take the time to talk it out and end off the night with cuddles and a movie.

“sounds perfect” i told him, grabbing the remote and moving to sit across from him. i passed him the remote when i felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. i pulled it out, opening it to see a text from the guy i’ve been talking to for the past week.

dylan 🤠

hey beautiful ;)

what are you up to ??

y/n ⭐️

abt to watch a movie with matt !!

“what movie should we watch?” matt asked, but i was barely able to register his words as i read the next text.

dylan 🤠

matt is your best friend right ?? i thought he wasn’t talking to you ??

y/n ⭐️

yeah movie nights are kinda like our way of calling a truce yk ??

dylan 🤠

ohhh i get u

y/n ⭐️

wbu ??

dylan 🤠

oh yk just texting this girl rn

a lil nervous tho ngl, she’s drop dead gorgeous

wayyyy out of my league

“hellooo? you gonna sit there and text all night or are we ever gonna talk?” matt’s annoyed voice pulled my attention away from my phone.

“hold on, i’m talking to someone right now. just give me a sec” i spoke, looking back down to my phone.

y/n ⭐️

who could you possibly be talking about 🤨

dylan 🤠

your mom :)

y/n ⭐️

that wasn’t funny

dylan 🤠

i laughed

y/n ⭐️

well that makes one of us

i watched as the three dots moved on the screen, before my phone was roughly pulled out of my hand. “what the fuck, matt ? give it back” i yelled as he moved it out of my reach.

i quickly moved over to him, climbing over his body to reach for the phone. he was quick to throw my phone onto my carpeted floor, grabbing my wrists before i could move to get it.

“who was that?” he asked, looking up at me. “none of your damn business” i answered. “considering you’re too busy looking down at your phone to talk to me, i’d say it is”

i let out a dry chuckle at that, “now you wanna talk ? that’s new. usually you just bottle up your feelings and throw a hissy fit instead of telling me what the issue is” i spoke, glaring down at him. my phone vibrated on its spot in the floor, but i ignored it.

“why are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “i’m not, this is what it looks like when you act like an adult and talk about things. i know that might be a little foreign to you” i jeered, his face dropping at the comment.

when i heard my phone vibrate again, i went to go pick it up, but was stopped as matt’s hands gripped onto my waist firmly, pulling me down onto his lap.

“look, i obviously hurt you and i’m really sorry for that-” he started, stopping as my phone continued to vibrate on the floor. “who the hell is blowing up your phone like that?” he started, starting to become annoyed again.

“it’s no one” i answered.

“who is it?” he posed his words as a question, but it sounded more like an order.

“nobody”

“why are you lying?” he asked, receiving a sigh from me. he just wasn’t gonna let it go.

“it’s just this guy i’m talking to” i answered. before i could even process what was happening, matt had flipped us over so that he was the one one top.

“what’s his name?” matt asked, his hands tightly clenching the sheets on either side of my head. my eyes trailed down to his tatted arm, watching as it flexed when he shifted his weight onto it.

“his name doesn’t matter” i answered, willing myself to look anywhere but at his lips. it was tempting, the short distance between us making it hard to focus on anything else.

“is there anything you can tell me about him?” matt asked.

“yeah. he’s not confused.” i answered without thinking, the words slipping out before i could stop them. “he’s made his feelings for me clear” i finished.

“his feelings? he’s only known you for…what, a week?” he asked, tilting his head at me. “he knows what he wants matt” i shrugged, “do you?” i asked.

the question seemed to catch him off guard, as he didn’t utter a word. instead, his eyes dropped down to my lips for a split second, jumping back to my own eyes quickly.

“don’t do that” i stopped him, “don’t look at me like you want to kiss me. we both know you don’t” i told him, turning my head away from him.

he was quick to place his hand on my cheek, moving my face so i was looking at him while he spoke. “why would you think that?” he asked, his eyes softening.

“why would you keep running away from me if you did?” i asked, trying my best not to show how hurt i actually was. i blinked back the tears i felt beginning to form, taking a deep breath.

matt picked up on my shift in mood, immediately moving to sit next to me. “fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry” he whispered repeatedly, pulling me into a hug. “it’s not on purpose, i swear. and it’s definitely not your fault, the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you” i cried silently in his arms, his hands squeezing my waist tightly.

he pulled away to look at me, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “is there something wrong with me?” i asked, needing an answer to the question i’d been asking myself constantly throughout the week. why? why was he avoiding me like the plague? what did i do to deserve this?

“of course not. this is my fault, it’s not you. i’m just confused and i have no clue what to do. i don’t know what i want, and i didn’t know how to deal with-” he stopped abruptly, like he was about to slip up and say something he didn’t want me to hear.

“i just didn’t want to hurt you while i was figuring out my shit, so i distanced myself from you. i know it was wrong, but i didn’t know what to do. and then i realized you were talking to someone and it just made me so mad, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you”

“you’re jealous? matt, it’s not like he’s replacing you. he’s just a new friend” i pointed out. “i’m right here, i’m still your best friend. and you can always talk to me about anything. you know that, right?” i asked.

“yeah, i know. but are you sure you’re just friends? you said he has feelings for you” matt spoke, looking down as he spoke the last sentence. “is he the only one?” i asked bluntly, tired of beating around the bush.

matt’s head snapped up at the call-out, his lips turning upwards into a small smile. “i-” he was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. he looked like he wanted to continue, but i stopped him, “just answer it, it’s ok” i nodded to him, watching him pull it out.

“it’s chris” he sighed out, before hitting the answer button. while he spoke to chris, i heard my own phone vibrate on the ground. i glanced over to matt, who was fully engrossed in his conversation, before grabbing it off of the floor.

i opened it to several unopened texts from dylan, but the last one is what stood out to me;

dylan 🤠

hey, you home? i’m at your door ;)

what the fuck? he knew i was home, i told him that matt and i were having a movie night.

i glanced over to matt, as he hung up the phone. “he was just asking if i wanted anything from target” he informed me, putting his phone down.

he noticed my widened eyes, his face filling with concern, “what’s wrong?” he asked, walking towards me and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“um, my….uh-” i was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “here, i’ll get it for you” he spoke, walking out of the room before i could stop him.

“wait, matt-” i started, a few feet behind him. by the time i caught up to him, the door was already open, matt and dylan were face-to-face with each other.

“hey, i’m dylan. you must be matt” he almost seemed amused at matt’s confused face.

“hey, baby” he spoke to me, earning a cold stare from matt as he realized who the man in front of him was. his jaw was clenched tightly as he turned his gaze to me, his eyebrows raised.

shit.

hehehe

masterlist

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[mosaickiwi]

yoohoo!!! @nabi004 and @mialuna4 and that one anon!!! sick angel request!!! many thanks for the love <3

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~A Sick Angel~

“Can you please—”

“No.”

The past few minutes had been like talking to a brick wall. [REDACTED] hadn't let you move an inch from the bed since you’d woken up in an agonizing daze.

Sure, you felt like complete shit, maybe a little on the side of a fever. And the moment you sat up you wanted to scream. But it was manageable. If you tried, you'd be able to make it through a day at the library. 

Blue eyes quickly narrowed, as if they knew exactly what you were thinking. It was frustrating how stubborn they could be when he wanted to.

You attempted to frown at your companion. Nothing really changed about your haggard expression—thanks to your face and entire body feeling like dead weight—but your tone worked well enough. “I need to go to work today.”

“Not happening,” he insisted as he reached up to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for just a second. His cold palm against your brow was too heavenly to ignore. “I don't want to let Elanor down. Today's really important for her,” you croaked.

They didn't bother to hide the momentary disgust in their tone at the mention of your coworker. “She wouldn't want y’working either, Angel.” As if to prove his point, they tapped away on your phone. He'd been holding it hostage behind his back. 

Only a minute later, it dinged with a response and he finally held it out to you. Elanor had sent a polite and elaborate text as always. You read through it while he continued to run both of their cold hands over your heated face like two makeshift ice packs.

Good morning, [REDACTED]. At least I assume so from how brief that message was? Thank you for letting me know Y/N is ill! I'm sure they must be worried about missing today's event but we can handle it just fine! And I’m happy to take some pictures for them! Please take good care of them and give my well wishes. Regards, Elanor.

You raised an eyebrow and scrolled back up to the paltry message he'd sent her.

sick no work

Somehow, it was probably the nicest thing they'd ever managed to send any of your friends. You looked back up at him with what was meant to be a pout. “Okay then.”

With instant trust in your word, he stood up to leave the room. He soon returned with his arms full. A cold compress, medicine, some drinks, and anything else they thought you might need. You lightly rolled your neck and resigned to your fate as a patient when he sat next to you. The medicine and drink he offered were swallowed without fuss on your part, then you laid down. The throbbing pain already seemed to calm as you did.

The compress stayed at his side instead of being placed on your forehead like you thought. You felt their hand on your cheek yet again, a more noticeable chill to his rough skin this time.

“Just in case it feels too cold f’you,” he explained before you even asked.

It felt perfect, so you didn't mind at all. You practically purred in relief at the gentle circles they rubbed. You tiredly looked up to him as you complained, if only to tease them, “I'm a little disappointed you didn't bring out the nurse outfit.”

“‘Course you are.” His eyes lit up with mischief, a knowing smile cut across his lips to match your playful one. “I'll make it up t’you when y'feel better, yeah?” Their thumb slowly traced back and forth from one corner of your mouth to the other.

“Germs, you weirdo,” you reminded him. Though you didn't bother to shake off his hand, weak as you were. “You’ll get sick.”

“Y’worried about me, love? Cute. But I promise ‘M not gonna catch whatever you have that easy.” They leaned down to kiss your flushed temple, eventually settling propped up on one arm to lay as close as possible beside you. Faintly warm breath tickled the top of your head until you drifted back to sleep under their watchful gaze.

[fan-goddess]

The decay of marital flesh

Authors Note: This has taken months to complete, and I am so happy that people have taken time to ask me about this and have wanted to have a part two of my original oneshot that I didn’t know would get so popular. So here’s the depressive thing that took me months to compete cause I needed to be in an angsty mood to write. Here’s my blood and angst

Summary: A part two of this piece here. This is the depressing version of it and the other happy part will be linked to this part here.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of f oral, self harm, blood, kinslaying, cheating on partner (I’ve probably no doubt missed warnings so if you see any you think I should add then let me know!)

Taglist: @ietss, @papichulo120627, @rorawinters, @introverbatim, @alicentswife, @brie-annwyl, @victoriagaunt, @kyla44, @pax-2735, @omgbcat @bellameshipper, @coolsiaisaqueenstuff, @snh96, @devils-blackrose, @blue-serendipity, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @glame, @jennifer0305, @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @aemondwhoresworld @leiakim99

Whenever you slept, somehow the weight of the letter always found a way to haunt you. Whenever your hand managed to sweep under and made direct contact with the paper, it practically burned to the touch with no explanation how.

Klarissa had soon became one of your trusted, friends? She would come into your chambers to place your food in the morn and look at you intently and with questions she herself knew would remain unanswered. You never spoke to her again of the contents of the original letter, nor did she ever thankfully attempt to ever bring it up. It was thing about her you found yourself grateful for.

Though it seemed Klarissas silence on the topic may soon be broken. As recently, more letters, similar to the original, were beginning to make themselves known to you.

Though this time, you cannot bring yourself to read them. You can only stare at them while they burn into nothing in your fireplace. You can only watch as whatever words and meaning they once possessed become ash and soot. Maybe they were letters asking for forgiveness? Or asking for a conference where he begged for you to not spill his blood just as you instructed him that you would? Either way, you held firm belief that nothing of that sort would be happening.

Not while Aemond continued to breathe, and to live.

Aemond does not believe that you are reading any of his letters any more. The maid who had given to you his first letter, whose eyes once held fear of his position, now hold only sympathy and sadness. She doesn’t need to say what he had been fearing. It’s written plain and clearly all over her face.

Still, he can’t help but wish to cry at the realisation, even though he knew it would happen some time or later. An act he does not even think he’s done since he was robbed of his eye. Yet his sudden loss of you, the one person who he should have protected and been with, brings to him more emotion throughout his entire body than he’s felt in his entire life. Even when his sorrow begins to spread through out him, throughout his soul, the tears do not fall. He cannot dare let them. He cannot appear weak in front of the court. He cannot dare appear to be weak in front of you.

His chambers seem all too empty when he enters them. The bed appears stiff and uninviting. The books appear meaningless and empty. Even the fire seems too cold. Even when he begins edging closer and closer to the flames until he’s practically face to face with them.

