#genuinely how does one eat light or shadow though

[happilychee]

fairy tail dragon slayer headcanons pt. 1

♡ what the first gen and second gen dragon slayers eat is pretty self-explanatory. all of their elements are... somewhat tangible. sting and rogue though? they're still figuring it out. rogue wonders if he can eat someone else's shadow, and sting immediately volunteers himself. "for science!" he says. the result is that sting almost passes out. oops. he insists they try on their friends, much to rogue's displeasure. the results are that sting is the most susceptible, then yukino, rufus, orga, and minerva is the least susceptible to magic drainage. sting insists rogue tries to eat an inanimate object's shadow, and nothing happens to it, so they decide that's the way to go.

♡ when wendy eats air, the oxygen levels thin. she has to be careful or she'll cause her allies and enemies alike to pass out. when sting eats light, the area gets darker and darker. this is great for rogue, who starts eating the shadows, and they manage to balance each other out.

♡ sting insists that different types of light taste differently. his favorite is light from golden hour, right when the sun is dipping below the horizon. moonlight will do in a pinch, but it's so diluted that it takes way more of it to recover sting's magic. he also gets sick if he eats too much moonlight.

♡ pantherlily already has transformation magic and enhanced strength, and carla learns to transform so she can help wendy fight. the other three exceeds feel... a little left out. happy learns how to fly faster and for longer (though he still complains about lucy being heavy). lector goes to porlyusica and wendy to learn some stamina regeneration spells for sting. everyone is surprised when frosch, completely on their own, manages to learn an adorable light spell that creates floating pink bubbles. rogue can consume the shadows from them without worrying about draining frosch's magic, and he spends the entire afternoon crying about it.

♡ dragon slayers are a bit like crows. their way of bonding with someone is through gifting trinkets. natsu will bring lucy, erza, and even gray pretty rocks or seashells that he's found on jobs. wendy picks up a new craft or hobby every week, so the members of fairy tail are constantly recieving handmade accessories from her (gajeel helps during the metalsmithing phase). gajeel does not buy cute things for people. he is like a dad in the fact that, when juvia mentions she wants watermelon, he buys her 20 watermelons. walking math problem fr.

♡ laxus has mixed feelings about his more draconic features and habits. he's never loved his magic because of the way he got it, and the memory of his father basically torturing him as he inserted the lacrima will stay with him forever. he tends to suppress dragon instincts more than anyone else in the group, and they all scold him for it. on a rare occasion, laxus will give in and buy something shiny (like a hairclip) for wendy. she has a little jewelry box for them that she guards fiercely.

♡ cobra considers himself more of a flying snake than a dragon. he once drew a picture that sent everyone into a laughing fit. he prefers to stick with the old oración seis crew, but the guild dragon slayers are always happy to see him when he stops by with crime sorcière.

♡ sting, because of his heightened senses and his affinity for light, prefers nighttime. the day can often be overwhelming, and overexposure to bright settings and lots of people leaves his skin buzzing. he likes to sit in the dim guild hall, leaning against the cool stone wall, as the chatter of the crowd quiets down with the setting sun.

♡ dragon slayers all have the Bite instinct. some exercise a degree of control about it, and others go crazy with it. wendy will very gently nibble on erza or mira's arm when she's in the mood, and sometimes she does it absentmindedly. natsu, on the other hand, is an absolute menace. multiple of erza's armor sets have natsu-shaped bite marks on them. he tends to go after her the most because he knows he won't hurt her with the armor. when natsu's more calmed down, he will chomp on lucy's shoulder. gajaeel copes by eating all of fairy tail's silverware (mira starts buying ceramic spoons), but when levy offers her wrist to him he can't help it.

♡ rogue is another one who doesn't really bite people. he, very rarely, nips at frosch's ears, which causes the exceed to giggle. sting is a Biter like natsu, but with slightly more decorum. he really wants to go at it but will restrain himself because most people aren't willing to be treated like a chew toy. luckily for him, gray and cana aren't most people! because they both wear pretty exposing clothing, gray and cana have no qualms about showing off sting's bite marks on their skin. sting always turns bright red when they tease him about it.

♡ laxus and cobra don't really feel the Bite instinct due to being second gen, but cobra is a little shit and bites people for the fun of it. laxus is completely unbothered when natsu clings to him like a koala and gnaws at him.

[cod-dump]

Okay. But. What fantasy/Mythical creatures do you think the cod characters would be?? (Satyrs, centaurs, merfolk, gorgons, etc.)

Ghost as a demon or demonic entity. He has a human form but he can barely keep it from being uncanny valley so he just hides behind a mask. He can travel through shadows and manipulate them (cause a lit hallway to become completely dark without touching the lights). He doesn’t eat in front of people and those who have seen him eat are thankful.

Gaz is a vampire. He’s relatively young for one but he’s very efficient. He chooses to ethically get his food from blood banks and is genuinely grossed out by the thought of drinking from a living being, willing or not. Gaz has trained himself to have excellent self control around blood or those who are injured and considered easy prey.

Price being a werewolf or lycan or some kind of shifter. He visibly appears human and there’s little showing that he isn’t. He’s very efficient in controlling his transformations and being in control while as a beast, but he is not above blaming the wolf to get someone off his back when his temper gets the better of him. He’s very protective of his people and those he considers family.

Soap is a descendant of a Fire Giant. He’s not a full monster and he’s not in control of most of his abilities. He has an immunity to fire and intense temperatures along with an ability to control fire with his hands (manipulate an existing flame). He is not half Fire Giant or even the child of a half human hybrid, so his gift in his fire abilities is rather odd. His lack of control is a result of having no one in his life that could show him how to be in control.

Laswell is human but she’s with the occult. She has a powerful gift in magic and knows how to use it. Though there’s wonder if there’s something else in her bloodline that gave her such a gift, she hasn’t bothered to look. She is considered a monster expert, if she doesn’t know something she’s quick to figure it out. Has mastered the ‘shut up’ spell. It does exactly what you think it does.

Nik is another lycan or shifter. He’s huge when shifted, bigger than Price. And he has a complete immunity to the cold. While being a shifter is very obvious, there’s something else that no one can pinpoint. He does have a gift in magic but he’s very private about who he shows. His loyalty is fiercely towards Price but he does extend it to Laswell and the boys.

Farah is human but is an expert monster slayer. Like Laswell, Farah has a vast knowledge about monsters and their abilities and weaknesses. Is very open minded about good monsters and their existence, which is why she aims to try to figure out how to help someone before she results in killing them (if they’re worthy of help). Has mused the idea of being a lycan after Price and Nik have showed her the pros of being a creature of the night.

Alex is a human. He has no gift in magic and isn’t a gifted slayer or has much knowledge in monsters. One day Laswell just hit him with a mission that involved a pack of feral vampires and he has been lost ever since. He’s learning but there’s so much going on. Lost his leg to a lycan (is terrified of Price and Nik as a result but he won’t admit it).

-

Don’t ask how many monster aus i have now I don’t even know lol

[kleotheundeadone]

Scenario: Alastor Teaches You To Dance

(A/N:Ya’ll really liked my last Alastor scenario, so i’m doing another one because i’m still horrendously down bad. Might start taking some requests maybe, I dunno. Also, I kept this gender-neutral like the last one, but you are wearing a dress, so make of that what you will)

When Alastor expressed wanting to teach you how to dance, it seemed pretty harmless. Fair even. Afterall he was trying so hard to make adjustments for you. Albeit complaining the whole way, & getting a sick kick out of finding ways to use it against you, (Exhibit A: The proceeding Incident after teaching him how to kiss properly) but trying nonetheless. It seemed only fair that you’d allow him to teach you how to dance. Plus, he was so cute when you finally agreed. He didn’t often smile genuinely, & it always warmed your heart when you could get him to really smile at you, beyond his usual mask. But you couldn’t deny the facts: You sucked ass at dancing, & were absolutely gonna stomp Alastor’s poor little hooves into oblivion with your awkward two-left feet. And this was the main thought running through your head as you looked out in front of the dancing hall Alastor was able to rent out, (does slaughtering the owner & eating his hands count as renting?) nervously fiddling with the fabric of your dress. “I wonder if it’s too late to back out…”

“I’m afraid it is, my deer~!” Son of a bitch! What was this asshole's deal about sneaking up on people!? You cut him a hard glare, crossing your arms beneath your chest with a huff. “Very funny Alastor. Was it really necessary though?” Alastor looped his arm around yours, his smile stretched just the slightest bit wider across his face in an amused fashion. “Well I suppose it depends darling, do you find the presence of humor necessary? Cause I certainly do! Haha!” You’d clock him right in his yellow teeth right now if you didn’t love him so much. And because he’d probably bite your fist off. You begrudgingly allow him to lead you into the dance hall, trying not to get swept up in the sight of it all. Leave it to Alastor to kill a guy just so he could privately teach you to dance in one of the fanciest dance halls in hell. As endearing as it was coming from him, it didn’t help in quelling your nerves. “Um, Alastor, just checking, are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, not that I'm against it, cause I'm not, but just… Well… Surely there’s other things you’d rather teach me? You know what, I think I remember you mentioning wanting to teach me the recipe for your mothers jambalaya not that long ago, wouldn’t you rather do that?” The sound of static echoed through the empty walls as Alastor tilted his head at you, his eyes narrowing into an accusatory glare. “Darling, you are not really trying to weasel out of this, are you? Cause if so, i’d say that’s rather selfish & hypocritical of you. Wouldn’t you agree?” You winced. He was right. After everything he’d been doing to try & be a better partner to you, the least you could do was try this. That didn’t stop you from worrying, however. “You’re right, I’m sorry... I guess I’m just nervous is all. I keep getting all worried about stumbling over my feet & crushing your hooves, or stepping on your coat & tearing it or something.” You knew he’d never hurt you for ruining his coat, (at least you hoped not) but you wanted to avoid doing so all the less. Alastor’s gaze softened as he hummed beneath his breath, as if in thought. “Well then,” he started as he unhooked his arm from yours, taking a couple steps back. “Let’s see what we can do about that, my deer.”

A resounding ‘snap’ echoed throughout the dance hall, & for a split second, Alastor’s upper half became engulfed in shadow before dissipating, showing that his coat had been removed, revealing his shirt underneath. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, showing off his thin yet muscular forearms littered with small light-colored scars. “That should eliminate any possible ‘coat tearing’ incidents. As for your other fears, I assure you that I will guide you to the best of my ability, as to limit any stumbling.” Alastor grinned at you- Not smiled, but grinned- as he gave a bow, holding out his hand towards you, a certain sparkle glimmering in his eyes. “Now,” There was a small flicker of radio static before a soft old-style song began to play throughout the dance hall as he gazed at you through hooded lashes. “May I have this dance, darling~?” Dammit. Just… Dammit. You took a deep breath, biting your lip as you placed your hand into his. “Take things slow, alright?” Alastor chuckled. “I make no promises, but… I will try.”

