#everything else though is a burning heap of garbage

[everytimeiseeadragonirealize]

if next season of sandman isn’t season of mists and the game of you… idek man… i’m gonna go crazy. like i wanna see all hell literally break loose and get sold back to the angels. like that’s literally the most beautiful concept it’s crazy.

[sleepingghostt]

Hiii, I hope you’re doing well!

I saw a post on twitter that says “you think you’re asking for too much until you find someone who does it naturally” and I thought it was fitting Kagaao

So I was wondering if you could write a bit about that because I know you can make magic with them 😂🫶

Omg yesss!!!! This fits them perfectly!!!

When I read this, I just imagined Daiki having one of his depression days. No energy to leave his house and go to Taiga’s apartment, he locks himself in his dark bedroom and hides under his heavy comforters. On days like these, he doesn’t even bother to switch his phone to not disturb.

He just turns it off completely and sleeps the day away, pausing here and there to skim through one of his Mai-Chan mags, fuck himself with one of his toys that Taiga got him, or stare blankly up at the ceiling as he contemplates his life on earth, cause what’s the fuck’s the point of living if he falls out of love with basketball again? Or if Taiga leaves him? It’s only a matter of time. Everyone leaves eventually.

During these episodes, he struggles to leave his room. Like he wants to and shit, but he just can’t. He’s read all his Mai-Chan mags a thousand times and had meant to get the new one that’d just come out last weekend but he’d put it off all week like a dumbass. So he’s lacking satisfaction.

He gets hungry too, stomach growling incessantly for food. He’s fucking craving teriayaki burgers and fries with a banana shake to wash it all down, but he can’t find the strength to get out of bed. Lacking nutrition.

He’ll need a shower too before he leaves (if he leaves) and the last time he took one was yesterday morning. Lacking cleanliness. Lacking clean clothes. Fuck everything.

He’s just rotting and suffering alone today. Until he hears footsteps outside his bedroom and knocking on his door.

“Dai….”

Taiga

“Baby, can I come in?”

Daiki says nothing, just huddles deeper under his covers as he hears the door open with a small creak. He feels pissed even though his heart flutters at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. He wants to be alone today. Even his mom knows not to bother him on days like this. Fucking Satsuki even knows not to bother him on days like this.

Crinkling and rustling can be heard as Taiga makes his way to the bed, stepping over a mix of clean and dirty clothes and pushing aside garbage and discarded magazines.

Hope you like my depression room, you dick

There’s sounds of things being placed on the bedside table before the mattress dips with someone else’s weight. Daiki’s cheeks burn as Taiga gently lifts his blankets and slips beneath them, slotting himself behind the bluenette’s curled form.

The heat, normally a comfort, feels foreign today, misplaced but not unwanted. Not really. Daiki closes his eyes as Taiga’s arms wrap around his waist and he lets himself be pulled backwards into a warm big chest, his own chest deflating with a small sigh at the contact.

“Don’t wanna leave you alone today,” Taiga mumbles knowingly into unkempt blue hair, dropping some kisses to the strands. “Sorry.”

Heart warm, Daiki stays silent, finding Taiga’s foot with his and linking their ankles together. Can’t be by himself today huh…maybe company won't be such a bad thing.

Taking the gesture as a sign of acceptance, Taiga tightens his grip on the bluenette’s waist and busies himself with the side of his head, pressing kisses and making a soft trail down to the shell of his ear, the lobe, down his neck and back up to his cheek.

Breath by measured breath, Daiki slowly feels alive again…

-

They do this for the rest of the day, cuddling and napping with small breaks in between. Mid afternoon, Taiga wakes Daiki up with kisses and makes him eat something.

He’d brought him takeout and the newest Mai-Chan Magazine: a heap of teriyaki burgers and fries with an extra large banana shake to wash it all down, and a fresh, unwrinkled mag with his favorite idol in a maid outfit on the cover.

Daiki almost cries and gets a nosebleed. Almost. He wants to cry but if he did, Taiga might throw one of his annoying worry fits so he doesn’t, but his eyes do tear up and his throat feels rough as the redhead spreads all the food out across bed, setting up the laptop that Daiki’d left at his apartment two days ago in front of them so they could watch one of the bluenette’s favorite comfort animes: my neighbor Totoro.

Slumped with his back against his redhead’s chest, they watch the movie, Taiga’s loud chewing in Daiki’s ear, not as deafening as it usually is. Pouting, he even lets the older hand feed him his food (just for today- he gets a pass, he’s not himself) until he gets sleepy and they take another nap, this one less heavy, more light, the feeling of emptiness he felt in the morning, almost washed clean from his skin.

Nap, break to eat some more and finish the movie. Nap. Break to worship every ounce of his Mai-Chan treasure as Taiga watches him unamused yet fond, fingers in his hair, arm holding him close, keeping him tight against him. Nap. Break to cuddle. Nap. Finally ready for a bubble bath.

Content and well rested, Daiki loops his arms around Taiga’s neck and holds on tight as the redhead carries him bridal style to the bathroom where he runs the warm water and undresses him with gentle hands. Once placed inside the bubbly tub, Daiki hums appreciatively and rests back against the bath pillow Taiga had bought him, letting the heat seep into his bones as eucalyptus, one of his favorite scents calms his senses.

After a long soak and a scalp massage that almost puts him to sleep, Daiki’s ready to get out. He makes no protest as Taiga drains the tub and scoops him up again, wrapping him up into a warm, fuzzy towel burrito (the fucking towel hot and cozy, having just come out of the dryer- when the fuck did Kags have time to do the laundry?)

Once Daiki’s hair is thoroughly dried, the redhead carries him back to his bedroom where he dresses him in a sweatshirt and sweats and tucks him back into bed, turning off the light and hopping in after making sure his bluenette is comfortable.

By now, it’s nighttime and Daiki’s tired again. He yawns and snuggles into Taiga’s chest, breathing in the scent of home as big arms cradle him tight, fingernails skimming up and down his back in gentle motions.

”You up for cleaning your room tomorrow,” Taiga whispers lowly into his hair.

Daiki shrugs, almost out already, the steady heartbeat against his ear lulling him to sleep. “Sure. ‘S long as I’m not doing it by myself.”

A snort, then a kiss against his scalp. “Idiot. Of course you’re not doing it by yourself.”

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

Just as he opens his mouth to put his thoughts into words, Taiga beats him to it. “I love you.”

I know you do.

“I love you too…thanks for today. I needed this.”

He did. More than anything and of course Taiga knew that. That dumbass knew everything. Daiki didn’t even have to say anything and Taiga knew what he needed; what would make him feel better.

“Well I needed you, so I guess we’re even now.”

”…Guess we are.”

THE END

and of course Daiki falls asleep to Taiga’s murmured praises about how much he means to him.

Thanks @kagaomine510 for sending me this! This was so fun to write! Fuck I love them so much. It’s unreal how much Kagami loves Aomine, like seriously. His world literally revolves around the bluenette (and basketball, and food)

[ceilingfan5]

2 or 21 with taakitz? pls and thank u!!!

“I think we should cancel the gig, I don’t remember how to play,” Taako whines from his place melted on the floor in front of the fan. His shirt, which was already too short, and also says crab rangoon slut in sparkly fuschia Curlz MT font, flops up, giving Kravitz an eyeful he’s burning trying not to react to. Every time the fan rotates, it blows a little further. 

“It’ll be fine, and we’ll get paid,” Kravitz says, instead of I notice you changed your nipple piercing jewlery and I’d like to see what it tastes like, if you don’t mind. 

“But at what cost,” Taako gripes. 

“The price,” Magnus provides cheerfully, bursting into their private moment like the motherfucking koolaid man. 

“The price of admission,” Merle adds, like that’s anything. He is, as always, right behind Magnus, and also wearing a stupid tshirt (“SUCCULENT BOD”, handlettered and decorated with dozens of little plants). Kravitz wonders, not for the first time, how he let himself hitch his wagon to this fucking circus train. 

“Anyway,” Kravitz says. “We ought to practice, so we don’t flop out there and stink like dead fish.” 

“I’m gonna stink regardless if I don’t stop sweating,” Taako moans. “I cna’t do it. I’m not a solid anymore.” 

“Liquids can play the keyboard, probably,” Kravitz valiantly charges on. With Taako, you have to humor him to a certain degree, or he won’t even give you the time of day. But also you can only take some of his bullshit, and if you take too much of it, he loses any and all respect for you. It’s a delicate balance. Fucking circus train. Kravitz feels like he’s wearing the sparkly leotard in front of the tigers and everything. Shame he’s so into Taako, or he’d just go do something easier. Also he loves the band, but shut up. 

“Nobody wants wet keys, my man.” Magnus shakes his head. 

“Tell that to Florida,” Merle muses. 

Everyone else boos. 

“Why don’t you try, just a little, and then we can go get ice cream before the gig?” Kravitz asks. “Because if you can’t. I’m going to quit, and become a solo artist and be able to stop taking my blood pressure medication, because of all the stress you fools put me through.” 

“Said like he thinks he’s not also a fool,” Merle stage whispers to Magnus, who nods solemnly. 

“I want bubblegum ice cream,” Magnus says though. “So get off your ass, Taako.”

“If I die about this, you’ll all be sorry,” Taako moans, but he does peel himself off the floor and mope over to the keyboard. Kravitz takes up his bass guitar, and Merle sits at the drums, and Magnus connects his amp. “Fucking, ugh, an’ a one, an’ a two,”

“And a skiddly, idly, oo,” Merle jokes, but they start–

And it’s horrible. Taako bangs rudely on the keys, which immediately fucks everyone up, and Kravitz tries to save it but is torn between laughing and ringing his boyfriend’s neck, and it spirals from there. 

“Like this?” Taako asks, over the bullshit garbage heap of a tune they’re butchering, playing his keyboard horribly, comically wrong. He’d probably have an easier time trying to use his butt cheeks. 

“No,” Kravitz barely manages with a straight face. “I’m afraid that’s not what we’re looking for, and you’re fired, goodnight.”

“THANK GOD,” Taako says. “I’m going home. Music is dead to me.”

“Iiiiice cream,” Merle tempts. 

Taako pouts. 

“With sprinkles?” Magnus adds. 

“And maybe a cold shower?” Kravitz smiles at him, letting the implication float through the air on radio waves, and not having to say, out loud, between the other two chucklefucks, that he would in fact like to join Taako in that shower. 

Taako pouts harder. 

“Fine,” he says. “But if any of you make me stick around to sign shit in fucking ninety-eight degrees, I’m ritually sacrificing a fan and we’re going to be on true crime podcasts for decades.” 

“Goddamn,” Kravitz says. “Anything but that.” 

[the69thgames]

Fanmade District 21

District 21 P.1 - Landfills

alright, so in my timeline district 21 was formerly a district split in half between landfills and recycling centers

in the landfill part, imagine Wall-E. their job is to box up garbage and compact it so that there is more space. they practically live in these garbage piles and sort through all the materials

some materials are sent to the recycling center, some of them can be composted, some are used in their furniture or houses, some are burned, and some just stay there forever

their lifestyle is very dirty and really unsanitary, since their waters are mostly contaminated they get most of their water from the clean rivers, lakes, and streams in the Capitol

they do have a built up resistance to most germs and sicknesses, being born and raised around it, and they are often strong from carrying heaps of garbage moving place to place. their food situation is the same as their water situation, they get most of their food from the Capitol

though, they do eat some animals such as mutated gigantic insects, rats, and sometimes raccoons

they also have a culture where you can't waste anything, everything you use will be reused or remade. and they find it terrible to have several sentimental items, finding it useless, their only sentimental items are usually only 1-5 and they always wear it or keep it on themselves, showing they aren't wasting the items even though it's just decoration

this same mindset also leads to some families being cannibals, but it's more of a sacrificial way? they honor their dead by reusing what was once theirs so there will always be a part of them for everyone, despite passing away. since in their death, they are still beneficial and helping support the family/community

imagine that one animal that people used every part of? like their bones, skin, meat, horns, organs, they used everything to its fullest because they truly honored the animal and were thankful for them, finding it more disrespectful to waste their precious material

that's similar to how they find people, which lead them to cannibalism, it's a more wholesome take on it being their culture and all, what they were raised to believe was moral and was therefore right. similar to how Capitols were raised to believe the games where kids kill each other was fun and entertaining but cannibalism was disgusting

anyways, this district was eventually disbanded (mostly because of their culture because I can't find a good reason for why the Capitol would get rid of this district) and was spread Districts 3, 5, and 13. after 13 was "destroyed", however, some of this work was given to District 6 and to some of the lower class in the Capitol

District 21 P.2 - Recycling Centers

ok, second part. so although the recycling centers still share district 21 with the landfills, they are disgusted by them, and share a vastly different culture

there's like three main things they recycle, plastics, papers, and metals

the people from the papers are definitely the happiest and they have the least polluted section (albeit, still very polluted compared to other districts)

the people from the metals are definitely stronger, having to carry such heavy stuff. they're kind of clean freaks and are all germaphobes, not wanting to infect the precious metals

the people from the plastics have the most terrible pollution, are just as badly starved as the people in the landfill (or as they call the junkyard) but they act like they are better than them. they are also germaphobes and they disinfect everything for the Capitol

actually are three parts have to disinfect stuff or else they'll be punished so it's pretty bad, but I would say the plastics have it the worst off due to being the most produced

it sounded more interesting in my head but because of their clean freak culture they enter a state of shock and disgust every single time something dirty happens. like they'll hit themselves and cry over their shit and piss. like they publicly embarrass people for burping or farting

and funnily enough, this is more of a public cover. at their homes gross (normal) stuff is allowed, just minimal of it compared to a normal household. like seriously, they are human and they do stuff like excrete waste and have sex but it's really taboo to talk or even imply these kinds of things in public

also everyone wears weird suits, they come in several colors, but almost always lighter colors to prove that they aren't dirty or anything. if someone wears a dark color it's considered disrespectful to the culture or they think you're just gross and dirty. in fact, their mourning color is white, or as close as you can get to it

if they're not working, everyone wears very conservative clothing that covers all their bodies, and they'll wear gloves and often times masks

also everyone is bald. or almost bald, basically they think hair is really dirty and gross too

anyways this district eventually disbanded as well and spread across the same as it's other half was

and sorry that the recycling centers are more underdeveloped compared to the landfills, there's like this anime where there's a junkyard place so that kinda inspired me (Meteor City form HunterXHunter)

and if you are curious as of to why this is district 21 and not 14, I do have other fanmade districts you can check out

[rainset]

Story Practice (10/9/22) — DOG Part III

They didn’t view him as ‘normal’ by any means.

Because his face was partially plastic. Least, that’s what they told him.

There was a fire that broke out when he was even smaller, it was extensively caustic to be in any radius of due to the materials that their home was made of.

Fumes themselves would melt any organic material.

He wasn’t in the house but he was caught playing by it when it happened. Luckily nobody was inside but..

He took a step a bit too close.

Rest is evident.

They healed him with their advances in cycling but, it left a weird aftertaste in the community. Nobody had actually attempted this type of transplant before. Smooth, soft, white— pearlescent. Mimics skin in everything but sight and, maybe taste? Because it has this eerie translucences to it. Where there’s nothing seen of course, but.. there’s shadows within there, underneath. Under the right lighting it reveals the truth of human nature. Nobody, I mean- no body. Would want to see that.

Because who wants a reminder of what lies within?

For him though, this young boy, that’s the only thing that made him special. Transplanted cycle flesh. Different, weird, scary.

But otherwise? He was generic. Nothing too remarkable to him in design or intellect. Dark hair, bright eyed, fair skinned with disregards to that one addition.

He’s just, plain bread.

That not many wanted to talk to because of that one thing on his face ya can’t wipe away.

So, Jeremy Hoth spends his ten year old days alone. Playing in the empty public parks. Making crafts and hanging them around town when nobody is noticing. Watching from afar people who stop and analyze it. Or do double takes.

He has a knack for anatomy. It’s what made his particular creations remarkable. But well, the whole town is remarkable, really.

His other past time is perching and vicariously taking in social behaviors from people watching. He’d practice on makeshift friends when he’s alone and deeper in the trash heap. They’d play table top games and have conversations over the latest book he’s been reading, the old tv shows he’d get to see if he got lucky and the waves came by his way.

Nobody else was really talkative but he knew what they were saying instinctively. He treated his friends good because, they’re important. Get you through hard times, fight wars with you, be the family you never had.. yeah. Friends are the only thing that matters in their short feeble lives.

His domain was out of Treas and into the heap where more of Treas would become mapped out of. Eventually it’ll spread to here, the sprawl, but it won’t be for awhile. It’s his sanctuary and the place for more treasures one could hope for.

For anyone as generic as him, they too would try to covet the things left and thought of as shit.

Broken down tanks, old air ships— some space cockpits are still in tact!

It’s it own little wonder world amongst the dead and forgotten, the heap.

Time capsules each one and Jeremy would try to draw out what they are to hang in his new house’s walls. Mom and dad never really bother, they weren’t born here like him. Nor do they appreciate what Treas has given them either… maybe that’s why the Hoth house would be the only house in the village’s history to ever catch fire. Because, Hoths don’t care.

Jeremy cares.

He’s careful to avoid people too when he returns. It’s rude to show his face in public with how it spooks everyone. He usually crawls in through their new tunnel at the side of their trash heap. One of the few that isn’t converted into some spectacular marvel because— well. We know. Hoths.

He slips into a old shuttle door and slides down into their network of tunnels. Their home, a shack made of scrap and plastic that cuddles a large pile of archaic garbage. It’s the ugliest thing on their corner, Jeremy is grateful that they’re so forgiving, people of Treas.

They saved his life after all.. not his parents. They just burn houses down.

He pastes a new charcoal sketch onto his wall, currently, it’s mapping out his sanctuary. Jeremy steps back to admire the piece. Coming together, the whole thing is just a picture now but soon, he’s gonna walk into it.

It’s a doorway to what could be. Expanding his room and having a cockpit to the right and then the inner hull of an old war machine to the left with a big circular space between them.. yeah.. it’s gonna be cool.

He’s gonna make the village of Treas proud. Give back to them what they’ve given to him.

He looks over to the hole that’s his room doorway, there’s nobody seen in the kitchen. Figures.

Probably begging in Alderado. The place they wanna call home.