“Aemond, what are you doing?!” His mothers frantic voice breaks him from his trance before he could fully put his arm in the fire. Only hearing the sudden frantic sound of his mother’s voice does he begin feeling the heat of the flames against his skin. It’s an addictive feeling, as for the first time in months he feels alive. It feels like your fiery touch is caressing him again.

“It does not matter mother… why are you here?” Aemond curtly says, begrudgingly stepping away from the flames to look at her with a soulless eye.

“Aemond, my son, I’m afraid that the court are beginning to talk. They question your marriage, they question your-“

“I do not care about what the people question mother!” Aemond shouts. Raw emotion and anger overflowing from his skin in waves as he stalks to his mother and grips her arms roughly in emphasis of his frustration. He can feel his unkempt nails digging into her arms, and he can even see the slight fear that slowly envelopes her. Yet still, he does not relent on his hold of her, even when she tries to escape from him. “The people do not know how it is I have suffered! How much my wife has suffered! I will not have those insufferable cunts dictating things about my own marriage!”

His nails unknowingly leave small dents in his mother’s arms. His nails which have grown long from neglect begin to draw into her skin so deeply that even with the clothing between the two, he nearly manages draws blood. It’s not even until she begins to wince and voice her pain does Aemond notice what he’s doing to her. What he’s doing to his own mother.

“M-mother I-“

“Save it Aemond. I know you are mourning in your own way. I know that your wife is mourning. She is mourning my son because it was you who betrayed the scared vows the two of you spoke together, and insisted that you drew blood for. It is well within her right to burst down these doors and draw that same blood from you with her own blade. I will not let you drag that girl down with you my son, just because you wish to cling to a long rotted away life that you yourself threw away, all for a fucking bastard wet nurse belonging to house strong!”

Aemond does not move when his mother shouts as him. He does not even blink when his mother’s passionate anger leaves small spit trails on his face. For everything she just said is true. It was him who broke the scared marital bond between him and you. For that, he should suffer no less than a thousand cuts.

Aemonds single eye goes back to the fire where he had sat earlier, and goes to sit there once more. Once again, he does not truly feel the heat it should be providing him. He adds a couple loose logs in the fire, prodding them around slightly with an iron poker.

Aemond drops it though when a log jolts suddenly and startles him, and hisses when the red hot poker makes contact with his upper thigh, burning him. Though he cannot deny the slight satisfaction it brings him to feel the pain flare through his clothes. So he strips himself till he is only in his underclothes, and he does it again, and again. Hissing under his breath each time it makes contact with the pale skin. Maybe this is how he will get closer to you? How he will successfully manage to feel the pain that you felt when you had to push the physical manifestation of his betrayal curse you? He knows it is unlike anything he could ever truly experience, but he has to try. For you, and for the baby he will never meet.

When you begin burning the next letter in the fire, adjusting it slightly with the poker hanging on the side of the fireplace, you can hear an unknown person entering the room with an audible creak coming from the direction of the door. Klarissa had slyly mentioned a few days previous how it was like that due to your infrequent comings and goings. If you didn’t know her name and respect her slightly, you probably would’ve had her relocated immediately for such cheek.

“I think my brother takes great time and thought into writing those letters princess.” A distinctive voice and nickname causes a rare smile to form, still looking at the fire before you.

“Good. Then maybe he’ll learn to be sorry and he’ll learn what my pain was like.” Your voice is surprisingly cold, even with such a warm smile on your lips. It even surprises yourself slightly.

“Well, as much as I do appreciate your determination for damning my brother, I don’t think he’ll share that same sentiment. Do you even read them? Or do you just immediately condemn them to ash? Because I’d hate to think some poor soul like my mother writes a letter to you only to have it thrown to the flames…”

“I’m not that overcome with anger, my prince. I do look at the handwriting of the letters before I, as you so plainly put it, condemn them to ash.” It’s almost annoying how easy it is for Aegon to make you smile. He’s become the light to shine you through your dark ages. A friend amongst the snakes and the thorns that weave and poison the court, looking only in ways to further their power.

“How many times have I told you sweet princess to call me Aegon? I think after everything we’ve done and been through together, we’d have been properly acquainted with each others company. As much as my little brother utterly detests the very idea of it.” Aegon now sits beside you at the fire, his everything already making your tensed frame ease into a more calm and relaxed one. He does not make any move to stop you from making sure the letter is properly burned into nothingness. An act you appreciate immensely.

“My brother, was a fool to believe he needed someone else to comfort him...”

The quick comment is also quickly followed by a deathly sort of silence in the room. The only thing being able to penetrate it being the comforting sound of the crackling flames.

Though not a few minutes after, from the corner of your eye, you can spot Aegons hand slowly and cautiously placing itself on your arm, drawing your attention to him as you cautiously drop the poker and turn to him. His face looks like the one of a deer when it’s caught in a trap, fear and panic. Though by the way he had approached you, it was as if he was trying to approach an unpredictable creature from the forest. A beast.

“Can I be so bold princess, as to say something to you?” His voice is practically one of a whisper. So meek that you didn’t know if you had heard him correctly the first time.

“Of course Aegon? You are my closest confidant.” Your words though, supposed to be ones of comfort, makes Aegons lips turn in a slight grimace. Yet still, he wets his lips before speaking.

“You… are everything any man I think could ever need in a wide. Which is why i am so disappointed in him. Why take that bastard into his bed, when he could have had you…” Aegon then cautiously leads his head forward and captures your open mouth with his own.

You cannot move. You cannot think. You cannot say anything to stop what is going on in that moment. There is only one thing that races specifically through your head however. One question that stands out from the rest.

Do you even want Aegon, your husbands brother, to stop?

In your confusion, you find yourself unable to move a muscle. Only it seems Aegon mistakes your lack of action and your confusion as a direct answer. Since his once shy hands move with a surprising confidence from your arm, to delicately cupping at your cheek and your head.

You cannot deny that the kiss did not leave a warm feeling erupting in your chest, and a fluttering sensation to churn in your heart. Yet there is one other thing you can think off while this is happening. You can only ponder on how strange it truly feels to kiss another man other than your husband. How strange it is to betray your marriage like he had done.

When Aegon finally breaks away from you, you can see that his eyes have grown dark with presumably desire. Yet unlike other men, he makes no move to direct you to the nearest bed like you would expect him to do. Instead, it looks as if his eyes have softened as they look into your own. A strange kind of peace drifting over him that you’d never really seen on him, nor even on another person before.

“Why did you do that…” You mutter, watching the way the flames make his skin look almost golden in the light.

His eyes though still hold that same strange look of softness, and his hand begin to stroke at your cheek with a strange type of fondness.

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for quite some time now.”

It’s so simple. Spoken so calmly with a careless shrug, that it’s almost as if it was the easiest thing Aegons ever said in his life, and yet it causes an immediate feeling of panic and terror to erupt deep within your chest.

Your head moves your body in such a hurry that you had almost toppled over, if Aegon had not clutched at you so quickly to keep you steady. Yet at the feeling of his practically burning hands on your bare skin you push away from him.

Your head races with the discovery of Aegons… desires? Feelings even? Whatever they are, they’re something you never would’ve known about if not for Aemonds betrayal to his vows.

You know you should be angry at Aegon for what he has done. Angry at yourself even for not immediately pushing him off of you, a still married woman. And yet, when he kissed you, you felt more alive and happy then you’ve felt since Aemonds betrayal.

Even as you pace the room, Aegons keen eyes watch you with concern and slight anticipation at your next move. Like a dog always waiting for it’s masters command. He doesn’t move from the spot he originally sat in, only turning on his and trailing after your pacing with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I could ever love you-“

“You do not have to love me!” At the confession, Aegon is suddenly standing before you, your hands clasped tightly in his. Almost too tightly. As if he was grasping a delicate object he was too afraid would collapse and smash into a thousand pieces. The issue with that concern though, is that you’ve already been broken into thousands of tiny pieces and put back together again. In the end, there’s nothing left for him to break that’s not already been broken before. “All you need to do, my sweet princess, is let me in…”

This time, you do not break away so suddenly from Aegon when he kisses you again. Instead, you tightly grip at his warm fire like flesh in your fingers, and allow for his body to envelope you in senses you thought would never be awoken again.

That night, you felt the crash of everything you have ever been feeling, and everyone that’s made you feel that pain hit you all at once. That night, the hurting finally stopped for a time, and was replaced with only pleasure.

Aemond feels tired, exhausted, and drained, all in one. The words that he attempts to write to you blur all into one as his head swims with an ache that he has no idea whether is due to his deformity or due to his lack of sleep and self care. Either way, it’s in the way, and if Aemond could, he would rip it from his head so he could be done with it all.

He’s seen glimpses and heard plenty of tales of Aegon coming and going from your chambers. Seemingly, a strange bond has formed between the two of you, as before his time at Harrenhal, you’d never spoken to him. Yet now, he hears whispers of his brother leaving your presence and your chambers nearly every day.

Now he not only is jealous of his brothers soon to be crown. Now, he must bear witness and be forced to sit and wallow in his jealousy of Aegons access to your touch and your voice. Of Aegons access to his wife.

The letter in front of him, his unknown number attempt at reconciliation, is half written. The quill in his hand half poised to write as it drips dark raven ink onto the page and bleeds onto the dark oak desk.

Maybe he should write it with his own blood? Slice his palm and let it drip into a cup, before dipping his quill into it and writing his heartbreak with it. If he shows you how much he’s willing to bleed for you, maybe you’ll finally be willing to read his words and allow him to see you again…

There’s now a cramp in his hand from where he’s paused himself, and yet he strangely relishes in the onslaught of dull pain being given to him by his hand and head.

Maybe it’s a sign from the gods that he should stop himself? For he betrayed both the maiden and the mother when he laid with that fucking witch from Harrenhal, and it feels as if he should be praying nightly to the father for him to be brought to justice for you.

However now, with the considerable amount of time that he is being forced to spend away from you and your arms, he feels as though he should pray to the Stranger, late at night, when the moon is high and full. He should pray to him to slice his head from his shoulders and place him away from his misery forever more.

Though with his Targaryen heritage, there is no doubt that they have been waiting for an opportunity like this to pluck him and his family from their very roots for their many sins…

It has been a few months since you, ‘let Aegon in’, as he’d so put it. Though if you were to be honest with yourself, you’ve never felt as calm of character, as you were when you were with Aegon.

Still, you must admit, that whenever his head of short and unkempt silver hair is laid in your lap, facing away from you, your mind begins to wander of other things. You end up always thinking of his hair being twice as long, and his body being twice as lean.

You concluded that the gods must be punishing you for your sins. For practically abandoning your husband for a man of his own blood and partaking in pleasures of the flesh with him. But if this was how the gods had decided to punish you, how were they punishing Aemond…

“It is alright my love, we do not need to do it again until you are willing.” Aegon had said whilst stroking the bare skin of your arm with a distinguishable fondness.

You hadn’t the strength to tell him that the reason why you could not bring yourself to lay with him again is because the memory of Aemond still lives on in you forever. The ones that used to make you smile in fondness, but now make you wish to tear out his other eye with your bare hands and have his blood drip from your fingernails.

Aemonds memory that constantly lies within you is now a plague. A plague of constant mourning and sadness. A plague that is never ending and never relenting.

The memory of him still lives on months later, where for the first time ever, you leave your room dressed properly and looking like a true lady of the court. Aegon stands by your side in what you believe in his eyes is for your protection. But why would you need protection when your heart has been broken and stitched back together carelessly two times already?

Though as Aegons tries to murmur what your sure is meant to be encouraging murmurs of affection in your ear, your ears prick up to the sound of a familiar sound of footsteps, and you look up and connect eyes with your husband.

Your feet stop where they stand, and Aegons hands clench firmly against your own as he continues murmuring some kind of unknown gibberish in your ear. But you ignore him and look only at your husband. Who in turn, stares only at Aegons hands that are intwined in your own. You can see even from where you are standing, the way his brows furrow in annoyance at the sight, and somehow, you can feel your heart break for the third time in your lifetime as Aemond swiftly walks away without sparing you another glance.

You’re here. You’re walking close as can be with his brother and you’re standing in front of him looking at him with shocked doe like eyes.

The anger that blooms in his chest is nothing like the anger he felt when he killed Luke. It’s nothing similar to the anger he felt when he faced the injustice of his father when he was robbed of his eye. This is a new type of anger. It’s an obsession. A new type of injustice that only the feeling of blood on his skin could possibly have the power to diminish. But not your blood. Never your blood. No. Aemond craves Aegons blood on his blade.

He doesn’t even realise that he walked away from you until he looks around and realises he’s in his chambers, and his eye stares at the half written letter that still pathetically lays on his desk. An old pot of ink and a ruffled quill still waiting for him to pick up again.