You were half-right before: You sucked ass at dancing. But you didn’t crush Alastor’s hooves. You certainly stumbled, a lot, & may or may not have managed to nearly fall on your butt a few times, but thankfully, Alastor was always there to catch you. He also didn’t nearly make fun of you as much as you expected him to. Granted, he did make fun of you- Like a lot. Mostly a lot of comparisons to having the legs of a newborn deer (Haha. Really funny Al) & something about dancing like a ‘dipso’, whatever the hell that means, but he was actually a pretty good teacher. He was calm & patient, didn’t get upset if you struggled to catch up with him, & by the end of it you were actually finding it easier to laugh at yourself when you messed up. “Ehehehe! Okay okay, hang on a second, let me catch my breath!” You carefully steadied yourself on your feet, smoothing down the skirt of your dress. Alastor brushed your hair back away from your face, tucking some of the stray strands behind your ears. “You did wonderfully, my deer!” He exclaimed, grabbing you by the hands & spinning you around with him. You couldn’t help but giggle, squeezing his hands slightly. “I’m still not a very good dancer, Alastor.”

“Right you are my deer, but you are improving nonetheless! And at quite the impressive rate, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of you.” A blush spread across your cheeks causing you to look down at the ground, mentally cursing your reflection staring back at you on the shiny linoleum floor. You squeaked softly as he gently placed his hand beneath your chin, lifting your face up to look at him as he grinned softly at you, his other hand holding yours firmly. “I mean it, darling. You should be very proud of your progress today. I’m ever-so pleased you allowed me to teach you. Just think of all the lovely outings I can take you on now!” You couldn’t help but chuckle. It was nice seeing him be genuinely giddy. “That sounds amazing, Alastor. But I think I'm still a little ways away before I can go leaving hell in awe with you.” A laugh track echoed against the walls. “Oh don’t be silly! What’s stopping us? In fact, I say now is just the opportune time for a proper night out on the town!” Before you could have the full chance to process what exactly he was doing, Alastor was gripping your hand tighter as he spun you around in a circle, leaving you dizzy as he grabbed you by the small of your back & dipped you to the floor, his face inches from yours as he smiled. “Well my deer? Let’s go become the talk of the pentagram~!”

What have you gotten yourself into?

[holographic-mars]

MARS! any headcanons on what ravage thinks of cosmos?

HAI BLIGHTTT I HABE TO GO TO WORK IN A FEW MINUTES BUT I WANTED TO ANSWER YOUR ASK BC I LOVE RAVAGE SO MUUUCHHH TEHEE

I absolutely have hcs for Ravage and Cosmos!!

Ravage is, to put bluntly, an incredibly judgmental mech with impossibly high standards. You CANNOT impress her. It doesn’t matter what kind of mech you are or what you say your intentions are, Ravage WILL find a reason to not be impressed by you (okay. Well. Maybe not if you’re megatron, but thats beside the point)

So naturally, Ravage is completely and utterly unimpressed with Cosmos. She thinks he’s small and silly and useless and she has no clue why Soundwave lights up when this chubby little minibot enters the room.

Pretty much the entire 3/4ths of their first meetings is Ravage stalking Cosmos. Cosmos was a little weirded out by it at first, but eventually gets used to it (being watched by cassettes is such a norm for him he’s learned to enjoy the company. Even if it’s lurking in the shadows thinking of ways to eat him alive).

Ravage is baffled and fascinated at how strange Cosmos is. Cosmos is very blunt with Soundwave in a way that Ravage hasn’t really seen before. If Soundwave does something Cosmos doesn’t like, Cosmos is the first to call him out on it. He has the wit and attitude of a mech much bigger than himself and it’s almost funny seeing how Soundwave stumbles over himself for this little autobot. But at the same time, Cosmos handles Soundwave gently like he’s something precious to be protected (and he is. Watching cosmos care about Soundwave—genuinely care about him—is what gets Ravage to start softening up towards cosmos).

So, Ravage supposes, that unimpressive, stout autobot isn’t THAT bad. She’ll give him a chance, since he makes Soundwave so happy (and that’s what’s important to her—if Soundwave is happy and safe she’ll go along with whatever stupid thing he wants).

Ravage likes scaring Cosmos. She thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, watching Cosmos yelp and fall down bc he didn’t see her from the shadows. Soundwave scolds her for it and every time she insists it was an accident. She does it again a couple minutes later. Cosmos falls for it every time.

Ravage is not a very talkative mech so sometimes she likes to just chill around Cosmos and listen to him ramble. Cosmos, on the other hand, is very very talkative and he talks to himself out loud a lot. She teases him for it. She also likes to sit behind Cosmos and read over his shoulder while he’s reading.

Ravage has begrudgingly accepted that cosmos is one of the warmest mechs she’s ever met. He rivals Megatron with how much body heat he produces. When Ravage decides that she wants to use Cosmos as a heating pad, he does not get a say in it at all. Cosmos has to just sit there and let ravage cuddle up for a nap.

Cosmos is aware of Ravage’s dynamic within Soundwave’s little family so he is very respectful of Ravage. Ravage is happy there’s finally someone here who respects their elders (though don’t get it too twisted, he’s still got an attitude. Though ravage finds it funny in a small-kitten-trying-to-be-intimidating kinda way)

Cosmos has learned to accept Ravage’s bossiness. As long as she’s around, everyone has to do what she says. Cosmos finds it really funny watching Soundwave get scolded by a mech 1/5th his size.

ANYWAYS I HAVE TO GO TO WORK THATS ALL I CAN COME UP WITH RIGHT NOW THANK YOU FOR THE ASK EHEEE I love Ravage so much, she’s one of my favorite characters ever so I am so happy to talk about her eheehe THANK YOU❤️❤️🛸🛸🛸

[666herescared]

Imaginary Shadow Dad)Ch.6: Denial

—☆—

  Notes: The first stage of grief for the PBS Era. I’m splitting the chapters of this era into a bunch of sorta mini stories. Kinda as a way of making this feel like a more accurate amount of time per stage and kinda because I have a lot I need to shove into this era.

—☆—

Little Monkey

  Pigsy and Tang woke up to their alarm early in the morning. The demon sat up and turned off the alarm while his husband covered his ears and hid his face. The pig shook the human the rest of the way awake and muttered, "Tang. Tangy, wake up. We gotta get to work."

  His husband moaned and mumbled, "Can you do it?"

  Pigsy quirked his brow and responded, "You have a job too, hun."

  Tang turned around with an upset face and said, "Get my robes and help me change, then. I'm far too weak in the mornings to do it alone!" dramatically. 

  The chef knew what his husband was doing. Tang was always lazy. Luckily for his lover, he was in a good mood after they finally finished the adoption process the day before, so he got up and walked to their closet with little more than a sigh. “Y’know, Tang; You’re not getting any- *REEEEE!*” He opened the door and almost fell on his ass. His squeal caused his husband to jerk up in concern, and when he put on his glasses he saw why!

  Xiaotian was hanging upside down by his legs from the bar in their closet with a bag of rice crackers and a single one in his mouth. He finished the one hanging from his lips before giggling at the pig noise. “Hi, Pigsy!” 

  The demon regained composure and asked the boy, “Wh-What are you doing upside down, kid!?” Yes. That was him with composure.

  The Little Sky looked at him with confusion and replied, fully deadpan and serious, “Eating. What does it look like?” as he put another cracker in his mouth.

  Tang stood up and walked over with a chuckle at the absurd statement. He wrapped one arm around his partner’s shoulders and joked, “You’re just a little monkey, aren’t ya?” He held his other arm out to help Xiaotian down, the boy recognizing the signal and climbing down.

  “Yeah!” The child exclaimed with a giggle. “Like Monkey King!” 

  The scholar’s eyes lit up for a moment before the boy started hanging on him and Pigsy had to catch him. The demon held both of them in his arms to keep his husband from tipping though the child seemed to recognize this as a pass and turned around to hold Pigsy the same way he was holding Tang. His eyes lit up when he noticed the grip being almost exactly like how baby monkeys hold their parents. 

  His partner giggled as he saw Pigsy hold the boy back and give a goofy smile. “Well, Pigsy; Looks like “Monkey Kid” here likes you. I’ll go turn on the kettle, so you don’t have to go right now.” Tang offered, leaning in and giving his husband a kiss.

  Despite the love in his eyes, the demon was rather obvious with his worry. “You sure you can handle that?” Xiaotian laughed at the genuine concern in the pig’s voice. “Don’t doubt my judgment too much, kid. He burned the water when I asked him to turn the kettle on a few weeks ago.” Tang sputtered with embarrassment, hiding his face in his robe when the child cackled at the thought.

  “How do you burn water?” The boy asked incredulously, laughing heartily.

  Pigsy laughed along with their adopted boy, and explained, “Oh yeah! I wondered that too. Turns out, it’s possible to light water on fire. I had to grab the fire extinguisher and put it out while Tang over here ran around like a chicken with its head cut off!” Xiaotian burst into cackles at the mental image again, causing the chef to cackle along with him. The boy’s joy was contagious! He couldn’t help it!

  The human gave a bashful slap to his husband’s head, saying, “Okay! How about you go turn on the kettle then?!” in a huff and turning his head away.

  The pig chuckled at his partner’s embarrassed annoyance, shaking his head lightly, before giving the scholar a quick peck on the cheek. He muttered, “Alright. See you upstairs, Tangy.” as he walked out of the room and up to the restaurant.

  Tang dropped the act after his lover had given him a kiss, smiling goofily as Pigsy walked out to go make breakfast. He got changed, grabbing his husband’s uniform to bring up with him. He laughed at the fact that his no nonsense partner forgot his outfit. They were gonna do this right. They were gonna protect that smile on their son’s face no matter what!

——000000——

Misconceptions

  Xiaotian woke up in his room (The upstairs office space that they renovated into a kid’s room) to the sound of Mr.Tang’s voice calling him downstairs. “Xiaotian! Come down! It’s a school day!” He rubbed his eyes and jumped out of bed, grabbing his headband and slipping it on, before running over to his closet and pulling out one of the outfits his dads had bought him for school.

  He pulled it on as quickly as he could and then sprinted down the stairs, taking a sharp turn to jump onto an empty stool. “Hi, dads!” He exclaimed in greeting, being handed a plate of pork buns a moment later. “Pork buns?”

  Pigsy handed a plate to his husband a moment later, questioning, “What? Do you not like them?” Tang snickered, already knowing what the kid was gonna ask.

  “No. I like pork buns. It’s just.. You’re a pig! Isn’t that cannibalism?” The cringe the pig gave did not go unnoticed as the scholar cackled at the question.

  “Kid, did you go to one of those prejudiced schools? If you knew any demon animals or really anything about demon animals, you’d know that we’re a lot more demons and a lot less animals.” He tried his best to not make the kid feel bad while also dispelling the misconception.

  The light faded from Xiaotian’s eyes for a moment but it came back just as fast. “So I don’t have to be vegan now!” The boy exclaimed excitedly, causing both of his dads to start laughing loudly as he started eating the pork buns with a smile. 

  Once he calmed down, Pigsy muttered, “That’s one thing to be excited about.” and walked around the counter to eat with his family. He sat next to his son with his own plate of pork buns, not missing the snickers from the humans. 