He drops into the kitchen and exits into the living room. Sitting up on the couch and watches out the front opening of their shack.

People walking about the main road that swirls and curls like in a fairy tale. People just looking around at the little doodads and marvels that is mashed into every nook an’ crany around them. Villagers and city people. From the ways of tarps and face paint, outlanders too. He wonders what the plains world is like… he hears of a green place beyond that massive tower city. Even the dwellers there envy the planes.

Most Alderado folk that come to Treas are the wealthy. Their clothes are sleek, clean, top dollar and top line. He analyzes every part of their design. It’s so alien and weird, but cool.

He hears people talk constantly and he’s gotten good listening in even on the faintest of voices.

He’s heard that the wealthy are the only ones who can physically leave Alderado. That many people on the daily stand at the city walls and look out, thinking about their fate. But they never leave. They can’t. They’re sucked in.

Jeremy knows it ain’t true. His dumb parents come there in and out daily to get their bread.

But he still pictures it. Figures standing on top of a wall, looking out at what could be.

Kinda like him in Treas.

Ever person is a potential conversation.

But no one to speak with. He doesn’t want to be rude or imposing.

He knows he’s disturbing. It’s just the way of things.

Still though, he yearns for it.

Each person he sketches, there’s a smaller figure besides them.

The ideal him. Jeremy de Treas. Talking to them.

He’s sheepish with sketches of those his age. He often crumbles them up and throws them away. Adults are way more comforting, easier. Intelligent. Kids are… scary. Mean. Judgmental and hurtful. Still though.. some of his best works are of him making the friends he’ll never have.

Sometimes he wishes he had siblings to practice this with but, this loneliness, is much more comfortable.

It hits him, his one brother.

He curses to himself. He gets up from his admiring of the flocks and runs back down his tunnels, not noticing the pair of innocent eyes watching back at him.

He pops out the other side of his home and dashed back to his sanctuary.

He forgot him, again.. he feels so guilty as he flees to be by his side.

Trodding down the rubble, he leaves a trail of noise for another pair of small feet to follow.

Jeremy’s trail blazing over hills and mounds back to his sanctuary, then even further in.

He takes in a deep breath as he falls back on the last high mound he’s on and slides down into a wide, deep, pit.

Arising from it is a half sunken in mechanical Goliath. An absolute beast. A black skeletal figure with fangs for teeth, hollow sockets, and tightly packed thick tubes running down its spine and neck. Giving this thing a look of girth that runs underneath more dark exoskeleton.

“Sorry! I’m- I’m sorry! I’m-“ he trips up as he lands onto semi solid ground, “-sorry.” He wades through the pit to his oldest friend and one who he looks up to, literally.

His one brother. He calls him ‘Dog’ because of his face. It’s skeletal face with its clenching snout has a human but animal look to it. He thinks it’s what a dog might look like. Wolf is his brother’s other name when he wants respect but, Dog is enduring.

“H..how are you doing.. you okay?” He touches Dog’s exo. His pale hand on its dark body beams out like a star in night. Jeremy sighs in relief. He senses Dog’s forgiveness. “Yeah sorry I got caught up.. how’s your day been?” He looks up to his older brother.

Dog remains there, inanimate.

Jeremy chuckles to comfort himself. “..yeah, really? What else happened- did you talk to them?”

There’s obviously no response. Jeremy nervously rambles on his answer- “..well it’s okay. Better luck next time, right?”

There’s a clamoring behind him. His head swivels back with intense fear.

How long has she been standing there? He’s mortified.

The illusion is broken and he crawls back beneath the machine as the small child descends down the trash heap. Calling for him.

“Hey- you there? Hey!”

Jeremy wants to scream. He does in his throat.

He looks for an escape- he sees it. It’s looser on this side of the giant machine’s tube lining, and he slides inside. Tight, cramped, he feels his lungs almost collapse as he tries to get in fully, legs first.

The stomping came closer and so does his fear.

He shields himself as he hears them approach.

“What are you doing?!” A small voice said.

He opens an eye to see. Then slowly moves his arm.

It’s a small girl. She’s got.. barely any hair on her head, it splotchy. Half an eye brow on one side.. wearing nothing but an oversized white jacket and shorts.

“Come out from there- it’s bad!!”

Bad-? What?

She’s already tugging on his arm to try and pull him out.

He looks fully and couldn’t help but kind of laugh. Her feet are sinking into the garbage as she’s trying to pull him out. Even the tugs on his arm feels kind of pathetic.

He starts to laugh. Snort an laugh.

“It’s not funny- GET OUT!” She pounds her fist on the side.

He doesn’t say a word but he slides out, still chuckling to himself.

She pouts in front of him.

“Do you know what this thing is?!”

Jeremy wipes the tears out his eyes, looking down at her, smiling.

“It’s an e v i l machine- don’t get close to it!! You might become bad too! “

Jeremy keeps his awkward crooked smile while looking down at her. He couldn’t speak.

The small girl keeps pouting. “Well? Com’ooon!”

Jeremy’s throat catches. He makes a sound but it’s weird. Really weird.

And she didn’t get it. “What?”

He tries again but there’s a disconnect in his head. God.. when was the last time he talked?

She relaxes and looks up at him with more analysis. She furrows her brow. “Aren’t you that creepy Hoth kid?” He says nothing.

“The one who didn’t flinch with a half melted face?”

He swallows.

“..yeah.”

His first word to a living human being.. in the longest of time.

He’s never even spoken to his parents this much.

———

[yandere-mha]

good morning, my lovely caramel candy💛! hope you're doing well ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ can I request Dabi with a s/o who grew up in abusive family and if she said something she didn't mean or did something embarrassing she puts her hands under the faucet with pouring boiling water bc she learned that "wrong" behaviour should be punished

You know the best ways to compliment me, don’t you 🥰😘 okay but only because you’re cute and wonderful and I want to really bad.

TW: ABUSE, SELF HARM, HOMOCIDE, TORTURE MENTION, BODY ISSUES AND SCARS, INAPPROPROATE REACTION TO ABUSE, SLIGHT SELF HARM VICTIM BLAMING.

MAJOR BNHA MANGA SPOILERS

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Yandere Dabi w/ a self harming s/o:

Though it’s very hypocritical, Dabi would immediately get pissed at you if he saw you doing this.

The biggest source of his anger from this would be that, though he is explicitly self destructive with his quirk and purposefully overuses it to the point where he’s literally burning the skin off, he sees this as an unavoidable result of being created rather than self harm. He sees his scars as a big source of hardship in his life, so he’d initially be upset that you’d “choose” to do that to yourself. As someone with very little emotional intelligence, he doesn’t have the greatest understanding of what might cause someone to want to self harm even as someone who does it himself. He doesn’t understand himself very well either but thinking about it too much makes him uncomfortable.

He quietly power walks over to you as he seethes, ripping your hand away from the steaming faucet and holding you tightly by the wrists with wide eyes of fury, forcefully dragging you to the shower by the scalding wrist clenched in his hand, and placing the shower head so close to your arm that the force of the cool water stings and makes your entire body soaked as the streams blast everywhere. His face is dark and unreadable as the burning under your skin begins to subside and he roughly yanks your still injured arm towards him to bandage it much too tightly for comfort. 

“You fucking idiot... Who even does this to themselves?”. He’s harsh but he’s mostly worried about you and taking his stress out on the nearest target. He never expected this from you, thinking that you must love yourself since you’re so perfect, so he was never prepared for feeling this way. He was always envious of how amazing you are in every way.

His first reaction to people making him angry is to insult and threaten them, so he'd probably even threaten to burn you if you did that again as you feel heat emanating from his body... He’s not really accomplishing anything there. 

He won’t ask you why you did it because he’s too busy being pissed at you. He promised he would kill anyone who even thought about hurting you, but he never imagined a scenario where the attacker would be yourself and he doesn’t know how to respond. 

If you were to break down and tell him your story yourself, he would grow menacingly quiet again, unmoving with a thousand yard stare that bore right through your head. Suddenly everything would slowly click in a way that made more sense to him. Not only does he now have a much more suitable target for his need for revenge, but he subconsciously feels more connected to you through a shared trauma that he can relate to. He starts to connect your family with Endeavor and he finally feels like he finally understands you as a person. You two really are a match made in the stars, aren’t you? He takes this as a cosmic sign that you were always meant to be his.

After you finish your story there are a few seconds of uncomfortable, reverberating silence when a cruel, tooth-filled leer spreads from each of his cobbled-together cheeks. He can’t help the growing cackle that bursts free from his rib cage as he thinks of all the terrible ways he could murder your family for this. Finally, you’re going to be his completely and without anyone else to distract you from him. The only person you need is him and no one else. 

He’ll bring you with him and force you to watch whether you want to or not as he slaughters every one of them as slowly and painfully as he can manage. Don’t look away. Keep looking at him and only him. Don’t you love him? Isn’t he good? Please tell him he’s good.

After the deed is done, he will demand validation and affection from you. He’ll place your limp body on the floor face up, straddling your hips between his crouched legs and his face resting on yours as his lanky arms ensnare your torso in a protective embrace. He tells you he’ll kill anyone who ever hurts you, that you’re his to protect, and that he’ll never let you hurt again in between slowly, tender kisses spread on every part of your face. He’d burn this whole garbage heap planet down for you along with every piece of shit living on it if he could. A soft smile spreads on his face. He really has gone soft for you, huh?

[whumpmatsus]

Karamatsu getting fed up with Ichi? Leading to tears being shed. I love that content. Lol

hehehe I'm a slut for Iromatsu, I LOVE these two!!

I wasn't sure which one of them you wanted to cry, so... have both of them shedding some tears, which is always nice, two for the price one one, huh? :D

-

He tries.

Karamatsu tries so hard not to let his younger brother’s strange hatred upset him.

What did he ever do to Ichimatsu, after all? Sure, Karamatsu is a… ‘painful’ guy, as he’s been told, in general. He can’t remember doing anything in particular to Ichimatsu that he hasn’t also done to his other brothers, though. And as much as he can acknowledge he’s not perfect, all he’s ever really tried to do is love his brothers, take care of them, and try to be happy himself.

The others at least have the good sense to ignore him if he’s doing something a little excruciating. Ichimatsu, though… Karamatsu thinks he’d rather be ignored than hated and insulted.

Like today. The others are all out with their own plans ― Jyushimatsu playing baseball, Osomatsu gambling, Choromatsu job hunting, and Totty at lunch with friends. Karamatsu has been left alone with Ichimatsu, via his own choice. His younger brother has just barely gotten over a cold that, by some miracle, none of the others managed to catch.

Instead of leaving like everyone else, what has Karamatsu been doing? Staying at home trying to look after Ichimatsu. Even though he’s not really sick anymore. Even though Ichimatsu isn’t doing much except reading magazines and cuddling with his cats and nodding off every so often. Even though Karamatsu could be doing something else.

Ichimatsu seems like he couldn’t care less that his big brother stayed behind to watch him while everyone else abandoned him. Karamatsu is the only one who had any second thought as to watching after him. Every touch against his forehead is slapped away in an instant, every query about him needing anything is met with a scowl and a, “Shut up”, and… all in all, it appears Ichimatsu would be happier if he were all by himself. He’d rather be alone than with Karamatsu.

They’ve both been quiet for a long stretch, awkward in each other’s company. At least they’ve distracted themselves with a magazine each, so maybe Ichimatsu can tolerate Karamatsu as long as he’s not speaking.

There are a few little coughs from Ichimatsu’s direction, like he’s been giving all day; a cough is usually the last thing to go for him when he’s been sick. Instead of tapering off as they’ve been doing, he continues to cough, sounding like he can’t catch his breath. When Karamatsu looks over, Ichimatsu is half curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as he tries to get past the fit.

The second eldest is on his feet in a second, stepping over toward the sofa. “Ah, Ichimatsu, my dear brother! Would you like me to get you a drink? Some tea with umeboshi might soothe that―”

“G―ahk―od, get AWAY FROM ME!” Before he can get too far, Ichimatsu shoves him away even in the middle of coughing. Only a moment later he’s taking regular breaths again, though apparently no less pissed. “I don’t need any tea. I’m fine! And in case you didn’t notice, you’re not Mom, so you can stop acting like a mother hen! Actually, just die!”

It’s nothing Ichimatsu hasn’t said before, to be completely honest. He’s pushed Karamatsu away more times than anyone in this family can count. It shouldn’t really be a surprise, should it? He doesn’t like Karamatsu too near him at the best of times, unless they’re sleeping, never mind when he’s already irritated.

Still, for some reason, something inside Karamatsu snaps at this outburst.

There are already tears forming when he pulls away, clenching fists, heels digging into the floor. He can’t explain it; something about the way his little brother just yelled at him hurt more than anything else.

“Why do I even bother with you?!” His voice comes out harsher and rougher than he meant it to. If anyone else were listening in, it would be evident that he’s on the verge of crying. He loves his brothers more than anything, including Ichimatsu, he loves them all more than he loves himself. It’s never made sense to him why Ichimatsu seems to hate him more than anything. It’s frustrating. If Ichimatsu doesn’t want him around, maybe he should just leave.

And he can’t help it, the way the tears start to stream down his cheeks. The last time he cried in front of his brothers was… high school, or shortly after in the next few years? It hasn’t happened in a long time. That it’s happening now, in front of Ichimatsu who can’t stand him, who doesn’t care, is just another nail in Karamatsu’s pathetic coffin.

“I love you so much, and you couldn’t give less of a damn about me!” He presses a hand to his eyes in an attempt to stem the tears like he might if they were blood, but predictably it doesn’t work.

His heart is pounding frantically against his ribs, panicking that he’s losing his cool exterior in front of the one brother who will never let him live it down, anxious that he’s done something so wrong to make one of his siblings hate him so much. He doesn’t know what and he can’t fix it and maybe he should just give Ichimatsu what he wants.

Everything is eerily silent as Karamatsu continues to cry. After a moment it dies down to nothing but a few shuddering sobs, and when he looks at his little brother through blurry eyes, he thinks Ichimatsu looks… uncomfortable?

Well. Fucking. Good. He should be uncomfortable.

Finally, when Karamatsu is breathing normally enough to say something, he tries to steel himself against the carpet, legs straight as he can get them, fists tight, trying not to buckle and end up in a heap on the floor. He looks at Ichimatsu with what’s possibly the most pitiful expression he’s ever given anyone.

“What… what have I done wrong?” he manages to choke out, in such a smaller voice than his usual one that it almost doesn’t even sound like him. “How have I failed you to make you hate me so much?”

“Wh―” Ichimatsu actually seems to be startled. He’s all wide eyes and body halfway off the couch as if he’s going to stand up and his expression might be more at home on someone who’s just been stabbed in the back. “You didn’t… I’m not… i-it’s not like that!”

Excuses, right? That’s all Ichimatsu ever seems to give. “Then what is it like, Ichimatsu?! I must have done something!”

“You’re such a dumbass! God! Not everything is about you!” Ichimatsu suddenly changes position, curling up into a ball as much as he’s able to. It’s a few seconds before he says anything, and when he does, it sounds… like he’s crying?

“You didn’t do anything,” he mumbles. “It’s me. It’s my problem. I’m the asshole. You’re painful and I can’t stand you sometimes and I don’t… I can’t… it’s not anything you did. It’s my stupid, garbage bullshit. You know I’m the worst of us all and you still think how I feel is because you did something wrong?”

All the wind is out of Karamatsu’s sails practically in an instant. He never considered before that Ichimatsu’s feelings about him could notbe his fault. After all, Ichimatsu is fine with the rest of their brothers. It’s only Karamatsu that he has a real, burning issue with. So how could he not think he’s done something to cause that?

After another few minutes of quiet, Karamatsu walks over and sits down next to Ichimatsu. Far enough away that he isn’t pressed up against his brother when Ichimatsu might not want that, close enough that it’s undeniable he’s here. He gently places the box of tissues from the table between them, taking one to wipe his own eyes.

He has a feeling they might end up needing these.

When he speaks up, he does so softly. “Ichimatsu… I think we need to talk. Just you and I.”

Ichimatsu lifts his head after a moment. It’s not a huge gesture, but it’s something that doesn’t push Karamatsu away.

“… Yeah. You’re probably right. Can I… have a tissue first?”

[ragnarachael]

57, 60 and 72?

i’m going to assume you’re letting me pick the character, and so i’ve decided on tva director!reader x loki from my series “the valiant arsonist”! you can check out/read from HERE!

LOKI TAGLIST: @shiningloki​, @bellesque​, @myraiswack​, @kidney9-9​, @deansblackbeauty​ (if you’d like to be added, just ask!!)

now if it wasn’t obvious: the text after the read more starts out somewhat PG, but progressively gets NSFW! as usual, don’t wanna see it from me, block the NSFT TEXT tag! just a warning, i... i got far too dirty i think. i don’t know how i did it. but i did. this is kinda not proofread, i’m far too tired for that. any mistakes or weirdly written scenes are on me!! i didn’t read this one four or five times to perfect it like everything else. (this is almost 4k. good christ.)

MASTERLIST !    FEEDBACK !   AO3 LINK !

THE VALIANT ARSONIST — ANGER

You and Loki were fighting. It’s plain as day to everyone in the offices when they approach the both of you. You were more of the silent, death glare type. Loki was... well. Loki was also the silent type. But, he just snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him and refused to try and cooperate.

It was Thursday. Meeting day not only for you and the board of directors that are working with the TVA, but also meeting day for Mills and Wilson’s team.

Which meant that Loki would be dressed up in his usual attire for those meetings: neat, crisp button down shirt, corresponding tie to the color of his shirt and more often than not followed by some black slacks.

Thursdays were your favorite days. Especially because of those slacks.

But since you were both still stuck in an argument, you found yourself leaving earlier for work like you had for the past week. Though, you did let yourself wear some flattering business casual clothes to try and convince Loki to break this stupid silence streak.

You wore his favorite pencil skirt—a deep emerald green fabric that nearly matched his favorite color if the fabric wasn’t a shade lighter—that was easily paired with your favorite cream colored blouse that accentuated your chest with the v-neckline. He loved the combo before, and you had no doubt he would try and pounce on you in some form.

But he didn’t. When he came in the office, you noticed he did the same thing as you.

He wore a whole black ensemble. Black shirt, black tie, black everything.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you watched him walk through the sea of desks in the main area from your own private office. “That asshole.”

