#forgetting that scar is extremely well read

[waitineedaname]

im experiencing scar induced madness again. I feel like people do not give him enough credit for being extremely poetic when he wants to be. sure he might seem stoic, but the dude busts out lines like this like it's nothing

[spacebarbarianweird]

Based on the comics by @lirotation

Thanks @rachelle-on-the-run for beta-reading!

Day Fifty

Synopsis: The first peaceful night after the end of the game.

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Trance brings satisfaction, not torture.

Astarion remembers the sunlight.

How it bathed his skin in its warmth. How it made his eyes squint.

The sunlight felt like cat fur.

The point of the reverie is to remember the past. To never forget.

Astarion wants to remember every day he had the blessing to see the sun.

Forty-nine days. He counted. From day one, when he realized it doesn't burn him, till day forty-nine when he almost died.

A lot of things happened within those forty-nine days.

Astarion became free. He killed his master. Yes, nothing will ever return him to the sun but nothing will take his freedom from him anymore.

The thoughts take him further. He has never had enough self-discipline to control them.

The sun. The pain. The fear.

You.

His mind grasps your image, and it saves you from nightmares.

Forty-nine days.

Your voice. Your face, when he tried to attack you. Your kindness. Your blood. Your kiss. Your embrace.

You.

How come these days gave him so much?

He was so sure you would leave him. He even didn't try to look for you after almost burning to death. Only at sunset, he returned to the streets trying to understand what to do.

Astarion got his vampiric strength back. Now he could easily fistfight an ogre.

His regeneration was back again along with resistance to healing potions.

He can crawl the walls and ceilings.

The hunger is worse, no longer suppressed by the tadpole.

But he was free. He can drink all the blood of the world and he can go wherever he wants.

But what about you?

You found him. He never expected to see that reaction from you.

You cried. You cursed. How did he dare to hide? You were worried sick!

It was something new. No one cared for him enough to be worried.

You dragged him to the room in the tavern. You were both so tired you simply fell on the bed, cuddling.

You immediately fell asleep in his arms, and Astarion stared at you with adoration.

Finally, he allowed himself to go into a trance hoping he wouldn’t see nightmares.

And now he is here.

Astarion opens his eyes. He feels rested.

He wants to turn around and hug you, to press you so close to his body he can feel your heartbeat.

You aren't there.

He stares at the empty part of the bed. The panic pierces his mind.

You have left him. 

What if you stared at him and realized it was the gravest mistake to mess up with a predator let alone putting one to bed?

He sits up. "Love, where are you?

And hears the answer.

“I am here! On the balcony!”

He sits up on a bed. It is afternoon and the sun bathes the streets. 

Astarion sees your silhouette behind the thick curtain. 

He wants to cover his scars with the shirt but can’t find it anywhere.

"Sorry, I felt cold!"

He stares at you in awe.

You are almost naked. Your hair flows down your back and the only piece of clothes you wear is his shirt.

It barely covers your breasts and bottom. Enough to hide the private parts but still extremely erotic.

He has seen thousands of bodies. Thousands of women. Naked, dressed. Probably some of them even wore his shirt for brief moments.

But it has never been like this.

"Did you sleep well?" You ask stepping into the shadows of the room

Instead of the answer, Astarion grabs you and kisses you. One hand on your hip, the other under the shirt so he can sense your warmth.

He kisses greedily, tasting you.

Your hair smells like sunshine, and he can't get enough of this.

You finally pull away a bit, leaving a thin stride of saliva connecting your lips.

"I should steal your shirt more often if this is the reaction I am gonna get."

"You can steal whatever you want, darling. I am all yours."

You press your ear to his chest as if trying to hear the heartbeat.

"And I am yours as well."

It was day fifty.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[daylite-writes]

Ayo ayo!!! I got an angsty idea for ya!!

Imagine this:

The harbingers find out that the reader has a plot to kill them/the Tsaritsa. How does this go? How do they react?

And for even more angst;

Imagine if they were successful

(Songbird anon- New anon)

OKAY OKAY OKAY I LIKE THIS (also hi ur my first named anon!). I won’t be doing “if you succeed in killing them”, since they’re dead and therefore won’t have a reaction lmao. I also won’t be doing every Harbinger here because that’s so many words omg. Probably will have multiple parts if ppl are interested.

Wasn’t sure if the ask was meant to be yandere, but this kinda is lmao. To varying degrees for each. Didn’t go too hard on angst but oh well

HARBINGERS REACT TO READER ATTEMPTING TO KILL THEM OR TSARITSA—AND IF YOU SUCCEED? (Pt 1, ft. Childe, Dottore, Arlecchino, Scaramouche)

cw: yandere, violence, referenced death, implied kidnapping, death of reader (in Arlecchino’s), etc.

Childe - mixed results

If you attempt to kill him? Oh baby. He lives for this shit. If you are strong enough to even get close? Well, his heavy panting, wide eyes, and red cheeks convey his feelings easily. If he wins the interaction, overpowering you and forcing you to the ground, he won’t kill you. He’ll probably let you up, let you try again—come onnn. Don’t tell him you can’t continue. You wanted this, baby. Try again. If you escape unscaved, then by god he’ll be thinking about this for weeks. Blushing, refusing to wrap the scars you give him.

If you attempt to kill the Tsaritsa, Child takes it very, very badly. One thing people forget about this man is he is not loyal to the harbingers, but he is extremely loyal to the Tsaritsa. Sentient abyssal creatures tend to latch onto an idea, a “purpose” of sorts that they will hinge their entire sanity on. Without her guidance he is nothing. He will fight tooth and bone to squash any attempts you make on her life. He takes on his Foul Legacy form to fight you, and in his anger, would end up either maiming or ending you. If you survive, he will make sure it never happens again (Read: mangling you). You just had to ruin a good thing, huh baby?

Succeed in killing the Tsaritsa? He’s either killing you, or dying trying. There is no way you’d both survive.

Dottore - Takes it pretty well

Attempt to kill him? How annoying. If it’s a physical attack, he’ll simply thwart it, pinning you down, tossing you in an observation cell, or sedating you. After, he’ll probably just reduce your privileges—less access to the lab, no longer allowed to go out without him. Be a brat, and he’ll put you on a leash no problem.

But… if you're clever about it? If you're slipping poison into his coffee, or setting up traps around his lab, only to greet him at dinner with only a strained smile when it fails? How fun. He’ll let it continue until he’s bored of it, ignoring your attempts. Honestly; it’s a little cute. He’s blushing a little bit you can’t tell with his mask.

Attempt to kill the Tsaritsa? He’ll stop you. Weirdly enough, he’ll only really punish you if the Harbingers or the Tsaritsa herself noticed. Otherwise, he’ll chastise you, leading you back to his lab with his thin, sharp fingers digging into the back of your neck.

Succeed in killing the Tsaritsa? Well… damn. You gonna eat that? He’s kinda turned on. This isn’t a dealbreaker for him, unless it really messes with his plans, in which case he’ll punish you for it later. An easy way to get out of trouble with him is to just gift him the Tsaritsa’s corpse. So thoughtful! He’s never had the opportunity to play around with the remains of an archon. Hm? What about overthrowing Celestia? He’s the second of the fatui harbingers, on the power level of a god, they’ll figure it out.

Arlecchino - takes it badly

Try and kill her? Her eyes sharpen as she evaluates you, panting heavily and on your knees. You’ve proven yourself a traitor, and a bold one at that. Something so bold, to her, indicates you are not an independently acting force. There are others you work for or with. After a moment, her face softens. “I’m hurt” she says, voice raw, “But I love you. Leave and never return.” You take the chance. You have to.

It’s a trap. Her subordinates—handpicked by her—are trailing you, stalking you. The moment your guard drops and you meet with your associates, she’s got you again.

The last thing you see are her boots, languidly walking towards you. The last thing you hear is her voice, barely cutting through the screams of your co-workers. “I suppose I should kill you. It’d be fair. But I am… selfish. Don’t worry, darling, you won’t go unpunished. This will be a fate worse than death.” The last thing you feel is her claws, carding through your hair.

Try to kill the Tsaritsa? You’re called into her office with little explanation what for. Usually, it’s empty. But there are Fatui by the doors. Scattered over her desk, is the proof of your sins. An attack against the highest of the Fatui. You can’t see it, but her heart is quick, and her throat tight. She opens her mouth to speak, baring her teeth, too white, too sharp. Her voice trembles a bit, almost minutely. “You understand what this means? What the collapse of the Fatui would mean for me? For my children? And still…”

It’s a death sentence. She speaks it once, lifting her hand to signal her children to step forward. She doesn’t do the job herself, leaving the room, letting the heavy wooden slam behind her.

Kill the Tsaritsa? She’s not there at the time. Still in Fontaine while your plan gets carried out in Snezhnaya. When she gets the news, she freezes. Hardly a few weeks ago, she found the will to break character for a moment to press a kiss to your cheek before you set out on the voyage north. She ignites the page as soon as she’s done, storming to her private quarters.

Later, when she collects herself, she’d set her assassins out, correspond with any remaining harbingers, and lay out a plan for the future. For one, painful night though, she mourns.

Scaramouche - Manipulatable

Try kill him? Oh god. The monologue. You almost wished he just killed you in response. The “fourth betrayal, at the hand of his lover, cruelest of them all—” it’s a long tangent, and your body hurts from the binds. Don’t tune it out though, because the moment he notices, a jolt of electricity tears through your body. His face darkens at your scream. How dare you ignore him—he probably won’t kill you, but your leash shortens considerably.

Whether you kill the Tsaritsa, or plan to kill the Tsaritsa it’s roughly the same response. It all depends on how you treat him after. Suck up, apologizing again and again, creeping closer and closer, until you climb on his lap, whispering how you only have eyes for him. You love him. So much. Press a kiss to his cold, doll-like cheek. Say after it was all done, you were going to run away with him—it’s your best shot. He may just stow you away, somewhere where his coworkers can’t get to you. He’d keep you to himself and tell everyone he disposed of you.