  After swallowing his mouthful, Xiaotian said, “Hey, Dadsy?” and made the pig smile slightly as he hummed questioningly. “Shadow Dad has been my only reference to demon culture before, so I gotta know. He told me that pig demons do a thing called court-napping when they like someone. Is that true?” The boy asked, noticing how Pigsy turned his head and stared into nothing with a lovestruck expression for a moment, causing the child to feel somewhat concerned and look towards Tang, who was staring at a golden bracelet on his wrist.

  He looked nearly wistful as he stared at the ruby in the center and began to describe, “It was a nice week. Court-napping was a lot more problematic back in the day, but the basic premise is still the same.” Xiaotian listened intently, wanting to understand better. “Court-napping is about showing you can be a provider by taking in and lavishing your partner with gifts, favors, and food. It used to be the full courting process, but nowadays pig demons just do it for their marriage proposals.”

  Pigsy chuckled and remarked that, “You always have been a bit of a pillow prince. No wonder you fell in love with a pig demon like me.” before taking another bite of his last pork bun. 

  The Little Sky looked amazed before grinning and saying, “That’s a lot nicer than I thought it was!” The bus pulled up a few moments after they finished eating, and so Xiaotian pulled on his backpack and made to run out the door when the pig grabbed his bag to put his lunch in it. After that, the boy ran out to the bus and got on. 

  It had been a month since his adoption at this point and his birthday was coming up. It was fine. Shadow Dad would come back soon. Maybe he was just having trouble finding him! He didn’t have his lantern, after all, and that was always how he found him. 

  He just had to keep on waiting.

——000000——

Deny, Deny, Deny

  Why wouldn’t anyone believe him? It had been three months since he was adopted, and everyone kept telling him Shadow Dad and the Shadow Twins were fake. The kids in his class said it was babyish to have an “imaginary friend”, but his family wasn’t imaginary! It seemed like the more he talked about his family, the more people didn’t believe him!

  Everything was so bright every day.

  It hurt. His dads were the only ones who believed him when he talked about it. The school sucked. He hated that no one believed him. At least he knew that the Monkey King was real. Why was the sun so bright?

  “Xiao Huozi*! It’s dinner time!” Mr.Tang called, causing Xiaotian to snap out of his thoughts. Bah! What’s he thinking?! Shadow Dad won’t take too much longer! After all, tomorrow’s his birthday! His dad wouldn’t miss that!

  The Little Sky hopped out of bed and dashed down the stairs, holding his headband for the absent reminder. It was still too bright. He was tempted to pull the fabric over his own eyes.. He hopped into one of the booths like they always did for dinner on a school night. Pigsy brought over three bowls, Mr.Tang bringing over the tea set at the same time. As usual, no fruit teas. He missed his Shadow Dad’s fruit teas. They were always good and just the right amount of flavor. The ones his dads bought were always either too flavorful or too bland.

  Snapping brought him back to the present. “Kid, are you okay? You've been staring off into space more and more often.” Pigsy questioned as Tang slid in to sit next to Xiaotian.

  Not wanting to worry his Dadsy, the little monkey forced a smile and nodded, telling a half truth. “Oh. Yeah! It's just that tomorrow is my birthday and I’m hoping that Shadow Dad will make it!” He then stopped with the fake smile slipping slightly before he started eating. He could tell it didn’t work on either of them, so he hurried his eating along. His hair had been feeling dirtier, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He always felt itchy, no matter how much he scratched.

  His dads were trying their best, but they could never be anything like Shadow Dad. After all, neither of them were monkeys. He finished his noodles without processing the flavor, which he regretted because Pigsy’s noodles really were delicious, and then walked back up to his room. He needed to shower. Again.

  After his shower he hopped into bed, ready to call it an early night, until- “*Knock knock knock!* Xiaotian? May I come in?” Mr.Tang asked from the other side of his door. 

  He put on the best brave face he could and called back, “It’s unlocked!” The scholar opened his door and walked in, holding book one of, “The Journey to the West” in his arms. 

  The adult sat down next to him and opened the book, asking softly, “Do you wanna pick back up where we left off?”

  It brought a real smile to the little boy’s face as he nodded enthusiastically. They had started reading a chapter of “JTTW” each day right before bed. As he had for a few days, Xiao-Xiao slipped into his slumber with thoughts of the Monkey King on his mind. 

  He missed family grooming sessions.

*”Xiao Huozi” means, “Little Monkey” according to google translate and I thought it’d be cute:3

——000000——

Monkeys are Social Creatures

  Six months. He hadn’t seen Shadow Dad in six. Months. By extension, he hadn’t seen Rumble or Savage in six. Months. He hadn’t even seen the dojo in six. Flipping. Months. He was fine. He was definitely not going crazy. This was all very normal! Sure, no one at school really paid attention to him, but he was fine. Sure, kids made fun of him for having two parents of separate species but he was fine. Sure, he was struggling to tell what was real and what was fake but he. Was. Fine. 

  Xiaotian had gotten a Monkey King plush for his birthday that year. He had started grooming it to make up for the loss of his siblings. He had started monkey piling Pigsy with Mr.Tang to make up for the loss of his Shadow Dad. Of course, Pigsy insisted it was called pig piling and, lo and behold, the internet agreed. He had been climbing trees every chance he got because he wasn’t allowed to climb the furniture back home. His Dadsy was a lot more strict about breakables.

  His dreams had slipped to Shadow Dad every night, no matter if they were good or bad. The good ones had him coming back to sit with his cub and reminded the child of how good things once were. The bad ones taunted him with his family’s visage and had them disappear when he tried to hug them or even grab their hand.

  Something had shifted in the little boy’s mind while he knew his Shadow Dad. Before they met, darkness meant fear, pain, and a lack of sight and light meant joy, safety, and comfort. Ever since they met, though, it was the opposite. The light was blinding and meant it was harder to hide while darkness meant family and he associated it with his ability to protect and defend. 

  He was scared and felt so, so, alone. He was a monkey who had lost his entire troop when he was still young. It wasn’t a very big one to begin with. He missed his family! The monkeys loved to shower him with physical affection and love, but his new dads (Nothing against them) only gave him big hugs on occasion, and even when he tried to groom either of them they moved away. He could only pig pile Dadsy when he needed a hug, and even then, it wasn’t the same when he didn’t have a nest. They didn’t have nearly enough pillows or blankets to make one.

  He needed friends. He needed someone- ANYONE who wasn’t just his dads. Monkeys are social creatures after all. Oh well.. *Knock knock knock!* He lit up and ran to his door, opening it and exclaiming, “Mr.Tang!”

  “Hello, Monkey Kid! Ready for the binge?” The scholar asked, dressed in his night wear and holding a massive blanket, as well as a bowl of popcorn.

  “You know it!” It’ll be fine.

  They sat back down on his bed, Tang giving a monologue about something or other as Xiaotian set up the TV. Everything’s fine.

  Shadow Dad was right there  would be back soon! He’s sure of it. Oh, wait- Mr.Tang was talking. Gotta focus.

——000000——

Breaking Point

  Xiao-Xiao was done with this shit. His adopt-iversary was coming up now. He had kept on trying to be positive. To be as bright as the skies he was named after, and yet, the sun will always set, and eventually, the moon will always dim. The light he used to chase hurt to touch, and the thought of humanity was awful. Denial is a weak shield against the blade of loss, and anger will always urge you to grab your sword and fight once it’s gone. 

  The darkness seemed to call out to him no matter how long it had been, and it wasn’t comforting anymore. It had been a year. As of next week it would be a full year of nightmares, and tantalizing dreams of a family long gone. It was terrifying to even consider how dark the sky could grow, and how hard it would be for a single star to light up the night on its own.

  Even the comfort of the Sun would burn out one day.

  “Mk? Are you okay?” Pigsy asked, noticing how quiet his son was being as he drove him home. “Mk” was what Pigsy had shortened the nickname of “Monkey Kid” to. 

  “Hm?” He mumbled, before processing the question and snapping out of his misty eyed daze. “Oh- Yeah. I’m fine.” He brushed off, though his emotional energy was at an all time low. He could barely force a small smile for a few seconds.

  “Don’t lie to me.” The demon stated, pulling in to park at a nearby store. He turned as much as he could, asking, “What’s wrong?” rather sternly and startling the pre-teen.

  Mk fidgeted with his seat belt, chewing on his cheek as he tried to get out of the conversation. “I just.. C-can we not talk about this? Please?” He couldn’t come up with an excuse, so he just asked to avoid it, eyes desperate to escape the confrontation.

  Pigsy sighed sympathetically, reminding the kid, “If we don’t talk about it now, you know Tang is gonna make ya.” 

  The reminder was not appreciated as Xiaotian grit his teeth. “Could you just leave it? I can’t handle this right now.” His eyes filled with the glowing purple color of his irises, small zaps slipping out and hitting the palms of his hands. The pig was spooked by the sight of magic coming from his son’s eyes, causing the boy to force his rage down. “I-.. I’m sorry.. Dadsy. I just-.. I don’t wanna talk about it.” The child’s eyes returned to normal as he curled up and dug his face into his legs.

  Pigsy decided it was best not to push, and returned to silently driving his son home. He could tell with his enhanced hearing that his son was crying, but he couldn’t focus on that. The Little Monkey was clearly scared, and he knew it was best to get him home. The moment he pulled the car into park, the boy opened the door and stormed over to the shop. Anyone could feel the tension radiating from the boy’s f-... What the fuck was that? 

  Little wisps of purplish black slipped off of his son’s body and seemed to drill themselves into the dirt, setting off the alarm bells in the demon’s mind. Mk was a human. At least, they thought he was! Humans don’t have magic unless they train for it, and even then, they usually have to focus to use it. Pigsy went after him and made it just in time to see Tang grab the kid’s shoulder. “Xiao Houzi-” Xiaotian grabbed the scholar’s wrist so tightly it hurt and made him yelp.

  The pig stormed over to help his husband, tearing Mk’s hand from his wrist. “Alright, kid. What’s gotten into ya?! You don’t normally get this angry! You’re a good kid-” 

  He was interrupted by his son wrenching his hand away from him, shoving him away. His eyes were glowing again. “Just stop, okay?! I get it. I’m crazy! I’m a bad kid. I hear it often enough. Can’t you leave me alone about it?!” he yelled, pulling his arm back, about to punch his Dadsy, when he realized what he was doing and lunged backwards. His eyes returned to their normal appearance again, even more wisps trailing off of him as he glanced around. Pigsy looked stunned by the rage fueled behavior, and Mr.Tang was inspecting his wrist and holding back tears. “I-.. I’m a… bad… kid.” 

  He gripped his arms until they hurt as he began to cry, enraged with himself for lashing out. The demon processed what had happened and reached towards him, trying to comfort his son. “Kid-” Yet the little boy stepped away and stopped him in his tracks. 

  “..I’m a bad kid.” The trails slowed and slipped down his body, unnoticed by the very boy who caused them. His tears picked up pace again, causing him to return to his senses. His dads didn’t need to see him cry. Xiaotian He brought this on himself. Xiao-Xiao.. It was his fault. It's not.

  He ran up the stairs, fleeing the crime like a coward. He hid in his room and locked the door. He didn’t deserve their sympathy. They were trying to comfort him and he hurt them. He was a monster. He punched his wall to release the pain, accidentally breaking right through. He didn’t deserve to be called their son. ‘No wonder Shadow Dad left..’