He’s trying to one up you at your own game. You don’t know if he’s read your mind or whatever, but god dammit he’s trying to do what you’re doing. You and your husband really are alike.

Most of your day after your mindless meeting was spent in your office, reading through files for research and answering various emails as well as reconvening with your team for your newest time-clause case. It was a full day. You even tried the new coffee someone brought in and actually had a few more cups of that before calling it quits just as everyone was leaving for the day.

“It looks like we’ll just have to send out some more Chronomonitors to give us more information on this situation,” one of your agents sighed in the seat she dragged in front of your desk. “I know none of us would want to go out into that battle field.”

You groaned as your hands flew to rub at your neck, leaning back to slouch in your office chair. “I hate when you’re right, Maddie.”

“I know you do,” she teased, grabbing her bottle of water to take a drink. “That’s why you made me one of your right hands, ‘member?”

You snorted and rolled your head in a slow circle, some of the tension loosening in your neck.

“I do recall. I’ll get on that order form before leaving tonight, Mads. Thank you for the hard work today, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Maddie laughed and gathered the files in her hands as she made sure to take the rest of her belongings that she had around your office. Your hands started to gently rub down your face before you heard the zip of Maddie’s bag.

Then the door opened, and Loki seemed to willingly walk in. His sleeves were folded up neatly to show off his forearms as his hand that wasn’t resting on the doorknob was tucked neatly into his pocket.

“Maddie,” he greeted evenly, his eyes boring into your general direction as you started to slowly straighten in your seat from the sudden visit.

“Uh,” she started slowly, looking between the two of you as you both stared off. “Mr. Laufeyson—”

“Loki, please.” He kept his eyes on you as the tension grew, moving to open the door wider for Maddie to leave. “I’m merely a man visiting his wife. Not a higher-ranking agent.”

“Okay?” Maddie questioned softly before getting her things in her hands and her bag on her back before giving you one last goodbye before Loki was quick to shut the door behind her and lock it.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh,” you started, snorting as you watched Loki gracefully move to shut your blinds even though you’re more than sure you’re the last two in the office. “Now he wants to talk.”

“Don’t start that,” Loki replied, his head turning from the string to fix your blinds. 

“You and I haven’t talked in two days,” you huffed. “I’ll start whatever the fuck I want, Loki.”

Loki didn’t wince when he finally shut the blinds. He didn’t even retaliate with his down distaste for what you were both about to start.

The making up process.

He walked over to the chair Maddie had left in front of your desk, his large hands moving to rest on the top of the backrest as his eyes found yours again.

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to get yourself killed, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?” Loki said, his voice having a light tone of smug anger.

“My job is dangerous, Loki. We’ve been over this—”

“You’re a director, darling. Directors just have to sit and give their agents direction,” he explained to you, his voice raising slightly. “They don’t willingly go out into the field and just try to get shot at!”

“I owed it to my team—”

“You could have stayed here! Behind a desk! There is no reason to risk your life!”

“Oh don’t go feeding me that shit,” you seethed, starting to stand from your chair. You wanted to pace, but your feet guided you to stand against the front of your desk as your fingers clasped together tightly. “You get to risk your life and I don’t? That’s the biggest load of garbage I’ve heard, coming from you of all people.”

“That’s different,” Loki rebutted. “I have to go into the field. That is my job. That’s what I’ve done since I’ve been incarcerated at this trash heap.”

“You’re no longer wanted across timelines, Loki.” You crossed your arms over your chest then. “You haven’t been for a year and seven months. And I am aware it’s your job, but haven’t you considered that it’s mine—”

“’To protect and guide your agents by example,’” Loki finished for you as his hands flew from the chair to run through his hair as he took a moment to walk away from where you were now standing. “I’m aware. You’ve said the phrase before.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand when I say that you’re blowing this out of proportions.”

His whole body turned to look at you as his hands fell to his sides. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” You kept your face neutral at that sentence. It hurt to say, but you couldn’t show that. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Now, Loki can be terrifying. He certainly was when he made his way from the middle of the room back to you as you leaned against the edge of your desk, not even flinching when his magic sent the chair flying to the wall.

You wished this scared you. But you’ve known this man since he threatened to burn your place of work. You took what he did, hell even said at times, with a grain of salt.

“I am not—”

“Loki,” you hissed, your hands moving from their place on your chest to grab at his black silk tie, wrapping it around your knuckles before yanking his face close to your own. “You are. Admit it.”

“Make me, little girl.”

You couldn’t take the tension and finally just did what your brain had been screaming at you to do while you talked to Loki.

Kiss him.

So, that’s damn well what you did. Your lips slammed into his instantly, tongue slipping past Loki’s slightly parted lips to take the venomous words he was preparing to say away.

The funny part? Loki kissed back.

So much for being mad with each other.

Loki let everything else in his body resist for a moment before he finally just gave in, his hands cupping your sides almost immediately, starting to dominate your mouth with his tongue as you melted at the feeling of your desk digging into your ass through your clothes for the second time this month.

“You’re—” you breathed out between Loki’s assault “—you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad. You know that?”

The hum of a laugh Loki let out at this confession only made the heat between your legs increase, your heart race and your mind buzz from the sudden concern of someone hearing the two of you.

“Oh, darling. You have no idea what you’ve brought on.”

You wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but you were cut short by his lips again, his hands working on groping your ass through your skirt fabric before lifting you up as if you were nothing before dropping you onto your desktop.

Your hands let go of the tie and the gasp that left your kiss bruised lips as Loki started to nip harshly at your jawline cut into a bit of a squeak as Loki’s fingers started to drag against the outsides of your thighs that were covered by the fabric of your skirt. Your brain made the connection quick. He was looking for the side seams. You just knew it.

“My little girl’s smart, is she?” Loki mused deviously as his lips detached from your skin, his fingers finding just what he was looking for. “She’s only smart when she knows she’s going to get cock, hm?”

Your face heated up instantly as you noted that Loki wasn't hesitating to openly listen to your thoughts. You were... you were speechless. Your hands found their spots on his chest, debating on grabbing his tie again.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be getting any this evening,” Loki said softly, his eyes scanning your face to see if there was any sign of protest before smoothly grabbing your skirt fabric and ripping it up at the seams.

“Loki!”

“Perhaps a punishment is in order.” Once the fabric was discarded from the tops of your legs, Loki was quick to tug the rest of the poor fabric off your body before ripping your legs open and get a hand under the waistband of your underwear. “You’ve been quite bad, last I checked.”

All you could reply with was stutters. You didn’t plan on this half of the night, but god you didn’t need it to end.

You didn’t want it to end.

Loki cooed as his fingers found your aching clit, applying barely any pressure that was sure to drive you insane. “Look at you, a babbling mess. You thought you had the upper hand, didn’t you?”

“I—” Your words were cut off as two of his thick, long fingers thrusted into your weeping hole, your hands trying to collect fist fulls of Loki’s shirt. “Oh god.”

“Fuck,” Loki started headily, “you’re so tight. No wonder you’re missing my cock.”

You didn’t hesitate to pull your hands from his shirt and lay back on the desk to try enticing Loki to do something other than have his fingers deep inside your pussy, just barely touching your g-spot. “P-Please..”

“Only good girls get what they ask for, princess. And you’ve been everything but that.”

Just after Loki finished speaking, he finally moved his middle and ring fingers slowly. You could feel the gentle, cold scrape of his wedding band against your warm walls as his free hand boldly slid up your stomach and keep you flat against the surface of your desk.

“Making me worry, telling me that I’m in the wrong? No, no, little one. You and I know that’s not true,” Loki said, his hand finally lunging forwards to grab your throat firmly and lift you up to have your faces inches away from each other again. “If I weren’t feeling generous I would just ignore you and those dirty thoughts of yours. You’ve thought about this happening often this week, haven’t you? Taking my thick cock like it’s the first time as I take my anger out on your sweet, sweet body?”

You could only nod frantically in response, the feeling of not being able to get air sending another gush of arousal around the fingers that were starting to prod the soft part of your walls just a tad faster. Loki let out a dark chuckle.

“Dirty, dirty little cockslut, aren’t you? Maybe I should start calling you that. Do you like that name, dove? I do. I feel as if it suits you perfectly,” Loki purred, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers slipped out of your pussy, tugging at the scrap of underwear to have it snap in his hands before his lips pulled away from your own. “Take my cock out, girl.”

You were quick to rake your hands down from Loki’s wrist from when he grabbed your throat to his slacks, unbuckling his belt and working the button and zipper before being met with his heated skin beneath the fabric.

He planned this.

Loki’s hand loosened its grip on your throat as your fingers brushed against the shaft of his cock. He cleared his throat to gain your attention after you gripped him at the base.

“Is.. Is this alright? I know I'm meant to be mad at you—"

You surged forward and gave Loki a gentle kiss on the lips instantly to quell his sudden worry. "Loki, my love. You're okay. It's okay. We can talk it out properly later."

"Are you okay with that?" Loki questioned, brows raised slightly. It was a complete change from the dominant side he was showing just mere seconds ago. You felt your heart clench as you noticed his genuine concern.

"Yes, absolutely. I'm okay with that." You gave him a wide smile before tugging his cock in your hand suddenly to draw a gasp from his throat. "Now, what was this about me being your cockslut? I quite like the ring to it."

His lips slowly stretched into a smirk once he took a moment to let go of the sudden surge of worry. "Do you?"

"Why would I lie about how much I love your thick cock stretching me open—"

Loki cut you off with a groan, tightening his grip on your neck gently, "if you keep saying things like that, I'll be skipping the punishment. Now shut up and lay on your stomach."

You let out a breathy giggle then, your smile still wide and bright as you were quick to do as Loki told you. You wanted to whine when you felt his hand move from your throat to help you flip over, but you knew better than to do that now.

After all, you were getting punished in some way.

"Why don't you just skip it, agent?" You questioned innocently as you leaned your ass closer to Loki as his hands rubbed at your lower back gently. "We both know I can get punished later."

Loki seemed to actually take your words into consideration as his hands got to your ass, groping the plump flesh tightly before spreading you open to see just how wet you were. His nails dug into your skin slightly which made you mewl in pleasure before Loki let out a harsh sigh.

"You're such a—"

"Cockslut?" You questioned suddenly, flashing your smile over your shoulder as you looked at Loki. "I'm aware."

"Minx," Loki huffed, pulling your hips down so your hips hung over the edge of your desk. "Should have ignored my thoughts for once."

"I like when you tap out," you replied, gasping as Loki manhandled one of your legs to rest up on the desktop. "'S hot."

"Like I said, darling." You weren't sure as to what was happening until you heard some clanking from a belt and felt his searing hot cock thrust into your cunt without giving you a warning. He leaned down where your head rested against the mahogany as you moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion. "Cockslut."

Once he spoke, Loki didn't waste any time to thrust into your pussy that was clenching around his cock like a vice. He made a comment about not even being able to thrust into you from how tight your cunt had a hold on him, and if you were coherent, you'd be blushing from those words and the sounds you were hearing the both of you make alone. But you were enjoying the pleasure that had started to steadily build from the feeling of Loki's cock stretching you open.

You missed fucking Loki. That's what this was.

Loki was nothing less than animalistic, gripping your hips tight enough you knew you'd be bruised by the time you came. You could feel your orgasam creeping up already.

"Look at you," Loki said in between his slowing thrusts to tease you. "Spread out. Willing. You were made for this, darling. Maybe I should keep your cunt filled up more often."

"Please!" You whimpered, your head turning to look over your shoulder to watch Loki's hips slowly thrust against your ass.

"You'd love that, hm? Should I cum in your pussy tonight and let you walk out of here sated with my seed?" 

The both of you froze at that comment.

Well, your bodies froze, for the most part. Your pussy flexed around his cock that twitched with need.

He wasn't too sure what had gotten into him, it might have been from the porn he found himself watching the other night when you didn't come home until late, if he was being honest. But noticing how you writhed and let out a loud moan come out after the initial shock statement, that was all the convincing he needed to finally pull out of you to flip you back over before slamming back into your cunt with the sudden need to actually fulfill that very wish.

Because fuck that turned the both of you on, and he wanted—no, needed to see your pussy dripping with his cum.

Loki's body covered your own as his hips pistoned into your own, his cock hitting all the spots you've missed feeling stimulated as your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him down in a heated kiss. Your lips barely met and you let out a shaky laugh before it was cut out with a loud moan, feeling Loki's cock jab at your g-spot head on.

You wrapped your legs around him the best you could then, moaning his name as your nails started to dig in his dress shirt. "F-Fuck! Loki, p-please!"

"Please what, baby?" He questioned evenly as he pulled away from your neck where his head landed after his lips missed your own. "You want to cum on my cock?"

All you could manage was a nod as Loki's hand slipped between your bodies to start rolling your clit between his fingers. His thrusting seemed to only speed up with his words as you tried to keep your noises down as our mouth dropped open in a perfect 'o' shape. "Cum for me. Let that pretty little pussy cum around my cock and I'll be sure to reward you the way you deserve, sweetheart."

You let yourself go. Literally. Loki's fingers rubbing your clit frantically mixed with his deep, heated thrusts? There was no other choice. Your walls tensed around his cock as your hands grabbed tight handfuls of his shirt, moaning loudly as your orgasam rocked your entire body into ecstasy. Your body twitched with pleasure as Loki kept fucking into you with the same breakneck speed, his fingers slowing down slightly.

"So fucking good," Loki huffed as his hips stuttered with their thrusts, "are you sure we shouldn't invest in our own desk?"

"S-Shut the hell up, Laufeyson," you stuttered suddenly, purposefully gyrating your hips to have your pussy clench around Loki's twitching cock. "Cum inside me, now."

Usually, Loki would laugh at you being demanding, especially in a moment like this, but the hard edge of your voice mixed with the noises his cock was making with every thrust inside of you? He was cumming. Hard. He came with a final deep thrust, groaning your name loudly as his hands grabbed at your body in any way possible to ground him from the sensation. His cum was hot as his hips jerked slightly from the left over sensations. 

You've never felt so full and satisfied after a fuck in your office until tonight. You heard Loki laugh breathlessly and you just knew he heard your thoughts. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath in the positions you were left in after your release, both of your remaining clothes clinging to your sweaty skin.

Eventually, Loki found himself slowly pulling his softened cock from your spent hole, only to watch his cum dribble out slowly. You both groaned. Both from the sight and the sensation when he had finally pulled out. Part of you wanted to keep the mess between your legs, terribly bad. But your rational side and Loki agreed that you should most likely get cleaned up. With a gentle huff you nodded at Loki to magic away the mess.

It was quiet as you both tried to move around your office to clean up the rest of the space properly. The tension was... gone. Not completely, but certainly less taxing than it was earlier. You walking around bottomless around Loki however wasn't helping either of you.

You were the first to speak up as you picked up your shredded skirt and underwear.

"That was—"

"Hot," Loki finished for you immediately. "That was.. so fucking hot."

"Yeah," you said, laughing softly. "It was."

"Listen, darling," Loki started gently, walking away from the chair he placed back in it's rightful spot, "I'm sorry that I've been mad about this. At you."

"You had every right to be, Loki. I didn't tell you the risk I was going to take, I didn't want you to worry all day." You turned to look at him, a small frown on your face. "I kind of broke that agreement. I'm sorry."

Loki's hands were quick to cup your face gently as he shook his head. "What am I to do with you?"

"Well, some pants would be a good start—"

"Shush," Loki snorted, the both of you shaking with laughter. "I'll get there with you, you vixen."

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon Chapter Seventeen: At a Loss for Words

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Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Papyrus doesn’t miss his brother’s jokes or pranks or anything, no, of course not...

"Sans! Do you know where my copy of 'Puzzles for Inquiring Minds' went? I can't find it but it must be here somewhere!" Papyrus called, digging through the pile of papers on his bedroom floor. He was finally sorting through the mess he'd left, organizing the scattered blueprints and sketches into much neater piles to be filed away later. But he couldn't imagine where that book had gotten to.

"Sans! Did you hear me? ...Are you even home?"

He sighed, and got up to peer into the living room. Ever since Sans had remembered his shortcut ability, he'd been making good use of it, and Papyrus was never sure where he went. Sans never told him. Not that he could. But, to his mild surprise, Sans was dozing on the couch.

"Sans!"

His brother jolted awake, then looked up at him blearily.

"I need your help finding--wait is that it under the couch?" Papyrus leapt down and slid his hand under, withdrawing the battered puzzle book. "Well, I have no idea how that got there, but I suppose, in a way, you still helped me find it. So. Thank? You?"

Sans merely huffed before settling down to sleep again. Papyrus eyed him, then headed upstairs with his book to file it properly. He slid it into place on the shelf, then sat back with brows furrowed. Something was missing... No, there weren't any empty spots left, so it wasn't a book... He looked over to his table and quickly assessed his action figures--they all seemed to be in place too. His things were in order, so why did he expect something more...?

It was quiet.

Sans would've had a joke about the misplaced book. Papyrus curled his tail around his feet, and shut his eyes. It was fine if Sans didn't want to talk! His various warbles and hoots often got the point across well enough, and it still sounded like him, and he still found ways to joke around even if it wasn't wordplay. It was fine--Papyrus wasn't even sure why he missed hearing his brother's dumb jokes and trolling so much. He'd heard them all, seen that spark in Sans' eye as he thought of them, groaned at the most inane reaches of wordplay countless times. He didn't need to hear them again. But... No, Sans would get his voice back in time, there was no point dwelling on it. He took a deep breath, and went back to organizing the rest of his things, humming to himself to break up the silence.

He surveyed his work, and nodded with satisfaction--his books had been fully rearranged, divided by subject and ordered alphabetically. He'd sorted all his blueprints and schematics into folders, and his action figures were aligned into their current teams. He'd moved the rug to cover the spot he'd burnt--he'd see about getting it replaced soon, but for now it was the best he could do. Everything was clean and orderly, just as it should be. He trotted out and headed downstairs.

"Sans! With my bedroom completely refreshed, we should go out! I want to see if I can find any good carpet in the dump, but who knows what else could be there? It's been so long since we looked, there's bound to be something incredible!"