If you’re unapologetic, making it clear you didn’t care for him, he’d freak the fuck out. A very dangerous temper tantrum. At the end of it, you’re hardly conscious, laying on soft blankets, body throbbing in pain, you wince when you try to move. A hand, porcelain and cold, drags you down. Stay still, he says. You’ve been an idiot and gotten yourself mangled. By him, yeah. He couldn’t bring himself to kill you though.

~~~

So… much… and i didn’t even get half of themmm aaaaa

Anyways I really enjoyed this ask, but doing something for all of the harbingers is a lot, plus this is a side blog and I’m 6k works deep in a main blog project, bleh.

[ecstacy-appleofmyeye]

jason grace headcanons<3 (some x reader too)

a/n: my boy needs more love 🥺 also i haven't read all the books (im lazy) so if i miss something important that's why. also, reader is intended as male but i'll use they/them or you/yours pronouns

general hcs;

i don't think he's as macho/buff as some ppl make him out to be.

he is strong, obviously, but im sure as hell that he isn't 80% muscle . he's lean—skinny but muscular—and tall, very tall(193 cm, 6'4''—in canon) with lots of scars all over.

hates going to the doctor and getting stitches.

with all the fights and quests he's been im sure he made lots of visits to the infirmary and hated equally every single one.

he's scared of roaches, especially the ones that can fly (tbh who isnt afraid of them)

hugs ppl when he's excited (i think it's canon too? i may be wrong). he'll have to restrain himself from choking the air out of his friends and you. but he's respectful if someone doesn't like touching.

his glasses break at least once a month. he's not clumsy, but sometimes he forgets and fights with them. usually they just fall amd someone accidentally steps on them.

he loses them a lot too for some reason??? he'll just leave them on his nightstand to sleep and the next morning they're gone. where did they go? who knows

kinda afraid of nyx kids. they don't get along very well but he's trying to be friendly.

isn't afraid to fight someone if they insult his friends.

i saw a hc that roman demigods don't have dyslexia (cuz they use english to read, instead of greek) BUT they have dyscalculia instead 'cause of roman numerals.

and it makes sense. tbh i always thought of jason as more of an english type rather than maths.

neatest handwriting ever.

he has selective mutism. it stems from his anxiety and trauma from when he was under lupa's care—and extreme training. he also has migraines, thanks to lupa—again—and her anxiety-inducing training.

it wasn't uncommon for him to have panic attacks and have trouble talking—like the words couldn't get out of his throat—during his first quests. he was all alone too, so that didn't help at all.

i think reyna would be the first person he consulted for help.

after chb and camp jupiter united he would spend more time with hypnos kids, since their relaxing aura helped ease his mind.

very clingy in his sleep

he and thalia shared a small wolf plushy when they were younger.

whenever she visits camp and he happens to there they usually go to the lake and listen to thalia's music (i hc that music lovers have adapted and started using mp3s to listen to music).

he eats everything. he was a picky eater when he was younger but he grew out of it and eats pretty much anything that isn't molding. if it's not something disgusting (human flesh, scat, these things) then he'll probably eat it.

he's not photogenic at all 😭

dude is literally so handsome but you can't take a good picture of him to save your lives.

he's ticklish on his palms and elbow. aND HIS WRISTS!! someone will try and grab him by the wrist and he'd start giggling.

he Never shouts or yells. for any reason. jason always tries to talk calmly. he doesn't like it when he's being yelled at, and definitely feels bad if he does it to someone.

he doesn't like conflict. some times he'll just agree with anything just so he doesn't start a fight.

he's pretty awkward at the start of your friendships, but when he opens up more he's very talkative.

if you are the type of person that like to share your food, he always eats some of it. he can't say no to food.

he might look like he doesn't gaf about anything but it's just his resting bitch face.

he also doesn't express his emotions a lot but he's trying to get better at that.

romantic hcs;

cuddler!!!! he loves cuddles!!! my boy craves physical intimacy (intimacy in general but anyway)

his favourite position is either him laying on top of you (or the opposite) while you play with his hair.

not that romantic most of the time ex. bringing flowers and chocolates or stargazing/going to a cafe/going out in general for a date. but he can be sappy some times.

i think he'd probably prefer for him and you to sit in a room together and they do something without necessary talking to eachother (literally my idea of fun)

he will make you food tho.

not an amazing cook but he's trying his best <3

also not that big on pda. he'll be cuddly in private but never in public. hand-holding is as far as he'll go.

at first he's insecure because, what if he messed up their relationship? what if he upset his s/o? he needs lots of reassurance.

like. he grew up in a world where everyone expected him to be the perfect leader that saves and helps everyone anytime, doing the oh-so-noble-thing of selflessly sacrificing himself for others. he was forced to grow as jason grace, the son of jupiter but never just jason (there are other posts here that describe what im saying better

ahrm anyway

his perfectionism makes him second guess if he's doing anything wrong, he always tries to be perfect for his partner :(

they need to remind him that he's perfect just the way he is. he doesn't need to change himself for anyone, that they love him for being him <3

his love language is quality time. being a praetor means that he needs to sacrifice his personal and private time for his duties. at first it was alright, but now that he has a partner he values any time he gets to spend away from his job with them.

loves it if his partner's love language is words of affirmation.

im imagining them cuddled in his bed, both ready to fall asleep any second and his partner murmuring how much they love and appreciate him while playing with his hair.

he'll literally melt in their embrace. he needs someone to remind him that his mistakes are human.

jason definitely likes sparring with his s/o. sometimes he likes a more intense spar, other times he likes it so he can spend time with them.

he's so sweet and respectful and nice and understanding if you don't like physical touch.

he was raised by wolves so im 100% sure that he bites (take that however you will).

likes it when before you kiss him, you gently caress with your thumb the scar on his lip, kissing it first and then you kiss his lips.

🦋🦋🦋🦋

the butterflies in his stomach are going around in circles.

your affection in general makes him feel dizzy. like, gods, he loves you so much and you're being so sweet he'll faint.

overall he's an amazing boyfriend <33 he'll always be there for you but you also need to be there for him

[petracozbi]

Doing more Trolls (Branch-centric ‘cuz he’s my favorite) headcanons:

Branch speaks both Spanish and Korean, he learned from the K-pop Gang and Reggaeton Trolls

Kismet all have minor scars from either getting in a tussle with Branch, or saving him from trouble (taking on a big predator-critter on his own, one of his inventions almost exploding in his face, getting into confrontations with trolls bothering him (aka Creek and co.), etc.)

YK how we see how trolls can make their hair glow in the dark in ttbgo? Branch’s eyes glow in the dark. It’s pretty rare, since most trolls don’t roam in complete darkness, like he probably did for so many years to avoid detection from predators, so most trolls don’t even know they have that capability. It allows him to see in the dark, as well as scare the shit out of anyone that might catch a glance of him (Kismet, the bros, etc.)

A continuation of the hc that Branch needs glasses, from the post linked above: Since he stopped wearing glasses at such a young age, Branch struggled a lot with both reading and writing. This resulted in him having to label things in his ration-stock with very big letters, which were often also misspelled. No one, neither Kismet nor the Snackpack, thought to correct him, since they didn’t deem it too important, but Clay was genuinely saddened by the fact that Branch had had to struggle with this from such a young age. He offers to help Branch correct the mistakes and teach him how to read and write properly, which makes Branch extremely embarrassed at first, but he reluctantly obliges when he sees how nonjudgmental Clay is about it. Clay later discovers that the main reason Branch struggles so much, is bcs he needs glasses, and not just bcs he never got taught grammar past the age of like five (around the time Rosiepuff died). This has Clay silently cursing himself out, ‘cuz how could he forget in the first place that his baby brother needed glasses?? He makes it his objective to get Branch some new glasses, which Branch shows much reluctance to in the beginning, and it takes a lot of convincing from Clay, Poppy and everyone else to get him to try it. Cue Branch seeing clearly for the first time in 20 years, and the first -and almost only thing he can comment on, is how beautiful Poppy is. Cue Poppy getting emotional.

Bruce probably has the softest hair in the world, and gets pretty upset when he learns that Branch, whose hair used to be almost as soft as his, hasn’t done any haircare other than brushing it every few weeks for 20 years. That and just taking a break and relaxing overall. He takes it upon himself to try and get Branch to relax, and tries to treat him to a bro-spa-day, but ends up going way overboard with face masks, hair rollers, sauna, whale sounds, burning lavender-scented incense, etc. It’s all just way too overstimulating, and instead of relaxing, Branch is just put in a state of overwhelming, suffocating stress. Bruce his completely oblivious to this, until Brandy points out how Branch had already accidentally crushed five coconut-drinks in his hand, and maybe, he should try and sus out what’s bothering him instead of continually handing him drinks. This leads to Bruce pulling Branch away, where they have an heart-to-heart; Branch tries to apologize at first, since he was trying so hard to keep up and stay relaxed, as to not bring down the mood, and mentions how the trolls back in pop-village would always complain that he did that, back when he was gray. Bruce is heartbroken when hearing this; for one, the fact that Branch had to endure so much (frankly a little cruel) judgement from everyone around him, when he’d just been afraid, instead of anyone helping him or taking his feelings into consideration. And secondly, that he now felt he couldn’t speak up about what’s bothering him, with the fear he’d be rejected. Bruce ofc tells him he has nothing to apologize for, and that it should be him apologizing, since he never even noticed how uncomfortable Branch was; and they continue the rest of the bro-spa-day, doing something low key, but still relaxing.

Floyd partied hard during his solo-career days, and is horrified to see his baby brother with a candy sucker (I hc them as being like drugs for trolls)

Branch clings to others when he sleeps, but only sleeps when he feels secure enough, so there’s been many sleepless nights. Kismet tries to combat this by staying with him to ‘keep lookout’ while he naps. This is how they discovered the clinging, and it later evolved into all of Kismet taking regular naps together, in an almost sleep pile (think the Croods)

Branch is a silent observer and easily notices patterns and specific quirks with the ones he’s close with. This leads to him often being a step ahead; Ablaze likes his coffee a certain way at a specific time in the morning? Branch already has it ready for him when he walks in the kitchen. Hype has a tendency to bump into a specific spot on the table every time he walks past it? Branch is there, ready to hold a protective hand over the spot when he walks by. Poppy usually runs out of scrapbooking-material around the same time at the end of every week? Branch is already waiting at her door with another unrequested ‘delivery’. Branch always returning with specific things, snacks, etc, every time he return from a run in the village, because ‘he knew they (each individual member of Kismet) liked those things thing, snacks, etc.

Branch doesn’t show physical affection very often, so when he does, it’s automatic bragging-rights for whomever got shown affection (Kismet, Brozone, The Snackpack), plus it often puts them in an emotional state. (And yes, everyone (Kismet and Brozone) is very jealous of Poppy and how much more physical affection Branch shows her)

[just-dreaming-marvel]

LEGACY ~ Prologue

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,900ish

Summary: There will be no summary for this one.

The little girl, no more than nine-years-old, was chained to a large metal chair. Her head hung down, trying to avoid the glaring red octopus symbol that was painted on the wall in front of her. The symbol was at the center of every nightmare. There was one guard standing in front of the door, the only exit and entrance point, and two guards standing behind the chair. Multiple sets of feet were getting louder, heading towards the room she was in. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could also hear a set of feet being dragged as well.

A knock sounded at the door, signaling for the guard standing in front of it to open it. Two guards marched in before an older man in a suit followed. His reddish hair and piercing blue eyes were going to be hard to forget. Another set of guards came in behind the well dressed man, dragging another man by his arms, which one appeared to be metal. The man had long brown hair, covering his face. He was extremely buff and his shirtless chest revealed multiple scars and a sizable bleeding gash.

“Are you ready to show me what you can do?” The well dressed man asked as he came to stand in front of the girl. “I’ve heard you have quite the talent.” The guards threw the injured man to the ground, revealing that his wound went straight through him. “Heal him.”

The man motioned his head towards the girl, signaling for two of the guards to come forward and unchain her. Unsteadily, the girl stood up and slowly walked over toward the injured man. She knelt down beside the man. Her hand came out and rested on top of the wound on his back. Taking a deep breath, the girl closed her eyes and concentrated. Energy began to flow through her and into the man’s wound. As the man started healing, the girl grew weaker. Once the girl could tell that the man was fully healed, she opened her eyes and pulled her hand away. She was swaying slightly and breathing heavily.

The suited man crouched down to check her work. “Nice job,” he smiled wickedly. “Now, I’ve heard that you have other abilities as well. Show me.”

The girl stood up and concentrated on the suited man’s thoughts. “It won’t work,” she mumbled. Her throat hurt and her voice was rough, having not been allowed to speak in too long.

“Excuse me?”

“You want to see if the super serum will work on me. It’s all you and the scientist have been thinking about. It won’t work on me. I… I already have super strength.”

“Show me.”

The girl walked over to the cement side wall. She formed a fist with her right hand and, with all her strength, she punched the wall. The guards flinched as a sizable dent formed in the cement wall, with cracks surrounding it. She turned back around to face the suited man with no care to her aching hand as she knew it would heal.

“Anything else?” The suited man asked.

Glancing around the room, the girl chose one of the guards that seemed more timid than the rest. She entered his mind, but instead of reading it, she controlled it. Without any control over himself, the guard pulled out the gun he had on his hip. He shot two of the guards in the leg before putting his gun back. The suited man smirked, clearly impressed with the sight before him. But he was too cocky. The girl quickly entered his mind and began torturing him. He yelled out, grabbing his head, and falling to his knees. 

The metal-armed man who the girl had healed quickly jumped up from the floor, grabbed the girl by the neck, and slammed her into the wall. This caused her to lose concentration and slip out of the man’s mind. The girl cried out as the metal hand around her neck began tightening. She pushed through into his mind. He was scared and in pain too. He had no control over his actions and he didn’t know who he really was, not even his name. At least she still knew her name.

“That’s enough, Soldier,” the suited man ordered as he stood up, regaining himself. “She’s going to be of good use to us. Bring her to the memory chamber. We’re going to wipe her clean again and start fresh.”

The girl tried to resist, having endured enough pain due to the memory chamber. The metal man—Soldier—dragged her down the hall and into the chamber, chaining her up himself. The scientists that were waiting in the room attached her to the machine and wires. She screamed as it started up.

~~~

A few years later, the little girl was older now, in her teens, and in a different facility. Her memory had been wiped again just a few days ago, leaving her with only the knowledge of her name. She was currently locked away in a small cage. The deafening silence where the girl was being kept was suddenly broken by the sound of fighting. The girl curled in on herself and squeezed her eyes shut as the fighting got closer.

Eventually, the girl heard the sound of metal footsteps coming towards her. They paused outside of her cage before the owner of the footsteps went down on one knee for a better look.

“I’ve found a girl,” a voice said through the mask, like they were talking to someone. 

The man was in a red and gold metal suit, head to toe. He lifted an arm up and a small laser appeared. Using it, he cut a hole in the cage. He leaned in and offered a hand, causing the girl to curl up into herself more.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he told her. “I’m here to rescue you.”

The girl was trembling and staring at the man, not knowing what to believe. Taking off his helmet and pushing it away, the man revealed large brown eyes. His black hair and weird looking beard were sharper than his soft eyes. The girl could easily tell that the man in front of her truly meant her no harm. Seeing that the girl wasn’t making a move to come to him, the man took a tiny step forward, keeping his hand extended to her.

“It’s okay, kid,” he spoke again. “I’m here to save you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice was calm and sure, making an overwhelming sense of trust to take over the girl. Shakily, she reached out and took his still outreached hand. The man guided the girl out of the cage.

“What’s your name, kid?” He asked. 

The girl took a moment to respond. “Y/N,” she rasped. “My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” the man repeated with a nod. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. My name’s Tony. Now, I’m going to need you to hang on to me tightly so that I can get you out of here, alright?”

Y/N nodded, wrapping her arms around the metal suit. Tony bent down the best he could and grabbed his helmet. He slipped it over his head before suddenly lifting from the ground. Y/N held on tighter before Tony’s arms wrapped around her. Tony flew her outside of the building to where a group of people in black suits were located. When Tony landed, Y/N didn’t let go. 

“Stark!” A man rushed up with what looked to be a medical team behind him. “We can take her from you.”

Y/N gripped onto Tony harder, refusing to let go. Tony knew that this girl must have been through something extremely traumatic and was probably too scared to go with anyone.

“I’ve got her, Coulson,” Tony responded. “Just show me the way and I’ll take her there.”

The man, Coulson, nodded, seeing that the girl wasn’t going to let go of Tony. “This way.” He led them to a sleek black jet with a gray symbol of a bird on the side. 

Inside the jet, the medical team tried to work on Y/N but she refused to let go of Tony. Her anxiety rose, her lungs beginning to feel like they were not allowing any air in. Her breaths were labored and she began to panic. Tony pried Y/N from him, set her down on the cot, and knelt in front of her.

“You’re breathing way too fast, kid,” he told her. “I need you to slow down. These guys are here to help you, not hurt you.” Y/N’s breathing only quickened. “Okay, kid, breathe with me. In… Out… In… Out…” Y/N slowly began to mimic Tony’s breathing. “There you go kid, keep it up. In… Out… In… Out… Very good. I am going to be right here the whole time, but these guys need to be able to look at you. They are here to help, okay?”

Y/N looked into Tony’s eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity. She glanced around at the medical team. They didn’t seem like they were going to hurt her, but she definitely didn’t trust them. Looking back at Tony, she gave a little nod.

