#he'd be terrifying

[ceruark]

ensnared. (yandere! prince! sunday x gn! royalty! reader)

synopsis: prince sunday invites you to dance the entwine with him. if you evade capture, he’ll finally leave you alone. but if you get caught, you’re his forever. cw: general yandere themes - obsessive & possessive behavior, implied stalking words: 3,991 disclaimer/inspiration: the dance “The Entwine” is not my idea! it's from the novel Entwined by Heather Dixon, an all-time favorite of mine :)

“The Entwine, also known as the Gentleman’s Catch, is an amusing and challenging redowa suitable for accomplished partners. [...] Similar to a trois-temps waltz, it is danced in open position with a long sash. The lady and gentleman each take ends of the sash, which their hands must not leave. In a series of quick steps (see below) the gentleman either twists the sash around the lady’s wrists, pinning them (also known as the Catch), or the lady eludes capture within three minutes’ time. STEPS. Twist (35), Needle’s Eye (35), Dip and Turn (36), Lady’s Feint (36), Bridge Arc (36), Under-Arm Swoop (37), Thread (37), Beading the Sash (38), the Catch (38).”

Excerpt from Entwined by Heather Dixon

It has been a year since the queen died.

You stand in the grand ballroom of your palace for the first time since your mother's death. It seems dimmer without her, lacking the light her laughter brought to it. Every shift of skirts has you looking for her, only to be disappointed when you catch yourself seeking out a ghost.

She ruled alone for nearly fifteen years. After your father died in battle when you were young, many other kingdoms tried to swoop in after she became widowed. They vied for her hand in marriage so they could expand their territory and get their hands on the lucrative gemstones that are excavated from your land's caverns. But the queen was unshakable, and she refused to remarry, continuing to keep her kingdom safe and opulent all on her own.

And she died last winter, an incurable sickness settling in her lungs seemingly overnight and stealing her final breath within the week.

You hardly had time to mourn her. With no one sitting on the throne, your mother's advisory court scrambled to find you a suitor so that you could marry and be crowned as soon as possible. There hadn't been a rush to find you one, but with the queen's sudden death, they need to get you on the throne before someone else came along to seize it.

Tonight, Welt— formerly your mother's personal advisor— had declared while you prepared for the ball. Tonight, we will find you a suitor. You will be coronated by summer.

You sigh as your gaze sweeps over the ballroom. Truthfully, you have no interest in any of the attendants. Most of them don't have anything noteworthy about their personalities, and those that do are individuals you've mentally decided are best kept at arm's length. You’re certain that more than half your selection pool were invited out of courtesy; none of them possess enough influence or value for your mother's advisory court to approve of a marriage between the two of you.

Except for one.

Penacony's beloved prince has been pursuing you for as long as you could remember. It started off innocent, a mere childhood crush. Long before you were adolescents, he would pluck flowers from the centerpiece vases on ballroom tables and hand them to you, ever the gentleman. You can still remember the sound of whichever court member was assigned to look after you cooing at the sight, endeared as you accepted the flower from his hands and spent the rest of the night at his side, discussing all the important matters that plagued the minds of young royalty.

And then, things changed.

As you two grew older, something about him shifted— you couldn't quite explain it. It made your skin crawl, the way his gaze trailed you throughout the ballroom, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long when he kissed your hand in greeting, the way anyone you shared mutual romantic interest with started avoiding you like the plague the second he heard of your budding relationship. There was something off about him— about his infatuation with you— and you distanced yourself from him as much as possible over the years.

Your mother's advisory court had been furious; they believed your eventual marriage to Sunday was set in stone given how taken you were with each other as children, and they planned for a prosperous future backed by Penacony's enormous and infinite wealth. They took your refusal to interact with him as rebellion and scoffed at your explanations, but luckily, you weren't alone in your suspicions. Your mother and Welt were also unsettled by the way he looked at you at formal gatherings, and your mother swiftly shut down her court's insistences on you trying to make amends with Penacony's prince.

We have no need for marriages of convenience. My child's happiness and safety will be valued above all else, she told them, and it was the end of the discussion.

Welt has upheld her and your wishes following her death, but the rest of the court are more willing to challenge him than they'd been to challenge the queen. Multiple court members have pestered you about marrying Sunday, stating that he would readily agree; you would get on the throne quickly, and the kingdom would prosper with his empire’s assets. Though they drop the topic the second you snap at them, you can tell they're still scheming, pulling at whatever strings they can to bring the prince back into your favor and push you into his arms.