Sans blinked an eye open to study him, but otherwise made no effort to move.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Papyrus beamed at him, bouncing in place. It seemed to work, because  Sans studied him a moment longer, then got up with a yawn, stretched, then hopped to the floor and looked at him expectantly. Well, he wasn't about to let him down. He led the charge out, and glanced back to see Sans was trotting after him dutifully. It was almost like old times, and he took solace in that.

Sans walked closer to him as they passed through Waterfall, and Papyrus noted how he seemed to be scanning every shadow and crevice, eyelights darting. Sans was... nervous? Papyrus slowed his own pace--truth be told, the bottomless chasms and roaring water were setting his instincts off too, but he knew they'd be safe--they'd traveled through here dozens of times, nothing would hurt them. Besides, they were coming up to the wishing room, and Sans had always liked that spot. That would brighten his day--literally.

"Sans! Look up! The stars are especially bright today, look!" he exclaimed when they entered, and darted ahead to take in the sight--a million twinkling crystals embedded in the stone all around them. Their pale light washed everything in a soft blue glow, and he sat to appreciate the atmosphere and give his brother a chance to catch up.

Sans padded up slowly, occasionally glancing at the stars but still looking over his shoulders more until he reached him. Only then did he allow himself to look at the stars for any length of time, but something still made him scan their surroundings every few moments, staring at shadows as if to make sure they wouldn't move. And even when he did glance upwards, he didn't so much look at the stars as look for something--that look of calm, wistful wonder Sans usually wore when he contemplated the universe never appeared.

"Sans? Is something wrong?" Papyrus asked, glancing around himself and wondering if there was something he wasn't picking up on. Nothing looked out of place, nothing smelled wrong--but Sans was acting like they were in danger.

Sans looked up at him briefly, before turning away and uttering a low growl. Heart sinking, Papyrus realized his brother might have slipped--it tracked with how he'd been acting all day. Well, he'd have to get him back on track. What did he usually like to talk about here in the star room? It'd been so long, Papyrus couldn't quite remember... but he had to try!

"Not to worry, brother! We're safe here, and besides, how can you ignore all this? Do you remember when we found that human book about constellations, and we spent all day here trying to find them? We also decided to make our own since humans didn't have any skeleton constellations... Let's see... oh! There it is, the Big Skull! Shining brightly as ever!"

Sans followed his finger, then looked around--he couldn't see the constellation, but at least he was really looking at the stars now.

"You used to tell me about what real stars are, too. These are very pretty, but, you said the real stars are huge burning balls of fire or something, right? And, they're so far away, not even the humans have ever been to one. Um... there's different colors... yellow, white, red, even blue! I wonder if they come in other colors, but I don't remember. There was other cool stuff too, wasn't there?"

Sans looked up at him, then back to the stars. He'd calmed enough to lie down next to him, and seemed to be content just watching as waves of ambient magic flowed through the crystals, making their light waver. It really was amazing, and Papyrus was sure that even if the real stars couldn't be beat, this was a natural wonder all on its own. Who knew how long monsters had been wishing on these, filling them with their hopes and dreams...

He picked one--a bright, steady light that made one of the eyes in the Big Skull--and made a wish of his own.

"Okay Sans, though I'm sure we could stay here stargazing forever, we did have a mission today!" he prompted, standing up. "If you thought that was fun, just wait until we get to the dump!"

Sans crooned, then got up to follow him. He wasn't sure he'd managed to engage him enough, but there'd be plenty more chances, and perhaps he'd set the ball rolling. They continued to weave through the passages and wind down halls, splashing through cold, clear water until finally--they came to a small landing, and a rank smell informed them they'd made it to the dump.

Bad as the smell was, the piles of debris held endless possibilities, and Papyrus darted for the first one he saw. He circled it, sniffing at anything that looked interesting, clawing at pieces that caught his eye. Most of it was truly garbage--old food wrappers, filthy rags, broken plastic shells of electronics well beyond repair. But he found a deflated rubber ball that after some rinsing was fun to toss and shake in his jaws. This excursion was already looking like a success! He tucked it into his satchel and turned to see what luck his brother was having.

Sans was sitting in the middle of the room near where they'd entered, unmoving. He was soaked--in many places the water had come up to his chest, and here it was no different--but he didn't seem to care. Papyrus wasn't sure he would have normally--but seeing him like this didn't ease his worry.

"Sans! Don't just sit there! Come help me find cool garbage!"

Sans started, but didn't move. Papyrus sighed.

"Okay, well, if you just want to sit in the mud that's fine. I'm still going to look around!"

He continued his search, overturning sodden boxes and digging into moldering clothes; his heart leapt with excitement when he found a box of discarded books--but they'd been soaked, and the first one he opened fell apart, its pages illegible. Maybe someone else could take the time or had the skill to salvage them, but he had to move on. The next heap looked quite promising! He leapt onto it, sending a few things sliding, but it already looked lopsided so he wasn't messing up whoever liked to come by and sort the piles into some semblance of order. He could appreciate their devotion to cleanliness in the face of chaos--but there were treasures to find.

He began to dig his claws in, hoping to find such treasure, but something sent up an alert in his mind--a smell? He sniffed again, blocking out the damp stench of the regular garbage to hone in on it. It was faint--old. But somehow familiar, and he dug again to stir it up. It smelled... it smelled...

Like bone.

But there was something else. It was stronger--coming from nearby. Grassy, but withered--he dug more, and uncovered a dried-up stem. He clawed at it, refreshing the scent. Was this the grass smell? Yes, but not regular grass--it smelled just like... golden flowers. Papyrus jerked his head back. He pawed cautiously at the withered vegetation, mind churning. Bone, and golden flower. He stuck his nose back in, just to be sure. Bone, and flower, and old grease and the brand of ketchup Sans liked.

There was no mistaking it. The scents were weeks--maybe months--old, but they lingered. Papyrus looked back up at his brother, who still sat in the cold, swirling water. He remembered how Flowey had lied to Undyne about knowing where Sans was. He remembered how furious Sans had been at the mere mention of a golden flower. He turned the bit of plant--the tip of a vine--over with his claw, noting how the end was torn, and had no doubt. This was where his brother had met Flowey, and it hadn't been the friendly connection Papyrus had hoped.

Papyrus sighed. At least it meant Sans hadn't chosen to leave him all that time ago...

"Okay Sans, we can go home." He hopped from the garbage, splashing down. "I don't think there's much here after all, and, you don't seem to be having fun, so, let's get cleaned up. Why don't we take the ferry? Or, if you really want to get going, we, um, could... just take a shortcut."

Papyrus could hardly believe himself for making the suggestion. But if this place brought back bad memories--ones fresher than their days as experiments--then they didn't need to stay any longer. He trotted to where the water was clear, kicked his hands and feet free of mud and debris, then dunked his snout in to wash the smell of garbage out. Sans merely watched him, and once Papyrus had finished snorting water out of his nose he turned to him.

"Okay, brother! If you were waiting to take us home, you may now do it!"

Sans tilted his head, and Papyrus blinked.

"Don't give me that look! Using a shortcut, naturally. Even if I don't approve, they are quite handy for getting somewhere fast. I know you've cut home from farther away, so this should be easy!"

Sans only continued to give him a confused look. He raised a paw as if to step, but set it back down, uncertain.

"Sans... you can't have slipped this far again, can you?" Papyrus said sadly. He knew it could be a struggle--he'd gone through it himself--but it hadn't been so long ago that Sans had encouraged him to tell Alphys and Undyne their story. He'd been joking, albeit wordlessly, only a few days ago. Papyrus had thought he'd been getting enough stimulation, but... "Maybe today's just a bad day. That's okay! They happen! We can just take the ferry if shortcuts are too much right now."

The journey home was quiet; even the Riverperson only hummed softly as they navigated towards Snowdin. Once they got home, Sans clambered back onto the couch to doze once more, and Papyrus headed up to occupy himself with puzzle design. He needed to keep himself sharp too--if only to figure out how to help his brother. He got out his paper and pencils, and began sketching.

"Sans I think I've done it!" he cheered, bursting from his room some hours later. "This puzzle is going to stump any human who dares attempt it. Look!

He charged down to lay the blueprints out in front of Sans, who was still blinking wearily after being startled awake by his brother for the second time that day.

"I realized I could combine the challenge of a pressure plate lock with those steam vents Hotland is so irritatingly fond of, only I'll use spring-loaded levers instead because I have class--but, anyway, here's the pattern! Isn't is brilliant?"

Sans looked from the paper in front of him to his brother, then back to the paper--but only to nibble playfully at it. Papyrus yanked it away.

"No! You can't eat it!! Ugh! As always, my efforts go unappreciated," he sighed dramatically. "I'll refine the design and present it to Undyne tomorrow. She'll have something to say!"

He ignored the sinking feeling. At least Sans had done something silly. But he couldn't help wishing he'd said something instead.

To Papyrus' relief, it had just been a bad day after all. Sans woke up the next morning, stared at his hands for a bit, then shook himself out before shortcutting out, presumably for breakfast. When he returned, Papyrus was ready with a bag slung over his spines.

"Sans! You should come with me--I'm going to scout out the location for my new puzzle, and I'll need an assistant to hold my things. Surely you can manage that?"

Sans studied him, then uttered a hoot as he shrugged. That was good enough.

"Fantastic! Let's be off then!"

He charged out, kicking up snow, and wasn't shocked to find Sans waiting for him along the way. But he trotted after him once they'd met up, and Papyrus slowed his pace just enough that his brother could keep close. They reached the clearing Papyrus had in mind, and he set the bag down before turning to Sans to relay his brilliant plan.

"We've arrived! It doesn't look like much now... but this field is merely the canvas upon which I, premier puzzle architect, shall paint my latest masterpiece!"

He paused, and Sans opened his mouth--but as usual, the only sound he could make was an odd warble. He seemed disappointed, and Papyrus hoped his own concern wasn't obvious as he continued his monologue

"A-and! So, what I need you to do is hold the map while I survey the area and make sure my build zone is clear. Got it?"

Sans huffed and dipped his head.

"Good! Alright, here's the map. Let's get surveying!"

Sans took the map in his jaws and sat while Papyrus inspected the field. That tree was just barely in the way; whoops, there was a rock there, that was no good--hey, someone had already started a puzzle here ages ago. He'd have to tear that out. He reached into a snow poff and pulled out a little white dog--it yipped at him, and he lowered it back in. He couldn't build his puzzle anywhere near that. He finished his inspection, and headed back to his brother to see how the map looked.

"Alright, let's see... Sans!"

His brother tilted his head.

"You didn't mark any of the obstacles!"

Sans tilted his head the other way, doing his best to look innocent. Papyrus blinked, realization dawning on him. He'd only told Sans to hold the map, not mark it too, and groaned as he smacked a palm across his face.

"Ugh, of course!! Okay. This time, I'll hold the map, and you go find all the stuff that's in my way. It should be easy, since I already found all of them. Give me the map."

Sans passed it back, then laid down.

"No! Sans!! You have to tell me where the old puzzles and tree roots and dogs are so I can avoid them!"

Sans waved a claw in the general direction of the field, grumbling something.

"Saaaans!" Papyrus cried, stomping his foot and earning low, hissing chuckles from his brother. "Oh, I see! This is a game to you! Well, I'll have you know I take my games very seriously! And! I've never been beaten yet! Nyeheheheh!"

He ended up marking the map himself while Sans watched with amusement. He didn't mind--he was just happy Sans was playing with him like he always would. He missed the banter that would usually accompany it, but... after yesterday, he'd take what he could get.

"There, the map has been marked, no thanks to you," he said when he'd finished. "Now I can plot my setup properly. But first, this snow has to go!"

He found himself expecting a pun, but none came, so he instead focused on his magic and summoned long horizontal bones to sweep the field, clearing a wide swath. He summoned another set, and sent them the other way, pushing even more snow away and leaving only a thin dusting over the ground. Time for the final step. He concentrated, and summoned a trio of his special attacks. They fired simultaneously, melting the remaining snow away and leaving the ground steaming.

"Perfect. All set for the site of a truly excellent puzzle. Wouldn't you agree, Sans?"

Sans hooted his approval, and Papyrus recognized the look in his eyes. He must've thought his snow-clearing technique was really cool--he looked proud of him. He'd probably have made some dumb joke about it to hide how he really felt, but he only watched and waited for what he'd do next.

"Okay, I think that's all for today. Help me put up this caution tape so passers-by don't accidentally set foot on the site and mess it up."

The 'caution tape' was just toilet paper with 'CAUTION: BRILLIANT PUZZLE ARCHITECT (PAPYRUS) AT WORK' written on it in marker, but Papyrus was nothing if not resourceful. He set up a perimeter of bones, slotted the paper tube between a pair of his brother's upper and lower fangs, then ran with the free end around his setup a few times and tied it off.

"Well, a job well done, mostly by me," he congratulated as he surveyed his work. "But, it was nice to have you here too, brother."

Sans rumbled in apparent agreement.

"Tomorrow, I'll begin laying everything out. I think I spotted some scrap metal at the dump yesterday that should work quite well... You don't have to come with to get it, I know that'd... be a lot for you..."

Sans just looked at him. Maybe he didn't remember how yesterday had gone.

"But! That's enough for now! Let's go home and have lunch, and then decide what the afternoon is for."

As they walked back, the quiet of Snowdin's forest settled in around them; it was hard to believe they'd once fled into the surrounding woods with the intention of never coming back. Papyrus found himself feeling anxious at the memory, and momentarily quickened his pace before realizing he was leaving Sans behind. He looked back, and saw Sans looking at him curiously.

"Sorry Sans, I just.... We spent a long time out there in the woods, and, while Snowdin is definitely still my ideal location for our base of operations, it's... perhaps a little soon to be frolicking out here again. It won't bother me forever! Don't worry! But I'd like to get home."

Sans crooned sadly, and the next corner they rounded put them right in the living room.

"Oh! Sans! I didn't mean I didn't want to walk... Oh well, I suppose it's too late now..."

The room blinked, and they were back on the road. Sans was smiling at him mischievously.

"Oooh! Sans!!! Cut it out!" he howled, lunging at him to knock him over. Sans sprung out of the way, his true agility on rare display. Papyrus continued to chase after him, managing to succeed only because Sans was in even less shape than usual. He caught up with him quickly and pushed him into a snowbank.

"Now you'll chill out! Nyeh heh heh heh!" Papyrus teased as his brother rose from the drift and shook off.

Sans opened his jaws--but only a low hoot came out, and he paused a moment before giving a resigned shrug. Papyrus felt his heart sink yet again.

"Oh Sans, I know you'll get your voice back soon! You just have to keep trying... but, if you really don't want to talk, I suppose I can tell the jokes for both of us..."

Sans blinked, and uttered an inquiring hoot.

"It's fine, really! All your puns are very easy to replicate, so, I'll have no trouble filling in! It'll be 'snow' problem! Nyeh!"

Sans snorted, looking amused and concerned at the same time.

"What, you think I can't? I never expected I'd get such a cold reception, especially from my own brother!"

Okay, Sans was laughing now, good. He didn't want him to feel bad for not working as hard as he did, even if he did want him to work harder. Sans working hard recently had... not been good.

But it was lonely. Papyrus couldn't deny it anymore. He didn't remember the last time Sans had actually told him a joke even when he'd been able to. And now, sure, he still found ways to be obnoxious and clown around, but there wasn't the banter Papyrus loved. There wasn't the subtle encouragement or occasionally truly thoughtful musings. He was making progress on his new puzzle, but Sans wasn't there to double-check his work and point out oversights with brotherly ribbing.

Papyrus could easily fill the void with his own voice, but it just wasn't the same.

"Geez, and it seems like he still won't even try?" Undyne said when he'd shared his feelings during a sparring match.

"Well, he'll sometimes act like he wants to say something, but, when it doesn't come out right, he just kind of gives up," Papyrus sighed as he deflected a spear. "I've been telling puns in his place, but, I'm tired of the conversation being so one-sided. And I think maybe he is too."

"Aw man," Undyne uttered, finishing her volley. "So, what are you gonna do? Do I need to noogie some sense into him or what?"

"No, no!" Papyrus declined as he set up his attack and sent it at her, "I think he just needs some encouragement, which I am very good at. I'll figure something out! He's bounced back from this kind of thing before, I know he can do it again!"

"Hmm... Well, maybe you should just tell him what you told me," Undyne suggested, finishing an artful dodge around his attack, "and even though I know that's easier said than... said, how else is he supposed to know?"

Papyrus huffed. "That would cut to the chase, wouldn't it. I just have to hope he understands... I'm... not always sure what gets through...."

"He's still slipping sometimes?" Undyne asked sadly, and he nodded but smiled anyway.

"Not for very long! He has bad days and good days, and it's usually more good than bad, but, I can tell it... doesn't really... It's not a thing that worries him, so he doesn't do anything about it."

"Geez, well, sounds like you need to get encouraging him, huh?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

They finished their sparring match and retreated indoors for drinks, discussing the latest nonsense Mettaton had gotten up to and what their next cooking endeavor should be now that they knew about instructions over tea. Papyrus shared the blueprints for his new puzzle--which Undyne thought needed more spikes and fire pits. He'd normally agree, but that wasn't the tone he was going for so he politely disregarded her suggestions. He left her house that evening feeling revitalized; he'd forgotten how nice it was to have a full conversation.

He clattered in, and immediately bristled--he smelled the mess before he saw it. He dashed into the kitchen, where torn and broken containers littered the floor. Sans stood half in the fridge, the shelves askew as he'd forced his way in to scavenge.

"SANS!"

Sans startled, skittering backwards and knocking even more tubs of leftovers to the floor. Pulling free, he stared at Papyrus with eyes wide, his snout stained with the evidence of his crimes. He'd broken into the newly reopened food museum and destroyed it.

"Sans, I can't believe you!" Papyrus scolded, tail lashing. "I'd ask why, but not only do I already know why, it's not like you'd even answer! Ugh! You knew I was going to be back soon, you could have just waited! Or gone to Grillby's like you always do!"

Sans glanced away, then sat with a sorry whimper.

"Fine, but you're helping me clean this up! This is the worst mess of things you've made yet!"

Sans whimpered again, and tried to approach to give an appeasing nuzzle--but Papyrus pushed him away.

"Oh no, not until you clean yourself up too! I can't believe you're my brother sometimes, ugh!!"

