#hides all the dirt but then again you want to know to get rid of it

[myothertardisisonthemun]

You know how coal is a notoriously dirty fuel?

You know how steam train drivers are usually depicted covered in soot?

Turns out, if you travel right near the engine and lean your head out the window, that stuff gets on you too

It is the next day, and I'm still finding black bits when blow my nose

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The softer the skin the sharper the teeth.

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested: Fic request: WereDaryl and Glen find a she wolf (in human form) out and talk to her about coming to the prison. She and Daryl are mates

🐺 🐺 🐺

A freshly skinned and eaten deer carcass let the two men know this house had recent visitors.

"Fuck.." Glenn's voice dragged on as he slumped through the hallway back where the archer who accompanied him was fishing some painkillers out of the deepest end of a cabinet.

"Whatcha whinin' about this time? Forget ta give yer wife a goodbye kiss?" Daryl's face held a teasing grin as he stood up and showed off his finds.

"Nope. But now I'm seriously confused because there's a neatly taken apart deer in the kitchen, but also still unfound painkillers here?"

Daryl stalked past his companion and into the kitchen, inspecting the leftovers noticing none of it had even slightly dried out and the person who carved it couldn't be far away. "Ya check the area, Imma head upstairs."

Your hiding space upstairs was probably the worst idea you ever had. Hidden away in the bathtub, praying the wolf downstairs wouldn't sniff you out. There were two people on your trail. One was human, it was faintly there underneath a heavy cloak of the dead. The only reason you knew these weren't dead was because you heard them talking.

Now, the other one was the one you were terrified of. You praised your late father for teaching you to hide your scent and appear human to even the most skilled of hunters.

The wolf that stalked around the lower floor had no intention of hiding his identity. If there was any other creature around they were gonna know what he was which meant he was strong. Weaklings hid while the strong ones paraded around their might.

And in all honesty it was working for him. His scent was ...Oh no, no no not gonna get attracted to the first male wolf you met since the world went to shit.

You kept yourself hidden for as long as possible, which wasn't long at all as the shower curtain was torn down and the creature revealed itself.

You raised your hands in defeat but couldn't help to give him a once over from the gorgeous blue eyes behind messy brown locks to the dirt covered muscles and the crossbow currently pointed at your head.

"I travel alone. I don't want trouble."

Luckily Daryl didn't want trouble either.

He also knew you weren't lying. There was no scent of any other people on you, he made sure to double check. And then triple check, and one more time for good measure. He couldn't help it, you smelled so damn good.

“Can take ya home with us.” The words came without a second thought, same with you accepting his offer.

When Glenn came back from his quick area check he was shocked to see Daryl with a random woman, seeming to be friendlier that he had been with anyone in a long while. He found it strange, but was happy to see the other survivor they stumbled upon wasn’t a threat.

“She coming with us?” Glenn asked question after question before a round of introductions was done and you all went on your way back to the prison.

After you went through your introduction again with the leader of the group and then a couple more times with other people who came to say hi to you.

“Daryl,” carol came up to the archer when he returned from checking the fence. “Why did you bring the girl here?” She glanced at the prison entrance where you were getting rid of piled up walkers.

Daryl gave her a look like he had no clue what she was talking about, looking your way as he talked.

"Wouldn't ya have taken her in? Was all alone 'n Glenn agreed." He turned his attention back to his best friend who was way too nosey for her own good. "Why're ya askin' anyways? She do somethin'?"

Carol only laughed at the horrible way Daryl was hiding his truths.

"Oh, Pookie.." She placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "If you were showing your tail it'd be wagging like a little puppy staring at a plate of ribs."

Daryl scoffed and looked down, the skin of his thumb chewed to shreds already. "She also turned down my cookies, saying she's allergic to chocolate and I'm pretty sure I saw her snack on raw leftover meat yesterday." Her smirk was clearly one of having caught her friend's true intentions. "Sounds pretty familiar, huh doggie?"

Daryl only answered in grumbles as Carol smacked his arm. "You have a crush on her. You found a lady wolf and you're head over heels but too scared to admit it." Her voice went quiet at the last bit, not wanting to draw attention to Daryl's love struggles.