And the undeniable proof of that stands across the room, piercing you with his golden eyes. Of course he's among the guests the court selected for you to choose your partner from. What else could you expect from them?

You sigh and swipe a glass of wine off a nearby table. It's going to be an incredibly long night.

As you sip at the bitter liquid and eye the blonde prince from Belobog, a familiar voice sounds behind you. "Something troubles you, Your Highness."

You turn around, relaxing at the sight of your faithful personal advisor. Veritas gazes down at you, face as neutral as ever.

"Someone," you respond, a frown tugging at your lips. "It appears the court is still refusing to let go of their little delusion."

He glances over your shoulder and hums noncommittally. "It appears so."

You swirl the red wine around in your glass, continuing your sweep of the guests. Certainly, Belobog's prince seemed like your best option right now. Albeit easily flustered, he was sweet and courageous— you would be able to fall for him given the time.

"Gepard Landau?" Veritas asks, his gaze having followed yours to the man standing beside his sister and her wife.

You look up, meeting his doubtful gaze. "Do you see any better options?"

He takes another glance around the room, then grimaces. You bring your hand to your mouth, covering your sudden laugh.

"Though he may be the most respectable of your options, there is not much Belobog can offer you." He tilts his head, still staring out at the crowd. "I suggest you reconsider."

You flash him a tight, sarcastic smile. "If that is the standard you suggest I go by, then my options are narrowed down to Aventurine and Sunday."

You get along fine with the blonde lord hailing from IPC territory, and he possesses charm like no other. He's gotten you more flustered than any other suitor has, but you know it's all fake. Something lurks beneath his picture-perfect exterior, and he keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to guess what his true intentions are. Someone like that can't be good news for you.

Veritas sighs. "I suppose Landau will have to do, then."

A flurry of movement and fabric draws your gaze to the dance floor. You light up as you watch two figures dance in the center of the crowd, one ducking and dodging out of reach while the other tries with fervor to capture them in their arms.

They've finally brought out the silk sashes used to dance the Entwine.

Your Entwine record is exemplary. When dancing as the gentleman, there were only a handful of people you hadn't been able to catch— Aventurine being one of them. Though your record dancing as gentleman is flawed, your skill when dancing as lady is unmatched and known far and wide.

In all your years, you have never been caught during a dance.

"Wonderful," you say, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You could already feel the exhilaration that came with successful capture and evasion. You turn to your advisor, eyes glistening beneath the lights. "Veritas, would you be so kind as to humor me with a dance?"

You think it's the light playing tricks on your eyes when he flushes red. Before he can respond, though, Welt strides up to the two of you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps you could get to know your potential suitors better through the Entwine, no?" The man you've come to think of as a father figure smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes creasing as he does. "You enjoy it so much, hopefully it can be used to bring you closer to someone— both literally and figuratively speaking."

Your smile matches his. "I think that's a great idea."

"Perfect." Welt turns toward the dance floor. "Allow me to announce—"

He stops dead in his tracks, freezing just in time to prevent himself from walking into someone. He backs up, and your blood runs cold at the sight left behind.

Sunday stands before you, pristine as ever, with a silver sash draped over his arm.

Welt finds his voice before you do. "Prince Oak," he greets, dipping his head into a bow. "A pleasure to see you again. We are very grateful for your attendance."

Sunday looks at him. The fond expression he had fixed on you smooths out into his perfect half-smile. He nods at Welt in acknowledgement. "Imperial Advisor Yang." He turns to your left, appearing less enthused to greet Veritas. "Imperial Advisor Ratio."

His eyes land on you again, and a chill runs down your spine. You force a polite smile onto your face, bowing your head slightly. "Prince Oak. An honor to see you again."

He sounds breathless when he responds. "The honor is all mine."

When his gaze starts to grow heavy on your shoulders, Welt clears his throat. He eyes the fabric hanging off of Sunday's arm. "I suppose you are here with... intent, yes?"

"Correct," Sunday says. He glances down at the silk, reaching up to pinch a part of it between his fingers.

He meets your eyes again, his face imperceptible. It's more terrifying than his openly longing and lingering gaze.

"I wish to dance the Entwine with you," he says, voice diplomatic and devoid of emotion. "If you are willing."