Sans backed away, looking defeated. He cast about, then tried to gather up some of the wayward containers, sweeping them into a pile with his claws. He looked up and gave a questioning hoot, but Papyrus snorted.

"No, you can do better than that! Come on, let's get the shelves cleaned off and put back in first."

The whole process took longer than if Papyrus had just done it himself, but Sans had clearly slipped again--hard, this time. He struggled to use his hands instead of his jaws to manipulate the items he'd scattered, didn't understand the order they needed to do things in, and Papyrus kept having to get him back on task. He was so frustrated that when Sans tried to sneak a few more bites, he hissed at him--it stopped Sans on the spot, but he spent the rest of the time worried he'd begun slipping too.

They finally finished the fridge, and Papyrus grabbed a washcloth and his brother's skull to give it a proper scrub; Sans protested only weakly before quieting down and laying still until the ordeal was over. Papyrus tossed the washcloth in with the rest of the towels they'd used to wipe up the fridge, then trotted to the living room with a huff. It'd been a while since he'd been so genuinely frustrated with his brother.

Sans lay on the kitchen floor for a while before finally getting to his feet slowly. He plodded into the living room, saw Papyrus had taken the couch to watch TV, and settled to the floor nearby. Papyrus didn't want to talk to him. He hadn't even done anything that bad or surprising--the fridge was a beacon of temptation for a monster who liked food as much as Sans did. But he wasn't even trying to resist, or be more like his true self, even when everything had otherwise gone back to normal. It felt like he didn't care--about himself, or about him. And that was what had Papyrus upset.

The following day remained tense. Papyrus was still frustrated, and ignored his brother while he bustled around the house and got ready to continue working on his puzzle, paying no mind when he hooted an inquiry at him. He couldn't even tell if Sans was with it today or not, and didn't want his help anyway. He hurried out, and threw himself into puzzle construction.

At one point, he felt a presence--someone watching him. His instincts told him to look, it could be danger--but he refused, focused on digging the trench for an electrical line. He had work to do, and he wasn't going to let anyone distract him. He'd forgive his brother eventually--it wasn't really Sans' fault he was like this. But right now, Papyrus was tired of having a beast for a brother.

He finished digging out the placements for his pressure pads, and wiped his claws in the snow before picking up the tools he'd brought and heading for home. There were tracks in the fresh powder--so Sans had been out here at some point. Papyrus huffed. Who knew what he'd come back to this time.

But he opened the door and found everything in order. There were no new smells, and Sans was laying on the couch, watching TV. He got up when Papyrus entered, trilling a greeting--but Papyrus sighed and trotted past. Sans watched him go, and was quiet the rest of the evening, even as Papyrus went about making dinner. There was nothing to say.

Papyrus found the house empty when he got up the next morning.

"Sans?"

His room was empty, as were the living room and kitchen, and a pit of dread formed within Papyrus' ribs. Had he pushed him away? Had he fled, for the final time, to live as the beast he thought himself to be? Had he lost him for good...? He paced, and that's when he finally noticed the sheet of paper on the floor where Sans had laid the other night. For a brief moment Papyrus considered the possibility his brother had become stationery... then realized it was a pun, and had to choke back his own laughter. He'd have to tell Sans that joke at some point, provided they could get everything between them sorted out. He approached the paper, and studied it.

It was crudely drawn--Sans had never been artistically inclined like he was, and he hadn't been practicing his manual dexterity, so the rough, unsteady lines were to be expected. But the scene was clear--Sans had drawn stars along the top of the page, and a line at the bottom representing the ground. There was even a scribbled out attempt at an echo flower. It was the wishing room, and in the center of the page, he'd drawn a little stick figure of himself looking up. Was that where he'd gone...?

Papyrus set out at a brisk trot. The wishing room wasn't far, it'd be easy to find out what his brother was up to. He wove past other early risers and leapt over bridge seed puzzles before finally arriving at the cavern, eyes darting. It wasn't a large room, so his brother had to be close... There! The soft light reflecting off his bones almost made Sans appear to glow. He was sitting near the far end of the passage, looking up at the stars just as he'd drawn. Papyrus approached slowly, unsure what his brother was planning--it was just as likely a prank as it was something genuine.

Sans saw him approaching, and the relief that crossed his face was clear. Maybe this wasn't a prank. He stood as Papyrus drew near, and for a moment, they simply faced one another. Sans opened his mouth.

"hhhheya brro," he rasped.

Papyrus tackled him.

"SANS!" Papyrus yelled, but this time it was out of joy. "You--you did it! You're talking again! I'm so--it's--Sans!!!"

Sans chuckled, not even trying to fight the pile he'd been wrapped up in. "ssstill hard, but, tryin'. wanted to. sssay sorry. for letting you down."

Papyrus extracted himself enough to look his brother in the eyes. "Oh Sans, I'm--I'm sorry for being so cross with you. It, just... I missed you! A lot! But it was like you didn't even want to try..."

Sans thudded his skull against his brother's chest. "sssorry. did want to sometimmmess. didn't want to... a lot. hard to choose. easy to... not think about it. but. like i ssaid. couldn't let you down."

"Oh Sans... I'm very, very glad that you tried! And! Succeeded!! In only one night? Normally you'd be sound asleep!"

"couldn't," Sans replied, his smile seeming bittersweet. "not with you mad. so, went out, howled, made noises i didn't know i could. glad i didn't sleep."

"W-well, I'm glad too. And, um... will you keep trying?"

"listen, i, uhhh, think i better. maybe it's easier to... not deal with everything, but... it's leaving you hanging, and, i can't do that to my bro."

"And you made me come all the way out here just to tell me this?"

Sans shrugged, finally pulling free to shake himself out. "dunno. felt right. think you tried to talk to me here a little bit ago or ssssomething?"

"I did! I'm glad you remember!"

"yeah. stars. i remember you talking about the stars, and how it was the calmest i felt that day. so, coming back here... just made sense."

"Wowie. That's very poetic, Sans."

"hey, i'm good for more than just puns sometimes," Sans said with a wink, and for the first time in ages, Papyrus felt like he really had his bother back

"Hard to believe as it is, it's true," Papyrus agreed, standing as well. "What may also be hard to believe is how much I've missed said puns."

"well, i'll do my best to make up for lost time," Sans replied lightly as they started to walk back. "just might take me a bit to get... star-ted."

"Oh my god," Papyrus said, but couldn't stop smiling. "Clearly, it will not."

[snarkythewoecrow]

Dialogue prompt for Tony and Peter - “Nothing doing, kiddo. Reye’s Syndrome is the last thing you need.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what the first part of the prompt was supposed to be. I thought it might be a typo, so I just used the second line. It turned out to be a fun, light sickfic. Hope it’s close to something you wanted :) special thanks to @red-leafy and @workadayfan for their help. I would still be staring at the screen without them

--

Peter didn’t think he could get sick. It had been years since he had something more substantial than a sniffle, but now it was like his body was making up for lost time.

He was absolutely miserable. His body ached, each muscle and joint making itself known. His head hurt, and there was building pressure in his sinuses that made him feel like his eyes were going to pop out. And to top it all off, he’d come down with whatever virus this was on his road trip with Tony. They’d been planning this for months, and now it was ruined. 

It was supposed to be his last hurrah with his mentor before college. They were going to drive around the country over the course of two weeks, stay in fancy hotels, and visit things like the biggest ball of twine and going to pet alligators in Arkansas. 

The trip was supposed to be fun, but somewhere between Ben and Jerry’s Flavor Graveyard and the mini Jurassic Park in Connecticut, Peter had come down with something that could only be described as the plague. He felt awful, and even without a thermometer, he knew he was burning up. 

Tony was driving them to the next hotel, already having called Bruce to ask for advice. His recommendation was rest and fluids. Peter was down for that. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his head felt fuzzy. Sleep would be a blessing. 

Peter finished his bottle of water, sticking the empty container back in the cupholder. He groaned, his headache pounding.

“How’re you holding up?” Tony glanced at him, his mouth turned down. 

Peter laid his head back against the rest and closed his eyes. “I’d kill for some Tylenol.”

“Have you checked the glovebox? There might be a few packets of something.”

“I looked before. The only thing in there are dubious-looking ketchup packets.”

Tony huffed, then looking away from the road for a second, he dug in the center console. “I swear I had something in here.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark. Can we just stop at a gas station or something? They’ve got to have something.”

Tony turned his attention back to the road. “Yeah, I’ll get off at the next exit, and we’ll see what we can find. Try to rest until then.”

“No problem there. I’m too tired to do anything else.”

Peter drifted off, dreaming of dinosaurs and balls of twine. Someone jostling his shoulder woke him up a little while later, and he blinked, looking around in a daze. He rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?”

“Speedy Gas. I need to fill up, and hopefully, we can find something to make you feel a little better.”

Peter hummed in response, unbuckling his seatbelt. His nose twitched, and he tried forcing air through the swollen passages. It didn’t work. “I’ll go check out the store. Do you need anything while I’m in there?”

“One of those Starbuck’s Double Shot Expresso drinks, mocha flavored. Here take this,” Tony said, passing him a black card. “Get whatever you want.”

Peter nodded, hand moving to the door. “Be right back.”

Peter searched the store, but he could only find a single packet of aspirin. It wasn’t likely to do much for him, but he bought it anyway, along with Tony’s drink and a water for himself. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, but he wasn’t hungry. He felt too miserable to eat. 

After paying for everything, he took his haul back out to the car and met Tony, who had just finished pumping. Peter slipped into his seat, tossing their empty bottles from earlier into the back. They’d been throwing their trash into the backseat for the whole trip. The trash heap had begun to encroach on the front seat. Peter shoved it back and then turned back around. They could clean the car later. Tony had said it was about being a free spirit or something. Peter just thought they were both lazy. 

Setting the new drinks in the cup holders, Peter glanced over when Tony got back in the car. The man eyed the backseat with a frown. 

“I think there might be something growing in there.”

Peter huffed. “You think? At least it doesn’t smell yet.”

Tony sighed, starting the car. “Maybe we should take some of the worst garbage out at the next hotel. Did you get something for your headache?”

Tony still hadn’t pulled away from the pump. He reached across and pressed his hand to Peter’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Peter grunted, holding up the packet of aspirin. “I got this. It should help.”

Tony’s brows pinched together, then he snatched it from Peter’s hand. “Nope, none for you. Sorry.”

“What? I’m sorry but wasn’t that the whole point of stopping? You just said it. I’m burning up.”

Tony’s eyes squinted as he read the back of the packet. “Just like I thought. Reye’s syndrome is the last thing you need right now.”

“Reye’s what?” Peter asked, feeling way too sick for this shit. 

“It’s a syndrome kids can get from taking aspirin when they have a fever. Something I learned after we had Morgan. Sorry kid. I can’t risk it.”

“You know I’m like eighteen. I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark. I’m legally an adult, in fact.”

“Sorry, not risking it. You can wait until we get to the hotel, or I can look for a Walmart, whichever comes first.”

Peter sank back into his chair and sighed. He didn’t have the patience for this. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift as the car pulled back onto the highway. 

They did, in fact, stop at a Walmart, and Tony went inside to find medicine. Peter waited in the car, radio on in the background, the pounding of his head almost matching the music's rhythm. Tony wasn’t long. When he returned to the car, he had two bags full of every cold and flu medicine they had in the store. 

Plopping the bags on Peter’s lap, Tony sat in his seat and turned to Peter, grabbing one of the bags in peeking inside. Peter watched him with a grimace, feeling too crappy to comment. 

Tony made a triumphant noise and then pulled a bottle of what looked like watered down grape juice out of the bag. It wasn’t juice, though. Peter wasn’t that lucky. 

“Pedialyte,” Tony announced, as he used his teeth to peel the plastic safety label off. Then he uncapped it and held it out to Peter, who frowned. 

“Uh?”

“Drink up,” Tony shoved the bottle at him, and Peter instinctively grabbed it, holding it close to his chest with both hands. “I talked to the pharmacist. This should keep you hydrated.”

“It’s just a cold,” Peter deadpanned.

Tony scoffed. “Just a cold, he says. You’re burning up, Pete. This is definitely falling into flu territory. I should know. I’m a doctor.”

“Of engineering.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. It’s all the same, or it should be.”

Peter sighed. He really didn’t feel up to this conversation. Changing the subject, he nudged the bags on his lap and said, “Can I at least have some medicine now?”

Tony grabbed one of the bags and dug into it. He pulled out some cold and flu liquid gel caplets. After tearing open the box, he handed Peter two. “I want you to at least drink half of that.”

Peter rolled his eyes, popping the pills into his mouth and washing it down with the salty-sweet liquid. His face pulled into a grimace after he swallowed. “This is terrible.”

“It can’t be that bad. It’s made for kids.”

“It’s like lightly salted diluted Gatorade. In no way is it good. If you make me drink this, I’ll puke.”

Tony eyed him. “Half.”

“None.”

“A quarter of a bottle, and I’ll let you pick the music for the rest of the trip.”

Peter considered, glancing down at the offending bottle of Pedialyte in his hand. “For the whole trip? Not just today?”

Tony huffed. “Yes, the whole trip if it makes you drink.”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d actually won, but he sighed and brought the drink to his mouth, chugging down a quarter of the bottle in a few giant gulps. His face twisted once it was all down. He recapped it and tossed it to the floor by his feet. 

He felt too tired and crappy now to listen to the radio, but if he felt better tomorrow, it would be worth drinking it. There was only so much classic rock Peter could listen to. 

“How long ‘til we get to the hotel?”

Tony glanced down at the GPS. “About an hour.”

“Mm, all right. I think I’m gonna catch a nap. I think the cold medicine is kicking in.”

Tony hummed in response but otherwise didn’t say anything. It felt like Peter had a heavy blanket on him, weighing him down. His limbs protested when he adjusted in his seat to get more comfortable. His sinuses were still clogged, but there was a slight lessening of pressure, so he had hope he’d be breathing better soon. 

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seatbelt and let himself fall asleep. 

With any luck, he’d feel better tomorrow. If not, he was sure Tony would take care of him. It wasn’t like they had a shortage of medicine. Even though he was sick, he still tucked the memory of the day away as a good one. It might not be the road trip they’d planned, but it wasn’t half bad either. Maybe they’d still get to pet an alligator. 

[arcticdementor]

Many on our side see an analogy between our current situation and the closing days of the Roman Republic. I myself wish this was so; fighting for Caesar is far more attractive a prospect than the alternative. But there is an alternate historical analogy, which I consider even slightly more likely; that we are not in the latter days of the Roman Republic, but the Roman Empire.

And moreover, we are not Rome but Carthage. Germany (very ironically) was Rome; this land-empire with its military traditions and its two wars against the Anglo-American thalassocracy being precisely analogous to the Punic wars; America is to England what Carthage was to Phoenicia. In our case, the necessity of high technology to effectively wage war lent a vast advantage to the sea-power with uncontested control of global supply lines. Rome itself even realized the importance of contesting Carthaginian naval dominance, and in the first Punic War endured titanic losses until they could beat Carthage on the seas; Germany did not have the will, or the ability, to do so, and thus lost.

Imagine Hannibal, returning victorious from a Rome burned to the ground and scattered into the Tiber, assassinated by a cabal of Carthaginian priests, who not only proceed to institutionalize their massive informal authority over Carthage itself, but wage a crusade to spread the worship of Moloch over all the known world, and you have a picture of what occurred in America shortly before and directly after the Second World War. Because we are not waiting for Caesar; we have had our Caesar, the difference being that, as a priest of an evil religion, he did not replace a corrupt and decadent republic with based military autocracy, but with the sinister rule of a caste of Gnostic managerialists caught in a holiness spiral.

Under Franklin Delano Roosevelt the forms of the old Republic continued, but their content had been hollowed out. The opinions of the property-holding white man, the original (though expansive) patrician class of the Old Republic, became politically irrelevant; the opinions of the priestly apparatus of educated bureaucrats and “experts” installed by Roosevelt would inescapably begin to dictate policy. Of course, FDR already crossed the Rubicon, not in running for a third and fourth term, but in attaching the unconstitutional priestly apparatus to the levers of American power.

…

In the final decades of Rome, barbarian kings used weak emperors as puppets, using the Roman imperial form as a thin cloak for the same style of governance that served the Germanic tribes in the Black Forest. Likewise, the imperial-bureaucratic forms instituted by FDR are being themselves hollowed out by barbarians. We are not totally there yet, but Indian caste-nepotism, “BIPOC” racial revanchism, and Chinese managerialism are working their way into the theocratic power apparatus of the Left. Eventually, academia, journalism, the three-letter-agency, and the HR department, will be entirely skin-suited. Some time later, just as the barbarian kings of Rome did, the skin-suit will be cast off, the puppet disposed of, and these three main currents of barbarism will feud and war openly with each other over the ruins.

Because we are Carthage, and not Rome, these struggles have, and are, taking the form of ideological disputes rather than hot civil war. The power struggles of priests, of course, spill over eventually into hot civil war, but this is my main explanation for why, unlike Rome, we did not experience frequent and bloody civil wars over the occupancy of the throne. We have, of course, experienced multiple ideological civil wars, with last decade’s holiness overthrown by Current Year holiness.

Sounds pretty bleak. But in Rome, we can count several figures of latter days with the will and honor to attempt restoration. They failed, but it is not up to me to judge whether or not such an enterprise will always fail. Trump is one such figure, and his problem is a lack of loyalists, just as Majorian and Aurelian were betrayed. But Trump is no conquering general; Rome had, even in late times, an existing tradition of blood and honor that could produce great men. We do not have such a tradition; our priesthood has ensured the destruction of all such “aristocratic” enclaves that can breed reaction; especially in the case of the military, whose upper ranks are staffed entirely by priests loyal to the regime. Mutiny is always possible, but mutinies need leaders. The great warriors and intellectuals of our times are leading lives of pure obscurity, for our society is remarkably efficient at promoting affable mediocrities (a necessity when the claims of the priesthood are lies from head to tail) and divesting the energies of the competent into atomic and meaningless pursuits. The fat neckbeard arguing on internet forums over Star Wars canon is a frustrated theologian; the skinny geek optimizing strategies for competitive videogaming a frustrated military officer.