“Alright,” Tony looked back at the medical team and gave them a nod before looking back at her. “I’ll be right here the entire time.”

~~~

Due to the trauma and not knowing that to do with her just yet, Tony took Y/N home to his Malibu Mansion. Pepper had been warned along the way. Pepper had questioned Tony but Tony insisted that he had to do this, that there was something about the girl that he had to continue to help her. Especially as Tony began to get her talking, he realized that Y/N was very smart but really had no memory of what had truly happened to her. He also came to realize that she had super strength and an ability to heal herself. Everything Tony found out about Y/N, he reported back to SHIELD.

Coulson showed up almost a week later to take Y/N to a family who would keep her safe. Tony’s heart broke at how terrified Y/N looked. He wished that he could keep her, but he just believed that he couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child. Getting down on one knee, Tony met Y/N eye to eye.

“This is going to be good for you, Y/N,” Tony said. “Coulson is going to take you somewhere safe, to a family who can take care of you.”

“Why?” She questioned. “Why can’t I just stay with you?”

Tony sighed. “Because it’s not safe and I’m not the parenting type. I wouldn’t be a good fit for you.”

“You can be honest with me, Tony. You don’t want me… You’re just going to forget about me and move on with your life.” Y/N began to cry.

It crushed Tony to see the girl so upset. “I’m not going to forget about you, sweetheart.” He carefully placed his hands on her arms, rubbing his thumbs on her arms. “I never could. I may not be able to take care of you, Y/N, but I’ll always be here for you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

next chapter >

Author's Note: I don't do taglists anymore. Just follow and stay active!

[olliesneweyes]

Wanted to flesh out and add more headcanons to this ↑, so that'll be under the cut!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

This post by my friend(?) Is basically what I mean by he's chaotic academia lol

⫘⫘ Messy as hell handwriting that only he can read, although sometimes he can't read it either and struggles with remembering what he wrote

i feel like he'd have a typewriter in his room for important notes because of this (no idea if those actually existed when idv takes place but we have cypher machines which seem pretty similar so-)

He's always, always doing something with his hands.

if he's not writing on his notes, he's doodling abstract shapes or concept inventions on them.

And if he's not doing that, then he either has something to fidget with or tinker on, or he's playing with his hands.

⫘⫘ speaking of hands, to me he only wears one glove because they irritate his scarred hand.

He should take regular breaks so his hands don't cramp and hurt, but he's usually so engrossed in his tasks that he forgets it's even a problem.

⫘⫘ He talks a lot! But sometimes it's not just the chatty type of talking but a cacophony of thoughts and ideas that his brain works him up into and needs to be dragged out of him by the only way he can.

If you're not his friend already and you end up on the listening end of one of these, as long as you don't actively recoil from it you've probably gained a ton of trust with him.

⫘⫘ Part of talking so much with everyone is that he has a lot of friends! But he doesn't really have many friends, you know? There's only a select few he trusts properly.

⫘⫘ His memory tends to go blank on things like the date or time.

He's worried quite a few people by not realising it was a holiday, and commenting on it with confusion.

More minor holidays like Easter and Valentine's Day are the easiest to forget, because people don't really decorate for them.

He has Several alarm clocks for timing, but he usually asks people to immediately come and get him if he's needed for something and isn't there.

Due to this, he's been part of things he wasn't supposed to be, because he generally trusts that he's just forgotten he was meant to be there.

Of course he has distorted dreams of the incident, but he actually has quite a lot that revolve around his prison time.

⫘⫘ He has a lot of night terrors. There's been so many nights where he's jolted up, heart racing, and couldn't tell what was real or fake or where he was for a while.

He was treated... extremely badly there. Any excuse to take frustrations out on a rich person was taken liberally by the other people. Prisoners, guards, all of them.

Lots of both physical and mental trauma helped to cement his broken mental state and lack of memory, as well. Being hurt like that is not going for your head.

After all, one of his canon dislikes are "implements of torture"

⫘⫘ He's pretty good at decoding when he decides to do a match! He avoids hunters pretty well too. Unfortunately, they don't like him very much...

He always HATES the rocket chairs. Not necessarily what happens after he's eliminated, although that's startling too. It's actually being strapped down to it that makes him panic.

He doesn't like being stuck to anything, and he especially doesn't like it when the hunters are usually nearby ready to hurt him.

⫘⫘ It's alright though, because he has his chain! He's augmented it in order to create the static charges you see in the matches.

There is just one teensy little problem. After coming to the makeshift hospital ward after blacking out while using his abilities a couple of times, he was asked what he did to keep his electricity generator from shocking him. He didn't have an answer.

As it turns out, he's rather numb in certain parts of his body. Including his neck. And as he was only focused on this invention being effective, he never quite realised that it might be a danger to have it near his already messed up brain.

He's trying to refine it so it doesn't do that, but he's advised to stay out of matches for now.

⫘⫘ he's not the best with self care. At all.

his hair is VERY messy, so it's tied in place with a lot of unconventional things.

Ribbons, wires, gears to wrap it around, clasps, and more. He even kept it tied with a pair of pliers one time. He just needs it up. It's a sensory thing.

But on a less light hearted note, he usually forgets to eat, and "forgets" to sleep while he's working.

If he does eat, he usually brings things like pastries from the main hall to his room.

And if he sleeps... The night terrors about killing his mentor are much more vivid when he jolts up to a desk that looks exactly as it always did back then.

⫘⫘ he doesn't work on his invention. He desperately wants to, but he can't.

Even for someone with good memory, trying to continue a project you last worked on YEARS ago, completely from scratch, is hard.

But he barely remembers what it was meant to do. His life's devotion, shattered to pieces in his mind because of a stupid impulsive accident he feels that he caused. It breaks him.

So he works on other things. Everything and everything will be tinkered with, because maybe he can remember what he wanted. Someday. Through desperate notes and ramblings and trying to weld the puzzle pieces together in his mind.

Grasping for it even as it slips away the more he tries to think of what it was...

⫘⫘ He has friends now. And he'll do whatever they want to do. Anything to distract himself from his plight.

They're the main reason he takes self care at all, besides keeping up appearances. He doesn't feel as alone when everyone is struggling with him.

His room is full of little gifts for them. Might as well put his knowledge to things that make them happy, right?

[deathknightrea]

I've seen a few people complaining about Anduin's new look and how he looks too "old" now, also they dont understand why he's acting so distant from his friends, so I figured I'd break it down from my perspective and a tiny bit of my own character analysis as a long time player since Lich King and have read a lot of the books. Also I'm a huge fan of Anduin as a character, so I'm sorry if it might be a bit biased.

He was 18 years old in the book Before The Strom which takes place right before Battle for Azeroth, (he probably turned 19 around the beginning of BFA) so by the end of BFA he would've been between 20 and 21 since the war was fought over 2 years. He was fighting that war while still struggling with the death of his father as well as running the Alliance and his own Kingdom. He even said he had never given himself a proper time to grieve his father's passing. If you read Before The Storm, you know all the heartbreak and disappointment he suffered in that book. Including everything that happened with Calia Menethil. (I know not a lot of people view the books as canon, but I do believe the legit Warcraft published books to be part of the Lore.)

In Shadowlands, which was stated to be over the course of 2 years as well. Anduin would've been 22 or 23 when it ended. Let's not forget that while imprisoned by the Jailer, everyone was tortured mentally and physically. Anduin obviously had the worst of it, constantly being controlled by the Jailer and the Mourn Blade and forced to do horrible things that made him feel extremely guilty and question his own heart. Let's be honest, if Arthas had been able to break free from the Jailers' influence and not fallen so far, he would be struggling just as bad as/or worse than Anduin.

We were told 5 years had passed between Shadowlands and Dragonflight so that puts Anduin around 27 or 28 years old in War Within. The biggest clue to how much Anduin has been struggling, is his sword. The first thing I noticed is that the yellow glow that for us symbolized his role as a Priest was gone. He even told Thrall there was no Light left in him. It seems he's to a point where he is giving up and still can't accept what he was forced to do in Shadowlands.

I think they did a good job on aging him in the new cinematic. He isn't the hope filled, peace seeking, bright-eyed, boy King we all knew. Now he's the war-torn, mentality struggling, man who needs help coming to peace with himself. The trauma of constant war and loss have finally caught up with him. We also don't know where he's been or what he's been up to since he left. However, just looking at the scars and cuts on his face, he's clearly been through something rough while he was away. You can feel the pain in his voice and see it in his eyes. They really did a fantastic job putting that cinematic together.

I feel like, as an Alliance players and due to the connection our characters have had from quest lines and side Quests over the years with Anduin, through Pandaria to Shadowlands, we will be doing a lot of Quests with Anduin to help him regain his connection to the Light and bring back our Priest--but that's just a my Alliance fan heart wishing.

If you actually read all this....WOW! 😂 Thanks for reading my rambling.

[bi-writes]

what never left us | j.m.

there isn't a place dark enough to hide the things i've done for you.

type: one-shot, written in third person (no use of y/n) pairing: dark!joel miller x dark!afab!fem!reader word count: 11.7k (oops, strap in) warnings: implied age gap, extremely mature language and content, extremely mature written sexual content (see details below the cut), 🔞⚠️ summary: it isn't your fault that nobody understands how far you'll go for him; it isn't your fault that they don't understand what he is to you. complete masterlist

detailed warnings: extremely dark content ahead. includes themes of extreme violence and murder + sexual, emotional, and physical manipulation. read at your own discretion.

It was not quite clear when she realized she was not like other little girls. Her earliest memories were not the same as other women. She had no memory of life before, of dollhouses and pink tutus. She only had recollections of still-hot gun barrels and the stray bullets they left behind; she only truly remembered the pink that blood became when washed away by rainwater, and how it could stain canvas shoes the same color if she stuck out her foot to meet the flowing trails.

She had not been interested in the things that other little girls were interested in. She didn’t want to play pretend. She didn’t feel like braiding her hair or coloring pictures or reading stories. She was only fascinated by what was. By reality. By the things that shaped the world, and not the things that existed in fantasy. The scars on her fingertips from touching the sharp edges of blades too often attested too well to that fact.

The only thing she found she had in common with some other girls, finally, was the way her eyes followed other boys. She did not fawn over them as some others had. Some of them had been pretty, had smiles that were attractive, but this was where she again realized she was not the same as anyone else. Where others saw the possibility of romance, of love, of the idea of forever in one other person, she thought practically. The first boy she ever kissed was willing to trade the kiss for a box of ammo. The transaction had seemed agreeable to her then. She never saw affection or love the same way again.

Touch was a deal, a trade. It was not gentle or kind, it did not signify love or warmth or tenderness. She learned very quickly that in this new world, in the only world she had ever known, touch was scarce and a useful bartering tool. She could use it to her advantage, trick men into thinking they had control, kiss them until they dropped their guard and reap the rewards of their lust-clouded minds.

Perhaps that was why to show affection, she thought violence was her truest option.

But there was nothing romantic about this. If she looked up and tried to forget what laid underneath her, she might pretend; if the only thing in her view was the sky, then perhaps she could play along with the idea that it was just another day. But the shielded view was brief, and when her eyes dropped back to the body beneath her, all she could really do was wrench the hatchet out of the girl’s neck and clean it off against the fabric of their shirt.

The girl was pretty. She had long hair, glassy eyes, and pouty lips. She thought maybe those lips were what drew him to her. They resembled her own, the curve of them just round enough to almost look like they belonged to her. She bent down, fishing through the girl’s pockets, finding crumpled rations in one and a few pieces of contraband in another—cigarettes, a few batteries, and a tube of 20 year-old lip gloss. She clenched her jaw at the sight of it. It was strawberry flavored, and when she popped the cap open on it, she smelled the moldy, sickly artificial candy flavoring that she had noticed against the collar of his shirt just a few hours ago.

She wondered if he knew what he smelled like. She wondered if he knew she was observant enough to smell something different on him. Something new. Unwelcome. She wondered if he knew and chose not to change his shirt or decided to see how she reacted. She wondered if he knew at all how much she felt, and how easily she let it consume her entire being.

No. He was a man. He definitely had not thought that far.

She tossed the lip gloss back on top of her, standing up straight as she slipped the hatchet back into its place on her belt. She rolled her neck out, taking a few glances at her surroundings before leaving the girl to rot in a forgotten corner of the city.

No one would find her. Not for many days, at least. Perhaps it would be the smell that they would follow to her. Or maybe the rats would discover the girl first and cover her tracks better than time could.

It was dark, much too dark. It was too far past curfew to be able to use the excuses she normally used; it was too long after work shifts to pretend an extra shift ran over, and it was too early to be on her way to a morning one. So, she kept to the alleys, taking cover in doorways when she noticed lights flooding through the streets. She was small enough to fit into hidden spaces, and she used it to her advantage, slipping between buildings barely making noise. Going through undetected, being able to disappear into a crowd, blending in and fitting in and being unseen was her specialty; no one could hide better, and no one could get their hands on what she could.

Smuggling was all she knew. Since she was small, growing up on the overgrown city streets meant learning how to survive. She was not able to work enough to live, but she found that as a child, she could get through places that adults could not. With this knowledge and just a bit of bravery, she learned how to move through the city in corridors and through spaces that only she knew of. If someone needed something hidden, it would not be seen until asked for again. If someone needed something taken from one end of the city to another, she would get it there every time. She was resourceful, determined, and too good at what she did.

Even as she grew, she kept these routes to herself, even made new ones when others seemed to follow her tracks, earning herself an unrivaled reputation that too many people needed in the city to ever try and stop her. She knew many, many people; but there was only one man that she ever cared to learn the name of.

Joel.

He had heard from a friend of a friend about what it was that she did. Hiding, disappearing, moving things around, it was what he needed, and he needed the best. It was just another job, taking a bag from him, not asking questions or looking inside of it, and taking it to a secure location before dropping it off somewhere very specific on the west side of the city.

But sometimes jobs got messy. She didn’t lose the bag. She hadn’t looked inside. She hadn’t left the package in the wrong place. No, she just let the job get personal.