You clench your hands behind your back. "Will you be dancing gentleman or lady?"

"Gentleman." He pauses, voice lowering a bit. "I wish to try and catch you."

You smother a scowl before it can crawl its way onto your face. Of course he would want to dance as gentleman. How typical.

But there's something to his demeanor that tells you there's more to it than he's letting on. It's sitting on the tip of his tongue: his real intent behind asking you to dance with him.

"For what reason do you wish to dance with me?" In a quieter, harsher tone, you add, "Be honest with me, or I will refuse outright."

His fingers run over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles that snag them. He tilts his head to the side, and the desire that swims in his eyes leaves you shaking.

"If I catch you," he says slowly, "you will give me your hand in marriage."

Bile burns at the back of your throat, your anxiety clawing its way up and trying to escape. It's a bold declaration, especially when directed at someone who has never been caught before. Your faith in your skill is resolute, but the sheer desperation on his face is enough to make you hesitate.

Your voice trembles slightly when you speak. "And if you fail?"

He hums, flicking his gaze off to the side. "If I fail, I will never ask for it again."

You latch onto the statement like a moth to a flame. All you have to do is avoid capture— something you've done time and again— to get him to leave you alone. You've never seen him dance the Entwine, or show any interest in it; undoubtedly, your skill will lead you to successful evasion.

This is your chance to get him off your back, for good.

Before you can respond, a firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pulling you backward.

"Your Highness," Veritas whispers into your ear, barely contained urgency lacing his words. "Please consider this carefully. Is this a risk you are willing to take?"

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. "I have never been caught," you mutter back.

His brows pinch together. "There is a first time for everything, and you cannot afford to let this one be that time."

You clench your jaw and cast Sunday a sidelong glance. He stares back at you, his posture perfect and features serene despite the way his eyes drink you in, ravenous. There is, as always, truth to what Veritas is saying; you've never seen Sunday dance the Entwine, but that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't know how, or that he isn't good at it. There's still a high chance you'll be able to evade him given your record, but the chance of him being able to successfully pull off the Catch, though small, is still a potential outcome that shouldn’t be overlooked.

After all, he wouldn't be asking you if the possibility was as slim as you believe it to be.

You bite your lip, hesitating. You look to Welt, pleading for direction. He locks eyes with you briefly, looking just as concerned as Veritas, before he steps forward and partially shields you from Sunday's view.

"Perhaps another time," he says, a polite grin finding its way onto his face. "We are just coming out of mourning, and though it is nice to be part of festivities again, perhaps dancing is still a bit too much for Our Highness right now— the late queen was very fond of the Entwine. Please understand."

Sunday's mask wavers, irritation seeping through the cracks at Welt's excuse. His sharp gaze cuts back to you, but you let your eyes drift back to the dance floor, refusing to meet it.

The tension is broken by the sound of clapping. You turn your head, frowning at the sight of a member of the advisory court approaching.

"Oh, how lovely!" She swoons, pressing a hand to her chest. Her face is flushed from the wine and she speaks loudly, drawing the ballroom's attention to the cluster of people around you. "Our Highness is going to dance the Entwine with Prince Oak!"

All eyes are on you. Your guests whisper to each other, their excitement tangible and filling the air with charged energy. A long time coming, they think to themselves, oblivious to the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. Sunday's affinity for you isn't a secret, especially not to the royal families who watched you two grow up at each other's side. To them, this dance is simply an age-old rumor finally coming into fruition, the first step toward solidifying your relationship with Sunday. And to the advisors scattered around the ballroom, watching you like hawks, it is their efforts finally paying off— the final nail in your coffin that will secure the future they envision for your kingdom.

Refusing him now, under countless pairs of hopeful eyes, would undoubtedly leave an ugly smear on your reputation and the integrity of your kingdom.

Your tongue sits dry and heavy in your mouth. You almost choke on it when Sunday's hand finds the small of your back, gently guiding you toward the dance floor. He practically preens under the attention and pressure. It makes you sick.

Another hand catches your elbow in a bruising grip, and you jolt back, only barely catching yourself to make it seem as though you tripped. You angle your body in a way that prevents the crowd from seeing Veritas's vice grip on your arm.

"My Highness has not agreed to anything yet," he bites out in a low whisper, venom dripping off his tongue.

Sunday's eyes snap to him. His scathing glare does nothing to deter your advisor, who glares back at him in response.