Everything in our society is fake and gay, and even people showing glimmers of greatness or competence have been faggotized. And it is not as though such people are even curable, by and large. For such exacting and laser-focused men, it is necessary that they be bred and raised with a sense of civic duty, to cultivate their will-to-power and the confidence it takes to rule. That is what I meant when I spoke of a “tradition of blood and honor”; it is not necessarily even military, for the WASP elite of the American East coast had these aristocratic traditions for diplomacy and civil service, even if put to evil ends.

To find who will take power after the fall, we must look for bastions of incipient elites. The BIPOC coalition is too retarded, generally speaking, to rule anything. (BIPOC itself being a new designation meant to separate dumb and holy subhumans from competent east asians and high-caste indians) However, the BIPOCs are conspicuously holier than anybody else in the left’s eschatology. If they end up in charge, we are looking at the Cambodian autogenocide or Mao’s Great Leap Forward on an even greater scale, ending as Haiti ended unless stopped by a Stalin. In Haiti, by the way, and here I am speaking to the lesbian mulatta commissar reading this in horror, they killed and literally ate the mulattoes after they were through with the whites, a fact that should make you just a little bit uneasy about your future.

I consider it unlikely that the Chinese faction will come out on top. East Asians are already having their POC status revoked, hence the new “BIPOC”, and they’re still licking inner party boot. But supposing that the Chinese turn America into one big Toronto, life under our Judeo-HAPA mandarins will probably be materially safer and better for the Amerikaner than it is currently. On the flip side, he will be reduced to an entirely fellaheen existence as social and moral decay continues unabated. I like greatness, and this state of affairs would seem to me grotesque and intolerable.

The Indians have a decent shot, being able to hide behind the dumber and less competent members of their race. The high-caste Indian, however, is perfectly content to live on top of a festering heap of human and literal garbage; in fact, he probably feels a great unease in a society that does not look like the great slums pouring their filth into the Ganges, and will strive to recreate his homeland in his conquered land.

The castizo future is another option; the problem is a lack of castizos. Most latinos settled in the US are of low human quality; the whiter and smarter latinos back home tend to stay home, because they are in charge. However, the Cuban exile community in Florida is one to keep an eye on, for they are not only generally aligned with the values of civilization, but are an actual elite, collectively kicked out of Cuba, and an actual community, that has the potential for cohesion. Like at home, they have an imperial multiracial identity that brings along their swarthier cousins as allies and footsoldiers.

Finally we come to the Amerikaner, but the Amerikaner has no elite class; in fact, he never did. Trump is their representative, but they have no loyalists to send him, and the cultivation of an aristocracy from their ranks is his greatest necessity if he wins. In our Rome-Carthage analogy, the victory of the Amerikaner represents itself a barbarian conquest, a revolt by a janissary people, subjugated long ago, that has since fought the wars of the evil priests. (Carthage itself was notorious for using janissaries) Though it will wear the garment of FDR’s Empire, it would in content be a far older form of rule, a ghost of the frontier and the West, the clannish politics of the small town (and I say that with respect) elevated to a grandiose scale.

[ikesenhell]

Reunion

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 3. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Thanks to @missjudge-me for commissioning this! As always, I’m calling @a-shout-to-the-void IEYASU out in my work. 

---

Neither of them wanted to stop for the night, so they didn't. “It’s only, what, one day of straight driving?” He’d reasoned. She took over the Camaro and he snoozed in the passenger seat, lulled to sleep by ‘Journey of the Sorcerer’ by the Eagles humming under the droning road. Light streamed golden-orange through the windshield when he woke. 

“Hey there, sleepy,” she murmured. “Want some coffee?”

Masamune grunted assent, stretching out. “Fuck, it used to be a lot easier to sleep in the car.”

“We all used to be a lot younger.”

That was true. Still road-tired, he lolled his head to the side and rested it on her arm. She was warm and solid, scented like spices, the warm fabric of her flannel cushioning his forehead. Unbidden, he wondered what it would be like to wake up to her every day. 

Maryland was bright and sunny. They reached Ieyasu’s house around five a.m., a quaint, brick rancher in the outskirts of Baltimore. One very awake Mitsunari let them in (“I still haven’t recovered from jet lag and Tanzania’s time zone—hello!”) and they crashed in a heap on the plush grey couch. By noon, he woke to banging in the nearby kitchen. 

“Mitsunari, I said put that away, not dump it on the tiles—”

“—I’m so sorry, let me clean it up—”

“No! I don’t trust you with the damn broom, go sit down or find a turnip field and bury yourself in it again, clearly you’re underripe—”

Just like old times. Masamune grunted and rolled off the couch. She still napped on the other end, buried in decorative pillows and a blanket. “‘Yasu?”

Sure enough, the blonde peered grumpily from the nearby kitchen, dustpan in hand. Against the canary yellow walls, his green eyes were piercing. “Great, now you’re up. Now I have to deal with two idiots staggering around my kitchen.”

“Great to see you again, too. What’s going on?”

Mitsunari sheepishly set a tin on the counter. “I spilled green tea everywhere.”

“That was my fault,” Ieyasu groused. “I’m the idiot who forgot about Mitsunari’s inability to hold things. I can’t believe I forgot. Two years, and I went forgetting. What a wonderful two years it was, too.”

Either the other man didn't get the hint, or he looked straight past Ieyasu’s barbed tongue to the affection deep below the surface. “It was fun, getting to write you and send you pictures. You kept me very up to date.”

Masamune crowed with laughter, making his way to the refrigerator to poke around. “Did he now?”

Ears flaming, Ieyasu ducked behind the counter and scraped the scattered leaves from the tile. “He’s the only one who knows where the hell to find half of the reference books I needed for medical school and where to pirate them—”

“I swear Mitsuhide knows how to do that.”

Ieyasu didn't respond. Instead he dumped the leaves into the garbage. “Well, are you gonna stand out there and run your mouth, or should we get a move on and go to the grocery store while she’s still asleep? I figured we’d need some stuff before the others get here.”

Peering over the doorway with a bottle of orange juice, Masamune frowned. “Others?”

“Well, yeah, dumbass. You really didn't think we weren’t gonna get the other guys down here for a visit, did you?”

“On such short notice?”

Ieyasu froze, eyes wide and searching, desperately avoiding Masamune’s gaze. “I mean—can’t—are you the only person allowed to make spur of the moment choices?”

But Masamune turned his eyes slowly over to Mitsunari, finally understanding. “I’m pretty sure the Kitten and I weren’t the catalyst for inviting the others over…”

“I—no.” 

“Hey, Mitsun.” Masamune overrode the stuttering Ieyasu. “Was it your idea to come here?”

Mitsunari glanced up from his mug of tea. “No, Ieyasu kindly offered his house when he learned I was coming back.”

“Listen,” Ieyasu managed. “Listen, that disaster is our responsibility now. We can’t just pawn him off on the unsuspecting public.” 

“Right.” Grinning, Masamune swigged from the bottle of orange juice (ignoring Ieyasu’s annoyance) and shunted it back into the refrigerator. “Well, if the old crew is getting back together tonight, you’re damn right. Let’s get to the store.”

---

She was awake when they all came back, laden down with (“Entirely too fucking many,” Ieyasu complained) groceries. Her hair was slick from the shower, cheeks shiny with moisture and flushed from recent sleep. Masamune switched all his bags to one arm and pulled her in by the waist. 

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.” He punctuated it with a kiss on her forehead. 

“Let me live.” Swatting him away, she grinned. “And you’ll never guess who I just let in—”

“Masamune!”

“God,” Ieyasu deadpanned, hoisting his bags onto the countertop. “Just letting strangers into my house.”

Mitsuhide chuckled, stirring some thick, soupy concoction in a glass. Masamune dreaded what it might be. “I’m strange?”

“Yes. Is this a trick question?”

“Good to see you again, brother.” Masamune fist bumped the other man. He hadn’t changed; if anything, age only accented the weirdest parts of him. It seemed like every year, Mitsuhide got lankier and more ethereal, white eyelashes too long to be human. 

“Ieyasu.” Nobunaga rounded the corner, holding aloft an opened container of protein powder. That explained the mysterious substance in Mitsuhide’s glass. “This stuff tastes like ass.”

Ieyasu rolled his eyes. “So you’ve tasted ass?”

Both Mitsuhide and Nobunaga cocked a mild brow. “Yes?”

“God damn, I didn't want to know—”

“It’s a popular request,” Mitsunari chimed in, shutting the garage door behind him. “It’s grown in popularity over the last—”

“What are we talking about?!” Hideyoshi emerged from the hall bathroom, wringing his wet hands and looking utterly alarmed. 

“No!” Ieyasu cupped his hands over his ears and fled to the other side of the kitchen. “I don’t want to hear any more from anyone about eating ass!”

Time was kind to them. Nobunaga had grown into the imperious smile he’d always worn, eyes flashing sharp over a long nose. Hideyoshi still possessed all of his world-weary charm, the faintest crease between his eyebrows. “New York is treating you guys alright, huh?” Masamune asked, planting himself on a barstool. 

“Of course,” Nobunaga laughed. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Dunno. Figured that Hideyoshi might have an aneurysm about the subway system by now.”

Apparently he’d hit a nerve. Hideyoshi strangled the air. “Why is the L train always down—?”

“Alright!” She swept in, clasping Hideyoshi’s hands in hers, grinning like the summer in full bloom. The effect was immediate; all the other men relaxed, lounging around the kitchen. How did she do that? Masamune knew she was talking (her mouth was moving), but the words floated away. Hideyoshi looked so soft in her grip. God, he hoped Hideyoshi didn't try anything with her. 

Where the hell did that thought come from?

“Earth to Masa.” Ieyasu waved a hand. “Did you hear anything?”

“Nah. Wasn’t listening. What’s up?”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “I literally asked if you wanted to make burgers for the bonfire tonight.”

“Bonfire?” Mitsuhide smiled. “That sounds excellent.”

“No lighting anything on fire like last time,” Hideyoshi warned, his shoulders tensing again. “You almost burned down the house with Nobunaga inside!”

“I assure you, that wasn’t my fault. Would that you believed me.”

“Well who the fuck else was watching the fire—”

“If you two are gonna fight, I’m just gonna…” Masamune rolled up his sleeves and plucked her from the floor, flinging her over his shoulders. “Borrow the kitten as my personal assistant tonight. How about that?”

“We’ll get the firewood together then.” Nobunaga waved him off. “And let you two to it.”

Hideyoshi hovered still. “Do you need any help? I’m not a master chef or anything, but I can be a pair of hands.”

Masamune almost took him up on it. But then she pulled back her hair—a long, languid movement that showed the curve of her back—and he shook his head. “Nah. We’ll manage. You go do things about, like, fire safety.”

That was the magic sentence. Those hazel eyes went large, and Hideyoshi nodded, purpose renewed. “You’re right. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Just like that, the two of them were alone again. She tittered and slid the bag of golden potatoes to him. “Need these peeled, chef?”

“Nah. Just washed. Throw on some tunes, would you?”

Her grin should have warned him, but he still wasn’t prepared for Neon Trees to echo in the kitchen. Masamune grinned and slapped the ground beef onto the cutting board. “What a fucking throwback. Is that Habits?”

“Yeah!” She dumped all of the potatoes in the sink. “Do you remember dancing to this in the car?”

Did he ever. They used to take Hideyoshi’s hand-me-down mom van (the only car that would fit all of them) out to the Oda Family property on the river, parking it in the field and lounging on blow up mattresses they’d pooled for at Target. Everything played on those busted car speakers: Neon Trees, old Panic! At the Disco, Chevelle, Lady Gaga, Jay-Z, Radiohead, Foo Fighters. Mitsuhide tricked Mitsunari and her into jumping in the water one night, and she was so mad and wet that Masamune stripped off all his clothes and put them on her, riding home in his boxers. 

“Yeah,” Masamune laughed. “I don’t think I ever got my pants back from you.”

“You got the pants back. I never gave you your hoodie back, though.”

“Shit, you’re right. Whatever happened to it?”

She hesitated over the sink, a funny, strangled smile on her mouth. “I turned it into a pillow.”

He froze. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Put it over a throw and tied the edges. I had it on my bed all the way through college.”

“Where is it now?”

She shrugged. After a long moment, she chuckled. “Would you judge me if I said I still had it?”

“No.” It wasn’t like him to stop, but he’d stopped, knife poised, a head of garlic ready for mincing and hands still. What did that mean? Savage pleasure surged in his stomach and he couldn’t place why. He’d always been protective of her. Right? Was that it? Just some misplaced neurons firing? “Not really, Kitten, no. I’m alright with that.” A beat. “It probably doesn’t fit me anymore anyway, you know? Might as well stay a pillow.”

Still she didn't look his way. Instead, she grabbed her phone and flipped on Caramelldansen, and he roared with laughter. “Hell!” 

As a unit, they flung down their utensils and danced. Adult bodies were different, but the chemistry was the same. He abandoned his station and flung her into his arms, the water still rushing down the drain over the potatoes. She squealed. 

“Could you guys not run up my water bill?” Ieyasu reemerged over the counter, knocking the faucet down. “If you’re gonna be distracted—”

“Sorry!” Her smile was infectious. “Let me just get back to those.”

His body cooled so quickly when she parted. Ieyasu hovered a moment longer, his green eyes boring into Masamune’s good one. 

“What?” He asked, cracking half the cloves open with a practiced hand. Ieyasu shook his head. 

“Nothing.”

[awesometurtletails]

One does not after all, stop a volcano from erupting once it starts.

@mydetheturk​ you are a horrible perfect enabler, this is all on you!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's hard to get her angry. Melvina often gets annoyed and yells yes, but angry? Oh no. That's always been slow and thick and covers everything around her, scalding those who tried to keep hurting her. (She's 9 the first time, power lashing out and rolling over the fake bandits and pirates who burn her home to the ground. When she regains herself it was to the sight of her sister in her arms; dead, twin link severed and aching like a lost limb and a crowd of dead marines playing bandit.)

(Her mother had always said she got her father's temper. Her father, a man who was as steady and grounded as a mountain, would always laugh at her confusion. Would mess with her hair and quietly say that yes, he did get mad but it took a lot to set him off. That's what mama meant, sweetheart.)

After that night it takes a long time for her to get angry again. She has more control and has more important things to do then burn and boil in anger for people she doesn't trust. Let them burn themselves out against the rocky slopes she hides behind. It was, after all, going to take time to find the traitor and she would burn, slow and thick then.

Except, someone finds a weakness without even trying. Barges in to her mountainous hold like he owns the place and ends up dragging her out with the tide. There she gets attached again. There she takes a look at the motley crew and see's all the same broken damage she feels everyday. How this man, this captain, took them all the same and said MINE to the rest of the world. She's dragged into pranks, and chased around the ship by two painfully young cabin boys. (Twelve years old and she feels 30 to their seven, broken and hollow and alone.) There, with this Captain and the cabin boys and even the First Mate and Doctor she whispers it quietly. Mine.

(Rayleigh was unsure of her, a far to young girl with far to old eyes. She's quiet for so long before finally pranking the brats back that he fears she's far to broken for once. That his Captain finally found one he liked but couldn't save. Doc called her a menace and nothing but trouble the moment he saw her, catching the sight of how she carefully looks everyone over and pulling her into the apprentice position.)

That's how it started. The quiet bubbling and simmering as she gained new precious people who won't ever replace her old ones but they help her not feel alone. It grew with everyday spent with them, the depth of her anger and rage. Fierce protective anger gets poured into the hollow in her soul when she looks at those two cabin boys and quietly whispers brothers to herself. Every slight against them adds another cup.

Determined searing rage was sprinkled in the few times her Captain was insulted. It seeps into cracks in the rocks and mostly settles on the bottom. Her Captain can handle his own after all. (It seeps out in little steaming vents when she finds ways to make the Marines, who survive meeting Captain, life interesting.)

Small hurts and betrayals, slights that were never meant but get said anyway, barely even float on the surface before they burn off in the face of her real anger.

No, what adds to it are the things she hates. Things that burn and ache and leave her nearly drowning in pain.

Doc's death, who fought and fought and fought so she could run with Shanks and Buggy back to Captain. Because of fucking people who claim to be gods and wanted Shanks for his hair and Buggy for his fruit and her for her eyes.

Her Captains capture and following death. Even if he was dying and neither she nor her new mentor, Crocus, could do anything about it. (She at least gets his consent about gathering what data she can while helping him. Even if Captain dies before she can find something, Captain knows she lives by holding her pain close and shouting to the world NO ONE ELSE HURTS!)

Then the good byes to Oden, a man she had watched with wary eyes for longer than the crew did. Who only finally trusted him when he told her begged to come to Wano and show off her Ninja and chakra skills to his friend when the boarders opened. (She waits and worries even when years later she finally manages to deliver a letter to Whitebeard from Oden.)

The crew disbanded and she was left adrift with two grieving teenagers and forced to stuff her own grief deep within to keep them alive. (A possible true betrayal sits on the back of her tongue like a rotten fish but she can't stop and try to contact someone, anyone, for help because Captain's enemies are many and they are only three.)

When she was forced to make a choice and drives away the last one chasing them while the boys run to one of the few surviving members of her blood kin. When that action separated them and she does not know how or where to find them but knows the boys were safe and alive.

All of those add to her soul and fill her rage up but it still doesn't boil over. It simmers and bubbles and burns while she keeps going. New people are added to her circle, some by chance and because their just far to cute.

(Ace from Dadan, who gives him over far more reluctantly then she would ever admit to but with the words you have no connection to him, he'll be safer on her lips. Because the Marines never caught her face, because Captain wasn't a fool like everyone though and apprentice and cabin boys where jealously hidden from view.)

(Luffy from Dragon, who nearly lingers to long to see his son one last time before they had to part. Who heard whispers and rumors about who to go to if you wanted a child protected and there maybe few Sondovel's left but Melvina is just as fierce and protective as her family name implies.)

(Sabo from a garbage heap, that gives him up nearly reluctantly when two boys wander off their mother's ship. A mother who had returned to Dawn to get the truth because her eldest kept falling asleep and finds them later standing their ground against pirates with the boy.)

And some because she sees the same broken and daring soul staring back at her.

(Two former Marines who each brake the law in someway for children who are not their own. A baby mink who just wanted his brother. The minks attackers who know no other way of life but are willing to try anyway. A blacksmith who smashed the head of a marine captain who tried to touch and lay with her two apprentices. And even Melvina's own brothers, who she finds and they find her in return.)