Daryl just kept quiet, letting her words sink in and weigh his options. He had to be honest and admit he had no idea why his wolf tried to tear out of his skin every time he got close to her, howling like crazy and making it barely possible to focus on anything.

"Want me to talk to her? I might be able to carefully let her know we're all okay with non-humans." Truly she was curious about what you thought about Daryl.

Before Daryl could even think up an answer Carol had decided to go relieve Maggie of corpse duty and have a chat with you. "I'll report back later, see ya Pookie." She winked at him on her way down the field as Daryl could only stand and watch, knowing not even he could change her mind.

"Hey Maggie!" Carol's voice reached the girls easily. "Hershel was looking for you, I'll take over so you can go see what he needs."

Maggie thanked her for coming to fetch her and said waved you goodbye as she walked off and Carol took her place.

"You lie." A simple statement made it clear you weren't in the mood. "I heard you and Daryl talk. And it's not what you think it is. He doesn't have a crush on me." You hauled another corpse onto the burn pile as you went on with your talk as Carol was only getting more confused now. "I went with him because we're supposed to be together. I thought that's why he asked me to come here but he hasn't made a move yet so I kept my distance as well.” There was a clear sadness in your eyes now as you looked back up at Carol. “I guess his family never taught him the signs of meeting your mate..” carol knew that word, maybe not entirely in the right context, but she got the general idea.

“Sweetie, Daryl knows nothing about relationships, human or werewolf. He got bitten and didn’t have anyone to teach him anything.”

This time it was your turn to be confused. Daryl was a bitten wolf? You were always under the assumption they were weaker and lesser than born, pureblood werewolves like you but then again, you had never met one before since your parents were very strict about who they let into their pack.

A laugh left your lips once you realized you had been an idiot all this time. Your mate who you were so desperately waiting for to make a move, didn’t even know he was supposed to. All those nights of your wolf making you dream up these scenes of you finally presenting yourself to him so you could be be mated properly.

“Well, why don’t you do that then, if Daryl doesn’t know how to make the first move.” Her voice made you quite literally jump up in surprise. Did you say all of that out loud? “Did I say all of that out loud?” Carol nodded and you begged for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Your face turning beet red as you stammered out a response. “I.. It’s not something you do when others are around..” Fidgeting with the handle of your knife you still couldn’t believe you mentioned that to a human. “It’s.. Intimate. Something for after you’ve, I don’t know the human terms. We meet, learn we are mates and then after properly introducing our packs we …mate.” You look at her, hoping you made at least some kind of sense. “So when you say you mate, you mean you two have sex, right? As the last bit of your relationship ritual?” A bright smile makes its way onto your face and you nod, letting her know she got it right.

“Is Daryl still around? You can smell him if he is, right?” You nodded again, pointing towards the closest wall that surrounded the outside kitchen area. “He’s probably trying to listen in on us. Why?” Carol was one with plans for everything. On the spot she’d come up with solutions or tryouts for any issue you found yourself having. She just smiled and turned around before taking a deep breath and called out for the archer to come over, stating she needed help with heavy lifting.

Reluctantly Daryl made his way over to the two women at the far end of the field. “Ya don’t need help, so what’s it?” He looked between the two of you.

“I’m sorry for staying away from you and making you think I disliked you.. I really didn’t mean to.” Daryl didn’t understand where the current confession came from, but Carol must have set you up to this. “I really want to talk in private, if that’s okay with you.”

A hesitant nod came before he responded with a soft ‘yeah’.

Carol took this as her cue to leave and make sure no one would bother you here at the fence for a while. “Go talk, lovebirds.”

“Do you know what mates are, Daryl?” You sounded so childish and you hated it, feeling like you had to teach the pups in your pack about the whole ordeal, but instead of pups it was your adult mate who never learned from another wolf. “S’what mah head’s been howlin’ at me every time yer near me. Makes me wanna claim ya.”