When he looks back to you, the deceptively serene look has returned. With the arm not holding the sash, he extends a hand out to you, tilting his head to the side in question. The guests closest to you all coo fondly.

There's a hint of a smirk on his face. "May I have this dance?"

You place a hand over Veritas's, gently prying his fingers from your arm. You can't bear to look at him right now. "It will be fine," you murmur. "I promise."

You run your hands along your sleeves, wiping off as much of the sweat as you can. You inhale shakily, trying to keep the ballroom tile beneath your feet from swimming.

You look up, a practiced, graceful smile tilting your lips upward. You delicately place your hand in his, suppressing a shudder when he brings it to his lips and presses it to them. The steadiness and strength in your voice surprises you when you say, "Of course, Prince Oak."

The ballroom erupts into a mixture of chatter and cheers. Court advisors pester the crowd surrounding the dance floor, ushering them back and trying to clear a pathway for the two of you. You swallow thickly as Sunday closes his hand around your trembling one.

You turn to Welt and gesture at his pocket with your free hand. "If you would be so kind, Advisor Welt."

He nods stiffly, reaching into his coat and producing a golden pocket watch. "Of course, Your Highness."

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as Sunday guides you to the dance floor. A numbness settles over you, and you robotically nod and smile at the guests that you pass. Their eyes shine with an adoration that you could never possess for this supposed relationship— for him.

Sunday releases your hand when you two reach the center of the dance floor. His eyes are dark as he holds one end of the sash out to you. You take it into your hands and back away from him, toward the other end of the floor. Sunday does the same, and you both stop when the sash is pulled so taught that it tugs you a few steps forward.

The familiar fabric and set-up do little to comfort you.

The crowd shifts again, and Welt emerges from it, standing front and center before the dance floor. He holds the pocket watch up to his face, and your breath hitches with anticipation.

"Your three minutes begins..." His voice reverberates off the ballroom walls, resounding clearly over the jubilant tune the orchestra plays.

"Now."

Adrenaline shoots through you like lightning, and you fly into motion. Your vision sharpens, focused in on every movement Sunday makes as you analyze the arc of his arms and the force behind his tugs on the sash. With each under-arm swoop, you dip beneath his arms and twirl away from him with ease, the steps of the dance coming to you the way breathing does.

He's an adept dancer, you'll give him that. Perhaps if his partner was anyone else, he would have already caught them already, within the first minute of the dance. But you are untouchable on an average night, and on this one in particular, you push yourself past your limits, propelled forward by a fervor and desperation to evade his every attempt of entangling you in his arms.

Twist. Needle's Eye.

"Two minutes," Welt calls out.

Approaching another under-arm swoop, you glance at Sunday's face just in time to see displeasure flicker across it at Welt's announcement. As you glide away from him once more, unfurling the sash between you two, he gives it a sharp tug, causing you to stumble a bit and lose your footing. Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly recover, forcing your limbs to move faster and smoother and match the rapid tempo he has now set for the dance.

Sweat beads along your upper lip as you duck under Sunday's arms repeatedly. You're managing just fine, but you've never had to push yourself this hard before; keeping a close eye on his movements while making sure the sash doesn't get tangled around your wrists is a delicate balancing act, and you can feel yourself teetering back and forth, dangerously close to falling off.

He's a far more formidable partner than you could have ever imagined.

Dip and Turn. Lady's Feint.

"One minute."

Sunday furiously yanks on the sash mid-twirl, and you stagger forward. The sash wraps around your wrists once, twice— three times before you regain your footing and lean back, narrowly avoiding Sunday's sweeping arm that almost hooks around your own.

A chorus of gasps ripples through the crowd at your near capture. It worsens your fraying nerves.

You exhale with exertion, trembling on unsteady legs as Sunday raises the stakes yet again. The tempo he sets is merciless, and your body is jostled between the last of your will and the harsh tugs from the other end of the sash. You grit your teeth. The silk digs tighter into your flesh and sends pinpricks of pain up your arms with each snap of his wrists.

Bridge Arc. Under-Arm Swoop.

"Thirty seconds."

The speed at which you weave in and out of spins leaves you dizzy, nauseous. The ballroom melts into incomprehensible shapes and colors around you. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, a pitiful attempt to ground yourself so you won't trip up. 

You do anyway; Sunday's movements are too fluid and swift to keep up with.