She was a bullet that he never saw coming. The first moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was nothing but trouble. Such pretty features she had; he couldn’t stop looking at her. Hair lovely enough to pull. Greedy lips. Eyes he could get lost in. Figure-hugging denim, with enough pockets for her to hide something dangerous. And her voice—a siren song, a soft beckoning, a sound that he would never forget again.

The look in her eyes when he met her gaze for the first time told him she was thinking just the same thing. It was hard not to. There were men, and then there was Joel. All hard lines and words that stung like venom, but she liked them that way. And so she had smiled, wet her bottom lip, and purred as she took the contraband from him—tell me where you want it. In lieu of payment, she found herself tangled between the sheets of his bed, waking up to the sight of him counting the ration cards on the table and nodding for her to leave.

She had left. But it didn’t mean she stopped coming back.

She wanted to feel bad for sleeping with him. She wanted to regret every time she left his apartment with a shakiness in her step from how rough his touch had gotten. She wanted to take herself seriously when she promised that one more night was all she needed, and then she would never come back, but she always ended up right back where she started.

It was simple; she could not stay away from him, and he would not turn her away. There was a kind of satisfaction that came with ending up in his bed. Joel had his own reputation. He was good at what he did, too, and his name was enough to make others nervous. Joel could get his hands on things that no one else could; cigarettes, drugs, even books or the nostalgia of a certain candy for the right price. He ran his business like he fucked her—quiet, deliberate, easy.

He was not known to be a kind man. Often, she heard groups talk about him with distaste, complaining about the sway of prices in contraband or how they met the wrong end of his fist for trying to undercut him. She even heard a woman cry at the way he had killed her partner, but she just licked her lips at the thought, thinking the woman had been holding back part of the story, maybe perhaps a moment when her partner tried to hold a gun up to Joel’s head and cut their deal short. Joel was not a man someone tried to subdue; he was too good at reading the room, at handling himself around a gun, at using the rough timber of his voice to make others shake under his tense gaze.

And because of this, she felt her own power in the way she could have him underneath her any night she liked. What started out as a business transaction turned into genuine attraction, into learning what his kisses felt like and how warm his hands were on her bare skin and how nice his voice sounded as it spewed profanities into her ear. She was satiated inside having influence over a feared, unruly, unforgiving man, one at her beck and call. Joel was hers. He belonged to no one else.

She just wish he understood that. Then she wouldn’t have had to dirty her favorite weapon and dull its edge. Maybe, just maybe, that girl would still be so pretty.

When she shut the door to her apartment and turned on the lights, she bit back a smile at the sight in front of her. He was there, taking up her space, legs spread as he sat at her kitchen table and sipped liquor from a chipped glass. She realized early on that Joel had no clue how attractive he really was. He had no idea how the solidness of him was enough to have her on her knees; he had no idea that the low tone of his voice could get her off alone, and that there was no other living thing in this Godforsaken world that could handle her body the way he could. She put down her backpack, making her way to him, surprised but not unwelcoming of him waiting for her like this.

She stopped in front of him, expecting him to stand and kiss her and manhandle her into her bedroom, but he just sat there still, his jaw hard and tight as he moved the glass around in his hand and watched the liquor swirl with the movement.

“Where were you?” He asked. Her excited expression faded into something a bit dismal, and she tried to not let the annoyance show on her face. She made her way into her kitchen, opening one of the cabinets and taking out her own glass. She took a seat across from him at the table, tipping the bottle over and letting the clicking of glass against glass make up the only response to his question. She took a long sip of the drink, letting it burn her throat nicely before looking at him again.

He was staring right back at her, glaring almost. Joel could be mean; he often was, even to her, but she had learned to ignore this behavior. He was mean to everyone. He was mean and cruel and impatient, but she liked that about him. It meant there was no room for fluff, for nothingness. It was all or nothing with him, and she never liked to prolong a chase. She was quite content to let him have what it was he wanted.

“I don’t have to tell you that,” she said matter-of-factly.

“No?” He tilted his head to the side, laughing even, but it was dry and humorless. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Answer my fucking question.”

She tipped her head back, downing the rest of her drink before standing. She shook her hair out of the style she had put it in that morning, shaking it out before starting for her bedroom.

She didn’t make it very far. Just as quickly as she had started to walk away from him, he had caught her by the arm and slammed her up against the wall, towering over her with his height and broadness. She grunted a bit as her head hit the surface roughly, biting her tongue to not spit in his face in protest. She stared up at him angrily, but he put a forearm to her neck, holding her eyes to his so he could stare right back.

“Tell me where you were,” he muttered. “I ain’t askin’.”

She tilted her head to the side, gritting her teeth as she struggled against his obvious strength. She tried to turn her head to the side, but he pressed his arm against her throat harder, forcing her chin up just to breathe.

“What did I say?” He snapped. “Tell me.”

“Or what?” She shot back, a sick smile ghosting her face as she coughed a bit against him. “What are you gonna do, Joel? Hit me?” She snickered a bit, shaking her head as much as his grip allowed. “You won’t.” She leaned forward as much as she could, but it was close enough for her breath to warm his jaw. “You know I’d like it too much.”

He let his arm fall, his hand wrapping around the expanse of her throat and pushing her head back into the wall. She let out a hard breath at the new hold, but he was in control. He was too strong to fight against, but there was a gnawing in her belly that didn’t want to fight against this. If anything, his angry eyes were pretty, and his touch was hot, and his commanding voice was making her head dizzy with filthy thoughts. His intimidation was not having the effects he desired; he should’ve known better, should’ve known that they wouldn’t work on her at all.

“Listen to me—” He choked her a bit, almost lifting her up off her feet as he pressed her as hard as he could into the wood behind her. “If I find out you were up to no good, you won’t like what happens. I fucking mean it.”

“Yeah?” She let out with a strained breath. “You think I—You think I care, Joel?” She smiled again, a sickly sweet one that made his entire body feel hot with indifference. “If you’re going to try and scare me, you could at least not lie to me.”

“And you could try and not make fucking messes that I gotta clean up,” he growled. His eyes trailed a bit down her face, along her jaw. He lifted his thumb up, touching a speckle of something on her neck and watching it smear across her skin. Blood, still wet, painting her throat eerily. “What…what did you do?”

She felt his grip loosen just enough, and she let her eyes fall down the expanse of his face before settling on his lips. She stared at them, watching as he breathed steadily. They were a bit dry, a bit chapped, and she wanted to hydrate them, swallow him in kisses and let the night melt into morning into another forgotten day.

“Strawberry,” she whispered, licking her lips slowly.

“What?”

“It was strawberry,” she said again, a bit louder. “Strawberry lip gloss.”

Silence, and she scoffed a bit.

“I thought it was cherry,” she added, a terrifying smile on her face. Eyes sparkling with nothing but mischief, a sickening amount of enjoyment and satisfaction swimming in the depths of them. “But it was fucking strawberry…”

She finally let her eyes slowly rise to meet his, and she tilted her head to the side. She stood up on her toes, her nose touching his, their faces close enough that they could breathe each other in.

“Was it worth it, Joel?” She asked, putting a hand to his chest. “Tell me. How did she feel?”

He let her go finally, his features knitting together. A clear frown came over his face, and he stepped back from her. He still had a hand on her throat, but it laid there with no force, just holding her there. His eyes moved over her face, trying to discern what it was that she was saying. She looked so calm, too calm, and that smile on her was making him feel more uneasy with every passing second. He said her name, but his voice was so low, uncertain.

“What did you do?” He asked again. “What the fuck did you do?”

She put her hands on his chest, caressing the warmth of him for a moment. She leaned up on her toes more, her lips just barely grazing his, and he followed her instinctively, leaning towards her to try and close the space. Instead of giving in, she drew her head back just enough to deny him and pushed roughly on his chest, shoving him backwards with a grunt. She slipped the hatchet from her belt, putting the sharp edge to the middle of his chest, keeping him at a distance.

It was almost poetic, holding him there with the same blade that had sunk so deep into that girl’s carotid artery. She remembered her eyes as the life left them. She had watched as the blood that was supposed to be pumping into her pretty little brain spilled out onto the cracked floor instead, feeding nothing but air until she stilled and never moved. For someone that had gotten close to Joel, she remembered thinking that someone with so little fight in them didn’t deserve to be in his vicinity, in his circle, to breathe the same air as he did. The girl wasn’t worthy. She didn’t know how to survive. She would never have lasted, anyways.

Disposable. Naïve. Weak.

But worst of all, in my way.

“I should be asking you that question,” she murmured darkly. She let the blade drag up his chest, along the column of his throat, until it sat on the edge of his jaw. She let it dig in just slightly, forcing a low growl from him as a small bead of blood followed the invisible trail she had traced with her hatchet. She met his eyes, smiling again. “But it’s okay, Joel. I fixed things. You’ll learn.”

Because you’ll be sorry if you don’t.

She came close to him again, leaning up and putting her lips to his. Against his better judgment, he leaned closer, giving into her just like he always did. She licked into his mouth, letting the kiss warm him everywhere in all the wrong ways, and she tasted something so dirty on him. She was sure he must have tasted the same thing on her because he was desperate to keep her close, to keep kissing her, to get lost in the essence of her as he normally did. She bit down on his lip hard, drawing a hiss from him, and she pulled away slowly.

She whined with satisfaction, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him. Staring up at him, into those sad eyes, she could see no matter how much blood she had on her hands, he would end up right here, following her lips and desperate for her to touch him in any way she desired. She separated Joel from other men because of how she craved him constantly, but she was always put at ease to know she could play him just like any other.

“Now…” She stepped back, letting her hand holding the weapon lower as she tossed it onto the table beside her. “Unless you’re going to join me—” She nodded her head to the bathroom, where a cold shower was waiting for her, “—you can let yourself out.”

She didn’t look back as she made her way into the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror as she heard the front door of her apartment slam shut. She smiled anyways, smoothing a hand over her neck, watching the splatters of crimson smooth over her in strange, abstract lines.

She was so pretty.

He would come back. He always did.

His name was Brian.

I think.

He was new. He had a lopsided grin on his face, an easy demeanor, and he sipped alcohol with a slight wince, meaning he had yet to really get used to the bitter taste of whiskey. He was young, but he was just like the rest of them. She guessed he had grown up amongst the groups that ran the city. He had the stench of a boy dressing up like a man, and he had an eerie confidence in his eyes. He knew nothing of how things really worked, but he believed he did, and that was why he was talking to her in a husky voice, letting his lips graze the shell of her ear as he talked sweetness into it.

Her nails drew lines against the skin of his exposed forearm. She was staring up at him, pretending to listen to what he was saying, a little smile on her face. She looked sweet, as she always did, but he had no idea the thoughts that ran through her head. He had no idea that all she was thinking about was the contraband he had promised her, and how much more she could get out of him if she batted her lashes a bit more.

He was a man that responded to her advances. This was the trade, this was the deal, and he was falling into her waiting arms. A carnivorous plant perhaps, flashing and beautiful with a sickly sweet aroma, all too wonderful until they realized the sweetness would stick them to her, and they would have nowhere to run as she ate them right up.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do to get ahead. There was no person she wouldn’t step on. There was no place dark enough to hide the red on her ledger. She had no remorse for the things she had done, and she never would.

The noise around the speakeasy was low and buzzing, and the lights were dim enough to hide the way Brian’s hands smoothed up the skin of her thighs, but her eyes were adjusted enough to meet a certain man’s gaze from across the room. At the sight of him, she leaned in, letting the stranger crowd her space, his breath warm against her cheek, her smile coy and dark and hiding her true intentions.

Joel could see right through her. He had others around him, others wanting his attention, his opinion, his time, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. His eyes were fixed on where she sat at the bar. The boy was too close to her, he knew that much. He couldn’t see underneath the bar, but he imagined that there were unwanted hands in places that only he was allowed to touch. It was infuriating how she provoked him. She knew he was there now, he had locked eyes with her, and she seemed to be urging his anger to bubble up to the surface. She seemed to want him to lose his temper, to lose his composure, to stride over and slam that kid’s face against the counter until he had no teeth left to chew his food.

She wanted Joel to be mean. She liked when Joel was mean. He had heard her say it before, heard her moan it in his ear as he practically choked her into oblivion against the wall of his bedroom. She liked Joel when he was mean, and he could only guess that at this moment, she wanted Joel to be mean for her. He clutched a lukewarm beer tight, turning away from her. She was doing this on purpose. He did not want to entertain her irritable advances.

But, God, it was so hard to focus on anything except for her. She had taken her jacket off now, revealing a black tank top that revealed all her pretty skin. She was sweating a bit in the dark summer heat, and her chest was glistening with a slight sheen, drawing eyes exactly where she wanted them. She was too good at this, too good at playing the stupid, gullible woman. She was too good at hiding how dangerous she was. She was too good at letting men think she would coo and lick and kiss when in reality, she would bite their heads off as soon as she got them alone.

She liked biting. The taste of blood only fueled the hunger in her.

But then she were gone. She had disappeared into a small corner somewhere, leaving the boy to sit at the bar and order her another drink. Joel found himself moving through the crowd, weaving between bodies until he put his empty bottle down on the wood counter and motioned for another.

“Ought’a be careful with that girl,” Joel said finally as he waited for his drink. The kid lifted his head a bit, turning to face him. He raised a brow, looking Joel up and down before shrugging.

“What, you speak for her or somethin’?”

“Reckon nobody does,” Joel muttered. “Nobody can.”

He was wrong, but he didn’t really know he was wrong.

The kid had the audacity to stand up straighter, moving a little closer to Joel, glaring a bit.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what we do, man,” he warned. “So why don’t you fuck off before you really piss me off, yeah?”

Joel didn’t even flinch, turning his head to look at him. He narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw just enough to show his irritation.

“All I said was t’be careful with her. Rest is up to you,” Joel finished, taking his new drink off the counter and taking a long sip of it. The kid leaned forward a bit more, shaking his head.