You cover your mouth as a laugh spills from your lips before you get a chance to stop it, but nodding as well. “Yeah okay that’s a healthy response.” You took a step closer to him and took his hand, looking him in the eyes. “I want you to.. Claim me, as you say.” You bit your lip and blushed like a little girl, feeling so weird to be making the first move. You noticed him sniffing around as soon as you had stepped closer to him and found the action to be adorable. He was absolutely clueless to a point where you had to spell everything out for him. Yes he was an almost perfect hunter and possibly the most terrifying werewolf you’d ever met in terms of strength and might, but he knew nothing about the rest of his instincts. “Can’t get enough of my scent, huh?” Your soft voice sent shivers down his spine. Your hand reached up to pull his face into the crook of your neck. He took a long whiff and growled against your skin. “Why?” He asked against your skin as he kept his face buried in your neck.

“Because it’s how we find our mates. You know,” You pull away from him to look him in the eyes once again. “Our partners for life. The ones we have puppies with?”

He could only blink down at you. How had you so casually spoken the one thing out loud that had been haunting his filthiest dreams ever since he found you.

Your mouth hung open in awe as you realized what his frozen response implied. It also didn’t help he suddenly reeked of arousal at your last words.

“I’ll teach you all there is to know about being mates, yeah? Puppies is the last step. Giving me a kiss right now is the first.” You leaned back up as you talked sweetly at him.

“Ya really want this? With me?” The insecurity in his voice was so sad to you, you had to resist the urge to jump his bones right there. You were going to take this slow so he could learn and one day teach his sons how to properly court a lady.

“I want this with you, Daryl. Only you. No one else.” You nudged his cheek with your nose, returning his sweet gesture of taking in his scent and growling softly before pressing your lips against his jaw.

A smile pulled at his lips and he pulled you flush against him so he could kiss you properly, his wolf howling in celebration as yours did the same now that your mate was finally yours.

He may still had to learn a lot, but you were willing to teach him everything you knew.

[lilpotatjj]

A/N: I can't belive this is happening. I just thought to give it a try and honestly it was so hard to write that BUT I read so much other Bella smut....here we go. This is my first smut and I think I only write another smut with requests cause I can't tell how often I was hiding under my blanket in shame. It's so different writing a smut story or reading good smut.

So if you guys want some naughty stuff request me.

WARNING: soft smut, fingering, no big things, just cute slice of live between Reader/Fem!Reader x Bella

Summery: Bella comes home from the set after a long day of filming and is completely exhausted, also have lots of wounds caused of the action. It didn't go quite as she had imagined and she had to keep repeating the same scene. You notice her mood and want to do everything to make her feel better.

Wordcount: 900

Proofread: Nope

Sweetn' Hot Steam (18+)

With a jerk, the door to your flat slams shut and all you hear is an annoyed gasp.

Bella enters completely exhausted, takes off her glasses and removes her scrunchie from her hair.

"todays filming was rough huh?" you stand up and walk towards her. "please don't remind me anymore....I have a bunch of bruises and abrasions from fighting" Bella grabs the back of her neck and rubs it.

"what fight scene?" you stand behind her and massage her neck.

"Nora vs Ellie.....too much running....too much knife action. I mean it was fun but something always didn't fit and we had to keep repeating" Bella looks behind you without turning.

"Sounds exhausting but you did good babe" You start kissing her neck which Bella obviously enjoys.

"I'm going to take a shower" She walks towards the bathroom and grabs a towel.

"I'll come with you and check your injuries. We don't want anything to get infected unnoticed" You grin and close the bathroom door behind you.

"my right arm hurts pretty bad....I don't know how many times I've pulled out my knife today and tried to kill Nora" Bella tries to take off her hoodie and fails miserably. "It's OK, I'll help you" You slowly pull on the sleeves and manage to take it off. Aside you first see the extent of today's filming.

"oh baby you look....good...?" you smirk and slowly stroke over the individual bruises and discover one or two abrasions.

"ohman I just want to take a shower and get rid of the dirt...I look like shit" Obviously uncomfortable with the idea of showing herself to you, she continues to undress. "I'll turn on the shower and come in with you" you also undress and look at her legs, which are completely covered in bruises.