His rage that still boils like a dragons fire within him feels no bounds as he tempts himself into ripping the letter. Into grabbing his dagger tucked away in his belt and stalking his way through the passages to Aegons chambers, where he’d wait till the sun goes down to strike him when he least expects it, and grin as Aegons chokes on his blood with fear and betrayal in his eyes. Watching with glee as Aegon dies for his crime. Trying to take what rightfully belongs to him.

But then, Aemond properly begins to think. You seemed to be close to be brother, if the closeness Aegon held you and the way he so closely whispered into your ears meant anything. If he killed his brother, it would only mean that he killed another one of the people you cared about. And Aemond refused to give you another reason for you to be scornful of him.

Aemond gives in though and rips the letter on the desk, and with a huff begins a new one. His anger and his frustration clear in his writing and with how many times the quill almost goes through the page with how fiercely and carelessly he uses it. He imagines your happiness though as he writes. The way you used to smile at him with such unique brightness. The way your cheeks would flush a beautiful light pink when he teased you. He even dared to think and reminisce on the way your face would shift into one of pure pleasure when he’d sit before the heaven that lay between your thighs, and lick and suck till he felt you spill no less than three times on his tongue.

The last thought soured though as he imaged Aegon seeing you like that. Seeing your smile, your happiness, your pleasure. The grip on his quill so strong he felt it snap between his fingers. A sharp shard of it bringing a small drop of blood to drop and pool on the page bellow. Yet Aemond didn’t choose to begin a new letter clear of his blood. He allowed it to stay there and continue with the same paper, so he could show his devotion to you. So he could show his willingness to bleed for you. Show how much he values his vow to shed as much blood as he needed to in order to achieve your forgiveness. It was truly an addictive thought, seeing you again. And one he could never stop running through his head when he thought of the future.

Aemond finished the letter, writing on the paper front and back with no less than three separate pages before he deemed his rant to be over. Blood pooling on various areas on all of them. His fingers now cramping around the new quill that he’d grabbed with each flex of his hand, and the ache that has sadly dulled around the cut to Aemonds relief remains pungent. If he could, he would pray to all Seven Gods for the wound to never heal. So you could see his devotion to you. To witness the death of his sanity in front of your very eyes.

There are no guards outside the front of your chambers. A fact Aemond cannot help but be disgusted by when he sees it as he walks to the familiar doors. Later that night he’ll find those two men tasked with the purpose of keeping you safe, and he’ll make sure to strip them of whatever dignity and honour they believed to possess. Perhaps the comfort of the wall would suit them nicely? Or the kiss of his blade?

Aemond raises his fist to knock at the door, but voices keep him from doing so. Specific voices. Yours and Aegons voices…

Before he knows it, Aemond is pushing himself against the wood as much as he can so he can hear every beautiful syllable of your voice. He does not care at first for the meanings behind them, but he certainly begins to when he realises what he is listening too are some very familiar high pitched sounds. Breathless sounds that Aemond had told you on yours and his wedding night that only he would hear.

While Aemond waits outside your door, he can hear your voices of pleasure radiating from the other side.

His fists are clenched no more to knock, but instead in anger. And the dulled throb of the small cut earlier on his hand flares up again as it reopened from his carelessness. Yet instead of moving to stem the blood, Aemond grows an idea deep from within him. Aemond snatches his dagger from his belt, and with no hesitation, quickly slices a deep mark on his inner palm.

His posture and frame is deathly still while the blood begins to heavily pool and drip onto the ground, only moving to place his hand firmly against the wooden door, watching it drip down the dark wood and trail to the stone flooring.

He can see the large puddle flow under your door, and Aemond wishes nothing more at that moment for you to see it. To see him. To see his devotion. His love. His sacrifice for you. If he hadn’t already lost it, Aemond would’ve torn out his eye and shoved it under the door too as a gift for you to make you stop your torturing of his soul.

Aemond only steps away when the blood pool reaches his shoes, and even then it’s with great resistance from himself as he stuffs the still bleeding wound against his dark coat that already begins to rapidly absorb the blood. He can even feel it soak his undershirt and his skin.

He goes straight to his chambers that night instead of paying a visit to the maesters. He does the same the next night, and the one after that.

Instead, Aemond relishes in the look he receives from Aegon the next morning. The look of utter horror and fear that speaks at least over a thousand words. The look that tells him you now finally know of his gift and his devotion to you. The look that tells him he is one step closer to you again.

Aemond Targaryen refuses to rest until he is drained entirely of his blood and it is pooled directly at your feet. He refuses to rest until his heart is laid bare in his hands and is presented to you like a septa presents the gods with their offerings. Until his name can be uttered from your precious lips without your own heart breaking from sorrow.

Aemond Targaryens heart could break a thousand times over, each time bloodier than the next, but he refuses to allow yours to break again. Not by his hand at least…

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 2

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains violence, blood and smut, and some dubcon. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

I watch too many horror movies, so I thought I write a part two for this small story.

I have some more ideas for this, so I might write a few other parts for this.

Have fun! :D

Part 1

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You raise the glass to your mouth with slow movements, and as you take a sip of the whiskey resting in it, you can barely register how the liquid is burning down your throat. Because it's much more interesting to study the man in front of you, laughing with peaceful glee, who, although exudes the role of the innocent host with every pore, he cannot deceive you anymore.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that you weren't imagining it when Johnny deviated from the script a few hours ago and whispered something in your ear that he shouldn't have done according to your experiences so far. Although the events of the previous night could have served as a warning sign, you’re now sure that something has changed. Somehow, the thread of the story slowly drifted away from the usual path and began to flow in a direction where you have no idea what will welcome you at the end. But one thing is clear. That you won't let this satanic place screw with you. You will fight and outsmart it, even if you have to try a thousand times over.

"Oh, this house is so beautiful, Johnny! I envy you so much that you managed to buy it!" Pam blabbers excitedly, and the warmth of the alcohol permeates her voice, which makes all her enthusiasm fall out much more loudly from her red lips. If she knew that this man was looking for an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, so that he could indulge in his bloody hobby in peace, she wouldn't be nearly so cheerful.

"The credit is not mine, one of my friends found it." Johnny notes modestly, and a wide smile appears on his mouth, which you know is his only sincere moment during the entire evening. Whoever this friend was, whom he had referred to so many times during dinners, he hadn't paid his respects so far. And you know that in a game like this, every word the characters utter has weight, each one could be a vague hint to another clue. But you haven't been able to figure out the identity of this unknown friend just yet, and it occurs to you that maybe this little detail is what’s missing to make the picture complete. But you don't have time for that now. You have more important things to do.

The key hidden in your pocket almost burns the skin of your thigh, and every single nerve of yours tenses in anticipation, waiting for the story to reach the point where you can finally jump into action and move forward to discover what this little trinket opens. Because you're convinced that if Johnny hadn't distracted you earlier, you wouldn't have died, and would found something vastly valuable. And now you're not going to let anything hold you back before you expose what's behind the door.

Rebecca's phone rings, and she excuses herself with her usual panicked stuttering, only to rush out the door into the embrace of the dark night. And this means good news, because it seems that despite the oddities, everything continues as it should. And for the first time, you're glad that this nerve-wracking, repetitive drama is happening once again, because it gives you a chance to regain control. At least you hope so.

And you fix your eyes on the man silently, who is deep into a lively conversation with Pam, because the alcohol is almost gone from the bottle, and it's time for him to leave. And you follow his every move with unmoving attention, in case you find something that might indicate that he will deviate from the script again. Of course, you know that when he takes on his less likable persona and tries to kill you with one of his many creative methods, he becomes frighteningly unpredictable. But until you get there, he's like a tame lamb. As far as appearances go. 

"What's the time?" Pam suddenly asks, and you snap out of your sinister thoughts to look at her in bewilderement, because this dialogue should happen much later. Normally she decides she had enough of the night's fun only when Johnny has long since retired to his room. "Jesus, it's that late? I better go get some sleep if I don't want to look like a corpse tomorrow morning!" She yawns, after checking the time on her phone's screen, and you've seen every single movement with which she stands up and stretches out her tired muscles a dozen times, but still, as she throws you a last "good night" and sets off towards the path leading upstairs, your chest fills with icy shock.

Because this way something that has never happened before takes place, and after the disappearance of your two companions, you’re left alone with the man, who waves goodbye to the girl, only to turn all his stressful attention to you a second later. And you just stare at the long-empty stairs, frozen in surprise, as if the steps could answer what the hell is going on here.

"What's wrong, Bunny?" He inquires, and you carefully shift your gaze to him, as the dread slowly crawls under your skin to envelope your conciseness. Although the game initially lulled you into a false sense of calm with how slyly it followed the main storyline again, but now everything continues to change yet again. And due to the rampage of the doubts that arise in your head, you're unable to put the broken pieces of your sanity together and figure out what should you do now that you’re stuck with the enemy who you know is just waiting to gut you like the prey you are.

"I…" You stammer nervously, and your tongue rolls in your mouth with such clumsiness, as if the leaden heaviness creeping into you from terror would paralyze it as well. And it's probably the case, because for a few torturous seconds, you only gape at him with the elegance of fish, before your body is able to recollect itself enough to form coherent sentences. "I just thought she would stay a little bit longer." You hesitate, forcing lightness into your tone, and your mind tries to gather the facade of calmness with desperate speed, because when you see that characteristic, almost pitying shadow pass over the man's face, you know you have fallen into a trap.

"The driver needs the rest too." Johnny remarks simply, and although there is still a remnant of the friendly smile at the corner of his mouth, the cold glint moving into his eyes kills all warmth from his expression. And you know that look all too well to realize you have to flee as soon as possible, because it's usually the last thing you see before he takes your life with his own hands.

Your body moves almost instinctively, and you spring up from the festive table so suddenly, that your chair cries out with a loud creak as it slides backward on the floor from your momentum. You grab the plates stacked on the middle of the table with shaking hands, and you concentrate with every fiber of your being so that your behavior does not encourage the man sitting on the other side to do anything rash. But he just cocks his head to the side lazily and watches you with interest, and even though your eyes are strictly trained on the crumpled napkins, which you hastily pile on top of the cutlery, you can feel his penetrating gaze burning the sensitive skin of your face.

"I’ll clear the table." You declare, and you don't give him time to object, because you’re already heading towards the kitchen to get away from him as fast as possible, since every cell of yours can feel that the storm is approaching, which will strike if you stay next to him. "I'll wash these up! You can go to bed!" You throw it back over your shoulder, and you're unable to expel the desperate quaver that settles in your voice, because you know that you fled from him like a chased animal, and you only dare to hope that he doesn't attach more importance to it. Because even though he seems like a very real person, he's just a fictional character and doesn't have enough self-awareness to properly evaluate your behavior. Or that's what you try to calm yourself down with.

And as you step into the embrace of the empty kitchen, with a soft sigh, you blow out the air that has been trapped in your chest, straining painfully against your ribs until now. You stumble to the counter, and it's almost a strange miracle that nothing falls out of your hands, even though you're gripping the goddamn cheap china with such force that your palms start to ache. You quietly slip the plates into the sink and anxiously peer back behind your shoulders as they land clattering on the metal. Because every little misstep can alarm the enemy, and now you need a minute of precious solitude to work out what the hell is going on.

But nothing else comes from the living room except the warm light of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the motionless silence. A few more nerve-racking moments pass, until your paranoid mind finally calms down and you believe that you don't have to be afraid of Johnny coming after you just yet. And when you’re finally able to tear your frightened eyes away from the door, you turn back to the sink, trying to muffle your panicked panting. You feel the nervous breakdown slowly creeping up on you, and wild dizziness moves into your head, as you realize that last night set in motion a series of events that will slowly tear apart the fragile certainty in which you have navigated yourself somewhat confidently until now. Because even though this place is cursed, it has consistently followed its rules so far, and you have been able to progress in it despite the many pain-filled miseries you had to suffer through. But now something went very wrong, and none of the thoughts running through your head can find an answer to what could have been the little mistake that started this avalanche.

Resting your palm on the cold stone of the counter, you try to pull your mind back from the edge of hysteria, and your fingers grip the cool marble with desperate strength, as hovering on the verge of crying, you try to fight the calmness back into your body with a few pitiful breaths. Because even though every single nerve cell of yours screams and strains against consciousness, you cannot allow yourself to panic now. This is exactly what the game wants. For you to get confused, make a mistake, and die, over and over again, until one day you dive so deep into this nightmare that you won't want to leave because you won't even remember what's waiting outside. It may be trying new ways to crush you, but you must not let it win. That would mean your fall and possible eternal torment.

You need time.