“Listen, man, I don’t know who the fuck you are or what your problem is, but fuck off,” he said lowly. “I don’t know who she is to you, but she sure isn’t with you, so I’m gonna take her out back, have my fucking way with her, and you’re gonna leave us alone. Because if I see your fucking face again, I won’t hesitate.”

Joel just smirked a bit, shaking his head before taking another sip of his drink. The boy had no idea who she was; he was so new that he had yet to learn her name, and it would be a mistake he would never forget, a lesson he would remember forever. She was all sharp nails and teeth, camouflaged in figure-hugging jeans and a beautiful smile, and the boy would learn too late how volatile she really was.

“Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

As Joel made his way back to his old spot on the other end of the room, he passed right by her. She let her hand catch his arm, dragging along the length of it. Her fingers brushed through his, almost intertwining, before making her way to her seat. He followed her figure as she took a seat again, whispering in the boy’s ear, something that made the kid smile and nod his head to the door behind her. She slid off the stool, her hand in his as they both disappeared out the back. Her eyes found Joel’s, and all she did was lick her lips visibly before the door shut behind them.

She knew he would follow. She knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself. She knew he would open the back door just a bit, just to watch her as she took the package from the boy towering over her. She pocketed it, staring up at him as she slipped the small package into her bra, a sultry smile on her face as he got close to her. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, two hands gripping her waist and shoving her into the hard brick of the wall behind her. She made a small sound of protest, but Joel knew she was playing a part. It was too easy, the kid was too comfortable; besides, Joel couldn’t remember the last time a man other than himself got the upper hand on her.

She sucked in a warm breath when she felt his two hands grip her ass possessively, forcing her to spin around and slamming her face into the rough wall behind her. She felt the rubble cut her face a bit, but she wasn’t worried at all by the compromising position. She could see Joel, staring from the crack in the door, and as the kid’s hands wandered to the front of her jeans, the door was kicked open hard, smacking against the wall behind it as Joel dumped the beer still left in the bottle and smashed the glass against the back of the boy’s head.

She smiled a bit, turning around slowly. The bottle made a sickening crunch when it shattered against the back of the boy’s head; his knees buckled instinctively, and he clutched the opposite wall for balance as he tried to regain his focus. She leaned against the wall as she watched Joel pick up the kid by the collar of his shirt and slam him against the brick over and over and over again. One large hand fisted through his short hair, using it as leverage to bring his face down against the rough, cracked surface of the wall. The sounds were unforgiving; bone crunching, struggling and pained breaths, the clatter of teeth as they fell against the pavement, hurried and spit apologetic words for mercy.

She let her fingers drag down the back of her neck, over her chest, and she bit her lip hard to keep from letting out a satisfied whine as she watched this man lose all of his constraint, all of his control, all of his poise just for her.

Just for her. All for her. Anything for her.

She had never seen this look in his eyes. Joel was hovering over her, staring down at her as he took shallow, angry breaths, finally letting the broken beer bottle fall to the ground with a loud clunk. She took her bottom lip between her teeth again, her eyes falling over his face in the low light of the street. His features were lit only by moonlight, but it didn’t hide the depth of his disapproval. It took everything in her not to let out a sound as he raised a hand to put a knuckle under her chin, tilting her face up to his to bring her just that much closer.

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” He asked. His voice was a rumbling, deep whisper, and if she was anyone else, it would’ve terrified her. Instead, she just met his eyes easily, wetting her lips and letting a little laugh slip out. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? Is this what you wanted?!”

She shrugged a bit, not cowering even a little under his hard glare. She seemed to enjoy it, too much for his liking.

“I mean…I’m not thrilled…” She sighed deeply, looking down where the body laid beneath their feet. “It’s gonna be a pain in the ass to find another contact.”

Joel gripped her face harshly, his large hand suffocating most of her face as he squished it hard, making her look at him.

“That’s what you’re fucking worried about? Not having a goddamn contact?” He scoffed. “You don’t wanna talk about how you fucking let this boy put his hands on you? And that you didn’t do a damn thing about it?”

She shrugged again.

“You were here,” she said easily. “I knew you’d take care of it. You always do.”

Take care of it.

She knew Joel would not be able to help himself. She knew he would lose his temper just at the thought, and she knew what he might do when he saw it with his own eyes. She let it happen; she enjoyed it.

“You knew I’d kill the fucking kid—” Joel pressed his forehead to hers, unsure whether he should kill her, too, or kiss her. “—you knew what I might do. That’s why you did it.” He smoothed his hand up her face, across her cheek, into her hair. She let out a soft whine as he tugged harshly on it, his fingers tangled between the strands. “You don’t even fucking care.”

She shook her head, agreeing with him. It was true. She didn’t care. The boy was nobody, not to her. He didn’t matter. He was blood and flesh and uselessness, and nothing about him mattered. If anything, he would do more good fertilizing the dirt beneath him.

That’s what he was to her. That’s what everyone was to her, except for Joel. They were beneath her; blips on the same timeline as her, molded skin and pulp and bone and thoughts that would never mean anything. They either served her a use, or they were simply disposable.

“You’re right, I don’t care,” she echoed. “He’s nothing, Joel.”

Joel swallowed hard, pulling back to look at her. She stared up at him just the same. He dragged a thumb over her wet bottom lip, tracing the skin there. He shook his head slightly, his face almost saddening at the sight of her. She was too pretty for the twisted thoughts inside of her head. She was too beautiful to think so little of others, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to her. The possessiveness, the need, it fed the demons that lived in him, and he could feel them growing. She was no good for him; in fact, she would probably be the death of him, but he liked the feelings that scorched his insides when he did things for her.

Dirtying hands, wringing necks, forcing broken glass into soft flesh—doing it with purpose had only made the violence easier. This was not romance, it was evil, pure death and smoke and malice that would fester the longer Joel stayed by her side. Everyone thought it was Joel blackening her insides. They had no idea how torn apart she was from the inside out, and how her pretty features only made the vicious woman inside of her that much easier to ignore.

If they could see what swirled in her eyes now, they would hide in their brick houses. If they knew the kind of blood she had on her hands, they would never make the mistake of crossing her again. If they knew how easily she decided life and death, they would probably hang her.

“You killed that girl,” Joel accused her lowly. “Didn’t you?”

She tilted her head to the side slightly, parting her lips and letting out a soft breath.

“What girl?”

She grunted as Joel yanked at her hair, pulling at it hard enough to make her head throb.

“Don’t play games with me,” he commanded. “I know it was you.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Joel,” she cooed, smiling up at him. “You know me. A lot of girls cross me. A lot of girls try and take what’s mine. It’s not my fault they have no idea what’s coming.”

It’s not my fault they don’t understand how far I’ll go just to prove a fucking point.

She spat out the last sentence, gritting her teeth as her eyes darkened. He pursed his lips, letting go of her only to nod down the alleyway.

He was motioning for her to start moving, and she did so without protest. She could feel his eyes boring a hole into her back, and every so often, she made sure to shake her hair out a bit and let her hips move with her slow steps. It was dark, and she had to keep to the shadows, and when the sound of a truck passing forced them to hide, she made sure to press her back to the front of him as they both used the backside of the building they were passing through as cover. He let out a sound of disapproval, but his hand still came up to hold her waist, and there was no mistaking the feeling of him against her.

Joel might’ve been a steel wall of hardened resolve, but he had his weaknesses. He was still a man, after all.

And God, what a man he was. As soon as the apartment door shut behind her, he was on her. Filthy, bloodied hands in her hair, lips biting into hers, knee shoving her legs apart as she used the wall to balance herself. She let her eyes flutter shut, savoring the taste of beer and warmth and maybe stale cigarettes. He tasted good, just like he always did, and she wrapped her arms tight around his neck as she sunk her weight down onto his thigh, dragging her hips in eager grinds. The friction of the denim of her jeans against his felt too good, and she let her voice spill satisfied whines and gasps into his ear whenever their lips parted.

“Can’t fucking believe you—” Joel muttered between kisses. “—there’s something so fucking wrong with you—” She slipped her tongue into his mouth, covering his lips with hers, giving him nothing but sloppy, wet kisses that was making it hard for him to breathe. She put both hands on his chest finally, pushing him back and off of her, staring up at him with a little smile as she forced him to walk backwards until his knees hit the back of the couch. She rested both hands on either side of him as she dropped herself into his lap. “You’re not listening to a goddamn word I’m saying—”

She kissed him again, swallowing his words, letting them die on his tongue as she guided both of his hands to grab both sides of her ass and squeeze. She moaned into his mouth, letting her senses be consumed by him.

The touch of him, his touch on her, leaving nothing but hot, wet skin in their wake. The way he smelled, a bit like fire, maybe blood, something so him and so dark and so utterly good that her mouth was watering. The taste of him, so bitter and tangy. The sound of his gruff voice, groaning and grunting and whispering filthy words as she dragged her hips just how he liked. And fuck, the sight of him—brown eyes blown wide with desire, the filth and grime of today’s work enveloping her as his arms covered her in their security. He was a man too overwhelming to take in all at once, but she was trying, and it was killing her.

How could he not see that she was the only one that could handle him? How could he not see that there wasn’t another woman in this entire fucked-up world that could understand him the way she could?

How can he not understand that he’s mine?

She pulled away from his kiss reluctantly, but her lips found the edge of his jaw. She lapped at the skin under it, dragging her touch up to just under his ear, just where he liked. She found the hollow with her tongue, the place that made him hiss and grit his teeth and buck his hips up into hers, and she delved into the space there with as much fervor as her swollen lips allowed. She pulled a harsh groan from him, his hands slipping up her waist, her top coming with it to reveal her bare skin underneath. She let him lift the fabric over her head and toss it aside, and she adjusted the bra she wore, letting his eyes wander low and admire the sight.

“You’re gawking,” she panted, putting a hand to his chest. She tilted her head to the side, bringing her other hand up and running her fingers along the edge of the dark material, his eyes following eagerly. She leaned in, to talk into the skin of his cheek. “You can touch, Joel. You can rip it off of me…you can do whatever you want to me. I’m yours…” She sat up in his lap, and he mouthed at the skin of her breasts spilling out of her bra, wet kisses that were making her realize she was soaking through her jeans now. “You can take whatever you want from me, Joel. You don’t even have to ask.”

It was true. She never wanted him to ask. Sometimes, she would stare at him from across a room and wish that he could saunter over and just take her against the wall she leaned against. She wished he would bend her over her kitchen table and not give her any warning before burying himself so deep, she felt him in her guts. She prayed that he would wake her up with a hand on her throat, his teeth against her ear, and his hips drilling into hers as his way of fucking a good morning into her.

I wish he would see that everything I am belongs to him, and that all I want is for him to just take and take and take from me.

She fiddled with her belt as Joel took care of her bra, tossing it aside. She liked how he paid such attention to her bare skin, how he kissed and sucked and breathed against the precious parts of her now exposed for him to taste. He lifted her hips to slide her jeans off, nearly ripping her panties as she tried to take those off just as eagerly. She was completely bare, naked in his lap, but she made no move to undress him.

There was something so enticing in the air. Joel, fully clothed and letting his hands wander and squeeze and grope and touch her everywhere, while all she could do was whine and tug on his curls and lick over his lips—it created a power dynamic that had her leaking onto his jeans, darkening the denim until he hissed, feeling the damp fabric against his skin. She cupped his face in her hands, kissing him hotly, begging him with soft words not to move away from her, to hold her tighter, to fuck her silly.

She gripped his shoulders tight, starting to pant with need as she rocked her hips into him with more force. He had barely ghosted a few fingers over her, but she was eager to come, in any way he would let her, and as he sat back with a smug look on his face, she realized he wanted her to ride him just like this, to get herself off pathetically fast without even seeing any part of him naked. She felt the denim smooth against her pulsing clit, and it only drove her hips faster against his, her face dropping to rest in the crook of his neck as she chased what she could only hope was her first high of the night.

Soft, wet, palpitating, every part of her aching with need, he could feel it. As she found her breath again, just after wetting his lap with her bliss, he had shoved two fingers deep into her, thick digits spreading her open and making her whine with overstimulation. He fit his thumb over her clit, watching her jaw go slack as she let her hips chase his hand. She was just reacting, her body absentmindedly following his every move, responding to him as he knew she would, and it was raw and wretched and pulling at every part of her.

But it was an act. It was a show. She was just pretending. Even though it looked every bit like she was just the submissive, pathetic, whining, pretty girl Joel was fucking at the moment, she knew that she had this man wound so tightly around her finger. Although he spoke the filthiest words and was making her wet his hand with need, he was hers to do with in any way she wanted. All she had to do was bat her lashes, kiss him soft, and beg, and he would give her whatever she asked for.

Whatever I want, whatever I need, whatever it is that my little heart desires—he will do it for me. And it won’t matter who has to die or who he has to hurt or who he has to step over to get it.

As much as it seemed Joel overpowered her, she was the one who painted the picture. Whispering in his ear, guiding his hands, telling him what he needed to hear. He could growl in her ear all he liked, but it never convinced her otherwise. She knew this was true; even despite what he knew about her, even despite all the lies she told, he was still here. He was kissing her, pumping his fingers inside of her and drawing soft moans from her, and she knew he would give into her like he always did.

Joel could pretend he was done with her as much as he liked; but he would come back for her eventually.

“Please—” She begged, throwing her hips down against his hand, feeling full but not full enough. “Please, Joel…I need more…”

“Now you’re begging?” He scoffed, sucking roughly on the edge of her jaw. “Now you wanna listen to me? Is that it, sweetheart?” She nodded in response, whining, pawing at his shoulders to get herself even closer, melt into him if it was possible. “Maybe you don’t deserve it.”

“Joel—!” She gasped, shaking her head. “I-I do…I do!” She brought his lips back to hers, breathing in his groans as she let her hands wander between their bodies, her hands finding the outline of him and squeezing eagerly. “I do deserve it…”

If it was possible, his eyes darkened, a black hue of anger and lust that made her heartbeat pick up faster. He tilted his head to the side, leaning close, his lips kissing just under her ear, mouthing there as he curled his fingers and shoved his fingers so deep, she stifled a scream. His other hand tangled into her hair, gripping her tight, making sure she understood that she was at his mercy, and not her own.