  What he didn’t see was the two adults rushing after him to try and comfort him again, and he didn’t know that Pigsy made a Jujube cake until the next day. Mk was selfish. He had such a wonderful family already and yet he still missed the one he lost. How greedy..

  He didn't actually know the truth though. No one blamed him, and if he had the choice, Shadow Dad never would have left.

—☆—

I’m so sorry for making you cry:< I’m trying my best to represent grief well, but the only person I’ve known personally who died was my cat. I had to rely on other things that caused me grief for reference and my own experience as an autistic person handling grief. 

Also, Mk finally got his name! That’s exciting! Anyways;

Have fun, and happy scrolling!

(Edit: Added the picture!)

Prev- Chapter 5 and Next- Chapter 7

[iceheap]

plssssss more aarmau / aaron head canons i will eat em UP

Hmmm I have one I thought up a few months ago but it might be a bit meta.

So basically you know how Aaron doesn't have a personality at all in both nystreet and MCD? I think it's pretty obvious that the fact he has no defining characteristics or traits besides being a former lord and him hating Zane is obviously the fault of Jess and Jason, not Aaron's. But I do think this is interesting from a limitation perspective.

See, I don't like completely rebooting a story concept, I like to work with the limitations of the original source material to create depth, not something brand new. I've been doing the same for Zane as well, though we can talk about-face him another time. I like to use the peices that are already there in a story and add everything else around it. Sure, I will do canon divergences here and there, but if I can use something in the original canon and keep certain events as close as possible, I will.

So, Aaron's severe lack of personality. It's obviously because of bad writing. But what if it wasn't?

Shad is a very interesting character. Mostly because we don't get the exact details of WHY, exactly, he turned out so... Twisted.

Like as a creature itself, Shad is weird. He used to be a good person. I genuinely believe that Shad was never evil, just assigned a set of abilities he couldn't really handle. He kind of reminds me of Chat Noir because of the way he and Irene's magical dynamics are so similar to Marinette and Adrian's. Irene was the light, and Shad was the darkness.

Now, sure, we have the absolute shit-show that was MCD season 3 and Mystreet season 6, and the ensuing retcon that has Irene kind of be a terrible person? Which, I have a headcanon about that retconed version of the story that I might write and post on AO3 one day, but for the sake of my sanity I consider the original story of Shad's betrayal canon. The other male members were in love with Irene and stabbed Shad in the back.

Thinking about it, though, where was Irene in all of this?

What, exactly, made Shad into the Shadow Lord? Irene would have reasonex with him. If Shad had come out of the altercation alive, he could have been reasoned with. Yes, maybe Irene's communications skills were lacking due to centuries of immortality and maybe she caused a misunderstanding that led him to the dark side, but Shad was not a BAD person. Temperamental, traumatized, tired and emotionally disregulated, sure. But he was not a bad person.

That's if we're assuming Shad lived.

I think he didn't.

I think the other male divine warriors killed him.

Of course, Irene would not have been okay with this. And they probably would have had to do it behind her back. Maybe they chose a time they knew she would not be there. Maybe they told Shad Irene agreed with their plans for his death.

But Irene loved Shad. She maybe didn't know how to show it anymore, but she LOVED him. She would have never let him die.

Shad probably didn't know that though.

So he dies. And somehow, Irene finds them. The others try to explain, at first, but it's moot point because for the first time in multiple lifetimes, Irene emotes. She shows an emotion. She feels something.

She tries to heal Shad. She's a healer after all. It's what she does. She tries.

It doesn't work.

She tries again.

It doesn't work.

She tries and she tries and she tries and she tries and--

And Shad comes back.

But it's not right. There's something WRONG. Irene fucked up. Because Shad is dark, and Irene is light, and they're not supposed to MIX.

So Shad comes back as an angry, furious, broken shell, twisted and dark and evil and angry. And they fight him and they win, and Irene locks him away, and the Irene looks around at what her companions have TAKEN from her and she can't STAND it anymore and so she locks herself away and sleeps, because she doesn't feel ANYTHING and she wants to FEEL and--

Anyway, we know this story. So what does this have to do with Aaron?

What if Aaron isn't Shad? What if Aaron is a PEICE of Shad?

Because light and dark aren't supposed to mix, but when they do, they create something unstable. And like any chemical bond that does not want to exist, it explodes. And what did it explode?

Shad.

And what part of Shad did it explode?

His soul, of course.

The heart of darkness. The Shadow Lord. These are PEICES of Shad's soul. He was fractured.

And that's why Aaron has no personality besides things like revenge and being a lord and helping raise Lilith and loving Aphmau and nothing else. He was the peice of Shad that carried Shad's humanity, but NOTHING ELSE. He doesn't have the Shadow Lords Passion and anger and rage. He shows glimpses of it, but only enough any other human would show. That's why he's blank and distant and doesn't emote. His heart is gone, and with it, all the deeper complexities of emotion.

He has no hobbies or interests. He just fights and eats and sleeps and drinks water and functions from a creatures instinct, because he's human, but he has NOTHING ELSE.

He's also probably the only peice out toghether enough to reincarnated. But he's missing things and that's why he's so bleh.

Anyway, yeah, that's my hc for Aaron's lack of character development. And I think it's super interesting that Irene would have fractured Shad without realizing it. She was probably too desperate to bring him back to realize how much damage she was doing.

So yeah! Aaron is a peice of a whole and that's why he's WEIRD AF thank you for coming to my TedTalk WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

[not-orphaned-account]

You, Only You - Chapter 2

In which Satoru thinks very heterosexual and platonic thoughts. Also breakfast.

Satoru has always been told that he’s a restless sleeper; anyone he’s ever shared a room with has been very vocal about his flailing, talking, sometimes even sleep walking. It’s not like it bothers him much when he sleeps alone, aside from the few times he’s accidentally rolled out of bed in the middle of the night. On top of that, he’s a light sleeper, probably something to do with his six eyes or having his infinity up more often than not. But when he falls asleep with Suguru in his arms, he always wakes up slowly, feeling fully rested, in almost the exact same position.

This morning is no different. He wakes up first, floating in the golden fog of half-sleep as his thoughts slowly begin to come back online. He doesn’t feel the need to open his eyes right away, just letting his brain turn on as he starts to become aware of his surroundings. He feels the weight of Suguru against his chest, the warmth of his skin, the slow shifting of his back under Satoru’s hand as he breathes.

Suguru has always been somewhat peaceful in comparison to him. While Satoru is restless and fidgety, Suguru is stoic and calm. To anyone on the outside, he probably seems chill, laid back and relaxed. But Satoru knows him, he’s the only one who does, he knows that under that calm exterior, Suguru’s thoughts roil and roar like the curses he eats, putting creases in his brow and shadows under his eyes and painting his face with a thin smile that seems to fool everyone but Satoru. Things are different on mornings like this, though; his forehead is smooth, his mouth is lax, and he always looks like he’s never known a trouble in his life.

It’s one of Satoru’s favourite sights, and he realizes all of a sudden that he’s missing it with his eyes closed. He fixes that immediately, dragging them open and blinking the fuzziness from his vision.

He was right, as usual. They seem to have turned sometime during the night, with Satoru ending up on his back and Suguru half-laying on his chest, leaving his cheek pressed against Satoru’s shirt and his fingers curled over his pec. His hair spills over his shoulders and pools on Satoru’s chest like ink, and there’s drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and soaking into his shirt, and he finally looks truly, genuinely peaceful.

Unable to resist, Satoru gently brushes a lock of hair behind his ear, giving him an unobstructed view of his face. Suguru really is pretty; definitely not the same kind of pretty as a girl, but it’s somehow better. He’s a kind of pretty that doesn’t seem as though he should be called ‘pretty’ at all; a kind of pretty that other people would probably edge into ‘handsome,’ because there’s something so specifically masculine about it that calling him pretty might be frowned at.

He is pretty, though. His hair is soft and shines somehow darker in the sunlight. His cheeks are fuller than they used to be, a bit of a healthier glow to his skin than there was a few years ago. He has a strong chin, Satoru thinks as he runs his thumb along it, and a good jawline. Nice eyebrows too, dark and smooth and delicate, though they ruffle a little when he drags his thumb along them the opposite way, snickering as they turn into little caterpillars under his touch. Serves him right, really; he’s too pretty, the world couldn’t handle it if everyone knew just how pretty he was without Satoru messing him up a little first.

He wonders if, when Suguru finally finds a girlfriend, she’ll be as pretty as he is. He wonders if maybe she’ll be petite and feminine, delicate and traditional with a pale complexion and striking eyes; or if she’ll be taller and more muscular, stronger, loud and a bit too brash, someone to hold her own weight alongside Suguru.

Both ideas make him wrinkle his nose, and he ruffles Suguru’s eyebrows again.

He wonders if she’ll see how pretty Suguru is, or if she’ll do as everyone else does: chalk him up to his strength without considering how he looks in the early morning light, how his voice sounds whispering about all of the things that make him happy, how soft his smile is when he looks at the girls, or at Haibara, or at—

Suguru’s brow furrows, and he makes a quiet noise as his nose twitches. Satoru watches in amusement as his face goes through a series of strange movements before his eyes finally flutter open, just barely, just enough for him to see the dark irises. For a moment, he's not even sure if Suguru is awake; then, his lips curve up in a slow, sleepy smile, and he finds himself smiling back.

“G’morning,” Suguru mumbles, lazily rubbing his eyes with his fist. Satoru grins.

“Morning, leaking beauty.”

Suguru’s brow furrows in confusion; Satoru thumbs at the wet spot on his shirt where his face was mashed into it.

It’s always funny to see Suguru flustered; his face goes red and he frowns, making Satoru grin wider.

“So gross, really.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at him. In one swift move, before Satoru can react, he shoots up, licking a hot, wet stripe up the side of his face.

Satoru splutters and shoves his face away as he settles back down with a shit-eating grin, folding his hands over Satoru’s chest and resting his chin on his fingers.

“How’s that for gross?”

“You know, you really abuse my kindness,” Satoru sniffs. Suguru raises an eyebrow. 

“What ‘kindness?’”

“Lowering infinity,” Satoru points out. “You know you’re the only one I do it for. And then you go and do stuff like this! Truly so mean to me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes so hard that Satoru wonders if he can see his own brain.

“Oh, of course. How could anyone possibly be so cruel.”

“At least you recognize it.”

Suguru thumbs his forehead and Satoru laughs, batting his hand away. His fingers close around his wrist, not entirely on purpose, and they follow the movement of his hand as he lowers it to lay on Satoru’s chest.

“Do we have anything to do this morning?” 

Satoru hums, folding his free arm behind his head and absently running his fingers up and down the length of Suguru’s wrist.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ve got to do my mission write up, but that’ll take, like, two seconds.”

Suguru snorts quietly.

“I think Yaga would prefer a clear, complete report over something you wrote on the back of a napkin in under a minute,” he points out. Satoru gives a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll be fine. The curse is gone, I’m back in one piece, et cetera, et cetera.”

He yelps as Suguru digs his chin into the centre of his chest, and retaliates by stabbing his forehead with a sharp knuckle.