You open the faucet quickly, and as the lukewarm water caresses your fingers, you feel that confidence slowly returning to your battered brain. If you pretend to clean up after the party like a helpful guest, you hopefully drag out this ridiculous task just long enough for Johnny to get tired of waiting and leave. You need him to disappear, because as long as he's out there lurking, you have no chance to investigate further. And you must not forget that your number one priority is to find clues. And no mean tactics can dissuade you from this. Not even when despair seeps into your bones like a contagious disease. 

As you slowly get to work, you mechanically start listing the steps you need to take in your head. You have to go back upstairs and get into the room that the lock hides from you. You have to be on the lookout because you're not sure if it was Johnny and Pam's steamy moment or your own attempt to open the lock that invited the masked killer. Maybe the death flag was activated because you weren't fast enough. Every time you take too long to get to the next safe spot, you die because your clumsiness gives one of your attackers enough time to find you. As if the game would punish your failure with this. But even if you're quick, you can't be completely sure that he won't show up again, so you have to be prepared to defend yourself. If you don't manage to open the lock in two tries, you have to hide and see what happens, so that…

Out of nowhere, the distinctive, woody scent hits your nose, breaking you out of your planning in an instant, but you’re unable to react in time, because when you feel the burning heat of the body snuggling up to you, your hand holding the sponge freezes with the distress of a trapped animal. You forget to breathe from the stunned shock creeping into you, as you see huge hands spread out on the counter from the corner of your eye, blocking your way of escape, as if he knew that your first instinctive thought would be to run. But even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to act fast enough, because the moment the man's hard muscles press against your back, you know you have no chance of fleeing, and this painful realization short-circuits your brain.

"My hardworkin" wee Bunny... Ye left so soon." Johnny murmurs, and you feel his deep voice resonating through his chest, because suddenly all your nerves can only focus on the tense proximity with which he presses himself up to you. "Ye didnae just want to run away from me, did ye?"

Anyone would think that it's just kind, friendly interest, but your ears can sense the dangerous edge behind his words, with which he tries to force out the reason you left him alone in the living room so unexpectedly. The soft gurgling of the water echoes in your head like a deafening noise and drums on the metal like an ominous melody, deepening the raw fear moving inside you. What is he doing here anyway? Why didn't he go to sleep already?

"No... I just... " You stutter softly, and even to yourself the whimper that comes out of your mouth seems pathetically weak, but you’re unable to pull yourself together because the panic is awakening with too much force. "I didn't want you to be left with the cleaning after you've already thrown the dinner together." You finally bring yourself to speak, and you hastily swallow the terror rising in your throat, which leads the bitter taste of stomach acid in your mouth.

And you don't like the low, malicious chuckle that sounds next to your ear, because every single hair on your back stands up as you feel the air fanning over your neck in small waves from his amusement. You don’t dare to move, because the danger is too close, and you're afraid that every reckless act will lead to your death in the next moment. And even though you know that you'll get back into the car and start all over again, you can't get rid of the doubt in the back of your head that tells you, from now on you can't be sure about that either…

"It's okay, this will do too." He hums casually, as if giving himself permission to engage in what was born in his twisted mind. And you frown in confusion, because you’re unable to understand what is that he wants to achieve with this. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already, and although he's no stranger to playing with you before the main event, he has never resorted to such tricks before. This is different now, this is some threatening new twist that you’re not prepared for.

"What do you mean?" The instinctive question bursts out of you, because the uneasiness arising in your mind creeps onto your tongue much sooner than you could suppress your curiosity. And for a moment it seems as if he might hesitate, because for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. But before you can feel the relief that maybe he’ill stop playing this horrible game, you feel the light touch of his nose caressing the sensitive skin behind your ear, and it makes your heart jump in fear.

"I love yer scent." He breathes, and the moan that escapes from his mouth sounds almost longing, when he buries his face in your neck and takes a deep inhale of your hair. And you can only hope that you imagine the shiver that runs through his body. "So sweet. Full of fear." He grumbles, and goosebumps rise reflexively on your back, as you feel the burning touch of his lips on your skin, which makes you light-headed for a moment, and the world starts spinning with you from confused panic.

"Johnny, what the…" You gasp and try to make eye contact through the glass of the window in front of you, but you regret it soon enough. Because when the gaze of his reflection flashes on you, you see nothing but darkness in them, as if the deepest recesses of hell have moved in those beautiful, vivid eyes. In the yellowish light filtering in from behind, he looks like an inhumane shadow as his strong figure towers over you, and you feel pitifully small in the embrace of his body swelling with strength. He would be able to break all your bones with one light movement, like a twig dried in the summer sun. You know, because he already did. Not just once.

And this is enough for the first wild desire to escape to wake up in your body, and when you try to break away from his suffocating proximity with a frightened step, he only presses himself even closer to you, and you involuntarily hiss as the sharp edge of the kitchen counter bites into your stomach. And the horrified realization strikes you, that the hardness that slowly pushes against your lower back is not the product of your imagination.

"Shh, calm down." He coos, with an almost condescending edge in his voice, as if he would want to soothe a terrified child, but you can see the twist of a cruel smile at the corner of his mouth, which makes him look more like a predator that has found its prey. "We're just playin' a little. Ye need to relax too." He states, and you don't like the way a wolfish grin creeps onto his face, enjoying the way your eyes slowly open wide with terror.

Before would be able to register it, one of his hands begins its lazy exploration, and as his long fingers travel along the bare skin of your arm, you shiver from the feigned tenderness with which he touches you. Like a gentle lover trying to ingrain the fine lines of your body onto his memory, but you know him better than that. You know what kind of bloodlust lurks behind that handsome face, you know what kind of beast nests in his chest, which can burst out at any moment and tear your throat open to paint his teeth crimson with your flesh.

"Stop it..." You finally find your voice, and although the wavers from the fear that crawls into your stomach, it rings just loud enough to draw his attention to the fact that you might have started to defy him. But even this little courage fades away when you feel his large palm slide onto your stomach, and as his fingers teasingly caress the top of your pants, the plate you've been clutching falls out of your hand with a reflexive movement, so you can grab his thick wrist in alarm before he could move forward with whatever he wanted to do. The porcelain breaks into a thousand pieces with a deafening clatter, splitting the deceptive silence of the night in two. And for a moment, time freezes, the rustle of the wind blowing outside falls silent, and the shining of golden light reflected in the window fades. As though the continuity of the game would break for a minute. As if you've disrupted something important with your rejection.

"Stop what?" He tilts his head to the side, and although you see a completely innocent expression appear in the dim reflection for a moment, you can make out the disgusting vileness that shines in his eyes. "I'm not doin' anythin' you wouldn't need, bonnie." He says, as if he honestly wouldn't understand what he did wrong by appearing in this godforsaken kitchen.

You're about to open your mouth to protest further, but his free hand finds your neck with such suddenness that all the fleeting sounds of your defiance boil onto your throat at the warning squeeze of his fingers. And even though he doesn't cause pain, it's just enough of a threat to drive the spark of resistance out of your limbs by forcing them into automatic obedience. Because a whole new kind of worry takes over you when he closes every millimeter of the already miniscule distance between the two of you, as though he would try to merge into one with your paralyzed body, and because of the helpless shock, you allow him to continue with this sick game as he pleases.

His hand, which wanders over your stomach, crawls under your jeans with nerve-wracking sluggishness, and you cringe at the roughness of his palm, which only elicits a lustful growl from him. He smooths his mouth on your neck with a wet kiss, and you’re unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in the window, as if you were just watching a movie, and you wouldn't even experience first-hand how his tongue slowly traces the faint line of the vein running under your skin, in which your desperately racing pulse continues to pump fear into your body. But as you feel his hand suddenly move lower, and his fingers skim along your clit hidden in your underwear, then you tense up with an instinctive shock and try to pull away from him a second later.

He must really enjoy your thrashing, because he thrusts his hips forward with a grunt full of pleasure, and as his cock presses against you, the throaty moans escaping from his mouth burn your skin along with his hot breath. And as his fingers start to write small circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he begins to grind himself against you through your clothes with feverish movements, like a fucking, horny dog, then the anger flares up inside you along with the heat that awakens between your thighs. Because this dirty, perverted scumbag isn't going to distract you from getting out of here with this damn stunt. No matter how troubling it is when the first suffocating wave of lust rushes through your treacherous body.

"Stop, you motherfucker!" An angry cry breaks out of you, and your hand finds a piece of the broken plate in the sink, and you grab it with such speed to stab it into the man's arm emerging from your pants like a venomous snake. He lets go with a painful roar, and this gives you just enough opportunity to break free from his arms and back away from him with hasty steps, fixing your eyes sparkling with poison on him.

However, his surprise doesn't last long, because he pulls out the piece of porcelain pierced in his hand amid colorful curses, only to throw it on the floor, shaking off the angry red drops of blood slowly emerging from the tiny cut. The whole ordeal doesn't seem to be more than a passing inconvenience to him, because the next moment he has that godawful smirk on his face again, which makes your stomach shrink to the size of a tennis ball. But you don't give up, you look for the knife, which is lying on the counter in the exact same way as usual, and grabbing it, you raise it in front of you angrily. This is the first time that you try to fight instead of running away, and the adrenaline rushes through your body with a force that you have never experienced before in your life.

"Look at ye, how brave ye have become!" He exclaims amusedly, and as he takes a few slow, menacing steps towards you, like a big cat ready to attack, you hastily move to the other side of the table in the middle of the kitchen, hoping that this is enough of a barrier between the two of you. "You've let me play with ye so willingly so far... But it's okay. I like how fiery ye are!" He continues his rambling, and you can feel the patronizing edge in his voice, as if it would amuse him and fill him with pity at the same time that you think you finally have a chance to hurt him. And your brain is too busy with your escape, slowly dragging you out of the kitchen, to understand what an impossible statement is hidden in his words. Because then you would have to face the fact that he's not as unaware as you thought.

"Shut up." You snap at him with clenched teeth, and you focus on him with every nerve because you're afraid that if you lose sight of him even for a minute, he'll throw himself at you and you'll lose all your chances of survival. Even though the logical side of you knows that it would be easier to let him kill you and start this horror again. But the pulsation of fury is too strong in you to yield to the deceptive lure of the simpler path.

"I wanted to taste yer pussy. But I think I'll have to settle for yer blood for now." He taunts cruelly, and now you know that this whole wicked game was just another tool to torture you. Because he always wants the same thing, no matter what cunning methods he uses. He wants to enjoy the sight of your lifeless body. "Maybe next time." He promises, and he charges towards you so suddenly that you just blindly swing your hand clutching the knife at him, and even you yourself are surprised when you succeed in slicing the strong line of his chin in the heat of the moment.

He hisses as fresh blood gushes out in the wake of your attack, and you gain just enough advantage to start running like a frightened doe, bolting desperately from the kitchen's threshold. You run across the living room, out of breath, and from the stress hormones raging in your body, you almost tear the front door open to stumble into the cool night. In your panic-stricken brain, it occurs to you that this will be a bad idea, but you have no other option, you have to trust that the darkness of the forest will hide you from the madman, whose pounding footsteps can be heard behind you, as you rush forward in the thicket and get swallowed up by the tangled cavalcade of trees.

Your pulse thumping on your eardrums joins in as the background noise for your sprint, and your lungs start to burn slowly, as the cold air gnaws at your trachea in the middle of your rush. The leaves crunch under your sneakers, and you don't even realize how the branches dig into your face and tear at your hair, because you have only one goal in front of your eyes: To get as far away from Johnny as possible.

But your escape attempt is short lived, because two hands reach out from behind one of the trees so swiftly that you don't have time to dodge it. They loop around your waist with a vise-like grip, and your mouth opens to a frightened scream, but when you try to free yourself from the shackles of your attacker, you almost feel your ribs crack, as the strong arms wrap around you tighter, pressing you to a massive body with deadly determination.

You glance back in terror, and when you see the skull-like mask, it's too late. One of his hands lets go of you, and even if you had a momentary chance to get away, it immediately disappears when the hunting knife sinks into your stomach. You let out a startled whimper as the agonizing pressure builds when he slowly twists the blade inside you, and you feel the warm, red liquid bubbling out of the torn flesh.

You fall to the ground like a rag doll as your attacker releases you from his grip, and you sprawle out in the mud coughing up blood as the pain shoots through your every nerve. And through the blur of the ever-increasing blood loss, you only dimly perceive how a familiar figure appears next to the masked man, but even hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, you recognize Johnny's cheerful laugh, with which he pats the other killer on the shoulder.

"I almost got her!"  Johnny laments, and with your weak and foggy brain, you can't comprehend the inscrutable emotion in his voice. "Never mind. Next time, it'll be different!"

And when the darkness envelopes you in its weightless embrace, you have the last fleeting thought that this game is taking more and more fatal turns.