She gains a family and crew for a third time and this time she vows to not let them burn. Not to let them die. So her rage remains dormant, bubbling and simmering as she sails and it's always there. More is added as her boys grow and she has to let them go. (She hopes she did them better then she was even done.)

It bubbles up a few times, against a Shark Fishman who thinks to take over an island that holds her youngest's friend. She doesn't hold back and nearly grinds him into the ground when she arrives. Against a Madman who was brothers to a tripping hazard, who would kill and burn such bonds just because he couldn't stand to see family be different. He lives only because the little brother he now hated asked her if she could try. Nearly against her still living mentor when she goes to him and he refuses her. She only stops because her son's are there.

Until it finally it builds and builds and burns when the news paper comes out. When her eldest is labeled the Pirate Kings son and her brother sits next to him on the executioners platform. When the Marines finally cross a line she naively thought they wouldn't, naively hoped they wouldn't.

When war starts and the prize is her son  and brother. When Whitebeard's sons try to send her away, but not the old man. The old man see's what his sons miss, knows the power of parents rage and lets her and her crew be.

Then the shot that nearly kills Buggy and Akainu's fist nearly impales Ace and it explodes. It burns and runs, hot and thick over everything. She uses every last ounce of her chakra and knowledge to fight back against the world. Her Snakes and Spiders come at her call and she burns and buries anyone trying to stop her. It doesn't stop when she feels her family now safely behind her on the sea. One does not after all, stop a volcano from erupting once it starts and she will bury every last enemy there, will burn them in her rage and anger and fear before she loses anyone else.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 43

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Dissacociation, flashbacks, violence

A/N: Once again HUGE shoutout to @wonderlandmind4​ for being my beta. Seriously, she’s a gem. 

I don’t really know what to say here. Trauma sucks, it’s good to have someone who loves you through it though. 

Tags are open!

Sweat drips down your back, soaking through the tee shirt you wear. 

You realize, for the first time, that this is the only significant piece of clothing you have on. Suddenly you feel exposed. Tucking yourself tighter between the wall and dumpster you tug at the hem in a vain attempt to summon more fabric. 

These efforts come to a screeching halt as a pain you can’t name sears its way through your skull. Clutching your head tight you crumple into the fetal position, mouth open in a silent scream. 

You think, for a moment, it will pass quickly but no… It feels like lightning burning in your brain. And it just will not stop. 

Silently you begin to bargain, beg anything, any force that can hear your silent plea to just make it stop. If it doesn’t… you think you’ll die because nothing can sustain this level of suffering for long… Can it?

This continues for minutes… Hours maybe, you don’t know, but it’s long enough that you forget what the absence of it feels like. 

Once the pain fades to a dull roar you can’t move, don’t even receive the relief of a deep breath, your chest only able to lift the smallest bit. Despite this paralysis, your entire body buzzes with the overload of sensation that’s now flooding your perception. 

It is almost worse than the pain. You could understand that, pain is pain, but this… The grains of sand beneath your nails each feel like shards of glass, the bits of rock beneath your raw feet gnaw and cut, insects in the dumpster to your left devouring the garbage, a microbiome of disgusting-

A skittering noise distracts you from everything else for a moment. Glittering eyes peek at you as a small screech claws at your eardrums and a large rat runs from beneath the dumpster—before it can touch you its flung across the alleyway by some invisible force, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening squelching sound. 

Your eyes dart in your immobile skull for whatever made that happen. 

Deep in the recesses of your fractured mind, something tells you with unwavering certainty, you did that. But that doesn’t make sense you can’t, couldn’t. You… A name flutters through your mind but you can’t grab it. Who’s…

Realizing it was your name—your name you can’t remember, can’t grasp—causes panic to seize you sending your heart into a wild rhythm. Your breath picks up to meet the new demands and the paralysis flees you. As your body loses rigidity you fall forward, hands flat on the filthy concrete.

It’s too much. Everything is too much. You’re aware of the cells of your skin, of the dirt slipping between them, aware of the smog in the air, of the particles that make up the earth. Aware it seems of even the spaces between… everything, vibrating particles everywhere overwhelming you. 

Shouldn’t be feeling this much, not right, not right, is all you can think. Not right, not right. The face of an angry man fills your vision.

“Demon!” He bellows from your memory. 

Your mouth opens to scream but instead your stomach clenches and you hurl. It doesn’t stop until you heave and heave, abdomen aching with the effort. Once your body concedes that there’s nothing left inside you to purge you collapse on your side, right cheek skidding against the ground. 

Something stings, something sharp. You hiss, righting yourself slowly, you touch your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky and red. 

You stare at the color, another man flashes in your memory. He’s not angry though, he’s… worried. His eyes are kind and—tears flow freely down your cheeks, the salt stinging the cut even more. 

Angry you slam your head against the wall at your back. That man, you know that man, his name, his name is… 

“Fuck,” you growl through clenched teeth, surprised at the roughness of your own voice. 

You don’t know who you are, why would you know him?

-

“Y/N?!” Bucky gasps bolting up in bed. 

You fell asleep in his arms, he knows you did, but you’re not beside him. 

He listens but there’s no noise from the cracked bathroom door. His eyes frantically search the space until he realizes the back door is open. 

Relief rushes through him, muscles instantly relaxing. You’d probably woken up and stepped out for some air with your headphones on. Stretching, he slowly rises from the bed, making his way outside. 

The moment he’s in the doorway his body goes stiff once more. You’re not there. 

A million possibilities flood his mind, temporarily rendering him immobile. 

No one could have come in. He’d know, he’s sure he’d know. Unless… Maybe if they’d triggered him… He studies his hands, praying there isn’t the least bit of red or discoloration of any kind on them. Noticing nothing he cautiously approaches the balcony edge, steeling himself before looking over. 

Blessedly, you’re not down there in a heap. Of course you wouldn’t be, your body would survive, ability reacting on instinct. 

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he chides out loud.

The door wasn’t broken or tampered with and the locks, he walks to the front door to be sure, were still in place from the inside. All your things were still there meaning… Meaning you were somewhere in this city alone, underdressed, and likely terrified. 

In minutes Bucky is out the door.

-

You haven’t moved as the cloudy sky lightens with sunrise. Maybe you should move.

Why would you move? Where could you go? Did that matter? The sun would come out and make the garbage stink more and you were beginning to see a red smear on the wall across from you… it scared you. Those were good reasons to move… Plus you were no longer perceiving every single particle around you, so that was helpful…

Before you’re able to make your decision a door opens somewhere toward the front of the alley. Tension coils within your body. 

A woman lifts the lid of the dumpster, not noticing you at first. When she does she begins shouting in a language you don’t understand. She’s angry, fists raising, you’re afraid, backing up and up until you’re in the corner with nowhere to go. 

You cover your ears and close your eyes, the woman’s shouts hurting your head. You want her gone, want her to stop. 

She grabs your chin and your eyes shoot open. In a flash of rage, you push her back with all your strength sending her careening into the side of the dumpster with a clatter. 

Forgetting her anger you rush to her. She’s breathing, heart beating, no blood. 

Good. That’s good. Right?

That’s right. The other woman wasn’t so lucky. The one who’d taken you to her hotel. The one you killed… No… No, you’d done worse than just kill her outright. 

Being the monster you were, you felt with invisible hands inside her body, without her even realizing it, until you found just the right spot in her brain… then you’d simply gripped the thin membrane of the blood vessel and tore through it with an ease that terrified you. You’d lingered there, staring at her writhing form, her terrified gaze, until her body stopped moving and they’d come, to tell you you’d done well… But it hadn’t felt like a victory. 

The sound of the door again, someone calling out. Panicked you run to the corner and jump, easily landing on the roof above. 

For a moment you stand, shocked. 

You should go somewhere, somewhere safe and warm, and that name… kind eyes. That pain shoots through your skull once more, not as strong but enough to knock the wind from your lungs. 

Won’t think about that. 

Survive. 

-

By midday, Bucky thinks he may actually lose his mind.

Despite his extensive skill set, he was no closer to finding you. There just wasn’t a trail to follow. 

He’d checked in with Mr. G, in case you’d been to visit, doing his best to assure the old man that there was nothing to worry about while internally he was screaming. He’d been to all your favorite places even went to your old squat hoping something in you would have led you there but nothing. Not the barest trace of you. 

The city feels oppressively overcrowded in a whole new way as he navigates back streets and alleyways. Feeling sick he checks police scanners, calls hospitals, checks morgues. Nothing, for that he’s thankful. 

As the sun sets he begins to make his way toward the apartment, unsure of what else he can do. 

-

Y/N. That was who you were. It felt right, felt good, knowing. 

You’d spent the better part of the day hiding in one location or another, trying to stay out of sight, scared of every person you saw. Being able to navigate on rooftops from time to time helped with avoiding people. Though sometimes whatever kept you aloft would falter when your mind would get distracted with a passing thought or memory.

When you’d remembered your name with certainty the ground flew up to meet you so fast as you tried to jump from a four to six-story building, you thought you’d meet your end, splattered like that rat. But you’d caught yourself, barely, though not before painfully wrenching your ankle. Still, a wrenched ankle was better than a shattered skull.  

The pain brought clarity each time, cutting through the fog filling your mind. You’d considered causing more pain, maybe then things would make sense, but you’d ultimately dismissed the idea. No sense in breaking yourself. 

Besides, something in you said you were heading the right direction and that was enough for now. What exactly you were heading toward wasn’t exactly clear and focusing on it for any length of time made your headache. Not that it mattered much. Everything hurt, what was one more little thing? 

You peek out of the narrow ally you’d been limping through, waiting for the perfect moment to sprint across the street. The window opens, no one around, you bolt. 

Your ankle screams in protest as you run, each shock of pain makes you remember little things though. A home, somewhere, it was close… Brooklyn? 

The thought of Brooklyn sends a whole new ache through you. Just as you enter the alley you’d been aiming for a sob rips through you leaving you gasping. Not paying attention you step on something sharp and tumble to the ground in a heap. 

It feels like your chest is being crushed as their faces fill your memory. Nix and Marcus and Abby. Your family. Your dead family. Dead… because of you. 

“Hey,” someone asks from behind you in a language that isn’t English, though you understand it still. “Hey, you ok?” 

No. You weren’t. Everything is wrong and broken. You don’t say this though, unable to stop the tears. 

“You alone?” Another voice asks. You can’t answer, can hardly breathe. 

“Looks like it,” the first voice says.

“Hey,” the second voice says, coming to stand before you. He grips your shoulders pulling you up. “You understand us?”

You hiccup a sob but manage to nod. 

“She’s kinda pretty,” the first man says. 

“Maybe after she soaks in bleach.” The second man looks you over, you’re too tired to pull away from him. “You wanna come with us?”

“No,” you croak. It surprises them both to hear you speak no more surprised than you are at your conviction. There was a home here. Somewhere, someone with kind eyes. You know this, you just have to find it. 

“Leave me alone,” you push his hands away. 

“Junkie, bitch,” the first man grumbles as the second lifts you by your short head of curls. 

You’re exhausted in every way a person can be and the thought of fighting back seems like so much. But as soon as you meet his eyes, brimming with malice, you find it in you to push this power in you against him. It’s not particularly strong but it forces him to release your hair. 

Staggering back you brace yourself, your body remembering movements your mind can’t quite connect to. 

The first man tries to hold your arms to your sides but a flicker of your power prevents him from gaining purchase for long. The other swings at you and you counter, a too strong punch to his ribs leaving him gasping. But… you’re so goddamn tired after a day of running with no food or water and your ankle paired with a cut on your other foot makes your stance shaky at best. 

You cry out as the second man hits you from behind with something hard, sending you to the ground,  leaving your head spinning and ears ringing. One of them, you can’t tell which, lifts your head up by your hair.

Some part of you feels detached, as though this is happening to someone else. Another feels a slow hot rage begin to rise from the darkest parts of you and you know that once it surfaces you will kill these men… You don’t want to kill anyone, not again. 

“Please…”

“Yeah. Beg, bitch. See if that helps,” the one you punched, snarls, taking a stance in front of you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” 

They. Laugh. The anger roiling in you surges. 

“This bitch is-” The man before you is suddenly gone, flung against the wall like a rag doll by a large figure you can’t quite make out before the one holding your hair let’s go in surprise and you fold forward for a moment, unable to remain upright.

“We didn’t do anything!” The man chokes out, fear slurring his words. You turn and watch as the hulking figure corners the simpering man. 

“She was-” Before he can say another word a hand wraps around his throat. Slowly he’s lifted from the ground, kicking, gurgling, hands clawing in vain at an arm—an arm that you know is solid metal and very deadly. 

Memory slams into you and you gasp as the disassociation flees you. There isn’t time to feel the emotions thundering through your body though, he will kill this man. 

“Bucky,” you croak, voice cracking with relief. He doesn’t move, focused with terrifying intensity on his target. Standing on trembling legs you step toward him and lay a hand on his shoulder as the man’s thrashing begins to still. 

“Bucky,” he flinches, registering you. “Let him go.” 

“He. Hurt. You.” Bucky growls out each word. 

“Not like I could have hurt him. Don’t kill him. Please.” You didn’t want him to have more blood on his hands either. His grip loosens and the man crumples into a half-dead heap in the alley. 

Tragedy averted, whatever willpower you mustered to keep yourself upright flees your body. Despite the warm summer air you begin to shake, violently. Swaying back, Bucky catches your shoulders before you plummet onto the concrete. 

-

Bucky takes you in, quickly. His white tee you’d slept in is filthy with sweat and grime. Your right cheek has a shallow cut that seems to have already started to heal but that clearly bled judging by the flaking smear of dried blood. Looking down he can tell that your left ankle is badly bruised and swollen while there is blood on the side of your right foot. Then there’s the way your body is shaking in his grip, indicating shock. 

“Y/N,” he says softly, searching your eyes for answers he isn’t sure you have. 

“I…” You trail off, voice dry and raspy. “I was lost.” Your glazed eyes flutter and he feels your knees give. 

Without hesitation, he scoops your trembling form into his arms. The way your hands grasp at his shirt your face burrowing into his shoulder makes his heart ache. He understands well enough that you don’t mean that you were only physically lost. You’d lost yourself for a time. 

He steps around the body of the unconscious man he’d tossed aside heading toward the mouth of the alley. The movement jostles you just a bit and a small whimper meets his ears. 

“Did I hurt you,” the fear grips him as he assesses his grip on you, worried he held too tight. A hollow huff that may have been an attempt at laughter shakes your body in a different way, you suck in the air a little, tilting your head up a bit to him. 

“No. Everything just… hurts,” you say in barely a whisper. 

Anger at every person who ever hurt you in your life burns like a volcano in his gut. Even so he coaches his expression to be soft. 

“Let’s get you home.” 

Where he found you, was only a few blocks from the apartment. He’s grateful for it, despite his efforts the movement clearly causes you more pain—he’s also certain he’s never been more grateful for what Hydra did to him, without his enhanced senses he’d never have heard you, may never have found you. 

By the time he closes the door behind you both, your consciousness is hanging by a thread. 

“Stay with me baby,” he kisses your forehead before he sets you as gently as he can on the couch. Still, you groan. 

He pulls a thick blanket from the closet to wrap you in. As he moves to wrap it around you your head shakes a no. 

“Your body is in shock, Y/N.”

Clarity lightens in your eyes. “That makes sense,” you lift one hand, seeming to study the tremors. As you do the lamp begins to shake on the table. Both of you stare for a second as your power rustles things around the apartment like ripples on a lake. 

“May I?” He doesn’t want to force it on you but… Thankfully he doesn’t have to. Pulling you from the couch for an instant he swaddles you tight in the warmth of the blanket before settling you back on the couch. Instantly things around you stop their ghostly movements. 

“I’m going to get you something to drink,” he plants a kiss on your forehead before heading into the kitchen. 

The cracked state of your lips suggests that you’re deeply dehydrated. Just water wasn’t going to cut it. Though it may take a minute longer he heats water on the stove for a moment before mixing just a bit of salt and honey into it.

“Here,” he crouches in front of you, “sip this.” Bucky lifts the mug to your lips. You swallow, your face scrunching up at the taste. “I know, but you need the salt and sugar. Just try to finish it.” He manages to get the whole mug into you. 

Thankfully your shaking has slowed some. Tenderly he tucks a shaggy curl back into your mop of hair. How he loved these curls.

“He’s going to be ok, Y/N.” 

Mr. Goldstein had spent the last week in the hospital. He’d insisted it was nothing, just a bit of cold. It wasn’t until his daughter had come into the shop that you’d learned the truth--cancer, she’d told you, and not his first run-in with the disease either. The news had rocked you both. Bucky didn’t doubt that the fear of losing someone else, someone you loved, had triggered what you’d just gone through.  

You say nothing, just look away, gnawing on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says with a soft smile. You nod and he unwraps you from your blanket cocoon. 

Unresisting you allow him to remove your filthy tee and slip your underwear off before he places you in the empty tub. As he wets a rag in the hot water pouring from the faucet to begin cleaning a day’s worth of city grime from you he starts to hum a tune, hoping the sound will soothe both of your frayed nerves. 

With a light touch, he inspects the cuts and scrapes on your feet, knees, and hands. The only one that’s deep enough for a slight pause is on your foot, but even so, he doesn’t think it will need anything more than a bandage. 

Your body wasn’t the only thing that needed attention. Grabbing a pitcher from the kitchen Bucky slips free of his jeans, as to not get them wet and perches on the corner of the tub, repositioning you between his legs. Slowly he pours hot water over your short thick curls. 

As he takes his time coaxing out the tangles, his humming shifts to lyrics. Singing isn’t something he did often, just when he was alone from time to time and now when you’d wake up particularly shaken from a dream. Once, he’d sing all the time but finding his voice had been tough. Seeing your lips curl a bit in response goads him on though. 

When he’s rinsed your hair, running your comb through your curls, he’s singing the final lyrics of an old love song:

I see your face in every flower Your eyes in stars above It's just the thought of you The very thought of you, my love

As he finishes you sigh and rest your head on the inside of his thigh. 

“Thank you… for finding me,” your voice is less raspy but he can hear your exhaustion in every syllable. 

Gently he coaxes your head to look up at him, “I will always find you.”

Tags

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[lovixcore]

nightmares (amedot fic)

One Shot

Summary: After Peridot has her first nightmare, Amethyst comforts her.