"don't worry sweety I still love you" you go into the shower together and the warm water runs over both your bodies. You take a closer look at her wounds and crouch down to her leg injuries. "It looks really painful..." You grab one of your sponges and start gently wiping the sensitive skin, noticing that she gets goose bumps right away, and gently continue.

"feels good...." Bella closes her eyes a little and enjoys every touch of yours.

You start to kiss her gently and lovingly on her thighs and immediately notice that she flinches a little. The sponge moves up to her belly without stopping to kiss her thighs. "Y/N....." Bella looks at you in a daze and your kisses continue to move towards her centre.

Once there, you suck on her clit and she almost loses her grip on her legs. "feels so good...." She mumbles and grips your hair tightly with her fingers while you elicit a low moan from her again and again.

You only stop to continue at her chest, very tenderly and gently, sucking on her nipples. She puts her head back against the wall and closes her eyes to surrender more to the feeling after that rough day.

"relax baby" you kiss your way up to her neck and suck lovingly, grabbing her hair and getting greedier and greedier. The reason Bella is so wet is not because of the shower. Your hand gently strokes her sensitive spot, causing her soft moans to intensify.

You can't stop kissing her and keep biting her neck only to lick it apologetically afterwards. One finger penetrates her far too easily, which is why you immediately follow up with another. The neighbours in the hotel room next door can certainly hear how happy you are making her, but that doesn't matter at the moment, because all that matters now is you and Bella.

"you like it huh?" you tease her further,kiss and praise her and speed up your fingers which is the reason she becomes a moaning mess. "just like that....relax sweetheart and just let go all of that crap for today" She is getting almost too close and her legs shaking more and more bringing her on edge of her own universe. "do...don't stop please" she begs pathetically and melting complete in your grip.

The way she's wet even trough the hot water almost drives you crazy, so you have to hold back a lot from playing with yourself. Her moans are impossible to ignore and Bella has trouble catching her breath "your....y...your to...good...." she holds onto your hair with all her might and puts her head in your neck, screaming all her emotions into your ear while she comes all over your hand. "fuck......." You move a little more so she can gasp for air and Bella just hides her face in your neck a little longer. "holy shit...." her whole body still shaking, you hold her tight, stroking her back. "love you so much" she kisses your lips tenderly and the hot water still pours all over your hot bodys and the whole bathroom is full of hot steam. "I feel so much better" she smiles into the kiss. "have only tended your wounds..." you break away from the kiss with an amorous smile. "love you too my everything"

[dean-a-mean-tae]

Light At The End | Stray Kids Extra Member AU

You shine bright Brighter than all the stars ... And your perfection even in your mistakes Give affection even when your heart aches

Chan x Nicholas | Those are song lyrics from Alvin and the Chipmunks ;-; | I hope this was to your standards!

WARNINGS: Discrimination, Racism, Could be perceived as self-harm (Nicholas gets hurt twice but is okay with both), anorexia (different for everyone this is based on my experience), I think that's it

I realized I forgot to put warnings, and I am so sorry. (Update 12/22/23 9:20)

Nicholas Ross Master List | Requested: Yes | Of The Tunnel Part 2

"I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be honest," Chan whispered. His voice was loud in the silence of his room. Nicholas sat with him with a stuffed frog in his lap.  

They were in their spot again. The place Nicholas first opened up to Chan. The place where Chan swore to help Nicholas find himself.

"What happened?"

You know the phrase, 'Your parents are your first bullies,' right? They told you they did it to prepare you for the world, and it worked. You know the world is cruel, and nowhere is safe for you. Not even your head. Your head is clouded by judgment forced on you as a child.

"Why don't you talk to me?" They whine. They don't realize they follow in their parents' footsteps. They tell your business because it's family, then get angry when you do the same. Isn't that what they taught you?

Nicholas grew up in a world of hate and then got thrown into a world of more hate.