The sash binds around your wrists five more times, bringing you even closer to him— too close. You're not sure if it's skill, luck, or sheer force of will that allows you to continue to dodge his attempts at ensnaring you, but you know that you shouldn't be able to do it at this distance.

Frustration peeks through his graceful disposition. His golden eyes trail you, chasing after you as you elude his grasp once more.

Thread. Beading the Sash.

"Fifteen seconds."

You throw yourself into another dip, eyes locked onto the floor just beyond the arm obscuring your line of vision.

If you dodge this one, you'll be free.

Sunday lifts his arms suddenly and pulls, bringing the sash as far back as he can without letting go. Your arms twist in the air behind your back. A strangled gasp leaves you as you lose your footing. In a whirl of fabric, you stagger backward, away from the other side of his outstretched arm.

The Catch.

Your back slams into something solid, and before you can process what has happened, a firm arm snakes itself around your waist, pulling you flush against the body behind you. Your hands, still bound together, dig into your collarbone, suspended at an awkward angle from the sash held above you.

The crowd erupts into noise.

In front of you, a little girl pulls on her mother's sleeve and points in your direction. "Mommy, he caught Our Highness!"

Behind them, Veritas stares at you, petrified and speechless.

Snapping out of your stunned stupor feels like coming up for air after almost drowning. You suck in a shuddering breath and writhe, yanking your arms against the sash and leaning forward, futilely trying to escape. Sunday gathers the last of the fabric in his hands and gives it another sharp tug, keeping you in place against him.

He lowers his head, and his lips brush over your ear as he speaks. "Magnificent," he whispers. His voice rumbles with pleasure, almost to the point of purring. "You are truly a talented dancer."

"Let me go," you rasp out. You're physically exhausted, and your racing, panicked heart prevents you from catching your breath.

Sunday hums again, bringing the hand holding the sash to brush your cheek gently. "Why would I do that?" He chuckles softly, and it's so genuine— not the slightest bit mocking— that it leaves you all the more unsettled. "I caught you."

He brings his arm down, settling it around your waist. His fingers brush over your bound hands, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

"You're finally mine."

[violent138]

I feel like the Robins probably watched horror movies to really up their game, taking notes on the gestures and body language that would creep you out. "Criminals are a superstitious lot", so yeah the guy in full body armour that could beat you up would suck, but a small child, somewhere in the dark, with an echoing laugh all around you as you fire off a hail of bullets, somehow dodging everything and gleefully messing you up. That's psychological warfare.

[corrodedbisexual]

This whole scene is damn near impossible to work with because dark af and zero quality, but. Two very important things:

Steve putting on Eddie's vest

Eddie staring at Steve as he walks away in his vest and blatantly checking out his ass

[bogleech]

The first time I ever heard of the Gugs from Lovecraft it was Wayne Barlowe's illustration so that's what they look like to me, sad pink mole rat gorilla guys with vajinus mouths

Thing is that's exactly how they were described in the books, with big bony brow ridges and giant hairy "paws" and a mouth that's just sideways "from the top to bottom" of their head

But positively EVERY other depiction I've ever seen opts for the whole head splitting open, and yeah that's a cool look too, but are they just doing that because they can't resist pushing each characteristic to an extreme or are they afraid to depict something with a mouth that looks like a vaginer??? Give the gugs their gussies back

[i3utterflyeffect]

Imagine if victim somehow trapped c!Alan in the computer in ava 1?

all that i can say is it wouldn't go well! i still am going to be firm on the fact that i won't venture into c!alan's family in this measure (don't feel comfortable with including real people who haven't been explicitly included), but he would be really freaked out and want to go home. iirc, he was like, 13 around the point of ava 1? so it's a bit of a hellish situation especially considering he doesn't really get any sympathy from victim

[majestic-kestrel]

A truth universally accepted

[ID: Two pencil drawings of characters from BBC Ghosts. In the first panel the Captain is walking in the foreground with Mary and Annie in the background. Annie is telling Mary to "Say something to him". In the second panel, Mary says to the Captain "Thou art AUTISTIC!" Annie replies "Them's just facts, though". The Captain looks taken aback.]