~ ° ~

Gasping in alarm, your eyes open in the back seat of the car, and you smooth away the cold sweat from your forehead with shaking hands, as you realize that you're back at the beginning of the game once again. Surrounded by the chatter of your two companions, you try to overcome your disorientation, because dizziness invades your head in a way you've never experienced before, as if you've brought a little of the horror of your previous death with you when you restarted this misery.

And when the dull pain in your stomach hits you, you pull up the thin material of your T-shirt in fear, and your brain goes blank for a fleeting moment when you see what is waiting for you there. A palm-sized black spot spreads across the soft blanket of healthy skin, and you're pretty sure it's not just your imagination playing tricks on you when you recognize a skull slowly taking shape in it. Like a carving of a cruel reminder, so you don’t forget who ended your life this time.

It doesn't make any sense... you've died twenty-four times, yet this is the first time something strange appears on you, as though the game would try to convey something. As if your killer had marked you with his signature... But why?

But you don't have time to ponder on this any longer, because the car stops, and you pull your shirt down in panic to cover the new sign, before it catches the eyes of the two girls and they start asking questions. You could explain yourself, but at this point, you're not entirely sure if it wouldn't start something with another set of fatal consequences.

The girls hop out of the car in the middle of their excited conversation, but you stay put, trying to overcome hyperventilation and regain some semblance of your composure. You need to be more careful, you made no progress yesterday, and if this continues, you will never get out of here. And you can't allow that. Never.

However, when the door opens and Johnny's cheerful figure appears on the doorstep, you know that nothing is going to be all right. Because behind him, a tall figure, whom you have never seen before, slowly emerges from the house. The light of the autumn sun shines golden on his dark blond hair, and although his face is half covered by a black medical mask, you still recognize the threat in the unfamiliar man. Because as those dark eyes settle on you, as you hesitantly step out of the car, every single fiber in your body screams at the same time: RUN!

But you know you can't run away. You're forced to go further in this hellscape because that is the only way to get out. And whoever this new stranger is, he won't stop you. No matter what happens.

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

Promise

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer hasn’t been the same since the kidnapping and everyone knows it. you just wished he’d opened up to you sooner.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, heavy indication of drug use, mentions of trauma, lots of angst, season 2 spencer, direct references to 2x15

word count: 2.3k

read on ao3

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

It’s been months since the kidnapping, months since you almost lost him.

Spencer was back to work almost too quickly, somehow passing his psych evaluation with flying colours, but you knew he wasn’t okay. Everyone did.

He’d grown distant, quieter than usual. Most days he would try to act normal and pretend nothing was wrong but you knew better than to fall for that. Spencer wasn’t very good at hiding things from the people who cared about him, especially when it was you.

The two of you had been close since you joined the BAU. You had a lot in common and you understood him better than anyone else on the team. When he rambled, you listened. When he started spewing out different statistics, you were the only one who never cut him off. You noticed his stimming and his random hyperfixations. You were one of the few people on the team who he truly felt he was never being judged by.

So, when he stopped rambling so much and more often than not you found him sat quietly disassociating so intensely, you knew exactly where his brain was straying, you knew he wasn’t okay.

He’d spoken to Morgan and Gideon but only briefly and, although they had managed to get him to confide in them, you knew there was still something he was hiding. There was more to it and you could see it eating away at him. Everyone could.

“Reid!” you called out to him as you rushed out of the building, hoping to catch him before he left for home.

His head quickly turned back to you and he knitted his brows as you hurried over to his side. Although he said nothing, you knew he was asking a silent question from the tilt of his head.

“Do you want to grab a coffee with me?”

“A coffee?” he asked, checking his watch as if only to remind you that it was an unusual time to get coffee, especially when you were both heading home to unwind after a long day at work.

“Right, yeah. Okay, how about dinner then? I know you’re only going to get a crappy takeout anyway. We don’t have to go out but if you come over I’ll cook for you?”

He smiled, although you could see a glimpse of another emotion in his eyes. You weren’t entirely sure what it was but you didn’t miss the way he held his arm, long fingers wrapping just a tad bit too tensely around his forearm.

“You know what, I’d love to but-“

“No buts, Spencer. I’m cooking for you tonight. You need a proper meal for once,” you cut him off, and began heading towards your car.

With a small smile, Spencer shook his head and followed after you, knowing you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

His strange behaviour only continued during the drive home. He seemed distracted and on edge, though you were unsure why. Whenever you tried to bring it up in conversation, asking if he was alright, he’d just insist he was fine and then change the topic of conversation.

He’d been doing this for weeks. Insisting he was okay when you knew he wasn’t. In truth, he hadn’t only been distant and distracted since he came back to work. No, he’d also been acting strange. Sometimes he was rude and antsy as if he was subtly lashing out, and on occasion, he would completely disappear for short periods of time.

You’d asked Morgan about it, hoping he of all people would have been able to provide you with more insight but even he was unsure why Reid was behaving in such a way. In fact, he had been hoping you would have the answers. All he could chalk it up to was the way each case was getting to Reid. Everything had been different after he had become a victim himself.

“Do you want anything to drink? A glass of water? Juice? Something alcoholic?”

He made his way over to your couch, as always seemed to be his routine now. You weren’t particularly in the habit of inviting colleagues over but you had had Reid, Morgan and Garcia over on occasion. Whenever they came around, Reid always made a b-line for a space on the couch. Even now, it seemed.

“Some water would be great.”

You hummed and poured the both of you a glass before slumping down beside him on the couch. It felt nice to be able to relax although you could still tell something was off with him.

“Hey, can I use your bathroom?” he spoke after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

“Yeah, of course. You know where it is.”

Your smile dropped when he reached the hallway but you shook it off and started to prepare dinner. You couldn’t blame him for getting takeout most days as you often did the same. It was always so hard finding the time or energy to cook after a long day at work.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom he seemed different again. He didn’t utter a word to you as he sat back down on the couch, his body slumped over more than usual as he rested his head back and closed his eyes. You watched him from your place in the kitchen, thankful for your small apartment at this moment as it allowed you to keep an eye on him.

Still, you had already dragged him home with you and he was probably exhausted so you didn’t want to press. Instead, you opted for getting dinner cooked so that, at the very least, he could have a nice warm meal.

However, dinner hadn’t been the only reason you’d invited him over.

He sat opposite you at the table, thanking you for the food as he began to tuck in. The one thing that had struck you as odd, however, was the fact that he hadn’t taken his jacket off once since he’d arrived.

Usually, at the very least, he would have thrown it over the back of a chair and, on occasions when he was particularly tired, he’d even loosen his tie as well. Today, however, his clothes were almost too put together. In fact, you realised then that you hadn’t seen him with so much as a hair out of place in months. Not that that had hidden the dark circles under his eyes or the redness that often resided within them.

“Spencer?”

He only hummed in reply, his head swaying ever so slightly as he lifted it to look at you. His eyes seemed watery and his cheeks were somewhat flushed. He scratched the side of his neck, yet another tell in his body language that was bringing you closer to the source of his strange behaviour.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you piled the dishes up next to the sink, telling yourself you’d wash them later.

He stood from his chair, once again with knitted brows. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

He was scratching again, this time at his arm — the same arm he’d held when you approached him outside of work.

You sighed, growing tired of his lies. “Why won’t you talk to me? I know something is wrong, Spencer. You haven’t been right for a while.”

His eyes strayed from yours and he rubbed his hand up and down his arm, stopping just before he reached his elbow every time.

“I’m fine, really.”

You stepped closer. “No, you’re not.”

He glanced up at you again with guilt in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hide it from you any longer, no matter how much he wished he could.

“Talk to me, please.”

You moved closer again but he stepped back when you reached out for him as if he were afraid you’d figure it out if you so much as touched him.

You didn’t want to believe it but you were a profiler, you studied human behaviour for a living and you’d been watching Spencer for some time now, determined to find a way to help ease his pain.

It was a truth you were reluctant to believe but, if you were right in your conclusion it meant things were worse than you’d initially thought.

A part of you didn’t want to confront him about it but as you’d stood there with him you knew you had to.

“Take off your jacket.”

His eyes snapped back up to yours and he looked afraid. Not of you, but of what you were asking. Of what he knew you would find.

“W-Why?”

You didn’t answer him because you knew he knew why. Instead, you simply stood waiting for him to do as you had asked.

His eyes drifted from yours and he shook the clothing from his shoulders, turning for just a moment to put it down.

When he turned back to face you, your hands were already reaching for his arm and oh-so-gently pulling the sleeve of his shirt up.

“Oh, Spencer.” It came out in a gasp as your hand covered your mouth, heart breaking at what you had discovered.

Tears began to prick at your eyes as you softly ran your thumb across his skin, careful not to press over any of the marks that littered his arm.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, broken.

All of a sudden you found yourself lunging at him as you threw your arms around his fragile frame, holding him tight as if to try and tell him it was okay.

You still didn’t want to believe it, the guilt was eating you alive. You should have noticed sooner, you should have been there for him, you should have known. But there was no way you could have, not when he didn’t want you to know. He had been hiding this from you, from everyone. He didn’t want anyone to know.

It wasn’t your fault, yet that was little comfort to you.

He’d been using this whole time. Even now, in your own home, yet you weren’t angry with him. How could you be when this was of no fault of his own? You knew it had been Tobias who had done this, who had given him his first dose. If Spencer had had any say in it, he would have never gone near it.

You cried into his vest. holding him so tight you were almost afraid he’d struggle to breathe, yet his arms soon began to wrap themselves around you too as his body began to softly shake.

Together, you cried for what felt like an eternity as he was finally forced to face what he had become.

When you finally parted, he was wracked with guilt once again.

“Please, y/n. You can’t tell anyone.”

You finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye again and, when you did, you found your expression softening once again. “You need help, Spencer.”

Skittishly, he nodded his head. “I-I know but if they find out I could lose my job. I-I could-“

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? When you’re sober. You can stay here tonight, I don’t want you going home by yourself, but I need to know, Spencer: do you have any more with you right now?”

He gulped and reached for his bag, pulling out two more doses. Although he was hesitant, he passed them to you. The moment they were in your hand you found yourself tearing up again and so did he.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so, so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, too ashamed to look at you.

Without a second thought, you hugged him again before slowly coaxing him to your bedroom. You helped him get somewhat comfortable, although he would have to sleep in his clothes, and tried to calm him down. You just wanted him to know he was safe and that you were there for him, no matter what.

“I’m going to get rid of these, get some sleep, okay?”

His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were going to leave only to call Hotch but he could see the sincerity in your eyes, he knew you weren’t going to do that. Not yet, at least. So, he nodded and closed his eyes, deciding to leave his fate in your hands.

A part of you suspected that Hotch already knew. He was far more experienced than you, after all. If you could see the signs then surely he could too. The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he hadn’t done anything about it.

Perhaps he too knew Spencer would likely lose his job or, at the very least, need to take time off of work to recover. Maybe he couldn’t afford to not have him on the team. Or, maybe he trusted Spencer to work through it on his own. Either way, you were angry that no one had done anything to help him.

So, with shaky hands, you poured the bottles down the drain and went back to his bag, digging through it to make sure there was nothing left. He had told you the truth and given you all he had with him. Still, you took the needles to dispose of them too.

When you returned to your room, he was already fast asleep.

You brushed his hair from his face, wanting to check he was okay, and whispered more to yourself than to him, “We’ll get you clean, Reid. I promise.”

feel free to let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

[room-surprise]

Delicious in Dungeon Anime Season 1, Episode 2 Review

Spoilers for season 1, episode 2 below the cut! There may also be mild manga spoilers so proceed with caution.

This episode was great! I think it was a big improvement on the first. Honestly no real complaints... I do kind of wish both Marcille and Chilchuck could have had stand-alone episodes dedicated to their character development, to allow for a deeper focus, but I understand why they didn't do it, and the pacing was still excellent. I do still sometimes feel like the show is in fast-forward at times, because with 3 meals in one episode, it feels like the characters finish eating, and we jump cut to them saying that they're hungry again, without anything to help really impress upon viewers that time has passed. Makes it feel a bit like we're reading a collection of short 4-panel gag comics instead of a continuing story… which, early Dungeon Meshi DOES have that as part of it's format, but it changes with time, as we get into longer individual stories.