He couldn't handle the ones about his appearance. Why don't they like him? He's tall, has soft skin, has healthy hair, and is happy. He has proper hygiene and cares for his body as much as it allows. 

He was used to the comments about his talent, or lack thereof. He could handle the ones complaining about his spot in Stray Kids. Those were easy because they were true. These cuts weren't deep, and they reminded him of home.

"You did good in practice today," Felix said as he looped his arm through Nick's.

"Only because Minho hyung stayed behind and helped. I'm out of rhythm still," Nicholas denied, shaking his head.

But the ones about his appearance? His mother taught him to be proud of his complexion and how his hair grew from his scalp. So, what was wrong with him? Why don't they like him? Why can't they like him?

"Nicholas?"

Maybe he should get a perm. Is that what it's called? A perm? The thing that gives you curls or takes your curls is a perm, right? Whatever, the stylist will know what he's talking about. It was her idea anyway.

"When will you tame these knots?" The woman groaned as she brushed through Nicholas' hair. It hurt, but he wouldn't say anything. She is the hairstylist. This is her job. It hurt when his momma braided his hair, but it always looked good when done.

"What knots? I brushed and plaited my hair," Nicholas explained, looking at the woman in the mirror. She would be pretty if she stopped glaring. Glaring gave her wrinkles around the eyes and reminded him of those pug dogs.

"We should put a relaxer in your hair. The chemicals will make it straight and fix these knots." She ignored him. She kept talking about his unmanageable hair and how difficult it was to work with him.

Relaxer, that's what it's called, or is it both? Nicholas can't remember. He should schedule one. He couldn't tell the members. Jeongin and Changbin would strangle him before letting him get rid of his curls.

"Nick, can you hear me?"

"Did you hear?" Someone whispered, and Nicholas tilted his head. The mirror showed the two stylists behind him.

"He only washes his hair once a month. Twice if his members help him," She grumbled. 

The woman in front of her grimaced in disgust, "Could you imagine the build-up?"

"What about his stylist?" The first one huffed, leaning to hide from a passing staff. "Don't you think it's selfish making her deal with the dirt?"

Maybe the relaxer will help make wash days easier. Simple wash days meant his hair could be washed frequently. 

His eyes were stinging again. 

"Don't rub your eye so hard," Chan scolded as he yanked Nicholas' arm away from his eye. The pull sent a pain up his shoulder, but it's okay. "You still have your contacts in."

Contacts? Oh, the new ones he got from Nicki. After one of the members gave her his account information, she would put money in his account and order things for him. A sweet woman, she is.

For some reason, these contacts prevent him from crying. He likes them.

"Is this about the comments?" Chan whispered. He knew? Of course, he knows. If Chan knows, then Minho knows. Minho finds these things before everyone.

Nicholas still can't find the strategy in Minho's methods.

"Nicholas?" 

He did it again. He fell down the rabbit hole. He needs to stop doing that. Did he eat today? He skipped breakfast cause he had an early practice. He promised Hyunjin he would eat later after vocal lessons. He drank a smoothie and ate an apple. 

Technically, he didn't lie. Hyunjin would still be mad, though.

"I need to eat something," Nicholas said, more like croaked. Had he been quiet this whole time?

"You're hungry?" Chan asked.

"No." But he knew he needed to eat something. He was doing so well. He ate two meals and four snacks yesterday. And he didn't throw up. He forgot to tell Nicki about that. 

Too late now. Progress gone.

"I'm proud of you." Maybe it was how soft Chan said. Or it could have been because of the raw emotion in his voice. But a quiet, pathetic sound left Nicholas' lips, and his fists tightened around the frog. Gentle hands guided him to warmth. 

You would think he'd be used to this by now. Comfort through touch or even words. He didn't have that from his parents, and his sister didn't know how to be gentle until they were older.

"I'm proud of you."

There it was again. The phrase that broke him. The phrase that scared him. He used to think love was conditional.

But a genuine love, platonic or romantic, is unconditional, even when it hurts. That's why it hurts to move on or forget.

He was moving now. Where is he going?

"Go to sleep, Nick," Chan whispered. Oh, he's being carried. That's why it's so warm. They're going home? He missed home. He wondered how they were doing.