[onelungmcclung]

[demigodishniss]

I made a post about this the first time I rewatched Eleven's run but it must be said again: I love his dichotomy between "fun-loving and joyful" and "angry and borderline jaded" so much. He's talented and good at putting up a front but it all crumbles away the second there's slightly too much pressure, because suddenly he's not young and easy-going at all but ancient and tired and it's taking everything in him to not let the grief he carries weigh him down or push away the people who've come to care for him, not knowing that if he did give in to it, they would absolutely love him anyway.

"He's just a silly little guy" But more importantly he's aged and tired and constantly fighting to maintain the balance between his wonder and joy for the universe and his frustrations and anger with it, and he doesn't always do that well.

I love how outwardly sweet and fun he is, but there's something about those moments when the mask slips and we're reminded that he's seen things that he never should've seen and made decisions that were too much for one person to ever make. And then for a second we see just how much weight he's actually carrying around with him and yeah, it makes sense why he'd rather not show that part of himself.

[cerise-on-top]

Hii you know how you wrote about reader getting hurt because of their job please could you write that with graves or nikolai x

Hey! Sure I can!

Graves’ and Nikolai’s S/O Gets Hurt Because of Their job

Graves: On the outside he may seem calm and collected, but on the inside he’d be seething with rage. However, he won’t show you how angry he actually is, keeping it all to himself instead. He needs to be the big, strong man in your relationship, so he needs to keep his cool in front of you, no matter what. I don’t think he’d be too surprised you’d have gotten hurt, though. While he may have hoped it would never happen, that was just wishful thinking. You’ll either be on Shadow Company’s medbay or in the best hospital he can find nearby. Either way, you’ll be well taken care of. If you’re at Shadow Company, then he’ll station some of his most competent and trusted people to take care of you for the time being. You will be protected by them, and you will get whatever it is you may need from them as well. Or anything you may want, really. No cost is too high for Graves while you’re in recovery. While he may try to make time for you as well, he really does, he will also have someone track down whoever hurt you. This person will then be abducted to Shadow Company for a rough time. Graves himself would take care of them, and he can be pretty effective when he wants to be. However, if you’ve recovered by then, and are among the more vengeful people, then you’re more than welcome to do as you please with the bastard yourself, Graves has no qualms about that. In fact, he’d welcome you doing what you need to do. An eye for an eye. I think he’d become a bit more protective of you afterwards. If you’re okay with it, then he’ll leave you in the hands of some of his Shadows since he can’t always be there for you. If it was up to him, he’d combine you with his work and have you just live on base with him so he could always keep an eye on you, but you likely wouldn’t agree to that. It may seem a bit overbearing, but he will reach out to you more often and does expect you to respond within a few hours, or else he’ll get worried and send someone to check up on you, even if you’re alright.

Nikolai: While Graves may be furious, Nikolai is entirely calm about all of this. Yes, you got hurt, but seeing him panic would likely only worsen the state you’re in. He is well aware of the fact that you will pull through, he made sure of that himself. However, he won’t do anything drastic until you’ve recovered completely. That way your perpetrator has enough time to kill themself before he has to take action. Naturally, you mean the world to him, so any violence against you will not be excused. Nikolai runs a PMC, so he knows what he’s doing, he knows how to deal with violence. Violence for violence is the rule of the beasts and Nikolai’s cruelty is akin to that of a starved animal. However, that can wait until you’re alright again. He’ll visit you every day, even stay at the hospital, and bring you gifts, tell you stories and keep you company otherwise. But he won’t mention the plans he has for the sorry fuck who hurt you, those are for him to know and for you to never find out. Once you’re home again, going about your day, he will seek out the bastard himself and drag him to some place in Siberia. As mentioned before, Nikolai can be cruel when he wants to be, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he let that person run aimlessly around Siberia for a few days, hunted down by him and his people, only to capture and torture them later. Death is a kind of mercy that is not for them, though, so he’ll keep them alive for the time being. They almost took you from him, there’s nothing they could ever do to make up for that. They’ll be a new chewing toy for Chimera until they die for one reason or another. Nikolai won’t get too overprotective, but he will be keeping a closer eye on you. He won’t station one of his people in front of your home when he’s away, but he will try to make more time for you. Calls become more frequent and he will try to find some excuses to spend more time with you, even if it’s just by video chatting with you when you have the time. He won’t freak out, but he won’t forget about that incident either.