They settle down after a few more pinches and jabs, Suguru laying across his chest again and Satoru’s fingers finding his hair. It’s fun to play with, especially since he’s been growing it out and wearing it down more. He still ties it up for missions and training, but for classes and lazy days around the school, he’s adopted a sort of half-bun that leaves most of his hair draping over his shoulders. It’s pretty, and Satoru likes to watch his hair flutter and swish as he walks.

He’s not quite sure what time it is, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much with Suguru’s weight over him and his fingers lazily drawing circles over his chest. Eventually, though, they do have to get up, the push coming when Satoru’s stomach growls so aggressively that Suguru’s cheek vibrates where it’s pressed against it. They look at each other for a few long moments before Suguru cracks up, muffling his laughter in Satoru’s stomach as he ducks to avoid his embarrassed flick to the face.

They finally drag themselves out of bed. Satoru doesn’t feel like going back to his room to change, so he simply raids Suguru’s closet, ignoring the sigh he hears from behind him as he grabs a long sleeved shirt and sweats. The pants are a little short and the shirt is a bit wide, but he’s always found any clothes he gets from Suguru’s closet to be way comfier than his own, even though they’re just regular clothes. Maybe it’s because Suguru actually does his laundry ‘properly’ (though Satoru still asserts that a ‘right’ way of doing laundry that isn’t just chucking everything in is a myth perpetuated by the washing machine companies), and the fabric is soft and always smells nice. He holds the collar of the shirt up to his nose and inhales, delighting in the familiar scent.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Suguru says from across the room. He’s combing his hair in the mirror by his bed, and Satoru watches the black locks spill down his back. He meets his eyes in the mirror, catching Suguru’s little smirk and rolling his eyes.

“You simply can’t understand my genius,” he snarks, taking another deep sniff of the fabric just to make Suguru roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Freak.”

“Loser.”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

“Suguru?”

Both of them turn, startled by the new voice. The door is cracked open slightly, and Satoru can just see a wide eye peeking out into the room; in the next moment, the door swings open, and two girls rocket across the room and crash into Suguru.

“Ieri said to wait for you, but we were so bored,” Nanako complains, emphasizing the words as though they spell a fate worse than death. Mimiko nods from behind her, though a lot more quiet, chewing idly on the ear of her stuffed animal.

“Sorry,” Suguru says, ruffling her hair with a smile. “Gojo was tired after his mission, so we slept in.”

It’s only then that the girls seem to realize that there’s another person in the room, and they both whirl around. Both of their faces light up, and he can’t help but grin as Nanako darts forward and wraps her tiny arms around his waist.

“Gojo!”

“How’re my two favourite girls?” he laughs, patting her head and reaching over her to do the same to Mimiko. He glances up towards the door.

“Sorry, Shoko.”

Shoko appears in the doorway, fidgeting a toothpick between her lips and looking mildly amused.

“I’ll live,” she deadpans. Suguru laughs again, while Satoru tosses a balled-up sock at her that she dodges with a disgusted look.

“Did you get hurt?” Nanako asks, drawing his attention back down to her. She looks genuinely concerned, and he tucks her hair behind her ear and pats her cheek; he doesn’t have as much of an ingrained childcare sense as Suguru seems to, but he can’t deny that the twins and the Fushiguro siblings have special places in his heart.

“Not even a scratch,” he says, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. Shoko scoffs from the doorway, but Nanako’s face floods with relief, and it’s worth it.

“Have you eaten yet?” Suguru asks.

“Not yet,” says Shoko. “There weren’t any leftovers in the fridge, so I figured we’d just wait for you to wake up.”

Suguru gives her an unimpressed look, and she holds up her hands.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m banned from the kitchen, remember?”

“Wait, were there no leftovers at all?” Satoru asks as the five of them leave the room, Suguru leading the way holding the twins’ hands.

“Nope. Nothing in there but raw ingredients.”

Satoru groans.

“Aw man, I totally left some cheesecake in there for when I came back!”

Shoko shrugs, clicking the toothpick against her teeth.

“The fourth years had cleaning duty, and you know how Nanami is about expired food.”

Satoru clicks his tongue.

“Don’t call them fourth years, they haven’t earned it yet.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, the same as she always does when this conversation comes up.

“They're already a semester in, I don't know what to tell you. Just because you're being a man child who refuses to move out of the dorms—”

“I'm not refusing to move out, I've been busy!” Satoru argues. “Besides, Suguru hasn't moved out either.”

“At least I'm packing,” Suguru says over his shoulder. Satoru opens his mouth to make an off colour comment, but Suguru gives him a look at the same time that Shoko elbows him, so he stays quiet and mourns the missed opportunity in his head. 

“Both of you should just move in together and be done with it,” Shoko says, not for the first time. “I mean, that's what's going to end up happening anyways.”

Satoru glances at her with a small frown.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Shoko just shrugs.

The kitchen lights always hurt his eyes, so he doubles back to fetch his glasses from his room. When he returns, the girls are sitting on the counter while Suguru searches the fridge and Shoko stands a safe distance away.

“What are we thinking?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at them. Nanako swings her feet. 

“Hotcakes!” she says. Mimiko nods aggressively, and Suguru chuckles.

“You shouldn't be having that much sugar for breakfast,” he says, but he's already pulling out the ingredients.

“You're a bad influence,” Satoru clicks his tongue, drawing his attention. He raises an eyebrow, and Satoru shoots a sly grin at the girls.

“You should have more sugar for breakfast. It's one of the essential food groups.”

“Really?” Nanako asks, at the same time that Suguru exclaims, “It is not!” 

Satoru grins and raises his hands in surrender.

“Don't listen to him,” Suguru grumbles. “And you shouldn't sit on the counters, it's dangerous.”

Satoru rolls his eyes at the same time that Shoko muffles a snicker. Suguru narrows his eyes at both of them.

Satoru is a disaster in the kitchen, and Shoko has been exiled by Yaga for setting dry ramen on fire, so Suguru makes the pancakes alone while they entertain the twins. He lets Mimiko ride on his shoulders, laughing when she squeals in excitement from being able to touch the ceiling, while Shoko sits on the floor with Nanako and listens to her talk about her drawings.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Satoru says, lifting Mimiko from his shoulders and casually tucking her under his arm as she giggles uncontrollably. “Suguru told me you've learned to write your name?”

“Oh no,” Shoko mutters with a wry grin, as Nanako’s eyes light up.

“Yeah! I can do it real good now, wanna see?”

“You can show me after breakfast,” he says, and she nods.

When the pancakes are almost done, Suguru enlists Shoko’s help to cut some fruit (because apparently, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age 'can't be trusted with sharp objects’ and ‘at least she can use a scalpel’) and gets Satoru to help the girls set the table. He can't bring himself to be too sulky, though, because the pancakes smell delicious and he's taught Mimiko how to hang a spoon off her nose, much to Suguru’s dismay. 

“Eat your food, Mimiko,” he chastises, and she makes a face but obeys. Satoru catches Shoko’s eyes, and they share an amused look.

Out of the three of them, Suguru has always been the only one with any sort of parental instincts; however, nobody had expected him to be so motherly over the twins. It makes sense, given the fact that he rescued them, and the state they were apparently in at the time; still, sometimes Satoru has to remind himself that this is the same guy he spent his high school years with, the polite good boy who acted a lot more responsible than he was, who was just as much trouble as Satoru himself when the adults weren't looking.

Though, he thinks as he chews a strawberry and watches Suguru help guide Nanako’s hands to cut her hotcakes, technically, they are the adults now.

The thought makes him frown, and to shut it up, he scoops a blueberry up on his spoon and launches it across the table, snickering when it hits Suguru directly between the eyes. 

The look on his face is gold: he blinks a few times, staring down at it as it plops onto his own plate. There's a stain of blue juice on the bridge of his nose, and Satoru has to fight down a laugh as he goes a bit cross-eyed while he slowly, calmlywipes it off.

“Very mature, Satoru,” he says, looking back up with a raised eyebrow and unamused expression. Satoru widens his eyes and innocently points at himself.

“Who, me?”

Suguru just rolls his eyes and wordlessly plucks Nanako’s spoon from her fingers as she takes aim to shoot a piece of kiwi at Satoru.

The rest of the meal goes smoothly, and the incident is forgotten—that is, until the girls are getting up to take their plates to the kitchen, and the moment they turn their backs, something wet and sticky nails Satoru right in the face. He splutters and wipes the whipped cream from his cheek, looking up to see Suguru grinning at him across the table. 

Maybe they're not the adults quite yet, he thinks as he gathers the wayward whipped cream in his hand and lunges across the table towards him. 

[callmearcturus]

oh god where did i leave off. oh fuck i left off with THAT? oh geez sorry

in my defense, the music in the next area is great so i didn't want to leave and i'm almost to the boss i think? Reverie, Yukiko, and Kanji make a DEADLY team, and while I am Big Mad at Yosuke:

he starts every battle first and has tentafoo/Cause Panic. so. he's just maddeningly useful, idk what to say.

Huh I somehow thought the other character was next but it's Rise time!

Man. I like Rise a lot. Out of all the romance options she's the only one I'm considering at all because she's neat. Rise is an idol who is taking a break from the business to return home to Inaba and recuperate. And right from go, she is just on another level from everyone else.

She knows about the Midnight Channel (though doesn't understand it's a supernatural hit list yet) and is aware of the dangers around her. The Idol business in all its forms across the world fucking Sucks and it's clear to see it's had an effect on her, like emotional stretch marks from having to mature really fucking fast. She's been in her late 20s since she was 13 and it shows.

Oh and she's working in her family's tofu shop for the time being.

/googles ganmodoki

oh i would try this in a fucking heartbeat. Also, Yosuke, bro, what do you mean you don't eat tofu. Like... no tofu ever? I'm American and I eat tofu. It's good.

(I do genuinely want to eat more tofu but I cook for a whole household and they are less willing to let me experiment with tofu. Please pity me. 8C I heard if you squeeze out all the liquid or even freeze them first, they become really easy to fry? Anyway. Sorry, I cook a lot.)

Anyway aw shit Rise inadvertently reveals to Dojima that we're working this case. Worse, Dojima is not immediately angry or confrontational about it. OH NO, he purposefully avoids being confrontational about it.

Instead he puts Adachi on our tail.

Look at that man's face. Does this motherfucker have a single candle on behind those eyes.

Which leads to discovering a stalker who Adachi arrests as the murderer.

GODDAMMIT ADACHI. Whatever, it gets him out of our fucking hair.

buuuuut in that time, Rise got got. goddddddfuckingdammit.

An idol who's shadow self is on some level genuinely an exhibitionist. Whoo boy that's... a lot. Also, out of all the shadows, I find Rise's the most creepy, weirdly? Maybe because Idol Culture scares the shit out of me and I don't even remotely understand the appeal. It's like this terrifying black box of concepts I can't divine anything out of.

In TV World, I feel SUPER BAD for Teddie. I keep flying through these dungeons in one or two days and not really coming back to the TV World to see him. Which is a shame because I genuinely love Teddie! I think he's top three characters for me right now.