"Thank you, Starlight," Nicholas whispered.

"You're welcome."

Nicholas Ross Master list | Of The Tunnel Part 2

©️DEANAMEANTAE2023

Tags list: @bada-lee-ily, @jinnie-ret, @hwxnghyynjin, @foxilsdenn, @rensahazard, You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 9, MDNI

“You did what?!” The words tumble out of your mouth. The shock and fear cause you to speak before you can try to bite down on your tongue and think of what you want to say. Your eyes widen in horror, your vision blurring as the implications of his words settle in. As you sit next to him, your fingers run through your hair. You push loose strands out of your face. Your other hand motions towards his duffel bag stashed under the bed.

Simon tells you he ‘took care’ of the strangers. But you figure he meant something other than keeping one man captive.

Simon described how he cornered one of the men. The man was unarmed, except for a shabby kitchen knife. When the stranger attempted to flee, Simon disarmed and restrained him. But while he held the man in his grip, he started to yell. His friend, alerted by the sudden noise, came rushing towards the two of them. In his hands, he held a gun, which he didn’t hesitate to point at Simon’s head. His fingers hovered over the trigger. Yet before he could pull it, a group of trudging biters, drawn by the loud sounds, crawled out from the bushes in the backyard. Seeing this new threat and realising that he couldn’t shoot Simon without harming his friend, the gunman, overcome by panic, tried to run away. Although, he didn’t get far. He stumbled over his feet in his hurry and fell to the ground in a graceless heap. His gun slipped from his hands. Biters surrounded him, and in the blink of an eye, the man was dead.

After dragging himself and the man, who was still struggling to get free, out of the sight of the dead, so they wouldn’t become the next thing biters eat, Simon struggled to figure out what to do. He knew he should have sliced the man’s throat and be done with it. But as he hauled the stranger into the house, he realised he couldn’t do that. Before getting rid of the man, Simon needed to get some answers from him.

“What if his people come here looking for him? You can’t keep him here,” you say, your eyes fixated on Simon’s hands. He cleans his knife, wiping the sharp blade on the fabric of his black pants as if he were simply dusting off crumbs. The sight of blood makes your stomach churn. You grip the blanket, using all your strength to keep yourself from fainting. Suddenly, breathing becomes an arduous task. Each breath feels like a battle — as if you’re underwater, lungs filling with water instead of air. You gasp, desperate for oxygen. Only when Simon places his hands on your trembling shoulders and locks his eyes with yours, telling you to slow down and mimic his deep, measured breaths, do you manage to calm down and regain some semblance of control.

“I could - should - have slit his throat, I know. But first, I need to make him talk,” he says, and you nod, focusing on his brown eyes. “Perhaps they were just randomly searching this area again? They might not know that I’m here, hiding with you.”

He cups your cheeks, his warm palms enveloping your face. His thumb moves in gentle, soothing circles, caressing your skin. Leaning in, he presses his lips against your forehead. As you meet his gaze, you sense a momentary hesitation in his eyes. His muscles tense as his eyes fixate on your mouth. This is not how you had envisioned your first kiss with him, but you close the remaining distance between your faces. Your lips touch, and you can taste the faint remnants of dirt and a metallic tang on the tip of your tongue. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, adding a subtle saltiness to the air. When you press your palm against the back of his head, you feel the texture of his unkempt hair, slightly gritty against your skin. But at the moment, none of that matters. You surrender yourself to him, feeling a fusion of warmth and tenderness. Simon doesn’t want it to end, but he musters the strength to pull away, knowing that you won’t do it. Both of you are left breathless, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your eyes remain closed, feeling his hot breath on your skin.

“I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Simon rummages through his duffel bag. He pulls out a thick rope, another smaller knife, and a pistol that looks to have seen better days. You watch him as he checks the chamber of the gun. His face contorting with a muttered curse when he sees it is empty. Unfazed, he reaches into the side pocket of the bag and scoops up some loose bullets, which clink together with a metallic sound.