Word Count: 2152 words

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655551

Her eyes flew open, as she was merely in a state of panic, unaware of what kinds of emotions had stricken her. She then sat herself up and felt around, attempting to find something to grasp between her as a form of comfort. Cold sweat started breaking out between her forehead and cheeks, down her arms, and brushing against her legs and thighs. It felt like her chest was pounding faster than the speed of light, now visibly shaking and nearly hyperventilating, as she simply could not calm down at all. Her eyes then quickly darted left and right, almost as if she were looking for something, trying to make sure of something. She now felt her eyes stinging, waterfalls of tears scraping against her skin, forming into puddles upon her apparel. It was the middle of the night. The creaking of the house could be heard throughout the bathroom walls. She rose from the bathtub as quickly as she could, wanting to go look for someone.

She couldn’t really think straight, but she knew that she couldn’t be alone right now, she knew she needed to see someone, anyone. She slowly and quietly, almost cautiously, opened the bathroom door, peeking around the corner. Toes first, she moved her foot in front of her, placing it softly on the flooring. Step by step, she tried her best to avoid waking Steven up. She saw a small but plainly visible light, which had appeared to come from the fridge, as it was in fact open and someone was rummaging through it. “Amethyst?” Was what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. She took another step, and then she just stopped, as she stood there, wide-eyed, and completely at a loss for words as she was still trying to comprehend what she had just visualized, still trying to understand that this was reality now.

Amethyst had obviously noticed the emotionally distressed gem standing there and only just staring at her, as she had quietly asked, “...Per?”

Peridot didn’t respond, as she could not physically bring herself to.

“Per?” Amethyst had repeated herself, now growing concerned for the smaller gem, because she was not responding. She slightly tilted her head and then asked, “You okay?” in a cautious tone of voice.

Still no verbal response. Peridot then took a few steps closer to the quartz, feeling around the gem if she was making sure Amethyst was ...real, authentic. She tugged at the neckline of Amethyst’s torso, like she was going to make sure her gem was okay. She then wrapped her smaller arms around the bigger gem, burying her face into her shoulder, as she was now crying again. Amethyst flinched out of surprise and was of coursed confused by all of Peridot’s behavior but she could see how upset and anxious the technician was. In response, she wrapped her arms around the smaller gem, petting her blonde triangular hair, letting the gem quietly sob into her shoulder for a couple of minutes. They then let go of each other. Amethyst took her index finger and wiped the tears off of Peridot’s face in an effort to let her know she was there for her. She lent her hand out to Peridot, and quietly but softly saying into her ear, “C’mon, let’s talk about this in my room.”

Peridot then grabbed onto Amethyst. Amethyst flinched again, surprised at how shaken the poor gem was. She could now feel her cheeks burning, and tried to hide her face behind her bangs, as her blushing was rather embarrassing, but failed to. She then sighed, looking at Peridot with a sad look in her eyes but gave her a soft smile. “It’s okay, Per,” She assured the gem, leading her towards the door to her room.

Upon walking up to the door that led to Amethyst’s room, the door split into two halves, with a wavy line and purple light that had appeared to have a slime-like texture. Entering Amethyst’s room, Peridot kept her grasp around the quartz’s upper arm, inching closer to Amethyst as she examined the room.Even though she had been really close friends with Amethyst for nearly a year now, she had never been inside the quartz’s room. The room was incredibly chaotic. As Amethyst lead Peridot further into the clutter, Peridot tripped over objects that had tumbled down the towers of mess. The room had geodes, and even some grass tiles. She saw the bottom of a waterfall that had appeared to have begun in another gem’s room, possibly Pearl’s, and puddles that looked like they could lead to somewhere else. Although the room was quite disarrayed, it didn’t really bother Peridot, she thought it was unique and thought looked pretty neat regardless of the heaps of organized garbage. She then tightened her hold on the quartz, as Amethyst had led her to a messy pile of pillows and blankets.

Peridot let go of Amethyst, as they had both sat down together on the pile of blankets and pillows. There was a moment of silence between the two, but then Amethyst had broken it by cautiously asking the technician, “So, how are you feeling?” in order to ease her into the conversation.

“I… don’t know,” The technician spoke up in a rather hesitant tone of voice, struggling to make eye contact with Amethyst, who sat across from her. She didn’t want to keep anything from Amethyst, but at the same time she felt kind of hesitant to tell her what she had seen, and she didn’t want to worry her. “All I know is that I am not okay.”

“What..happened?” Amethyst asked her, scooting closer to Peridot. She wanted to know what was wrong. She wanted to know what had upset her that much. She hated seeing Peridot like that, as it simply hurt her to see Peridot, who was usually so bright, upset.

Peridot took a deep breath, and then shut her eyes, hesitant, as she was about to tell Amethyst what had upset her. “So, while reading something on my tablet, I ended up falling asleep ..and then I .. I had a vision,” She began to explain to the quartz, then pausing in order to calm herself down, as she was working herself up again.

Amethyst studied the green gem, who was now visibly shaking and looked as if she was on the verge of tears again. Amethyst took one of Peridot’s hands, which was curled up into a fist, and then held it, reassuringly saying, “Peri it’s okay. I’m here.”

Peridot opened her eyes and gave the quartz a weak and pained but also soft and loving smile, loosening her fingers in Amethyst’s hold. That smile then faded, she now had a sad look in her eyes, continuing by saying, “I.. I had a vision, where the diamonds had come to Earth for the cluster and for Rose Quartz, and.. we ended up fighting them, but then.. I-I watched you get.. shattered. I saw your gem get crushed into smithereens, and it was one of the most horrifying things I have ever witnessed. But, I did wake up before anything else happened though.” Amethyst’s eyes widened out of surprise, shock, horror, her lips parted. “I-I tried to save you, Amethyst.”

“Per-”

“I tried to stop them. I tried to stop them from hurting you, and I-I couldn’t, and I’m sorry.” Peridot cut off the quartz as she blamed herself for Amethyst’s shattering in her version. She opened her eyes, now crying again, great.

All Amethyst had to say to her was “Peridot, you had a nightmare,” now giving the green gem a reassuring and comforting smile.

“..What?” Peridot asked in confusion, she really had no idea what a nightmare was, as she had never personally experienced once and it had never been explained to her before.

“Wait, have you not had a nightmare before?” Amethyst had asked her, coming off harsher than intended.

“No.. I have not. I.. don’t even know what a ‘nightmare’ is,” Peridot sniffled, wiping tears from her face. “What exactly is it?”

“Well, it’s basically like a dream. You know what those are right?” Amethyst had asked her. Peridot shook her head ‘no’ in response. “Huh, I thought Steven woulda told you what those are by now. Well, a dream is basically like a series of thoughts and/or images that occurs in your mind while sleeping. So like, a nightmare is basically a dream, but it’s not really a good one,” Amethyst explained to the rather confused gem as best as she could, hoping she would understand what she was saying.

Peridot stared at the floor with an unreadable look on her face. She slowly raised her head and then looked at Amethyst, narrowing her eyes and quietly asking her, “So.. you’re not shattered?”

“Pft, nope, I’m not shattered,” Amethyst smirked, holding back laughter, as she didn’t want to upset the technician and have her storm off or something like that. The purple gem then enthusiastically patted Peridot on the back, now convinced that Peridot was okay. But the light smile on Peridot’s face did not reach her eyes, as she was still terrified of the images her own mind had created while she was asleep.

“..Amethyst, stop,” The green gem finally spoke up, the light smile on her face had developed into a frown, pushing Amethyst’s hand away from her.

Confused at Peridot’s reaction, Amethyst then tilted her head, the smile on her face disappearing, “But everything’s okay, right?”

Peridot frustratedly shook her head, then burying her face into the palm of one of her hands, “No, you do not even know how terrifying it was for me to see you… shattered.”

Amethyst’s smile had returned, patting Peridot on the back once again, this time more gently, “Aw, Peridot. You know I won’t go down that easily. Y’know, cause I’m a BIG STRONG AMETHYST RAAAAA,” She teased the other gem in a wacky tone of voice, as she made a silly face, wrapping her one of her arms around Peridot’s shoulder and ruffled her hair, which got the green gem to giggle. Peridot then leaned into Amethyst, resting her head on the purple quartz’s shoulder. Amethyst flinched out of surprise, but gave into her, and slowly stroked the green gem’s back, “It’ll be okay, Peri. I don’t plan on shattering. Ever.”

“I was so scared…,” Peridot trailed off, keeping her eyes focused on the pillows and blankets below her. “I was so hurt. Imagine seeing someone you care about, immensely, shattered right in front of you. It’s.. horrifying.”

“It’s okay, Peridot,” Amethyst assured the gem. “I won’t leave you, ever. Promise.”

Peridot smiled up at the quartz, as she was still resting her head on her shoulder. She then affectionately nuzzled her face into Amethyst’s neck, getting a slight blush out of the other gem. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” Peridot said in a short and simple response. “You have been incredibly kind to me these past few weeks, from taking me in after Lapis left to comforting me over that horrendous scene my mind had created. I am so lucky to have you in my life, and I am so thankful for everything you have done for me. Thank you.”

“Aw shucks P-dot, you’re making me blush,” The quartz smiled at her, trying but failing, to hide her face behind her bangs as a darker tone of purple had dusted her cheeks and her little nose. “But, it’s no problem dude. You mean way too much to me for me not to.”

This got Peridot to blush too, as Amethyst was simply adorable when she got flustered, and she gave Amethyst one of the most softest smiles Amethyst had ever seen from her, “Yeah, you mean a lot to me too, Amethyst.”

After a few minutes of silence, as Peridot cuddled the quartz and Amethyst rubbed the smaller gem’s back, Amethyst spoke up,” Hey, you want me to take ya back to the bathroom now and help you get settled in or?” Truthfully, she didn’t want Peridot to leave, but she wanted to do whatever was best and most comfortable for Peridot.

“Do you mind me staying here with you for a bit longer?” Peridot asked her. She gave the quartz a soft smile, tilting her head upwards, her eyes then meeting with Amethyst’s, “...I just feel safer..here with you.”

A clear and visible blush appeared on Amethyst’s face, but she then gave the smaller gem a soft smile, pulling her onto her lap and wrapping her arms around the green gem, saying into her ear, “Of course.” Peridot’s eyes widened, surprised by the affection the other gem had given her, but then she closed her eyes, a wide but loving smile appeared on her face, and reciprocated the cuddle by wrapping her smaller arms around Amethyst, snuggling into her hold.

_________

Notes: I finished writing this and posted it to Wattpad over a month ago.

My main fear with writing this was having Peridot being ooc, although I always fear that I am writing Peridot or any other character that isn't Amethyst ooc. However, with this it's because I don't think Peridot is much of an emotional person, unless something has really upset her, and in this bit, Peridot is really emotional. So, please let me know if you think she is ooc in this, as I do want to improve as a writer and I do want to improve my content.

This took me awhile to write this up, possibly the longest I've ever worked on a fic. I came up with the idea for this back in June, and didn't start working on it until mid to late July, so I spent about two to three weeks on this. I want to thank my friend for helping me write this and proofreading this as I did get stuck a lot, and I really had no idea how to continue it, but she did give me ideas, and I probably would have left this as a wip if weren't for her. Anyways, thank you for reading this, it really means a lot.

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

Why Tumblr Chooses Censorship

It’s a strange day to jump online and suddenly hear about a major policy change on Tumblr from a few people I talk too. Words like “Total Bullshit”, “End of Tumblr”, “Burning Garbage Heap” and so on tossed among them to describe the policy change. Curious enough I logged on began reading over all the purposed changes and I admit I am a bit disheartened. Usually when a digital institution like AOL, Yahoo, Napster, or MySpace falls it because they didn't evolve and became stagnant in what they were providing the internet. I can’t think of a time where a site willfully regressed its own freedom of speech on a broad scale and basically swallowed a poison capsule that destroys their user base (perhaps deservingly so) but here we are.

That point aside, I am trying to have insight and hindsight to understand how/why they were pushed to this reckless conclusion (I will be leaving foresight out because I think Tumblr lacks foresight, the exodus from Tumblr will dramatically change the culture of this site likely for the worse). Tumblr like any social media medium is struggling in the current age of the internet; Bots, Far Right Extremists, Fake News, Illegal Porn, Data Theft, and so on. Many companies are walking this fine line between trying to combat these problems while preserving freedom of speech.

I struggle to find my own footing on this topic because I believe that society with LESS censorship historically does better. You look to countries in the past that repressed sexuality, individual thought, and so on; those countries were often the ones to invite the rise of repressive groups doing atrocious acts in history. While on the other hand because of this open and free social media platform we all see the echoing of those same repressive groups (who are also on Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, and Youtube) and to simply say/do nothing about their posts will inevitably allow them to rise still. This is where I struggle as I believe in that concept of a free society but I do feel that removing fake new stories is essential for the health of democracy.

I imagine the reason why sexual images are the target is that Tumblr makes things so easy to post. It's not hard to imagine pictures of minors getting liked or reposted from one blog or another happening. The problem is many of those pictures will circulate for a long period of time not being flagged as underage and there is good chance that every user has knowingly or unknowingly looked at an image like this on the web. I explore the porn side of Tumblr and have once or twice encountered a Tumblr full of these images at which point I couldn't close that tab fast enough and get the hell out of dodge. So Tumblrs solution of handling this problem instead of playing whack a mole with these underage accounts? Ban all adult content.

I can understand this motivation being a foolproof way of making sure there is no underage porn because there will be no porn. I imagine the result will be very effective, so effective that the various members of the community be they straight, bi, or gay who had their own private collection of legal adult material on Tumblr will stop visiting the site. A slow-moving exodus of users from Tumblr this site to perhaps a new blogging alternative that isn't so restrictive. I don’t suspect Tumblr will be closing its doors the week after the policy kick in (though they will see a HUGE decline in traffic) but even the PG accounts will likely move on because a sizeable user base shifted away and people want to be where the party is at. And much as I love Tumblr, it will not be here (sadly).

PC Culture VS Censorship Culture

One thing I noticed on the various posts is some people attempting to blame this policy change on the PC Culture. I am not sure I believe that as a valid argument. While I don't get along with PC Culture all the time (part of my free society is believing that humor is apart of it and PC Culture doesn't always like humor), I do think PC Culture has a broad/accepting view of orientation and sexuality. Just important is people having the right to explore those thoughts and feelings of their own free will. Tumblr has been one of those sites allowing emerging gay men and women to find others like them but also explore their sexuality with images/gifs/videos. What Tumblr might have not noticed is that the site itself is kind of a cultivation of the best images from the web, sure you can find some pretty hard porn on occasion but of all the adult sites on the web, Tumblr provides an almost artistic lense to the images that come thru the site.

Censorship can come from various political/social/religious groups but this sort of censorship against the human body, sex, and sexuality, in general, comes from a very conservative mindset. People who don’t wish to see nudity in any form on any medium; people who think a woman's nipple is lewd, that breastfeeding publically is disgusting, and that anything remotely sexual is a sin. And by the nature of Tumblrs policy change their beliefs align themselves alarmingly close to these individuals.

There is a thin veneer of progressive views on the site that remains where they say they are ok with this and that like gender orientation surgery but its just that a veneer. Once a person has transitioned anything that is shared of their new body (nudity or sex wise) beyond the initial transition falls into the realm of ‘smut’ by Tumblrs policies. I imagine the perception they are trying to sell us is “Hey we are still the same progressive safe haven for LGTBQ community! Stay with us!” but secretly thinking “Everything you enjoy in the bedroom is horrible and we fucking hate you.”

Perhaps I am being hyperbolic in that statement but damn if it doesn't feel like a vast policy of censorship on the human body. And whenever this happens (historically) it always comes from hyper-conservatives.

A General Attack On Expression and Orientation

I touched on this topic a little bit above but I feel it's worth stating again that Tumblr might be losing its safe-haven status for gender expression and sexual orientation. When scrolling through Tumblr you will likely see those new expressions of genders that is beyond that of ‘traditional’ male and female definitions. And while I don’t have any attraction to some of these new expressions, I understood why they are there and don’t get upset if/when the cross my feed. Like two men having sex my mind thinks “Not for me but I am sure that will make someones day”. I view sex (in all its forms) as natural, I don’t have to be into it for me to be ok with it (if that makes sense). It’s visual participation if that image you see isn't a turn on for you and does nothing for you, simply move on.

Tumblr’s policy doesn't seem to care about this concept of visual participation and while it is taking away my straight/lesbian porn I enjoy. It is also sweeping up all these new forms of expression and orientation in the process.

I am not sure what else to say... I am a straight male and I try to have a deep empathy for other people when I can. I feel this argument can be better structured but I also come from a position where I don’t know all the details. I add this to the post because Tumblr seemed to go out of their way to suggest that they would protect this community but from a long view that doesn't seem to be the case.

A Lessons To Be Learned

I am not going to say fuck Tumblr. I don’t want to see them fail. I liked what this space was about and what it provided. I prefer they reconsider changing the guidelines and consider a different course of action but I also understand why they want to do this. It’s “The Easy Way” to do things. If they ban all porn then it simplifies managing underage nudity and allows the site to have less criticism drawn to it.

I do, however, think this broad censorship approach will ultimately hurt the site and the community though. People will leave, alternative websites will arise and Tumblr will eventually become no more. I am not going to tell anyone to boycott or delete their accounts. I plan to collect my writing and images, backup my favorite adult gifs (might need to buy a hard drive) and settle into this new reality. I know I will personally be visiting the site less as I used to look at porn here at some of the better cultivated Tumblr archives. That lack of traffic by me and all the other users will hurt the company. I hope they understand eventually I won't show up at all and over time, eventually, no one else will either. Maybe the site will survive and change into something else but right now under these conservative policies of censorship, Tumblr won't last.

Sad Regards, Michael California

Update: Posted this originally with a woman in a shower with large censorship bars over the naughty bits. Flagged despite the fact she was more covered than most Sports Illustrated models. I know I just wrote above I am not advocating leaving the site... but after all this and the fact that Tumblr Support finally responded to a far-right Tumblr blogger photoshopping/doctoring a PM conversation we had before posting it to his blog. I feel as though Tumblr A) hates sex and sexuality B) not only enables but protects racism and harassment on this website. I think it’s time to move on.