I was trained in the unhallowed halls of Tartarus, I know how to curbstomp a dungeon, okay? I wish I was around more for Teddie. 8C

YOSUKE HANAMURA WE ARE GONNA STEP OUTSIDE IF YOU MAKE TEDDIE SAD, DO YOU HEAR ME?

i just went from Big Mad to cackle in like a minute. CHIE OH MY GOD. "Aw buddy, you're sad? Yeah, you can hit on me, I'm cool with that!" i'm dying. it kind of says a lot about Chie's opinion of Teddie vs everyone else since she's the one who shoved the boys into the river at camp.

She has standards, is what I'm saying, and I respect them immensely.

say what

omg yes yes yes yes yes yes lemme see it what is it

STAR SOCIAL LINK: GET. THE STAR IS SO FUCKING GOOD FOR TEDDIE TOO! The Star comes after darkness has fallen and you are lost in the night with no sense of direction. It is the pinprick of light in the distance, the hope that gets your feet moving again after the despair has settled in. It is not a promise of warm or answers or completion, but it is sign that the story is not over, that you aren't over, and encourages you to follow to the next page.

TEDDIE IS GREAT FOR THE STAR, AAAAAAH!!!!!

[akkreti]

I had awoken to the cawing of ravens and the sizzling of flames. In my hand then was a red spear, a sensation that was hauntingly familiar for an item I had never seen before that very moment.

<—>

“So that’s what this Lostbelt is. A world of mountains, white ice, and blue flame…”

Besides me, I listen to Mash’s description of the landscape. I wonder how it would feel to walk between those burning ice trees. Beautiful from afar, but would I be burned by something that can’t melt even ice?

Are they even flames? Are they even ice?

“And then there’s the … sun? It’s much too big to be the sun, though…“

Looking up, I find myself agreeing with Mash. The sun is way bigger than the one I remember, big enough to cover a good portion of the sky - I avert my eyes by instinct before realizing something.

I can stare at the sun just fine.

<—>

The sun above me shone with a hateful glare. I hate it back.

That fire. That heat. That eye. How dare he? How dare he hated me when this was all his fault? The world around me burned as if Ragnarök never ended, and that was true, and it was all his fault.

I’ll kill him.

That was all that I thought at the time. The Runes that Odin gave me, I used it all away to inflict as much pain on that hateful sun. My Authority over the mountains and shadow, I pushed and I squeezed and I exhausted them until my entire existence was devoted to devouring that hideous flames. The spear, that lovingly crafted red spear, I threw with all my strength, neither as the ultimate warrior or the insulted goddess, but as an Avenger that threw away her life to drag her husband’s murderer to the depths of hell.

I’ll kill him even if it’s the last thing I do.

I swore to kill that thing even if I have to tear his burning face with my bare hands and eat his heart as I dig through his torso with ashen skeletal hands.

I’ll kill him. And everything will be alright.

<—>

“A simple question. Do I kill you, or love you?”

Another threat. As genuine as all the threat I have faced. I wonder what it says about me that I am not afraid. A single wrong step would kill me, yet I am not afraid. Not after Russia. Not after that frozen nation. Not after Patxi. 

“Capture them.”

The order is given with the calm serenity that is present from the first moment the goddess had appeared. Scáthach-Skaði.

Her smile does not fit her face. Her voice does not fit her face. Her demeanor does not fit her face. A familiar stranger, different in all but name and face to the Scáthach that Mash and I know.

I am unable to think of her as the Lancer I know. The goddess in front of me is not Scáthach. 

There is too much gentleness in her words.

<—>

“My Goddess. Your command?”

My throat was hoarse. The tight clothing I had woken up to was in tatters. My hair had turned black from the heat. My hands had lost all of its flesh, leaving ash-covered bones that hardened around the handle of that red spear.

I had swore to kill that hideous sun even if I would die to do so, yet that voice had broken my mind from continuing to stab at the sun in an effort to bleed it.

Ah. How pathetic. A single greeting was enough to dispel my hatred.

I turned to take a look a the interloper and was met with three familiar faces. Thrúd. Hildr. Ortlinde. Three of Odin’s vaunted Valkyries. 

Survivors of the Broken Ragnarök. I had not expect there to be others besides me. Leave it to Odin to make something like that happen. He was a crafty man.

“What do you want?”

My voice came out in a cadence unfit for a goddess. It was hoarse from my proximity to the sun, yes, but there was a roughness in the tone that I had not used since the time my father was alive.

“Your command, my Goddess. As the last surviving Goddess of the land, we are to-“

Last surviving. Yes, even centuries afterward, I did not find any hints to any other survivors.

I hate that thing. I hate that light. I hate that sun.

“Your majesty?”

“I’m busy. Do as you have always done.”

And on that brusque note, I turned from what was left of my family to stew in hatred and pain as I attempt to kill the monster that had done this.

I’ll kill him. And everything will be alright.

<—>

“I remember hearing that in one of our legends. You know, it’s amazing! I never thought I would actually get to entertain guests of my own someday!”

Gerda speaks as if visitors are something that exists only in legends here. The people here, they never wander out and they never find any novelty.

Endless days of nothing but living. It was peaceful here. So very peaceful. Like a place out of a fairy tale with a happy ending.

What can I say to that? That there would be no happy ending for them?

“Hehehe. Please enjoy your stay.”

Should I say anything? Should I tell her anything? Patxi, he knew what I- what Chaldea was doing, and he still jumped to protect me.

Can I break this story’s happiness? 

<—>

I did not know how long time had passed in my attempt to kill that thing. I did not sleep. I did not rest. I did not retreat. 

The pain from the flames had long since disappeared. My body felt lighter and swifter, and my strikes went deeper and louder than when I had first started. 

In front of me were flames. Behind me were shadow and ice. 

I was drenched in an aura of darkness that smothers all light. The screams of the sun had long since filled my head and echoed continuously within my skull. My flesh had long since burned away, leaving only unfeeling bones. 

No matter what, I will kill him.

I’ll kill Surtr. And everything will be alright.

<—>

The sun turns black. Burning blood spills forth from the black ball in the sky. 

The fire giant, Surtr, approaches us, a burning sword in hand.

The fire was hot. Incredibly hot.

It reminds me of that beam of light at the Tem-

“Out of my way.”

The voice rattles my skull. A voice fitting for the King of Giants. A voice as gargantuan as he is.

An enemy that could kill even gods with a single blow. The fire that should have destroyed the world, and is now back for round 2. An opponent so far beyond us that he could crush us like bugs.

So, like always. It can’t be helped.

I’ll just have to move forward. And everything will hopefully be alright.

<—>

I thrusted. I tore. I bled.

I don’t know how long I have been doing this. 

I swung. I pushed. I cracked.

I have to do it. I have to kill this thing. And everything will be alright.

I screamed. I roared. I cried.

I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that thing and this excruciating feeling inside me would be sated. 

I-

“My Goddess?”

Those voices again.

“…”

No voice came out in response. I tried to ask them what they want, but I have no throat or tongue. 

“Thrúd reporting. Human population has decreased to less than a hundred. Analysis of the situation estimates that that number will reach 0 within a week’s time. We are requesting orders.”

Ah. Ha. Hah. 

Is that it? Then that’s fine. I’ll kill Surtr, and everything will be alright. 

Everything will be alright, right?

That’s the way of the Aesir. If there is a problem, kill it. It has worked against all of our enemies, and it will work once I kill Surtr and finish Ragnarök. 

It has to work.

It has to.

It ha-

“How long has it been since Ragnarök?”

That break had given me enough time to regrow my flesh. My throat and my tongue suck in air, and my lung breath in and out for the first time in quite a while. Unbidden, the question escaped my lips.

“Approximately 70 days have passed. Ever since the King of Fire Giants were sealed and replaced the new sun, there have been no night to signal the end of a day, nor have the seasons changed.”

Haa. Haa. The last Goddess in this god-forsaken land. What a joke. What an absolute, cosmic joke. I am a hunter. I am a warrior. I am a destroyer. I am the mountain. I am the snow. I am not a mother or a caretaker or anything that can replace the gods and goddesses of life.

Why Odin, why me?

The only thing I can do is kill.

Fine. Fine. That’s fine. I can step up. I- I can do that. I can fix everything. 

Even if I can’t help the grow, I can watch over them. Over my… my children.

I’ll keep everything alive then. If I can’t even kill, then I must be able to keep someone alive, right?

<—>

“I will do whatever I must to protect my world. That should be abundantly clear by now.”

In front of us is the sole Goddess of this land, Scáthach-Skaði. Behind her stood the Tree of Emptiness that I- that we must cut down. 

“I have always taken responsibility for deciding who to love, and who to kill.”

Around us, the wind pick up in speed. The temperature lowers as cracks of ice spread around her. 

In her hand is a red spear. I know that spear. Gáe Bolg, the spear wielded by the Scáthach of our world.

Shadows gather around her as her appearance melts like snow near a fire. No, there is a fire. The shadow burns her flesh like a fire would.

“Heh. I suppose there’s a fire within me as well.”

Her manner of speech changed. 

“I know that this world is wrong. That it should’ve disappeared many centuries ago, but…”

Her stance becomes something similar to the Lancer I know.

“I’ve chosen to love these people. Small in numbers though they are, compared to the billions of your world…”

Before us stands a warrior. An incarnation of the tall mountains and icy storms. Her entire being burns with silent black flame, as if uncertain of her own nature of shadow or fire.

“I am their mother. Their guardian. And for that, I’ll kill you. I’ll murder the billions of your world to keep this miracle of life going. I can offer no apology. No consolation and no compensation.”

The air tenses. I can feel it. We must kill her to get through. To complete our mission and take back our future.

By taking theirs.

“I’ll do what I must to bring them a new tomorrow. Farewell, Chaldeans of Proper Human History. This is the last we’ll see of each other.”

I-

“My name. My existence. My love. The mountain descends with an avalanche, not to bury, but to embrace. Come to me, Scathing Thrymheimr!”

[shadowofthehost]

//Lastnight I got some asks about this so I will sum up the 10 odd posts about Astors Eldritch info

Azathoth being put in Helluva was a shock to me because I had been using him as Astors basic look for his full form but then I realized Astor was more suited to the living eldritch shadow and had to switch it up which put Azathoth at the role of being Astors other neglectful creator xD

The Darkness and Azathoth are similar though one is clearly more suited to Astor as a living shade vvv

Some tid bits I do love about the Elder Gods

Astor is in Hell because he can't cause death or insanity (More then Hell itself anyway) in already dead mortals.

The Elder Gods want to help those that are suffering and though Astor has his moments where he causes suffering and lacks the understanding that someone may be experiencing it, he genuinely does want to help stop it. Even his appetite for destruction is part of that in a round about way (lacking reason on how that's not the same). He kills/eats them thus ending the eternity in Hell.

His favorite person is Angel Dust and Angel is absolutely suffering even if he's not saying anything out right, Astor is observant. (Depends on the portrayal obviously. Some are more visibly clear about their work experience then others though Astor when he was new, witnessed Val dealing with one of his girls fuck ups. Astor is very aware of the working conditions though at the time he hadn't thought anything of it and even now considers it an issue but it's up to the overlord to do what they will with their property. That doesn't make him care for Angel any less but he can't interfere with his work so he's just there to pester him like an annoying brother that loves him dearly.)

His physical and non physical forms.