During the Basilisk/Doni and FIonil section, I really do miss some of the dry humor from the manga. ("Hurry, he's getting cold!" "Move him closer to the fire!") The hilarity of slowly preparing a meal while someone is dying of poison has unfortunately been lost, which makes Doni and Fionil much less memorable characters…. But it benefits the other 2 stories in the ep to have more time so I think it was the right choice to make. It also gives people something to go back and read the manga for, since it's a little different! If you're reading this and you're an anime only, consider reading the manga while you watch the anime! I promise it's worth it. I'm excited about next week because I think they'll devote the entire episode to Laios and the living armors, which is me and my spouse's favorite early DM storyline, and the part where we both said "Oh, I LOVE this manga..." and got really invested. It's 2 chapters in the manga so it could be an entire episode…. which also would make sense, if that's why they needed to crunch 3 chapters into episode 2. Just like the first episode, animation was fantastic, and as usual the weakest points are when characters are just walking or talking and not doing much. Everything more dynamic is just bouncy and adorable and full of life. Very rarely is anything animated in a dull or flat way. They're doing their best to use "move a drawing around" or "zoom on a drawing" for comic effect and I think it's working well so far. There's some great animal animation in this episode, the bat flying around and the basilisk chasing Marcille in particular. Translation was better this time around, no dumb modern or game references in the dub ("newbs" "as if" etc.) … But there are differences between the subtitles and the dub script that change how easy it is to understand what's happening. When Senshi tells Chilchuck to cut up the giant bat, the subtitles make it hard to understand what he's telling him to do, and the dub makes it a lot clearer. In the subs when Senshi calls Chilchuck a half-foot child, the subtitles say "I'm not a child" and the dub says "I hate it when people call me 'kid'"… The latter is more interesting for keeping the mystery going for things that happen later in the story. If the show continues like this, I think the English dub may be the more satisfying way to watch it (even though the Japanese performances are great), mostly because the subs are very literal and sometimes miss things that the English dub somehow manages to include. And for some reason Netflix isn't including translation of Japanese signs on-screen during the subtitles, but they DO provide them when you watch the English dub. A lot of Dungeon Meshi's humor is sometimes in those background signs so completely missing out on them sucks. Anyway those are my thoughts for this episode! See you next week Meshiheads.

[difeisheng]

The first fic idea I ever had for MLC occurred sometime between the airing of episodes 8-14. I used it as a dialogue exercise by writing all the spoken parts first, then going back to fill in things like actions and thoughts. This never got completed as I stopped being as interested in exploring that segment of canon in writing (and I wanted to watch more of the show to ensure I got character voices right). However, I still think this concept was engaging, so here's what I did get finished before my mind wandered away.

"Would it be worse if I let Fang Duobing die in front of you, or just stole him from you?" Di Feisheng asks, stirring a bowl of soup he can't taste, and watches Li Xiangyi freeze.

He's gotten better at controlling his reactions, these last ten years. Harder to get a proper rise out of. The half-second of his entire body locking at Di Feisheng's words, though, before he drops his shoulders, forces himself to untense, is impossible to miss.

"If you can get that nuisance to stop following me around then it'll be a blessing," Li Xiangyi says, too casually, and swallows down a mouthful of wine from his bottle. "I need some peace in my house."

"Interesting." They're jammed close enough sitting together at Li Xiangyi's kitchen table that even by dim lamplight Di Feisheng can read his expression, see the urge to wander away from the topic spelled in his eyes.

"Honestly, I'd be surprised if you could make him leave me alone," Li Xiangyi continues, quick in the silence. "I've already left him by the road twice and he still manages to find me. I say, he's even more stubborn than Huli Ji—"

"Li Xiangyi. Don't pretend to be obtuse, we're both smarter than that. Or I hope you are." Di Feisheng sips at his own wine, and thinks, idly, that there are some things it's better not to sense the flavour of anymore. The smell of wine is off-putting enough; at least drinking like this is finally worth its effects. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that you've somehow gotten more perceptive about things since Qiao-guniang."

"The past is past. Both A-Mian and I have moved on."

"Right. You've grown beyond that, or however you word what you're telling yourself. Congratulations." He raises his bottle in mockery of a toast. "So you've noticed how that boy acts around you."

Li Xiangyi sighs, lets the sound fade into the night. "He's not being subtle."

"Look at him. Have you never considered it?"

"What... have you?" Li Xiangyi frowns.

Di Feisheng lets himself smile, the one reserved for heralding challenge. "I'm more interested in whether or not you have."

"He's Shan Gudao's son."

"And that's what would hold you back? He's still his own person."

"How many years are there betwe—"

"Even if you don't know what you want, he does."

Li Xiangyi falls quiet.

"He's young. Whatever he thinks he wants, he's wrong," he says, gaze tracing the worn wood of the table. "And whatever it is, it's not really you, anyway."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that."

"Then why think of trying anything?"

"It would be amusing. Amusing," Di Feisheng says, "depending on how you answer the question you're dodging, Li Xiangyi. Was it a yes or no? How much have you thought about him?"

Li Xiangyi just eyes him before tipping his head back, pouring wine into his mouth instead.

"Although even if it's yes that doesn't amount to much, since you'll never say anything to him. He'll be left making hopeless eyes and promises at you." Di Feisheng laughs, the shadow of it wound in his voice. "That didn't change after all this time, did it? Li Xiangyi, the perfect elusive hero, forever chased after but never held. Who will ever really know his hea—"

"Fine. Yes. Once." Li Xiangyi slams his bottle down on the table. It's a proper glare he fixes Di Feisheng with now. Familiar. "Are you happy now?"

"That's all?"

"What else do you want?" He crosses his arms. "I'm not giving you details. You used to be creative, if I remember. Fill in the blanks if you care that much."

Di Feisheng scoffs. "Next question, then." He pushes aside the wine. "You wouldn't like it if I were to go have my own fun with him, would you?"

"Aren't you already enjoying yourself with all this?"

"You call watching you give up on yourself fun?" Di Feisheng snaps before thought, leaning closer, and oh, maybe he's had one sip of wine too many. "You think losing— no. This isn't fun."

Li Xiangyi stares at him. "You don't care about Fang Duobing."

"Never pretended I did, in this. The point is that you do."

[weiying-lanzhan-fics]

grow by cafecliche

Perfect!! Second time reading it. Warm, soft and beautiful! 🥰

Quotes:

By the time he crosses the clearing, Jingyi and Jin Ling are still arguing, but no longer anywhere in the vicinity of whispering. Jin Ling crosses his arms with entirely more force than necessary. The jade lotus root pendant at his hip swings, jangling as it knocks his Yunmeng Jiang bell. A-Ying perks up in Sizhui’s arms.

“I’m just saying—” Jin Ling cuts himself off as Sizhui approaches, but his gaze lands on A-Ying, traces his stare to the pendant. He falters, his lips tight, and then detaches it to lay in A-Ying’s hands. “Hanguang-jun will know how to fix this. I say we tell him.”

“Do you?” Jingyi says. “Because you’re terrified of Hanguang-jun.”

“Who says I am?” Jin Ling draws himself higher. “I’m a sect leader now. We’re practically equals.”

Sizhui shifts A-Ying in his hold, watches him trace the patterns of Jin Ling’s pendant with a very un-Wei Wuxian-like hesitance. Jin Ling is absolutely terrified of Hanguang-jun. Sizhui keeps that to himself.

“Even if we did get his stupid husband cursed,” Jin Ling continues, “it’s not like he’s gonna hurt us or anything.”

“Young Mistress,” Jingyi says gravely. “That isn’t the worst that could happen.”

“Then what’s the worst?” Jin Ling says.

Jingyi’s face darkens. Ouyang Zizhen, over his shoulder, looks queasy. “He might stop trusting us with Senior Wei.”

————

The unease that’s been building since the morning shifts, grows roots. “Yes,” Sizhui says. “What’s your favorite thing?”

Everyone’s attention has turned to A-Ying now, which doesn’t seem to be helping him put the words together. “I like watermelon rinds,” he manages. “Sometimes I have dumplings.”

Sizhui hasn’t seen Jin Ling blanch like this since that awful night at Guanyin Temple. “That’s—” Jin Ling cuts himself off, painstakingly softens his voice. “Is that all you eat?”

A-Ying blinks, cranes his neck to look up at Jin Ling. “I eat other things,” he says patiently. “But that’s my favorite.”

Sizhui tries to communicate, with a look over A-Ying’s head, that they should be careful in how they react. Jingyi completely misses it. “Senior Wei…” His eyes go glassy.

“Senior Wei,” Ouyang Zizhen says between sniffs, “you’ve suffered so much…”

Jin Ling’s looking steadily at Sizhui over A-Ying’s head. He tilts his chin up a little, like he does when he wants to look decisive. “Lan Sizhui,” he says, “I’ll pay for lunch, too.”

“Jin Ling,” Sizhui says, “that’s not—”

“Lanling Jin can afford one lunch,” Jin Ling says. It shouldn’t be possible for a person to fidget while they’re walking and holding a child at the same time. Somehow, Jin Ling manages it. “He should have something nice,” he adds, quietly.

T, 14k

Summary:

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

[goldenglock-preacher]

Since you were looking for short goldenglock ideas...

Grisha notices that John is like...severely depressed today. More than usual. He starts trying anything to cheer him up, just throwing himself at John in every way possible, cuddling with him, babbling on and on about nothing to keep him entertained, etc. Until eventually he resorts to telling John outright how much he cares about him, and that's the one thing that seems to get through.

(No pressure, idk if you take writing prompts!)

Omg thank you and yes please send me all the prompts you can come up with I will take every opportunity to write about these fuckers and not worry about the main fics plot progression. That post was basically asking for prompts.

Things take place after the 4th movie so John cuts ties with everyone and is in Grisha’s circle “full-time”, living with him. Decided to make it take place in a longer span than a day because Grisha is way too dumb to find a solution that quickly. 

Idk how we got here but now there’s also insomnia??

“I worry about you.”

John is hands down the calmest person in Grisha’s circle. Nobody has the same amount of emotional control, which often made him the supportive rock involuntarily. This group full of relationship drama and misunderstandings would just gravitate towards him, like a voice of reason, even though he wasn’t the best at giving advice. 

Being able to make him smile was Grisha’s biggest accomplishment but recently…he just couldn’t manage to do it. Everything that worked before just suddenly stopped and he would see John get lost in his own mind more than usual. 

- John, listen, something bit Volodya in the ass and now he’s throwing an absolute shitstorm my way, so we have to leave in like-

- I’ll stay.

Grisha’s thoughts break off, as he tries to put on his leather jacket in a haste.

- Are you…sure?

It might sound silly but this was somehow the thing that triggered Grisha’s alarm. Nearly every time Grisha tells John about his plans, the man is already at the door. He doesn’t always end up being useful but he still finds these little adventures entertaining enough to join in even on the most mundane tasks. They were basically inseparable. 

- Yeah…

Grisha would have stayed, if the phone wasn’t aggressively vibrating in his pocket right now.

- Okay then…see you for dinner?

John nods.

God, it felt weird saying that. 

****

He felt bad being out of the house for so long and when he came back, he expected to see John asleep at this point…but he wasn’t. He was laying on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. There was an empty take-out bag in the kitchen. To Grisha’s surprise, John seemed to have ordered delivery while he was home.

Grisha completely stopped using delivery once he moved in, because John would rather cook himself. So all of this was really uncharacteristic for him. 

- I’m home.

He finally spoke up, watching John slowly sit up.

- What, not even a bark?

Grisha lets out a laugh, hoping that he will break John with just the stupidity of that sentence but it’s like he didn’t even register the words.

- What are you doing up so late anyways? It’s…

Grisha checked his watch

- 3 AM.

- Just…didn’t feel like sleeping.

John answered in a mellow voice. 

- C’mon John, I was gone for just a day, no way you started missing me this much already!

He was sure that this would at least pull a protest out of John but, once again, it’s like he didn’t have any energy for Grisha’s antics, which made the conversation awkward, to say the least. His joking was completely cut short and now he didn’t have any ideas. 

****

He took a whole day off, just to stay with John and convince him to go outside. They were side by side the whole day, just one on one, with nothing to do but bast in each other’s company…but it didn’t help. John still seemed to not be entirely here, instead drowning in his thoughts that Grisha, sadly, couldn't read. He was desperately showing John love at this point, not letting the man’s skin breath without him for too long. Shoulder grabs, holding hands, hugs, as if his touch could send a message. John didn’t push him away but wouldn’t respond much either, like a stone statue. 

****

Is insomnia contagious? It started to feel like it is. Grisha was laying on the bed for what feels like an eternity but the inner turmoil of knowing that John is not happy right now, makes his eyes stay open. He couldn't just leave him like this...so he got up.

Grisha walks into the living room and leans on the wall, crossing his arms, watching John mindlessly sitting on the floor and staring at the screen. He wasn’t actually watching it, none of the channels registered in his brain. He just pressed the remote button over and over again, in a rhythm, even. He wasn’t really asleep but also not awake. It was hard, seeing him like this. Despite his talents and strengths, lack of sleep can take anyone out.