“Listen here—” He tugged on her hair until her eyes met his, and she let out a gentle sob of need. “Look at me—there you go, give me those eyes—” He put her forehead to his, and she spread her palms against his chest, feeling the warmth and broad expanse of him. “If you think for one second that you deserve more, you’ve got it all wrong.” He licked over his bottom lip, shaking his head. “I know what you did. I know that it was you.”

She arched her back, pressing her bare chest to his own, his flannel feeling so soft against her hot skin. She tried to grind her hips, but his other hand dropped from the back of her neck to her waist, keeping her still.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he snapped. “You’re not sorry.”

She let out a shaky breath, shaking her head.

“I’m not sorry for doing it,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for making you upset.” She cupped his cheeks, kissing him warmly, using her weight to push him back against the couch. As they kissed, she felt his grip loosen just enough, and she moved her hips again. His fingers flexed inside of her, his thumb finding her clit and making her moan softly with relief. “I’m sorry for making a mess, Joel. I’m sorry for making you mad…” She moved her hips a bit faster, riding his fingers as her apology, giving him the moans he wanted to hear and drenching his lap to show him how sorry she really was. “I-I’m sorry for letting him touch me…”

“Fuck—” He kissed her back eagerly, trying to find serenity here. It was impossible with her. She was all heat and fire, all bite and sharp edges. There was no calm with her, no peace. Chaos followed her, and sex was a vice that she used with fervor. She didn’t know who she was if she wasn’t running. She had no idea what life was like without risk, without blood, without the good, bad things that had her on an adrenaline high constantly. If she came down, if she stilled for even a second, Joel feared what might be left of her. He feared he might not recognize her. He feared that without her pretty face painted with that sick, sweet smile, he might not like who remained.

Reluctantly, she pried his hand from between her legs. She slipped dirty fingers between her lips, licking her arousal off his calloused hand. She kept her eyes on his as she ran her tongue over his knuckles. They were bruised, split probably from wrenching answers from some poor soul or perhaps the boy he had pried off of her, and she soothed the bite of his wounds with wet kisses and her soft tongue. She let his hand go, letting her own slip between their bodies and work on his confining belt.

“Now you listen, Joel,” she murmured, undoing the buckle, listening to the metal clink as she loosened the denim around his waist. “If I ever find out about anyone else touching you, I won’t hesitate to do it again—” She cupped him roughly, drawing a grunt from him, and she smiled darkly. “You can’t hide anything from me. And you’re stupid if you think you can—” She swiped a thumb over the tip of him, spreading the slight dampness there over him. “—and I’ll kill every woman in this God-awful place just to prove my point.”

She kissed him, letting her tongue find his. She lowered herself in his lap, the heaviness of him in her hand making her feel even warmer inside. She let go of him, putting both hands on his shoulders as she sat down on him, feeling him slip between her folds. She grinded down against him, smoothing her slick over him and watching his face twist with need and want and rising anger at her words.

She gripped his jaw roughly, gritting her teeth.

“You’re mine, Joel—” She put her thumb to his bottom lip, forcing his mouth open. She gathered wetness in her mouth, leaning forward and spitting right onto his tongue. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated as he swallowed the spit she gave him easily. It tasted like her, like the cunt he adored too much, and if he wasn’t so embarrassingly hard between her folds, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to put his face between her thighs. She was such a filthy, sweet, delectable woman for him, and it twisted his insides in terrifyingly good ways. “—and I’ll kill you, too, if you don’t stop testing my fucking patience.”

This was what really drove her crazy. They were fabric cut from the same cloth, two sides of the same coin. Instead of soothing the fires inside of her, he set them ablaze. The kiss they shared was all teeth, all bite, all rough breaths and filthy curses. They were both fighting for control over each other.

He pressed her into the couch, her back against the worn cushions. He gripped her hard, one hand on the back of her neck and the other gripping the outside of her thigh, her legs wrapped around his waist as he finally sunk into her with no warning. She let out a gentle cry of relief, enveloping him and squeezing around him as he buried himself until his hips were pressed to hers, his mouth at her jaw as he gave her no time to adjust. The feeling of him filling her to the brim, stretching her in every good way, would never be enough. She needed more, needed him inside of her, tangled around her, filling all her senses until it was all she knew.

“Can’t even call you a good girl—” Joel grunted, beginning a grueling pace as he fucked her into the couch, not letting up for even a moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck, arching her back, trying to meet his thrusts with equal power, but it wasn’t fair. Joel was too hard, too rough, too overpowering, and she was failing as she tried to keep up with him. “Cause you’re not—you’re not a fucking good girl—”

She mewled, pressing her lips to his, trying to drink in his words and taste them and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. She arched her back more, pressing herself tight against him, and she moaned as he mouthed at her breasts, sucking the skin there and leaving soft bruises as he dragged his teeth against her.

“You’re always up to no good,” he kept growling. She panted, dropping her head back a bit as he kept up his pace. His hips were hitting her hard, punctuated by his words, and she closed her eyes to savor the stretch, the roughness, the perfection of his cock molding her insides to his. The squelch of skin on skin was so lewd, but it only made her wetter. “Always gettin’ into trouble…my pretty girl—”

My. Mine. She’s mine.

She was sin in one woman. She was the personification of every horrid, murderous thought Joel had ever had. She was the embodiment of his nightmares, the devil in disguise, the incarnation of the scars on his heart and the blood under his fingernails and the notches on his belt and the tick, tick, tick of the timer on his inner clock, the one he knew would break when he went just too far. Maybe that was why he loved her so much. Maybe that was why every part of her made him hot and bothered and needy. Maybe that was why Joel could not stay away from her.

Maybe that was why no matter what atrocity she committed, he never saw her as anything but his, and his only. He never saw her as tainted. Or evil. Or impure. She was just his, and that was enough.

That was perfect.

Perfection.

That was what her cunt had to be. It was perfection. Joel would drown in it if she wanted him to, if she allowed him to. He thought, selfishly, that relinquishing breath just for one more taste of her would be a kinder death than the one that probably waited for him. He thought about this as he nudged her head back onto the arm of the couch, going for the warm skin of her neck, biting it, kissing it. He wanted to bruise her and mark her, so darkly that she would find them in the mirror days from now and think of him.

He didn’t stop her as she threw her arms around his neck and brought their lips back together. She was whispering softly between kisses and whines, rocking her hips against his with just as much force. They were sloppy together. He had both hands on her hips, manhandling her taut flesh as he drove her body back to his again and again and again. She was so wet, dripping between them, a weeping cry from her own body that told him she needed him so badly, she would do anything to have him.

“Oh, now you’re quiet, honey?” He muttered in her ear, reaching up and putting his hand around her neck again. She sputtered as he sat back on his heels, yanking her with him, holding her up in his lap as he brought her body down on him over and over again. He looked up at her, at the pretty bounce of her on top of him, limp to his touch and crying for him. “Look at you—” he groaned, feeling the walls of her clench and squeeze and suck him in, telling him all too well how much she liked this, “—can’t even fucking speak—ugh—” he kissed her hard, “—have I fucked the brat out of you yet?”

“Joel—please—” she begged, letting out a soft sob of relief as his thrusts got shallower, faster. “O-Oh…” She put her hands on his face, cupping his cheeks, feeling the scratch of his beard rough against her palms. She met his eyes, could see the shine and the darkness of them, and she leaned forward to kiss him softly. Despite the grueling pace Joel had set, despite the bruising smack of his hips against hers, her kiss was delicate and sweet, taking his breath away. She was too good at that, at making him feel. “Joel…” She sniffled, tears coming down her face at how good he felt. “Joel, I need you…”

She was so pretty. It was all he could think about. He caged over her again against the cushions, this time with his lips against hers and his body towering over her, the warmth of him and space of him enveloping her. He wasn’t fucking her anymore, this was something else. He hiked her legs around his hips, grinding deep, his pace slow but his thrusts just as heavy. She needed him. Just a few words, spoken through her lips, and Joel was soft. Petting her tangled hair, kissing her warmly, pressing his cock deep into her and staying there for just a few moments before pulling out slightly and doing it all over again. He drew long, relaxed moans from her, and he breathed deeply as he thought about how much her cunt felt like heaven.

He didn’t know how it was possible. She was not an angel, anything but; everything she touched blackened to its core. But he couldn’t think of another word to call her, to call this. He only felt this searing pleasure in his dreams.

And buried between her legs.

“I-I love you, Joel,” she purred, arching her back. Her chest pressed to his, and he couldn’t help but dip his head and lick the sheen of sweet that had gathered between her breasts. Salty, dirty, entirely her, and he dipped his head again to suck her breast into his mouth and smooth his tongue over her nipple. She cradled his head to her chest, panting now, her thighs shaking a bit as she met his eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, a haze in them that was cloudy and drunk with bliss. There was lust, more than anything else. If there was love there, Joel had no idea; he had never seen what loved looked like in her eyes.

He didn’t think it was possible for her to love anything. And perhaps it wasn’t. She thought it was love. To her, nothing else could explain how she behaved around him. The obsession with him, the possessiveness that overcame her, the protectiveness she felt whenever he came home with new wounds that would scar, the revenge she sought when anyone touched him. She didn’t care whether those touches were warm or kind. He was hers, and she would make them sorry for putting their hands on him.

She tugged his face back to her, feeling that coil in her belly tighten and tighten. She put her forehead to his, licking over his bottom lip before kissing him hard. One hand slid to press between his shoulder blades, the other pushed against his lower back, a silent gesture to get him as close to her as possible.

His breaths became more broken and shallower. She arched her back into him, pebbled nipples poking him as he snaked an arm under her and used this new position as leverage to fuck up into her at a quicker, more aggressive pace. He punched into her again and again, quickening with every breath as he chased the mind-numbing feeling that was growing in him. She squeezed him, her entire body trembling slightly as she tried to take every thrust, but they were both losing to each other, in the feeling of one another. She gripped his biceps now, her nails digging in hard enough to elicit a harsh hiss from him. She could feel blood, but it didn’t faze her—she wanted to mark him, scar him, until no other woman could have him like this.

If another woman held him there, they’d feel her hands, where her nails dug into him, and they’d know they were preying on another woman’s territory—one they would not live to speak of. She thought of this as he fucked her into a pleasure-drunk headspace, her high blinding her. She didn’t even register the scream that left her until Joel was kissing her quiet, swallowing the sounds, drinking in the cries of her ecstasy and tasting her mewls. It was like her cunt was taunting him, begging him, scolding him for not coming just yet—it took only another whimper of his name for him to collapse on top of her in a fit of groans.

She thought she might have come again when he did, it felt so good. Her thighs shook, her body molding to his as she felt him sinking deeper into her, so snug, his spent trapped in her as they both refused to move away from each other. When he tried to move off of her, she kissed him, making a soft sound of protest and keeping him close.

“Don’t go—” she gasped, slipping one hand low and gripping the back of his thigh, coaxing him to slide deep again and settle there. “Fuck—” She craned her neck to bury her face into the side of his, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. She chased the closeness of him, the muskiness that the air around him held. She never wanted to leave this place. She wanted to stay here forever, Joel cock-deep inside of her, and she wanted him to keep her here and never let her leave. She wanted him to chain her ankles to this place and force her to stay, naked and waiting. She wanted him to use her, to never let her go, to be selfish and mean and merciless with her until she was nothing but his, his, his.

She wanted to forget her name. She wanted to lose her memories of the outside world and confine them to these four walls. She wanted to kill the sad things inside of her and focus only on the pleasure and the love and the unforgiving warmth that settled inside of her whenever she was underneath him like this.

She wanted to sink her teeth into his flesh and bite it, sustain herself only on Joel and whatever he would feed her. Because she knew she was dying inside, and only this feeling could save her.

She could not explain why she felt nothing inside when she did the things she did. She was not sorry for anything. She felt no regret or shame or sorrow. She didn’t think she could’ve done things differently or spoken softer or spared any more lives. The only time she felt even remotely human was like this—with Joel connected to her in the most intimate way possible. Then, for a few moments, she felt warm in her chest. She felt vulnerable. She felt new—as if she had been born again and was learning the differences between happy and sad, angry and alone, deep love and utter hatred. She felt all of those things with him and nowhere else, and she would fight tooth and nail to keep him here, with her, always.

There was no one she wouldn’t kill for him. No one she wouldn’t torture, no one she wouldn’t crush under her booted toes. In fact, she would take pleasure in it. She would seek out the feeling. Just like she did with the pretty girls that put their hands on him. Just like she would again.

Because she knew it would happen again. She didn’t know when or how or why, but she knew there would be more girls that would try and lure him in, more men that would try and cross him, but she would be ready for them. Because he was all hers.

They would learn quickly what that meant and the distance she would go to keep it that way.

She turned over, in bed now, laying on her back, her head settling against the pillow. He was turned to face her, their eyes meeting for just a moment before they went back to looking over each other. She reached over gently, her scarred knuckles meeting his cheek and running slowly down the skin there. Her eyes were soft, softer than he had ever seen before. She was looking over him, studying him in the light of the moon, letting herself commit the moment to memory. Something about it felt romantic; something about this made her feel something akin to emotion. She thought maybe this was why she cared too much for him.

He was the only man who had ever made her feel anything at all.

“So is this how it’s gonna be?” He asked lowly. His voice was gravelly and quiet, but it was still heavy with feeling. She met his eyes, her thumb circling over the apple of his cheek. “You don’t like how someone acts ‘round me, and you just…get rid of ‘em?”

She turned more, fully facing him, letting her thumb roam to trace the line of his nose.

“This isn’t…you,” he said finally, and this got a reaction from her. She laughed a bit, bitterly, shaking her head.

“Then you have no idea who I really am, Joel,” she murmured. She let her thumb fall to trace his upper lip gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone else. If you didn’t know that by now, then you haven’t really been paying attention.”