Astor can only experience injuries in his physical state including being weak to holy (light) weapons though they can't kill him, they can injure him a great deal. When he is injured or has over exerted himself he retreats to Alastor, similar to him being pushed back into his cage, he returns to the arms of Alastor to heal himself.

[bi-demon-ium]

25, 9, 34, in any combination, for the twins

“I know you have no reason to trust me. but please… I’m asking you to anyway.” + “I’m trusting you. Please don’t make me regret it.” + “Are you going to kill me?”

based on this, which you'll have to read for it to make sense rip.

this was yet another impulsive one<3 this idea could use more development i think, but. this is what i have!!

(ao3.)

Nicholas has been here for—he has no idea how long.

He feels like he can’t even remember a time outside of the cage, outside of this room, outside of anything. The dreams have gotten worse. It’s hard to even tell when he’s awake.

Nothing seems quite right. He isn’t surprised when he hears things, anymore, when people emerge from the darkness, but he doesn’t hope, either. His heart doesn’t leap.

So when his brother appears from the shadows, he doesn’t blink.

Even though he looks—different, than usual, more harried, in a uniform he doesn’t recognize, hair more disheveled than he’d seen it in a very long time, Nicholas doesn’t really question it. This is probably a dream. Everything is a dream. Maybe he hasn’t been awake at all.

Nicholas doesn’t say anything, just blinks slowly, lethargically, and goes back to staring at the wall.

Nathaniel just stares at him for a moment, looking upset and a little confused, before dropping to one knee and making quick work of the lock.

That’s funny. Nicholas doesn’t think he’s ever dreamed of his brother freeing him, at least, not by himself, not in an escape. Why would he? Wasn’t he the one who had put him here in the first place? Decided he deserved this?

Then he sees the shock watch, barely hidden under his sleeves, and a thought occurs to him.

“Oh,” he says, voice small and tired and dull. “Are you here to kill me, Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel—freezes. His hands stutter, his whole body faltering and then going utterly still, and then he raises his head, eyes wide and staring at Nicholas like he’s never seen him before.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he all but hisses, but he sounds more genuinely disbelieving and upset than truly furious.

Nicholas blinks. “Why wouldn’t you?” he says, a little listlessly. “I ruined your life, no? Hurt you? I’ve done nothing but get in your way, over and over. Taken everything that matters to you from you. You hate me, don’t you?”

He’s just repeating what he’s heard a thousand times, from little Nathaniel with dead eyes and cold, tall Curtain.

Nathaniel just stares at him, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’d look indignant if he didn’t look oddly hurt, and almost heartbroken. It’s a foreign expression to Nicholas, at least, on his brother’s face.

“…I know you have no reason to trust me, Nicholas,” he says after a moment. “But please. Please. I’m asking you to anyway. We have to go now.”

He holds out a hand for Nicholas to take, just as Milligan and Rhonda and Number Two have in his dreams a thousand times. Over and over. It’s never ended well. He’s always woken up. Always.

Nicholas reaches out a shaking hand and takes it. He always does. Despite everything, despite everything, he can’t help but hope.

(Curtain—the not him, the fake him, the dream him—sneers at him that he’s pathetic. I know, he whispers, and he takes their hand, I know.)

His brother’s hand is warm. It feels as solid as it ever does. It’s shaking, though. And Nathaniel pulls him out.

Nicholas all but collapses against him, legs weak, and Nathaniel holds him up unsteadily.

“We’ll get help soon,” he promises quietly, and his arms around Nicholas are—are warm, nothing like the cold metal of the cage. “Come on. I’ve—I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t much remember the escape. He never does.

But when he wakes up, it’s not to cold metal pressed to his face, not to the cold and the flickering light and the darkness eating at the corners of the room.

It’s to warmth, a soft bed under him, and kind, gentle eyes are peering at him—Milligan is sitting by him, and Number Two’s hand is cool and reassuring at his shoulder, Rhonda is nearby, too, he can hear her, and he wonders if Nathaniel was the dream.

But when he sits up, he sees movement from the corner of his eye, and—there’s Nathaniel, sitting on the other twin bed in the motel room, looking stiff and awkward and out of place, but here. Here.

He’s still pretty out of it, so the memories will later feel almost like a slideshow. Being shocked, frozen, the implications crashing down on him all at once. Stumbling to his feet, Milligan’s hands gentle at his back trying to keep him steady, Number Two saying something increasingly high-pitched, worried. Barely managing to take a few paltry steps forward. All but collapsing against his brother again, hugging him as tightly as he could manage. His brother frozen in his arms. His brother hugging back.

(I’m sorry, he remembers his brother whispering, I’m sorry.)

Vaguely he remembers falling asleep. Being gently guided back to a resting position. Remembers hugging the others, too, feeling so relieved.

Later, he’ll get the whole story—that it hadn’t, in fact, been his brother who had captured him, for one—but for now, he’s just letting it crash over him that he’s. he’s okay. He’s safe.

(His brother didn’t do this to him. His brother had helped save him. After everything, his brother had helped save him.)

.

Curtain, frankly, was about to do something extremely stupid.

He was going in, alone, into enemy territory. Essentially giving himself up to people who had every reason to despise him. Without Nicholas even there to mediate, or for them to watch themselves in front of.

But. But. It was the only way. And he had no idea how bad it was for Nicholas, but he knew it couldn’t be good. Not with the little information he’d been given.

(It was all but torture, really. Or it just. was. But he tried not to think about that.)

He took a deep breath, and neatly, stiffly rapped his knuckles on the front door.

Predictably, when the door opened, he barely got one word out before he was immediately knocked unconscious.

Yeah. That was fair.

He wakes tied to a chair—also fair—and is unsurprised when they don’t trust him. He tells them the truth, though. And maybe that’s why he manages to convince them.

(Despite everything, he does love his brother. And no one kidnaps Nicholas but him, thank you.)

(…He is aware of how that sounds. Shut up.)

When Kazembe—Rhonda, one of Nicholas’s ridiculous little friends, one of the newer additions—unties him, she stops for a moment to look him in the eyes.

“We’re trusting you,” she says, and it’s soft, but with an underlying steel. “Please don’t make us regret it.”

He got the sense that there was an idea of or I’ll make you regret it, but frankly, she looked more worried than angry.

(They really care about his brother. It’s hard to see up close. To see the kind of life Nicky has built—built without him—and to see how negatively he’s impacted it. Impacted them.)

(It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Especially once he gets into that room and sees—)

(sees—)

(Nicholas in a cage, small and curled in on himself, more exposed than he ever dresses)

(Nicholas, dead-eyed, dully listing all the reasons Nathaniel might want him dead)

(Nicholas, unbelieving, shaking, reaching for him anyway)

(Nicholas collapsing in his arms and shuddering and crying, silent and trembling)

He’s there when Nicholas wakes, in the dingy motel they’d fled to, much below his usual standards.

(He doesn’t expect Nicholas to hug him.)

He has no idea what to do now. What to do with what he’s seen, what he’s done, what to do with Nicholas and his friends, what to do, what to do.

But for now, it has to be enough to be here. For now.

[confused-gay-raccoon]

Returning to the Shadows || Chapter 2: A Long Trip Ahead

I wake up on a cot, wrapped in soft blankets with my head on a feather pillow. I look over and see Nova sleeping on a cot next to mine. there's only a few rooms on the ship and the others are being used as storage rooms so Nova offered to let me sleep in his room. I hardly minded seeing as how we've been getting along great. He showed me some of his magic skills and I find them absolutely incredible. I sit up and hear quiet knocking, before the door slowly opens. I don't understand why someone would bother to knock when they were going to open the door anyway, but it must be a mortal thing. The horned one, Emrys, walks in and motions for me to come to the door. I get off of the cot and walk towards Emrys, not expecting it when he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room.

"Sorry," he responds to the confusion on my face, "Nova is a light sleeper and he get's grumpy when he gets woken up."

"Ah, I get it."

He leads me to the main deck where the winged brother, Orion, is setting up breakfast. He has a bowl of diced fruit, chocolate drizzled pastries, and tea. I didn't expect such a rough looking man to be the one who makes such a sweet breakfast, but I won't complain. The three of us sit at a small table and begin to eat. I watch as Emrys clasps his hands together and mumbles under his breath before even touching any food. Orion notices my confused staring and shoots me a look that suggests I shouldn't ask, so I don't.

The longer I'm with these brothers, the more questions I get. Orion hardly speaks to me, but he doesn't treat me as though he hates me. In fact, I've hardly seen Orion speak to Nova or Emrys. Emrys is even more of a mystery to me. He seems to talk to himself, or perhaps someone we can't see. I tried asking Nova about it but Nova's only response was 'shadows'. What could that imply? I wish I knew, but I can only hope I'll learn more with time. Nova has been an open book with me, and yet I still don't understand him sometimes. His way of words is beyond me. At least I can honestly say I enjoy being with these people. The mystery is intriguing to me, and I'm excited to learn more over the course of this adventure, which should be plenty of time. Nova said our next stop isn't for a week. It seems I'll have to find interesting ways to entertain myself while on the open seas.

.

"Are you sure we should do this?" I ask nervously.

"We do this all the time. Trust me, it'll be hilarious." Nova assures me.

"And hey," Emrys cuts in. "If you don't want to join in, just sit back and watch the fun."

I nod and follow them into the kitchen. Orion is cooking fish over the gas stove. Emrys puts his hands out in front or him and conjures a very real looking spider. Then I watch as it attempts to scurry away and I realize the spider is indeed real. I hadn't thought to consider that Emrys also has magic, but now I wonder how I hadn't noticed it. Nova does a pulling motion with his hand and an invisible force pulls the spider into the air, dangling it between him and his brother. Nova swishes his hand and the spider goes flying in Orions direction. It lands just out of Orions eyesight, or at least I must assume seeing as how Orion doesn't react. I hear Emrys mumble the word 'forward', then I watch as the spider walks forward, towards Orion. The second the spider reaches Orions hand, he jumps back and shouts. Nova and Emrys laugh loudly, and I join in nervously. In the blink of an eye, a raw fish hits Nova right in his face, and a spatula bounces off the top of Emrys' head. Now that gets a genuine laugh out of me. I look up to see Orion giving me a flustered look, which causes my laugh to die into silence. I honestly wish he'd thrown something at me instead.

.

I lean against the railing, watching the ocean as I wonder what I can do that doesn't involve hurting anyone. Emrys hasn't stopped complaining about his head hurting yet, and Orion hasn't looked me in the eyes. I hear footsteps approaching me, so I turn to see Nova walking in my direction. He leans on the railing next to me with his back to the sea, one hand on the bar and the other keeping his hat from flying away.

"Are you avoiding us because of earlier?" he asks.

"I wasn't intentionally avoiding you." I answer honestly.

For a moment, all he does is look into my eyes. "You must think Em and I are asses, huh?"

"I wasn't thinking that."

"Well you should. All three of us are."

It takes a moment for the best response to come to me. "I don't think any of you are asses really, just..." I trail off. I just can't find the right word.

Nova looks at me, waiting to see what I'll come up with. I sigh, then look back into the water. "You guys aren't what I expected." Is all I can get out.

"Well," Nova starts, "neither are you."

I look at him, puzzled.

"What?" He asks. "You aren't. You're sickeningly sweet yet mysterious."