Grisha sighs, with a bit of hesitation, but finally gets enough courage to step towards him.

- Sorry, did I wake you up?

John addressed him first but didn’t look away. At least he’s aware that Grisha is standing there, next to him…which is something.

- I worry about you.

He delivers it to him straight, which seemed to have grabbed his attention. John’s finger stopped clicking the button, now looking at nothing but static. He was still silent so Grisha didn’t have much choice other than just continue. 

- I’m watching you get tortured by things outside of my understanding and there’s nothing I can do. 

John gently places the remote on the floor, as if to make sure the sound doesn’t interrupt him.

- I want to give you everything. I want to make it better but I’m just…too stupid to figure out how.

He couldn’t be sentimental without at least an awkward joke for too long. John lowers his head, looking at the floor. He’s trying to hide his face with his hair.

- You deserve happiness…or sleep, at least. 

Grisha gestures to the TV.

- I’m so lucky to have a chance to be the one to give you that happiness…but I don’t know how to help a man who’s stronger than I could ever be.

After a beat, John picks up the remote once again but only to turn the TV off. He leaves the remote on the floor and finally gets up on his feet. His eyes, slightly watery. 

- Let’s go to bed.

[moongothic]

I need to make a confession

I genuinely do not understand Buggy simps

Like I thought y'all were joking with the whole rooting for Buggy-thing but. No. People are actually seriously rooting for him. And I just don't get it.

Like. I can't tell if I'm missing something or if people are somehow completely misinterpreting his actual character. Like clearly it's meant to be one or the other and I can't tell which and I feel like I'm losing my mind because of it

'Cause the thing is that. Like. Until now, Buggy has been a pure gag character. He's no different from characters like Ceasar Clown and Spandam in that sense, he's just nowhere near as vile a human being as those other gag characters so he's marginally more lovable in what a pathetic fuck he is. But in the end, Buggy's just been there to be a punching bag (quite literally), because it's funny as hell to watch him eat shit And the reason it's funny IS because Buggy is a piece of shit. Again, not nearly as bad as Spamdam and co, but he's still a lying, cowardly, spineless douchebag who uses others for his own benefit and is willing to ditch anyone to save his own skin. Like Buggy was going to ditch his entire crew and flee by himself when the Shichibukai System was taken down and the Marines came for his head. He was going to leave his crew to die by themselves, without participating in the fight at all. Buggy was the one telling them to do the hard lifting while he'd escape, while the crew had no idea their beloved Chairman was going to abandon them. Literally the only reason Buggy failed to do that was because he was too slow and Crocodile got there before he managed to skedaddle.

He is essentially Usopp if Usopp wasn't willing to get beaten to death to protect his friends and their honor. Even fucking Luffy thinks Buggy is a pathetic idiot, and Luffy is the biggest indicator in the whole series on how to tell whether or not the readers should like a character or not. Not to mention, all the in-universe Buggy simps have been portrayed as (precious) idiots who can't see through Buggy's bullshit. Like every step of the story Oda has been trying to tell us that Buggy is an absolute loser.

So when people are like "Mihawk and Crocodile are going to see Buggy's ambition and become full Buggy supporters themselves!" I just

Are we reading the same comic???? HELLO????

Like I'll give you this, it would be objectively the funniest fucking outcome imaginable, which would be on-brand for Buggy and his trend of falling upwards.

But between Mihawk respecting people who are willing to abandon their honor to protect someone dear to them, and Crocodile's deep trust issues (possibly rooted in being betrayed in the past), I can not fucking fathom the two ever genuinely siding with Buggy the "I will leave you to die by yourself to save myself" Clown. Not when the two (and most other characters, including fucking Galdino and Daz) have been able to judge Buggy's character accurately (like how Crocodile was like "I thought you'd have ran away by now" when he arrived at Emptee Bluffs, and Buggy was like "yeah no shit")

Not unless Buggy grows enough of a spine that he'd be willing to sacrifice himself for someone (or at least get hurt on someone else's behalf to protect them), more specifically Mihawk and Crocodile. And let's be real, right now, Buggy probably wants nothing more than to run away from the two before they do actually kill him.

I just

Buggy simps. I do not understand you. I don't understand how you've reached your reading of the character.

[oohbuggypie]

it's both my God given right and duty to never shut up so i am going 2 not be quiet about BullDon 🫡 putting all text ("analysis", fanfic reccs, general rambling) under a read more so those who don't gaf can scroll easy 🩷 HERE WE GO !!

(all fanfics and their respective author are linked within their titles 🩷)

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

K WHERE DO I START . their dynamic, past the obvious matador and bull trope, is so interesting to me. i think that their backgrounds have so many similarities; Don is a matador and is shown to have hundreds of people gathered in a stadium to watch his match, and Bull is watched relentlessly by the paparazzi. but they both have very different reactions to the fame and attention they receive. Don soaks it up and Bull can't stand it, and i think it contributes to their odd, almost mirror dynamic a lot

past that is their personalities and ethics,, both of them are SO full of themselves i actually almost forget, with Bull only being slightly more humble (cuz he can't exactly brag about his looks 😭) . Don is more prideful than he is cocky imo; but he's VERY expressive of his anger and distaste for losing, which makes him kind of paralell to my idea of Bull. though this follows more of a headcanon of mine and not whats in the game, i think Bull is really calm outside his persona in the ring (i.e his intermissions,,, he's being friendly if anything with Doc and he speaks so calm and low in Title Defense). unlike Don, he's shown actually building endurance and managing his emotions compared to his Contender cutscnene, essentially the OPPOSITE of Don, who only gets more sour and negative after he loses. i think in that aspect they're complete opposites but that switch makes their dynamic and relationship so much more complex to me

in the ring i think they share the factor of channeling their anger to help them succeed; Don is stronger when he's pissed at his missing toupee and Bull is .. Bull ? the Bull charge and his gut punch in Title Defense are very telling if his entire character isn't about how genuinely angered that man can be and i think that gives them a more complex element to how they'd work together; they're both sour and ugly about being perceived/looked at (more literally) in a way they don't want to, so that's just another thing that i find so interesting .. they have a BUNCH in common yet they're drastically different when you look at their characters generally

K NOW FANFIC RAMBLE TIME 🩷

Suficiente:

if anybody knows the author DetectiveCapan from AO3 personally im so dead srs when i say u should message them and praise them. i could not stfu about their BullDon writing and im not going to in a paragraph or two here but OH MY GODD. i have always avoided both actual books and fics alike that are written choppy and simplistic, and especially ones that lack atmosphere simply cuz they're just unappealing and hard to make me feel what's actually going on. but their BullDon trilogy ?? somehow their style of writing, which doesn't use complex words or long sentences packed with detail, is genuinely some of my favorite that i have EVERR read . they make the emotions the characters are feeling SO easy to understand and feel even without exaggerated expressions and dramatic descriptions it's actually kind of incredible ? and the bit of humor isn't overbearing, it's just silly and it sets up the atmosphere, which never ends up terribly serious. they write relationships with a familiarity in the atmosphere and actions that have been unachievable in any other piece of fiction ive read and the gestures omg .. IM GONNA BE SPECIFIC IN MY RECCS SO YOU'LL HEAR MORE ABOUT IT BUT OMGG. DETECTIVECAPAN IF U SEE THIS BLESS UR HEART SERIOUSLY UR AN AMAZING AUTHOR 🩷🩷 PLEASE KEEP DOING WHAT U DO UR WONDERFUL AND I'D LOVE 2 SEE MORE OF UR WORK ABT BULLDON / PUNCH OUT!! WII IN GENERAL 🥹 now the recc list!!

possibly my favorite out of all three and it's literally the first one 😭 ough i could gush about this one FOR SO LOOONG ,,, i love how they immediately establish Don's mindset and attitude with how he both admires and pities the World Circuit for what they get and what they go through. when Don's out of the shower and he sees Bull half dressed there's no implication of sexual tension despite them being mostly undressed in front of each other and thats actually SO special to me because i had a morethanfriendship just like this and they captured the reality of it in a perfect way, like feeling for feeling . same in the way that Bull watches Don get dressed; they mention he stares but he doesn't have a corny, shocked "omg i hope he didn't notice me" reaction to catching himself. instead they mutually understand that they're admiring each other and they just smile about it . LIKE UGH THATS SO SPECIAL TO ME OMGG. and also Don putting on his - what'd id assume - rosary and then dabbing cologne behind his ears .. literally clutched my own cross necklace like omg that detail makes me crazyy i love the religion mention sm 😭

also UGH Bull's mannerisms .. a little annoyed at Don but there's such an endearing thing about it; he's annoyed at his demands but he complies anyway cuz even though he knows Don is purposely trying to make him a little pissed, he likes him enough to and he knows it'll make him happy .. THERE'S A DEEPER SENSE TO IT AND I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT IS BUT IT'S HARD TO WORDD 😭 also Bull being quick tempered about small things like the radio playing static and the music not being his taste .. and just the mutual like attachment they have with each other.. Bull never says anything about taking Don "home" (his hotel room) but Don knows exactly to get in his car and go with him anyway ,, and i cannot stress hard enough that it's just the little things seriously. i will never ever be regular about Bull liking to tie Don's boot laces, or promising to get his favorite beer when he offers it, or purposely (and patiently) waiting for him to get out of the shower so they can talk 🥹 like all those little gestures of love that show that he really does care . also possibly my favorite thing about this whole trilogy is that they have a very unestablished relationship ! it's never explicitly stated that they're dating or in love or anything even romantic but there areee quick mentions that imply (if im reading them correctly) that they're def a bit more than friends i.e Don mentioning how he thought his skin would burn from being in Bull's shower water temps ,, but the fact that it's not an established relationship and they don't outright express romantic interest in one another makes it SO much more special. it sets a completely different tone that creates warmth, familiarity, and comfort between them 😭

that's about that for Suficiente .. I LOVE IT SO MUCHH 😭 PLS READ IT, LEAVE KUDOS, AND IF U CAN COMMENT UR PRAISES !! 🩷 it is so well deserved genuinely. now on2 the next:

La Cosa Sobre El Pelo:

ugh i love this one equally as much. im gonna be repeating a lot of the same praises and ideas from "Suficiente" bcuz the whole trilogy creates the same kind of atmosphere but i still wanna gush about and explain it 🥹 omgg the paragraph about Don having a bald ass head and it scaring away the ladies made me giggle SO BAD . also UGH okay .. the sentiment of Don being vulnerable enough to confess his biggest insecurity to Bull, and for Bull to actually reflect and think about it so long after he's been told and reciprocate the vulnerability by showing Don a photograph of him before he lost his hair .. OUFFFGGHH actually the cutest and sweetest thing ever . also i am a nitpicker and a sucker for small details and i just absolutely LOVE how naturalistic the author makes the characters move. like Don doesn't get up and stand to grab the photo off the nightstand, he leans over and props himself up with his elbow and continues sipping on his beer when he's observing it like any other person would .. ugh i LOVE that detail , i get a little bothered when people write characters to be unnaturally animated in a setting where it doesn't exactly make sense to be, so that's another aspect of their writing that i appreciate soo much 😭 also it's the gestures omg .. when Bull grabs Don's thigh and shakes it and Don doesn't jerk away or question the closeness , he just leans back onto the bed and continues/ends their conversation about how he'll look bad with no hair and Bull looks good without it ,, I LOVE THAT SO BAADDD again it's the familiarity the meaning of Bull's gestures ,, the care that they quietly express instead of directly saying it .. GAWDD that's like my fav thing 😭 there's something so special about the silent concern and care that Bull has for Don in their writing; the small actions and the thought behind them do so much more than what words could say and i think it's super in character for him as well .. literally stellar i think i need to reread and add onto this one once i look at it again but I LOVE THIS ONE SO SO MUCHH 🩷

[lestappenforever]

hi angel c:

wanted to wish you and all your anons a good race evening! this two weekends are giving us enormous amount of lestappen content but I'm not complaining at all ._.