[willowser]

regarding ex husband bag, i have an hc that might not be popular but: i think bakugo retires from prohero work kind of early, like late thirties/early forties. Hes done more in two years than most heroes do in their whole lives, he's gone all out, almost lost an eye or a limb more times than he can count. He's gone through that whole league if villains ordeal, it changes his perspective on his juvenile ambition. He has a son, and while that used to spur him to work more and protect him, now he realizes that's the very thing that split his world in two. So, he cuts down on the patrol hours, maybe starts teaching the next gen of heroes to feel less guilty, he finds purchase in combing down rowdy boys' hair as best jeanist did before him. But that doesn't quell his guilt, his sense of impotence and ptsd and maybe that's when you start slipping together again. He works more but still looks tired, cause he stays up all night, awake. He has more time to think, about you and your son and his perceived failure as an husband and a hero. And you, well you love him still, so you help him. He falls asleep easier in your arms, thinks less when he's with you, feels less guilty when he sees why he left in the first place, his wife and his son. And I think that's how you get back together, you slowly fall in love all over again (the love was always there) and give him solace and meaning, and he can finally protect his wittle family the way it deserves. 🥺🥺

this is so heartbreaking and mending all in one omg !! but no, no, i absolutely agree with you !! i really think about this a lot, like. how long do we think bakugou really does this hero business ??

i tend to have this personal hc that he does retire a little early, like maybe late 30's. idk, i think after everything that's happening now in the manga, i think his perception of 'victory' and 'success' will change a bit. i also think with all this coming out about endeavor, and then literally being at the forefront of it all in the worst way, i almost think he would be a little disillusioned ?? obviously he still loves his heroes, 100%, but i think he finally is able to see through the smoke and mirrors and realize this life isn't as grand as he thought it was. that it's a lie. so i definitely see him retiring early.

but oh boy !! that totally does take its toll on him mentally !! you are so right !!! because he may know what he was striving for doesn't really exist, but that doesn't change that it was his lifelong goal, and that has to be so hard !! he probably goes back and forth for a while and maybe even loses his sense of identity and aklhfakhfgka it's probably so conflicting for him 🥺 

and then fitting that into the plot about his lil son 🥺 you put it together with such heartache !! such comfort !! you are so so right. i don't even want to add more because it's perfect !! 

[bonefall]

You could play with the dirty part of the canon description by having Slash and his people roll in mud to hide their scent.

Parts of the Code labelling using weapons/traps as dishonorable could have started as agreements made that Slash's people wouldn't keep using their old tactics, maybe forced on Thunder's Clan to keep them from becoming too powerful, if they DID fuse.

I'm more liable to just remove the "dirty" thing entirely honestly; I just think it's so shitty I'd like to nuke it from orbit, you get me? Every single time they want you to hate someone, they make them fat and/or stinky. I'd rather just put that kind of rhetoric in the mouths of cats like Clear Sky and The Wind Runner, a lie to demonize their enemies, not really based on truth.

I think I might take the trap stuff though; that actually fits in nicely with how ThunderClan's the only one that uses spears. I won't have it be code yet, though, that's going to come a lot later. First two commandments of the code are Borders + Mercy, followed by Law 3 when Riverstar dies in some decades.

Also gonna need a name for Slash's new group. Hey, maybe THESE guys can be called Warriors, actually. Warriors of the Forest, like what the first arc used to be called before it was renamed TPB.

[wrenhavenriver]

-> I have a condition…an unusual condition. There’s something awful about my instincts, about my desires.

[dynamightmite]

God on the one hand this image of young Toshinari is so good

All Might was never just a quirk. The greatest hero in the world was always standing in the shadow of his childhood self, gripping heroism like a metal pipe and swinging. He never lost that innate drive to help. And that's why he's on the battlefield again, decades later, beat down and powerless. Because there's no where else he could be. Because he is a hero.

On the other hand, this whole chapter feels like a mourning song for the story we might have had about Quirkless Hero Deku. So I'm a little sad.

[jaggedjot]

Armand the director, who recalls his time in the theatre with such fondness, continuing to feed his actors lines

[coyoteclan]

@silkclan's Tornshadow!!!! She's so baby. so rectangular. a force to be reckoned with

she reminds me vaguely of that one tiny, grumpy tiktok cat, Francis I think? they have the same build and I adore it lol your art style catches it SO perfectly

I'm obsessed with this cat she is so dear to me!!! she'd better live a long and happy life!!!!!

also a bonus bc these two are such opposites and I think I'm funny:

[stalebagels]