I can't help but smile, though I don't quite know what to say to that. 'Sickeningly sweet'. The words contradict, so I can't quite tell if it's a good or bad thing.

[amistytown]

The Brothers Comfort MC During a Panic Attack

This is my first attempt at writing down my headcanons for the brothers, so I apologize if anything is out of character. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it grew out of my control after a while. I’m a perfectionist and wanted to rewrite everything. I made minor edits and am posting it anyway or it’ll sit in my drafts forever; I admit I put the most effort into Lucifer’s, forgive me. Also sorry for the repetitiveness and any typos you may find. I decided to write how the brothers would comfort MC during a panic attack, especially as someone who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks themselves. Honestly, I wrote this as a way to comfort myself since I’ve been dealing with terrible anxiety lately. Of course, everyone experiences anxiety differently, so I can only speak from my own experiences. I didn’t go into detail when it comes to the symptoms themselves because it’s from the point of view of the brothers and only so many are visible to the eye. Trigger warning for depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Thank you for reading!

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worst. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your wellbeing of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice low, soothing, he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, providing you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf. 

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist in this moment, his gaze not leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers’ faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders. One he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the façade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. Furthermore, you lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stung. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best effort to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay, knowing he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core, blood running cold. Yeah, he should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him? He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffer through Hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side then know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin unnaturally warm, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you, okay—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How in the Devildom did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy lmao. 

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely winded, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out a sorry. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to. 

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced with worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means to stay by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together. 

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end, when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan thankful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dares to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go without punishment either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has levelled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself. He loves his brothers. But loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices travelling up the stairs, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. 

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries down the hall and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed sorry, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him. 

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what. Even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

[ganymedesclock]

A random collection of Sonic headcanons since I’ve been stimulating that part of my brain lately:

Sonic is the absolute last person anyone who’s spent time around him expects to be a foodie considering he eats like absolute garbage and gets away with it because his metabolism will kill him if he doesn’t eat like five meals a day so odds are decent any time he’s not up and about he is probably either napping or snacking. In defiance of this, he actually has a surprisingly worldly palate, since he’s been just about everywhere and has a high natural curiosity about food; he’s tried and enjoyed a lot of stuff, including weird stuff. This is a guy who just knows offhand what haggis tastes like. This also gets to him sometimes because he’ll occasionally get a hankering for like, the authentic street food of a specific city in a country two continents over and he can’t just drop everything and go GET some because there’s an OCEAN in the way

Shadow’s body naturally produces and maintains a pretty potent charge of energy which he uses for his chaos attacks. His inhibitor rings basically work as heat vents to bleed off the majority of that power so he can’t build enough of a charge to fry himself just by not letting off a chaos blast every five minutes. This process is normally silent and extremely subtle- under high duress however they may hiss and release steam because his energy levels fluctuate with his mood and because of his PTSD and other problems his adrenaline levels can spike (and thus, spike his energy) when he’s actually not in a combat situation and has nothing to use all that for. This is not a problem at all as long as he checks his inhibitors in for regular maintenance / keeps the emergency coolant reserves in them topped off, but it tends to scare the crap out of people the first time it happens.

Silver has asthma. Silver does not know what asthma is. Really his health overall is not great but on account of growing up in an apocalypse he has an actually really concerning pain tolerance and has internalized some really bad attitudes about trucking through it so after several people take him aside for an intervention and explain certain important concepts like the use of a rescue inhaler he’s genuinely astonished to realize how many incidental parts of his life are actually serious medical conditions.

Amy is a hobbyist magician and really good at sleight of hand. This messes with at least half of the superpowered people in her life because they KNOW she’s not doing that with literal magic but how did she do that. She’s also great at figuring out those puzzles where you remove two tangled threads without untying them at either end.

Big’s largely hermetic existence does actually get boring sometimes although he’s loath to go into Station Square further than the regular shop he buys fishing tackle from or the open-air farmer’s market where he sells fish, and he’s actually quite well-read as a result, though the majority of his reading is nonfiction. As a result there are a large number of topics where, if incidentally prompted, he’ll be able to explain the minutiae of it in intense detail. These interest areas include:

fishing as a sport

laws about hunting and fishing

the ancient echidna civilization

the entire plot of an obscure period soap opera in a language Big doesn’t speak and the original novel it was based on

engines

woodcarving

almost any animal that can be found in the mystic ruin rainforest basin and surrounding area (he started with frogs and didn’t really stop) 

amphibians in general

the history of umbrellas

badniks (sometime after Final Egg was abandoned, Big started wandering around its perimeter and scavenging both for interesting bits to expand/repair his house and out of genuine curiosity)

Jet’s actually a pretty darn competent thief when he keeps his ego out of the way, something that continuously surprises the main targets of his competitive streak.

Charmy’s actually a really deep sleeper which works since he often gets tired on long stakeouts. This will semi-regularly result in either Vector or Espio carrying a sleeping Charmy around. Espio will go for a fairly dignified piggyback carry while Vector will go with whatever position is the most efficient without compromising Charmy’s health. At least once he’s walked around the majority of Westopolis with Charmy dangling halfway out of a normal shopping bag completely dead to the world.

Omega adamantly maintains that his exclusive purpose is to be an efficient engine of destruction but he actually really enjoys looking his best. After a while Rouge picks up on this and they have several discussions about custom paint jobs. Omega thinks it would be interesting to try blue but vetoes the idea because he’s fairly sure it would go straight to Sonic’s head.

Rouge is a regular gym rat, not just because she uses muscles for her work but she just doesn’t feel right without a proper workout. Afterwards she tends to soak it off, so it takes a while for people to realize that her idea of a spa day involves 30lb weights, which she’s just fine with.

Tails is actually scared of a lot of things besides lightning; he sleeps with a nightlight and has bouts of social anxiety. He tries not to let this on because he thinks it’s childish and stupid and he’s clearly so smart he should be acting like an adult already right- needless to say, his friends are a lot more supportive when he talks to them about this. Knuckles uses the master emerald to charge a shard of ordinary crystal to give Tails a battery-less unfailing flashlight for his birthday one year.

The absence of light pollution on most of Angel Island and its usual cruising altitude affords it a great view of the night sky, especially from the slopes of red mountain. Stargazing is one of Knuckles’ main pastimes, and he also uses this to track the Island’s position as it moves.

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

[3rdgymbros]

— title; you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)

— pairing; kazuha kaedehara x electro archon! reader

— summary; in which kazuha kaedehara wasn’t always a fugitive of inazuma; and the electro archon and kazuha kaedehara were far closer than most know of. 

— notes; kazuha please come home i’ve been saving for you.

You suppose that you should have seen it coming.

He had been the softest of your guards by far. Where the others had fulfilled their duties to you with an unwavering firmness, bringing you Vision upon Vision, as per your decree, Kazuha had watched the proceedings and lavish banquets with a pained look in his eyes, his heavy eyelashes pointed down.

You had figured that such a reaction was only warranted. He was a kind soul, after all. That was one of the things that had drawn you to him. You’d seen many mortals come and go in your course of life, but so rarely had they been kind and good.

So when exactly, had he begun looking at you with that very same expression?

You don’t have the answer to that question, as much as it pains you to admit.

The last time you see Kazuha is late at night.

You’ve always shrugged off your romances, picking a new favourite for each season, but you take care to keep Kazuha close, ensuring that he’s never fully out of your favour. And he shares your bed at night, the relationship you’ve forged with him too intimate to be considered that of a master and their guard.

“Master?” Kazuha says softly, just a shadow in your doorway.

You make a sound that might be a yes or a come in. In the haze of sleep that still grips you, it’s hard for anyone to tell. So you hold out an arm, and open your sheets, an open invitation for Kazuha to join you, and he does.

He closes the door and climbs into your bed. You feel his cool, slender fingers encase your cheeks as he settles beside you. He advances for a kiss, but his lips fail. He exhales, and you can feel the heat of his skin and his breath. “Master,” He says again. It is a choked, frightened sound.

You barely manage a few syllables around your irrepressible need for sleep. “’S wrong?”

Kazuha buries his face into your shoulder.

“’Zuha?” You exhale words with your next breath. “Won’t hurt you. I won’t let –”

I won’t let anyone hurt you, you want to say, but the world dissolves into nothing. You drift back into slumber, into warm and summery dreams. All warmth and light. Laughter ringing out, high and clear. Kazuha teaching you how to make music using only a maple leaf. Scaramouche’s voice humming in your ears, back when he had still been in your retinue.

But you wake up alone.

Next to you, the sheets are cold.

It’s the first time that you’ve ever woken up alone, without Kazuha’s body curled protectively around yours, even in slumber.

When the attendant brings your tray of breakfast, Mondstadt-style waffles studded with bright blue berries, you untangle yourself from your rapidly-cooling cocoon of sheets, and ask for Kazuha to eat with you. The attendant bows and assures you that Kazuha will be brought to your chambers once he’s been found.

And so you wait.

And the clock on your chest of drawers ticks on, taunting you with how slowly the time seems to crawl. The passage of time means nothing to an Archon, but there’s a grim feeling of foreboding that you can’t quite seem to shake as the time passes you by. A bad feeling hovers over your gut, icy fingers of dread tightening your bowels.

The same attendant returns to you, the colour draining from their pleasant face as they tell you that Kazuha is lost. A search of the palace grounds has revealed that Kazuha is nowhere to be found. His belongings are still in his jewel-box of a room, but his sword and his vision are both gone.

You’re not a fool.

You know what this means.

You’ve been abandoned.

Kazuha has abandoned you.

And you’re alone once again.

“Get out.” You say. Then, louder, to the uncertain attendant still hovering by the door, waiting for you to issue orders. “GET OUT!”

It’s not until electricity crackles menacingly in the air that the attendant flees.

Now, an eerie silence fills the floor. It’s the silence you imagine in the rest of the world, the silence of an endless ocean and uninhabitable islands, a silence that can be seen from the heavens.

In bed, you hear a soft knock on the door, but you don’t answer. Partly because you don’t want to see anyone, but mostly because it feels as though you’re floating. You’ve been lying in bed for what seems like forever, watching from a distance as the sun paints the walls in shades of yellow, then orange, then pink, and listening to the distant sobs of a person who has possessed your skin. You’re floating in space. When you do phase back to your senses, the wailing sounds coming from you are terrible and inhuman.

The door opens, filling the bedroom with light, and you curl away from it. All at once, you can feel how heavy your body is, how raw your throat is from all the screaming. Your vision is blurry and wet.

“Your Grace?” Ayaka asks. Her voice is barely familiar. You don’t want to see her, and you try to tell her to go away, but when you open your mouth, there are only unintelligible sounds. She sits on the edge of the bed and rubs at your back. Her clan has served the Electro Archon for centuries, and now, in the moment of your weakness, her concern for you feels almost genuine. Still, you try to shrug her away, but you don’t have the strength. “What can we do for you?”

You stare at her through a mess of tears. Bring Kazuha back, you think. Rewind time.

Instead, you just shake your head.

“We’ll send out a search party.” Ayaka says, calm and collected as always. “Wherever he is, we’ll find him and bring him back.”

You can only swallow back a lump in your throat and nod your assent.