She leaned forward and kissed him softly, closing her eyes gently, breathing in the Joel that remained in the early hours of the morning.

“And I know that it’s you, too.”

“Wasn’t always me,” he muttered. When she opened her eyes, she saw a flicker of something in the way he looked away from her. Guilt. Abandonment, maybe. It was the faraway of losing something he had tried to hold onto. “Whatever I am now…wasn’t always me.”

She shook her head, leaning her head to rest against his shoulder.

“If you think…the way the world is now to blame for who we are, you’re wrong, Joel,” she said softly. “I don’t remember what it was like. Before.” She put her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “I’ve always been like this. And so have you.” He moved his head to look at her, frowning, and she shrugged simply. “The before…all it did was hide you.”

Joel looked away, back to the ceiling. She was right. As much as he wanted to think otherwise, to believe that the end of the world was to blame for the man that he had become, the thought would be wrong. Inside of him had always been the man he was. The man that made the tough decisions. The man that killed someone before dinner and fucked the woman he loved later that same day. The man that bartered and tortured and murdered and crushed and fought like hell—this man was someone that had always lived inside of him—judge, jury, and executioner. There had just never been an opportunity for that man to come apart, to come alive, to manifest itself into the hungry, angry thing that clung to him now, the man that had never left him. Unlike her, the man he was had been dormant, hiding among the memories of his daughter and the life he once loved. She had always been this way; she never had a need to hide her ugly thoughts away, it was a person that had never left her. They thrived. They kept her alive.

A soft kiss to the side of his face made him blink the thoughts away. Another kiss brought him back to earth.

“I love you, Joel,” she whispered. “I love you more than anything.”

But now he believed her. In her own sick, twisted way, she did love him. In the horrid things that lived in her head, he was there, bubbly and bright and bathed in pretty lights. She was not good for him. She would turn him black and blue inside, she would take all the good that still rested in him, and she would bury it deep.

And selfishly, he wanted to do the same to her. So, “me…me, too, darlin’,” was what he said back to her. Because—fuck­­—if anyone was going to truly ruin her, it was going to be him.

He would make sure of that.

[general-cyno]

Hey hey have you ever thought about how zoro breaks his body again and again for Luffy gaining scar after scar loosing eyes and shit trying to keep up with Luffy and his devil fruit and sanji with his genetically modified body. Do you think zoro wonders what will be the thing that tips him over the edge into death??? Do you think Luffy does???

well hello to you too, anon! sorry that it took me a while to answer but I love this and ended up typing a lot. so, I also apologize in advance for the long-ish read.

but yeah! actually I was sort of thinking about it thanks to some twts I saw discussing thriller bark again. I gotta say, perhaps I have a bit of a less angsty view? because the thing is... zoro's a pretty straightforward and single-minded character, which doesn't mean he's flat or lacking in depth, but his overall thought process isn't extremely complex.

though zoro treasures his life (just like his swords, both which he needs to achieve his goals), he's not naive. he knows death is a real possibility, more so in the pursuit of his dream. zoro says as much to sanji back in baratie:

zoro doesn't seek death, the opposite actually, and he refuses to die in situations he finds dishonorable or out of his control, but he's come to terms with the idea of his own death. aside from that (or additionally), zoro's most prominent traits are rooted in his deep sense of commitment, devotion and loyalty to what he wants and believes in - namely his dream and his promise to kuina. this aspect of his character doesn't change imo, rather it broadens to encompass luffy and the crew as well.

all this to say that albeit I've called it a sacrifice myself, I don't think what zoro chooses to do for luffy or the crew would count (for him) as such. it's just what he believes he must do - to achieve his personal goals as much as to ensure luffy gets to fulfill his own and to protect the crew as a whole, because they've all become intertwined with zoro's dream to begin with. especially where it concerns luffy. what good is ambition if I can't even save the life of my own captain? indeed, for someone whose end goal is to become the strongest, what's the point of doing so if his strength doesn't allow him to protect those who are important to him? the person who is most important to him?

so when zoro chooses to keep pushing himself to train harder/become stronger, to do the exchange with kuma, beg mihawk to train him or agrees to do crazy stuff like take the drug that will help him recuperate enough to fight but will worsen his injuries/pain tenfold the moment the effect wears off in wano - they're not sources of regret or decisions he sees as tragic sacrifices. he's quite like luffy too, who's made similar choices along the story.

the angst of moments like "nothing happened" for me lies more on the implications of what could've happened (zoro dying for real), what eventually did (almost getting killed in sabaody, the crew's separation) and what luffy's reaction would've been if he'd found out. I do agree luffy would ultimately respect his decision, what I don't usually agree with is that he'd be immediately okay with it. the last thing luffy wants is to lose someone he loves, less so if they get hurt trying to protect him. points at his backstory, marineford and post marineford. this is exactly why sanji insists on not letting him know.

on the other hand, imo, zoro's not trying to keep up with luffy per se... how I see it, it's more like meeting him halfway. when you're faced with how powerful luffy's become nowadays, it's easy to forget he's not infallible. luffy has weaknesses and shortcomings too. post TS zoro is even more aware of both of their limitations (he's the one who's literally experienced luffy's pain as if it were his own) though he's also become more confident in their strength and the crew's as well. zoro will do his best to stand by luffy's side and protect him/their crew, but luffy has to measure up! zoro has no qualms about reminding and demanding him to get his shit together. zoro might not reach luffy's levels of raw strength (and I'd argue he doesn't need to), still, there's other ways in which he makes up for what luffy lacks or can't do in certain circumstances. so if you ask me, it's not about keeping up - it's meeting each other in the middle and striding forward together.

as for sanji, a similar thing applies. for all their petty rivalry and their roles as crew combatants, it's important to remember sanji's more of a nurturer (he is the cook, after all) and his dream of the all blue has little to do with strength, unlike zoro's. his genetic modifications don't really become an issue (for the crew) until wano and if anything, rather than this setting him above zoro in terms of power/abilities or turning into something zoro has to catch up with, sanji relies on zoro to keep him in line if he ever endangers the crew because of it.

all in all, I don't think zoro's the type to wonder what's gonna make him kick the bucket, though he knows dying is a realistic possibility. plus, he's not the only relatively Normal Guy who's ever become crazy strong among DF users and other enhanced characters. rayleigh is a very good point of reference as to what zoro is capable of becoming or achieving, and it's no coincidence they share a bunch of a similarities too.

AND FINALLY LUFFY. I rambled about this in the tags of a post a while back but luffy is a bit of a more complicated case imo. the manga doesn't exactly provide insight on luffy's inner thoughts/feelings (he voices most of them anyway) and though he's not naive in this aspect either, especially not post TS, the story rarely lets him witness situations in which zoro's vulnerable or in real danger of dying. this leads to him sometimes coming across as insensitive or being unfair (by having almost unrealistic expectations wrt zoro) but part of it is that he sees zoro bouncing back from the seemingly impossible more often than he sees him down.

however, the way he loses his goddamn mind when mihawk hurts zoro at baratie, when kizaru almost kills him and as kuma sends him away in sabaody, is a very good indicator of how he handles the idea of losing zoro which is - not well. at all. OPLA also gave us a more blatant example of this with the near dissociation, panic, losing his appetite and actively refusing to eat etc when zoro's wounded and unconscious after his duel with mihawk.

whether he thinks about zoro dying or not is probably more headcanon/fanfic territory, since it hasn't come up in the manga itself. even so, I do believe luffy's the type who... deliberately does Not ponder about sad or potentially upsetting things. one very brief moment that stood out to me while reading was this:

luffy not wanting to remember when garp left him on his own as a kid and straight up getting mushroom-high after being separated from his friends? man.

despite his cheerfulness and confidence, luffy is at his innermost terrified of losing the people he loves and hates the idea of being alone, ever since he was a kid. he begged ace not to die, has fought time and time again to rescue his friends and bring back those who've left. zoro's not just his first crew mate but he's also been the most long lasting and steady throughout the story. as some people have pointed out - zoro is the only one of the east blue gang who's never left the crew, even if the rest all had very understandable reasons for doing it each time. so on a more speculative note, after all the losses luffy's suffered, I'd say wondering when or how zoro will die is something he'd very much avoid. the thought's likely pretty devastating. instead, it's easier to put his entire trust and faith into believing zoro will pull through anything, like luffy says in dressrosa, and zoro would accept no less than that imo - because that's the kind of trust/faith he places in luffy as well.

lastly, about the scars and such... this is where zoro and luffy's similarities are highlighted. when it comes to all the choices they make wrt their dreams or protecting their friends, those luffy understands well. he's pretty much the same as zoro in this regard. that's why he refuses to let buggy interrupt zoro's fight with cabaji and stops johnny and yosaku from interfering in his duel against mihawk, even if seeing zoro get hurt upsets him greatly. zoro and luffy match in many ways, their dreams and determination to fulfill them is one of them, no matter what they have to do or how many scars they collect along their journey as a result.

[burning-academia-if]

I don't know if this one has been asked but I'm sick in the head so anyway, how would the RO's react to the MC coming up to them and hesitantly asking to bite them or for them to bite the MC HARD, like make them bleed, dig their teeth into their skin, leave a scar hard. Now bear with me, the reason why is because MC's life has never been good, they've spent most of their life losing (friends, family, home's, etc.) and now with the whole "you are a danger not only to yourself but to everyone around you" they would be going feral about having or leaving proof of having lived, of having loved and been loved because what is cannibalism if not one of the deepest ways of showing love (the desperate need to shove a whole person in your chest, let them rest right next to your heart, carry them as a part of you for the rest of your life).

Anyways, love the story, bye!!❤️❤️🍽️❤️❤️

Anon I hope you know I yelled when I saw this lmaO thankfully for you cannibalism as a metaphor for love is my jam. Under a read more just in case tumblr's tagging system fails (cw: discussions and references to consensual violence)

Rook: He balks at the idea, at first. His whole thing is trying to keep you out of harm's way, and him becoming the harm? But the idea sticks. You want proof he's here to stay and he wants you to never forget him. He might be willing, depending on how you ask again.

Beck: He wouldn't. Besides it isn't like a scar is proof of someone staying with you. You might notice he does become more bitey, leaving marks on you, as a form of compromise. He hopes you'll come to learn he's here to stay without needing such extreme reassurance, but until then, he hopes the marks he leaves are enough

Rhea: Is gentle with you, saying that isn't how she wants to treat you. Your blood isn't something to be spilled, and even if you're ok with it, she isn't. She'll stay, she swears it. You don't need to go so far for comfort

Zoe: Blindsided by the idea, and probably one of the few times their fake calm mask slips into place around you. Would have a genuine discussion about it with you, and would say to ask them again when you're in a better place. If you still want them to do it, they'll consider

Lars: Consensual violence doesn't bother him, and if you really want him to, he will. He'll ask where you want him to bite, and he makes you swear you'll tell him to stop if it's too much. He cleans and binds the wound after, making sure you're alright emotionally and physically

???: Do you know what you're asking them? They've marked you in so many ways, they wouldn't hesitate. The only catch is, you have to do the same as well. Lean in together and sink your teeth into each other's skin at the same time. Some exchange rings as proof their relationship has eternity. Other people exchange wounds

[mishi-with-jazz]

i saw you are accepting requests for moonwater x reader! id prefer female!reader but obviously if you dont do that gender neutral!reader is just as perfect.

i was thinking like a hurt/comfort thing where the three are just lounging in remus’s dorm and reader starts getting anxious and they like calm her down/talk her through it?

obviously, if you dont like it or just dont want to write it you dont have to!

thank you for the request!! I hope you like it, its short but I tried my best<33

Anxiety winds/ Under the weather

poly moonwater x reader!

Summary: The readers being traumatised by some conditions that killed her loved ones.

Warnings: none really, js a whole lotta fluff.

NOT PROOF READ.

y/c/f :you comfort food.

note its a one-shot but with a Prolouge.

PROLOUGE

After finally graduating from hogwarts, you moved into your boyfriend's apartment. The three of you really needed to get put pf your houses. Regulus's being walburga-affected, Remus's horrid-memories affected and yours- well, you didn't really have a house, you lived in an orphanage, your parents had kicked the bucket in a car crash,while you were at your aunts house, your parents were coming from their respective jobs, It was a stromy, windy day and so the car had lost control. Your aunt really disliked you since you were magical (she was a muggle), so she threw you in an orphanage.

So now you were here. With your boyfriends in a cosy little apartment. They were both on job. You hadn't gone to yours since you were a little under the weather. But the thing was today was your parents' death day. The day when your parents died. But what was even worse was that it was extremely windy today. And you were home alone.

The windows snapped yet again. Your heart beating ever so quickly. You had tried everything, yet you still couldn't feel comfort, wrapped up in the regulus's blanket and with y/c/f. It had been 4 hrs already, and you were scared out of your skin. You looked at the clock. They should have been home by now. You tried not to think about the worst, but you just could not stop. Finally, you brought yourself to call them, but just as you feared, they didn't pick. Neither of them. You wanted scream, shout, cry, but your throat had become too dry. You just froze on the spot, not moving, tears fleeting out of your eyes. A few minutes later, you felt the need to get up, but as soon as you got out of bed, you fell down. You felt useless. You lost your parents. You lost them. And it was best to just leave it. Forget it. You sat on the floor crying.

You woke up with your head in regulus's lap. While remus cold compressed you forehead.

They didn't realise you were awake as they talked to each other in low tones until you jerked up.

YOUR OKAY. OH THANK GOD. I WAS SO WOR- You continued but no ine could really understand as most of it was muffled by your sobbing.

Shhh...its okay baby, we are here now. Remus said as he placed you on your lap. A scarred hand running comfortable rounds on your back.

Why d-did you gu-uyzs n-not pick my phone?? You wanted to sound angry but you were crying a little too much for that.

I told you my magical box thingy is not working, princess. Regulus explained

And apparently mine had died. Remus added.

Sorry we couldn't contact you. We know it was a hard day for you. Regulus said who was on his own verge of tears.

Its okay. You sobbed. Can w-we just sleep?

Of course, baby. Remus placed you on the bed and laid next to you. And so did regulus.

Tho the window was still snapping, but you still fell asleep, not because you felt safe but because you knew the people you loved were safe.

A/n: I hope yall like it. It's def not the best since I'm writing on my phone, and I really just wanted to get done. Also, send in any requests I will 'get em' done, i write for almost all Harry Potter!