I take into account that the entire Lestappen launching may be PR but... don't you think this is kinda too much? I mean I don't see the reason for Christian to post photo of Max and Charles and moreover today's greeting of him and Charles... I'm confused .-. maybe I want to see Charles in RBR so bad that I start to notice and exaggerate the things that are not even there but greeting the others teem principal? o_O k im taking it

I follow some distant but still opinionated F1 sources that are not connected with shipping at all and the funny thing is that even people who are not delusional are seeing changes in behavior of these two or at least notice that they are somehow perceiving each other differently in comparison to other drivers. as if they were constantly emphasized and treated specially by each other. it’s just that: from year to year they get closer and closer, more calm and open. and that's beautiful

I have the feeling that we are witnessing the history and dynamics that are far from an end. their story is literary from the very beginning and I expect the same development. and at the moment we're getting it

it all as if we are missing something and seeing too much at the same time. and it's an amazing feeling. it irritates and in parallel fuels me with passion and interest

i see that everyone enjoyed yesterday's conference. that was two-domestic-idiots-in-love and third-wheeling- Steve Carlos. and I still don't know how to survive that "what?🥺🥰" from Charles. his voice and expression became so soft😭 or nervous Max (great thanks to Body language anon I already adore you). or all of that glances and giggles. I WASN'T PREPARED FOR THAT. I've lowered my expectations from Mexico so much that now I'm in a fucking complete "wtf is going on" situation. I anticipated a lot of Checo content but then Ferrari boys managed to put a red tractor on the first row and we got all of that

I don’t think that my ask now carries any meaning, I just wanted to share. I'm admiring you and your blog from a shadow right now but I'm always here c:

I have some serious mental issues these days, curing from depression and CPTSD is never easy. to a large extent, my reason for waking up every day and living now is Formula 1 and all its content including intrigues and investigations, theories and guesses, races, technical updates, challenges and shipping of pilots which I've found fun. so if anyone here is in the same condition as me, then know that you are not alone and one day we'll get through it

so yeah let's watch a great race and live laugh love lestappen

love ya 🖤❤️

Denis once again coming into my ask box and gracing me and everyone else with an insight into such a beautiful mind.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, Denis. It makes me so happy when I see your name in my inbox, and every ask you send carries so much meaning. Please don't ever doubt that. ❤️

I'm so sorry to hear that you’re struggling these days. If you ever need to talk, please don't hesitate to come to me. I love you so much and you deserve the whole world. And thank you for sharing your incredible kindness - I'm sure there are going to be people reading this who will definitely relate and appreciate knowing they are not alone. Because they’re not, and neither are you, Denis. Ever. 💕

Fingers crossed for a Lestappen podium despite the rough start to the race! 🤞

[some-little-infamy]

You Don’t Want What You Saw, but You Saw What You Wanted

(Read on AO3)

Steve never imagined he’d be playing a festival - an honest-to-god popular music festival and not just some local country fair bandstand - in a million years. This is just a fun hobby for him, a side project he hadn’t seriously planned on turning into an actual career. It just sort of happened, the pieces falling into place until one show led to another, and now, well, here he is.

At a festival.

The best part of it all is that he can wander the grounds before and after his set with little-to-no recognition. Wearing a wig and sunglasses on stage started off as a prank of sorts, the aftermath of a lost bet to his best friend Nancy. It worked for him, strangely enough, and turned into a whole thing that he continues to this day. It has the added benefit of making him virtually unrecognizable to casual fans who haven’t managed to track down photos of him without the disguise.

“This is insane,” Jonathan says from a foot in front of him, spinning around to walk backward in front of Steve as he talks.

“Thanks for the tickets,” Nancy adds.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says, shrugging off the gratitude with an easy smile. There’s no one else he’d rather have here, which is convenient because there’s also no one else he could have as his guest since no one else even knows he’s in a band.

“You two wander, have fun, and I’ll find you after my set, alright?” Steve asks.

“As if we won’t be there,” Nancy says, sounding as enthusiastic as the first time she had the opportunity to see his band live.

Steve shakes his head. Nancy’s seen his set almost as many times as he’s performed it but he can’t blame her for being particularly invested in seeing this one. After all ---

“It’s your first festival, man! We wouldn’t miss it,” Jonathan exclaims.

The two head off in the direction of the main festival stages while Steve glances around to make sure no one’s watching him before ducking back toward the performer staging area. He pulls his badge out from where it’s tucked into his t-shirt, the holographic PERFORMER label shining in the sunlight as security waves him through.

It’s surreal. Steve has to use every single ounce of self-control not to completely lose his mind over the number of musicians he passes from bands he idolizes. These are famous musicians. These are celebrities. He can’t help but feel seriously out of his league here.

The crowd during his set proves otherwise. It’s easily the largest group he’s ever played for, with Nancy and Jonathan loyally at the front singing every word. Not for the first time, Steve reconsiders his decision to perform in a wig as the sun practically bakes him the entire hour he performs, but he’s committed to the vibe at this point and he isn’t about to change it now.

The second Steve gets backstage he takes the wig and sunglasses off, stashing them in his guitar case just in time to turn around and walk directly into someone behind him.

“Shit, sorry-” Steve starts, but the words drop abruptly when he locks eyes with the man he just bumped into.

Eddie Munson. The lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, and Steve’s current biggest celebrity crush. It isn’t a genre he listens to often, and honestly, it was Eddie’s charisma and presence during interviews and fan meets that really drew Steve’s attention to him and his band. Steve knew Corroded Coffin is playing the festival but he somehow never imagined a scenario where the two of them might actually meet - and now he’s gone and run into the guy.

“No worries,” Eddie easily dismisses, eyeing Decide’s van that Steve just put his guitar case down in front of. “You here with Decide?”

Eddie knows his band.

Steve takes a second for that to sink in. Eddie stands in front of him, black leather pants tucked into black boots, paired with a simple white t-shirt tucked into the waistline. There’s a jean jacket slung over Eddie’s arm, the one he always wears when he performs, and up close Steve can make out some of the well-worn pins and patches.

“Uh, yeah. I… yeah.” Steve manages, cursing his sudden loss of any ability to be suave and debonair.

“I should be the one saying sorry to you then,” Eddie says with a light, amused laugh. “No, that’s mean. I shouldn’t say that. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean they aren’t… objectively decent.”

It feels like Steve’s heart plummets into his stomach at the words. Eddie Munson knows his band and hates them. Well, fuck.

It also occurs to Steve that if Eddie’s saying this to him then there’s a solid chance that he has no idea who Steve is, exactly. He probably just thinks Steve’s a random roadie.

“I don’t think they’re that bad,” Steve offers, seizing the opportunity to try and sway Eddie’s opinion.

“And I’ll forgive you that lapse of judgment because you’re hot,” Eddie says with a wink and a smirk. That Munson charm Steve’s seen through a screen countless times is life-altering to hear in person.

Any negative emotions Steve feels over the knowledge that Eddie hates his music are immediately replaced by the rush of endorphins brought about by the fact that Eddie thinks he’s hot. He could die here and now and die happy… or he could live to flirt back, which seems like the superior option. Regaining a little more self-awareness now that most of the shock has settled he couples the offer with the slightest shift in his posture, standing up a little straighter, jutting his hip out slightly, and running a hand through his hair to bring a little life back to the wig-flattened locks.

“You know, I could give you all the inside info on the band you want. Maybe after your set? Over drinks?” Steve offers impulsively, a hopeful smile on his face.

Eddie looks interested and considers the offer. Every millisecond of silence from him feels like a lifetime while Steve waits for a response.

“I’d rather learn about you,” Eddie counters.

“That works, too,” Steve agrees, grinning like a goddamn fool.

“Hey, Munson! We’re on in five, get a move on!”

Steve and Eddie both turn their heads toward Gareth Emerson, another member of Eddie’s band who stands several yards away waving a guitar in the air exasperatedly.

“Duty calls,” Eddie says, turning back to face Steve. “Be here when I get back?”

For the briefest of moments, Steve thinks he sees a flicker of uncertainty on Eddie’s face at the question, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Steve promises as Eddie leaves to join the rest of his band.

[itadorisgf]

— a taste of heaven

aka soft headcanons

note: it’s difficult being so s*ft all the time so here’s a part two

ft. inumaki toge, miwa kasumi, okkotsu yūta, tōdō aoi, zenin maki.

warning: gn!reader, insecurities, fluff

part one

⤷ main page

— inumaki toge.

inumaki’s eyes widen in surprise when you trot over to him one day and clumsily sign in jsl “good morning, toge! how are you?” his eyes water when you shyly admit that you’ve been learning for him since you don’t want him to worry about not being able to speak all of the time. you then eagerly ask if you signed it correctly. even if you didn’t sign it perfectly, the fact that you’re actively learning for inumaki is more than enough.

inumaki can sometimes get self-conscious of the seals etched onto his cheeks. it’s a part of him, something that indicates his connection to his clan, but he’ll never forget the looks he used to get from others as a child. whispers of poor child and how ugly when he would pass by them. so when you cradle his face with your hands, staring at him like he’s personally hung every star in the sky and murmuring that he’s so beautiful, inumaki’s heart melts.

while you’re happily chatting away with maki and panda, inumaki will come up from behind and wrap his arms around your middle while nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. it’s an occurrence that happens often enough that your shared friends don’t bat an eye. maki does scoff and comment that the two of you are so disgustingly in love it makes her sick, however.

— miwa kasumi.

miwa babbles. it’s a habit that she’s never managed to kick no matter how hard she’s tried to. so when she’s telling you about something that happened during her day, it hits her all of a sudden of how annoying she must be. she quiets down and abruptly ends her story. however, you notice and softly encourage her to continue. her heart skips a beat when you say “i like listening to what you have to say, kasumi.”

her little brothers are menaces. miwa loves them, but they know exactly how to get on her nerves. she’s apprehensive about introducing you to them, even though it’s only through facetime, and warns you ahead of time about how they can be. she’s shocked when they take to you so easily. soon enough, you’re the one carrying the conversation as miwa sits in the frame of the camera and watches you interact with them. she’s embarrassed when at the end of the call, her little brothers loudly proclaim that they like you before hanging up.

miwa will shyly gift you random little things she’s made: baked goods she’s experimented with, neatly completed friendship bracelets, a knitted hat when you complained about how your ears are always cold. she’s always worried about whether or not you’ll like them, but the smile that crosses your face and the glimmer in your eyes informs her that you do. and if that wasn’t enough to convince her, the happy kiss that you press to miwa’s cheek is.

— okkotsu yūta.

some nights, scratch that, most nights, yūta has difficulty falling, and staying, asleep. his mind is plagued with too many thoughts flooding his brain and he just can’t seem to turn it off. he feels like a bother, but he’ll softly creep out of his bed and slip into your dorm. in the safety of your arms, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, yūta manages to get a good night’s rest.

yūta worries about your relationship when he decides to travel overseas to study. although he’s incredibly busy most days, he always sends you a good morning and a good night text despite the time difference. sometimes he even manages to send you a box of trinkets he’s amassed for you. when you open up the box, there’s a quick messily scrawled note on top of everything that reads “i love you and miss you so much. love, yūta <3”

he flusters when you seat yourself on top of his lap and place your hands on either side of his face. yūta squirms underneath your intent gaze as you examine every inch of his face. his hands are loosely looped around your wrists and he’s bracing himself for what you’re going to say. it wouldn’t be like you, but yūta can’t help the fear that you’ll call him unattractive or ugly like the girls he used to attend school with. his face heats up when instead you murmur “you’re so pretty, yūta,” and lean in to press a kiss to his nose.

— tōdō aoi.

tōdō does not shut up about you, much to everyone’s dismay. they have no issue with you in particular, it’s just that tōdō will go on and on about you forever even if they express their lack of interest in the conversation topic. he’s just so proud to have you as his s/o that he can’t help but talk about how amazing you are all of the time!

he has a photo album on his phone that’s entirely dedicated to you. it’s filled with images that tōdō’s taken of you: pictures of you striking silly poses for him, images that you have no clue exist because he somehow managed to snap them without you noticing, and much, much more. when he talks about you, he always whips out his phone to show whoever he’s talking to how pretty you are.

he’s a huge fan of piggy back rides! you say your feet hurt from walking around? instantly, you’ll find yourself swept up by tōdō. you’re either on his back or he’s carrying you bridal style everywhere despite your protests and complaints of how embarrassing it is. he can’t have his lovely s/o walking around in pain.

— zenin maki.

if you happen to fall asleep on the train and your head drops onto maki’s shoulder, she’s incredibly careful to not jostle you awake. her entire frame is tensed, afraid that the slightest movement may wake you. if panda speaks too loudly, she glares at him and tells him to quiet down. when you wake up and lift your head up, maki gives you a grin and informs you that you drool in your sleep.

maki is fiercely protective over you. yes, you’re an idiot (affectionate), but you’re her idiot. therefore, she’s the only one who can seriously make fun of you. she doesn’t mind if others poke fun at you or tease you, as long as it’s light-hearted. the moment someone actually attempts to degrade you and make you feel lesser, maki is beating their ass.

she has to wear glasses for prolonged periods of time because of her inability to see curses without them. this often leads to maki’s temples hurting. she’ll try to ignore it because she’s not going to let a little headache bother her, but you’re having none of that. she’ll try and protest, but she can’t deny how nice it feels to have her head resting in your lap as you gently massage her aching head.