Also tell me if yall wanna be tagged in vibrations or chaos, they will be coming out soon

[ivyprism]

My Mafia Guys (Info Dump: Revamp)

Warnings: Violence, death, mafia, etc.

Sharp - Mafiatale Sans

Personality: He is incredibly relaxed and truthful. He's a friendly guy, but mess with him or his loved ones and you'll witness a rare and terrifying side of him. He's an expert with firearms and a fascinating character study. He is very perceptive and can read anyone, no matter how near. He understands how to read a room and adjusts quickly. He is constantly self-assured and brave. While he enjoys a good joke and a good prank, he has boundaries when it comes to people. He's a little difficult to get along with.

Appearance: He is definitely a Sans! But he has a scar on his eyebrow.

Button - Mafiatale Papyrus

Personality: He's a hitman with a deadly shot. He is quite skilled at gathering information and, if required, will get messy. When executing his work, he is merciful to a degree. Overall, he's a pleasant individual who values others. He is a bright young man who makes friends quickly. He has morals, but they are distorted and cause concern for the majority of people. He takes his sibling and his friends' safety very seriously. When one of his loved ones is in danger, he is quick to intervene. He has an incredible rage, but if you mess with his loved ones or injure someone he cares about, you're screwed tenfold.

Appearance: He is definitely a Papyrus! But he has a scar on his nose ridge.

Spade - Mafiaswap Sans

Personality: His personality is that of a genuine drama queen. He is a big hitter who knows how to get knowledge from others. He was once abandoned at the grocery, and he hasn't let any of the mafia thugs forget it. He's a charming man who is far too confident in himself. He is reserved among strangers, but gradually warms up to them. He's a hitman who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Because he is so adorable, everyone adores him. His bite is far more painful than his bark. He is really friendly and brave, and he is optimistic. He creates so much commotion that it's almost comical.

Appearance: He has a large scar on his right eye.

Slick - Mafiaswap Papyrus

Personality: He is self-assured and flirtatious. He is extremely amusing and the WORST person to kidnap for information. He has a wicked sense of humor and is skilled at irritating his kidnappers. He's not afraid to admit to sleeping with one of his kidnapper's mothers. He isn't afraid to provoke them knowing he will win if they hit him. He's a decent person who values his friends and family. He is a well-known prankster who memes all of his business associates. He's also a hacker, and there's no database he can't break into. He can take a punch, and when things get serious, they go serious.

Appearance: He has a small scar on the bottom of his eye. Slick has a tattoo on his femur of a white lily.

Roscoe - Mafiafell Sans

Personality: He has the filthiest sense of humor in this place. He's a notorious flirt with a large body count, but he's also a dedicated family man. Roscoe is straightforward and truthful. He is more faithful than a dog in relationships. In terms of information kidnapping, he is the second worst. He's the scumbag, and he'll screw you over until his buddy or brother arrives. He's also the hottest guy in town, and he knows it. When his loved ones are in jeopardy, he will go for the throat. He takes betrayal very personally and will often be furious about it for days if not months. He is loyal and would never do anything to harm his loved ones if he can help it.

Appearance: Roscoe has a single gold tooth, like any other Underfell Sans, but his gold tooth is sharper than his other teeth. He has a scar on his right eye. He has a lot of rings. He has a tattoo on the back of his shoulder blade of a heart with a bandage wrapped around it.

Commander - Mafiafell Papyrus

Personality: He's the hardest to catch off guard. He is continuously on edge when he is not with his loved ones or when he suspects there is danger. He is very harsh and snappy, but he's also a nice person to an extent. He is proud and passionate, yet he is also a perfectionist. He can act like a feral cat when someone he doesn't know touches or flirts with him. He's the most easily irritated of the group, but he retains his calm. When someone threatens him, he can be vicious. He is mostly in charge of healing and serving as the group's doctor.

Appearance: Commander's scar is the same as Captain’s, but much more jagged.

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

@kioko-noodles / @kiokodoodles @miscneilleaneous @und3rwat3r-a5tr0naut @hearty-dose-of-ranch @underfell-crystal

[shadowbly94]

Chapters 9 & 10 are out!

Thank you for your support!

Maybe i'm not going to post every update here, I don't want to be annoying :)

You can read now the next two chapters of The Hell I want to stay in (+18)

(...)

“Do you want to stop talking for me as if you know what I think?” You asked, gritting your teeth, closing the door with an exaggerated slam. “What are you doing with the veil on? I thought you didn't use it anymore when we were alone.”

Donna relaxed her breathing, but turned her back on you, walking around the wooden table in the middle of the room.

“That way you won't be able to look at me.”

“Donna, I want to look at you, I love your smile, I adore everything about you,” you said, following her steps, grabbing her wrist for a moment, before she pulled away from your hold with an angry gasp.

“Everything? That's a lie. Yesterday you made very clear to me how disgusted my body gives you,” she said, turning around, with a sob interrupting her words.

“No, no, you're wrong. I, I just... Well, I was impressed, okay? I didn't know and it caught me by surprise. I'm sorry I reacted that way, Donna. Maybe I wouldn't have done it if you had told me before.”

“So that? So that you would have another reason to abandon me, to you stop loving me?”

“I haven't stopped loving you because of that,” you said firmly, chasing a nervous lady who was walking aimlessly through the workshop, controlling her nervous breathing with extreme difficulty.

“That's what you say now,” Donna replied, stopping in her mindless wandering.

“You are wrong about me, Lady Beneviento,” you said, trying to contain your anger for not being able to apologize properly, for not being able to say everything you felt, for not being able to answer the questions you still had. “You think I'm a horrible person. You think I care about your scar, that the love I have is necessarily linked to whatever you have between your legs. You're wrong... I love you the way you are, like the beautiful woman who was there when I thought my life was coming to an end.”

(...)

Chapter 9: Making sense

Links

Ao3 (English)

Wattpad (English)

Wattpad (Spanish)

Don't forget about the warnings, the explicit content has started. Minors DNI

If you want to ask something, feel free to do it

Thank you for reading!

I love you all

[mutated-green-things]

📓

I reblogged this meme awhile ago but I had a hard time narrowing it down to just one fic I have daydreamed about a lot but not written:

I really have so many Leonardo ideas buzzing around for this but I eventually decided to ramble about the fic I started mentally crafting awhile back about Leo having DID/being plural. Mostly because that’s the one I’ve made the most notes about (Haven’t actually written any actual fic/prose I just have lots of disparate ideas and such) The biggest thing being a system list for him! It’s all the alters I think he’d have along with a (somewhat) short description of them. So, I’ll start with that and share some extra thoughts at the end! (Also quick note: every alter listed uses he/him unless otherwise stated)

Leonardo: Host and most big brother-y of them all. Tries to get his brothers to follow the rules but isn't angry or cruel. Is calm and calculating and effectively uses the knowledge his librarian alter has collected. Doesn't ramble about it, but thinks about it often. The effective, precise leader, general, and combatant.

Okami/Wolf: The first split and inspiration for this fic/AU. Essentially Leo feels a bit like a different character in season 4: Angry, violent, brutal. So the idea is that when they’re all almost killed in that explosion on Shredder’s ship, that’s the start of Leo’s system. That failure and threat of death is so traumatic that he splits a persecutor who blames him to explain away something so devastating and unfair happening without reason. The idea being that if Leonardo was just a little better, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place, and that makes the universe still controllable and just in their eyes. They weren’t good enough to reach the happy ending that his family deserved, but they can be if they work hard enough. Okami fronts throughout the first half or so of season 4 and even after Leo gets better he switches in when the body has to fight and when feelings of depression and failure well up. Okami can often be cruel and unreasonable and he’s the one who over trains and self harms.

Ryushi/りゆし: Written in hiragana because this alter only speaks in Japanese. Ryushi is very formal and tends to front during the most traditional functions the family takes part in. Most active in the morning during meditation and morning tea, though he also pretty frequently comes out in Usagi’s presence. He regularly has incredibly lengthy conversations with Usagi exclusively in Japanese, which drives Mikey and Raph crazy, since they can’t follow all of it. Donnie and Splinter sometimes jump in too, but some of the more modern/technical Japanese words Don knows throws Usagi (and sometimes even Ryushi) off, so Don will usually just let them have their fun. Splinter hops in more often and will happily embarrass the hell out of his son, but he also knows when to let them have their private time. As a final note: Ryushi loves Japanese snacks, his favorite being milk candy.

Kit/Kitsune: This is the librarian alter listed in Leonardo’s description. They’re a Bookworm who loves to read and catalogue. They’ll happily ramble for hours about kata, sword forging, battle history, haiku, and stratagem. In general Kitsune has pretty big autism vibes with a pretty wide range of special interests that overlap. They sometimes forgets to eat if they’re perfecting a Kata or reading something particularly interesting. Sometimes referred to as Donnie 2.0 by Raph/Mikey. Non-Binary. Probably They/He/She in that order for preference of pronoun. Has some interest in combat but prefers to read about it rather than participate though I do kind of like the idea of their signature weapon being tessen. The Burnt Out Gifted Kid with a Praise Kink also really fits Kit.

Blue: Scared, scarred child. Trauma holder and only little. Probably around 8 or 9. Still carries an extreme fear of heights that the rest of the system “conquered” around this age. Conquered in quotes because really I think Leonardo pressed that shit down until it was all squeezed into the psychic space that would eventually become Blue. He may hurt others as a fear response but is sloppy and can't actually do serious damage like Wolf, Leonardo, or Ryushi. The second split after Okami. Comes around as Leo starts to confront his trauma and fears with Usagi and Donatello’s help.

Leo: The last to split and only formed when they’ve finally worked through a lot of shit and returned to some sort of relaxed normalcy. He’s close to Leonardo in personality but way more fun loving and easy going. Plays games with his family and makes dad jokes. Will happily play video games with Mikey and prank his brothers. Comes out when doing fun family activities, when they are loopy tired, or when they are under the influence of something.

I also have some idea for the system name being The Armory System or just The Armory, and have a ton of thoughts on how this is explained to Leo. But none of them are cohesive or concrete. I do know that both Usagi and Donatello would play a big role in this fic but I don’t know who would be more active/how I would achieve any sort of balance between them…

I could just have Donnie tag along into Usagi’s world when Usagi takes Leo on his Big Healing Adventure. I think Don would gladly tag along but there’s some steps I’d need to go through to make that happen without Raph and Mikey coming too. That and even if I make that happen I’d still have to balance interactions and such so it wouldn’t be weighted to one side too much.

A few stray thoughts and that’ll end my ramble:

This would ofc be a Leosagi story and getting explore Usagi falling in love with Leonardo and all his different alters sounds so so fun.

I also had this idea of using a magical journal or bottle that can transport words/objects across dimensions. I still like that idea a lot and will likely repurpose it for it’s own fic but I like the idea of Don, Leo, and Usagi all traveling together in Usagi’s world even more.

Okay! That’s it! Thanks for reading!

[stxrmylxve]

Hi, I came across your blog while I was checking out fics with the Kazutora tag, and I read a few of your works, and LOVED them! I'm still new to TR, but so far from what I've seen of Kazutora, you really capture him well!

I was wondering if you'd be open to writing something along the lines of Kazutora having a date over for a movie, but he seems like he's trying to keep distance between himself and said date, even to the point that he's left space between them so their legs won't touch. But his date has known him for years, even before he was locked away for 10 years, and really wants tk be close to him, so they scoot closer and lean their head against his shoulder, resting one of their hands on his arm. I'd love to know how you think he would react! I'd be fine with this being either a headcanon or a one-shot, honestly! It's just been on my mind since Tora brainrot settled I'm. 😅 I also wonder how his past self would have reacted, but whether that is written too or not is totally up to you if you do decide to take on this request, since I know he was like...15 during the 2005 timeline.

Regardless of what you decide, I love your work! ❤️

A/N: ahh thank you bb! I’m honored, I don’t get many of these compliments on here and it always brightens my day :) And I don’t mind doing both timelines, enjoy!

Pairing: kazutora x gn!reader

Notes: kinda slight spoilers (of his timeline), tw mentions of panic attack (kazutora), mostly just fluff and comfort

2005-2007 timeline:

“Was juvie harsh?” you ask, the movie almost sounding mute as kazutora looked over at you with wide eyes.

“.. How so?” he counters

“Well, I don’t know. You seem more.. distant.” your eyes wander back to the tv, momentarily taking in the scene before turning back to kazutora to speak once again.

“It’s because I am. Something horrible happened, you can’t just forget things like murder, y/n.” he says a matter of fact, not even sugar coating the unspeakable acts he had committed, regardless of whether he wanted to admit he did or to blame it on someone else again.

A small laugh slipped past your lips as you scooted across the couch and rested your head on his shoulder, taking him by surprise as he peered down at you between his golden locks.

“True, but in some ways, you have become a better man.” you say as your hands rests near his, looking over the many scars scattered along his hands and wrists like ornaments.

“You really think so?” he asks after a while, hesitantly taking your hand into his for the first time in ages.

“Yeah.” you say with a small smile.

2017 (i think) timeline:

The tv’s light flickered in the dark as an awkward kissing scene came on again, making both you y’all cringe and to look other places. Your eyes landed on Kazutora’s slim figure, frowning at the large gap in between you and him.

“How was work?” you ask, trying to pull anything for a small talk as he turned to face you with his golden yet curious eyes.

“Fine, busy.” he replies, his response matching perfectly with the tired eyebags hugging the bottom of his eyes and his slightly slumped-over figure.

Your head tilted sideways slightly as you studied his face. You shruged to yourself before moving over towards him, catching his attention as now he was cornered with you extremely close.

“I don’t have an illness Kazu, loosen up.” you joke, a small laugh escaping your lips as he averted his eyes elsewhere in the room.

“Still hung up on the past, I see.” you sigh as he looks at you again, catching a small dissatisfied glare from you as he too sighed.

“I’m not any different than I was 10 years ago, y/n.” is all he says as he gazes out the window, his eyes not settling on anything in particular just looking away from your eyes that stared him down with that typical mom-look.

“You are. Juvie and everything else aged you well, kazu.” you say hopefully, patting his shoulder as he turned to meet your gaze, small tears forming in his eyes unexpectedly.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Please. Just… move.” he says, almost pleads, as he tries to scoot away himself. Your hands quickly found his as you looked into his eyes with full warmth.

“Hey it’s okay, you’re not hurting me. You didn’t know, remember?” your smile lightened the darkness in him as your gentleness flooded his senses, forcing him to nod as his mind began to slow down again.

Your hand found his and intertwined, a small squeeze coming from your hand to show him that you were actually there for him, a small smile forming on his face. Yeah, you were a keeper.