“I’m going to check on him,” he says, pushing himself off the bed. As he stands, his fingers brush through your hair in a soothing gesture. His hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “You stay here, okay?” His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. You nod, and he rewards you with a faint smile that quickly vanishes. “And… Don’t go into the basement.”

You follow Simon’s instructions, refusing to venture downstairs. Determined to avoid the haunting echoes of the man’s guttural groans as Simon delivers blow after blow in a desperate effort to make the stranger speak, you distance yourself as much as possible from the door. For some time, you silence the world and the chaos in your mind by focusing on the fact that you and Simon kissed. Your fingertips trace over the contour of your lips. The sensation prompts you to bite the inside of your cheek. It feels like a swarm of butterflies in your stomach is trying to get free.

The day has been a rollercoaster, a whirlwind of emotions that has left you feeling like a boat drifting aimlessly in a vast, stormy ocean. Anxiety anchors you down. You can’t stop tugging at the loose thread on the bottom of your shirt. Yet a part of you feels happy. This happiness, however, is tainted by a creeping guilt. It slithers into your mind like fog seeping into a valley, clouding your joy. You feel as though you should care more about other things — the fact that your family is still missing, or that Simon is beating up some stranger in your basement — but no matter how hard you try to focus and ground yourself, come back to the harsh reality, your thoughts drift back to Simon like a moth drawn to a flame. All you can think about is the taste of his lips and how much you want to kiss him again.

After everything quiets down, and you can’t hear a single sound coming from the basement, you creep downstairs. You walk towards the basement door. The shadows swallow you as you press your ear against the rough wood. A sense of anxiety grips you, preventing you from daring to step inside the basement. But you realise that you don’t need to, anyway. You can hear Simon and the stranger’s muffled voices. The thick wooden door obscures their words, but as you strain your ears, you can catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

Simon’s voice sounds agitated. He talks in short, clipped sentences. You can only imagine the vexed expression on his face. The only time you can recall him being so furious is when you first met him and got into a fight with him. The stranger - whose name you still don’t know - says nothing at first. However, as Simon’s onslaught continues, he has enough of Simon’s interrogating and cracks, revealing how he and his people are still tracking Simon. The stranger mentions that there’s a bounty set on Simon’s head. Whoever brings him back to the base gets rewarded. When Simon fires back, questioning why they didn’t cease their relentless pursuit, the man’s response is chilling. He admits they revel in the thrill of the chase, in watching Simon run, in knowing that sooner or later he would be caught. And when that day comes, Simon will pay for what he and his team did.

You retreat from the door, unable to bear listening any longer. You need a pause, a moment to collect the shards of your shattered emotions. Your arms wrap around your body in a protective, almost self-soothing gesture. Slowly, you let your knees buckle and you slide down the door, coming to rest on the cold, hard floor. The thought of someone turning murder into a twisted game, deriving some sick sense of glee from ending another person’s life, is something you can’t fathom. You lose track of the rest of their conversation; the words fading into the background. There are moments when you struggle to make out what is being said. But then, out of nowhere, you hear it - your brother’s name. It cuts through the monotonous drone of their conversation. You know that this isn’t just your imagination playing tricks on you.

Disregarding your promise to Simon to stay away, you swing the door open. The rusty hinges protest with a loud creak. You rush down the staircase, your heart pounding in rhythm with your hurried steps. Your feet, barely touching the ground, slide on the worn-out, slippery wooden steps, each one threatening to send you tumbling down into the darkness. However, as you teeter on the edge of losing your balance, you catch yourself in the nick of time, thrusting your body against the railing. You feel it shudder and strain under the unexpected weight of your panicked descent, vibrating with the force of your sudden movement.

A sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, but only for a fleeting moment. The only light source in the basement is a candle. Its flame flickering on its last breath, clinging to life atop a table, which is a graveyard of old, dusty plastic boxes. The stranger is bound to a chair. His boots are conspicuously absent, and his face is a gruesome canvas of blood. Mingling with the acrid smell of fear, the unmistakable stench of iron lingers in the air. Simon is gripping a knife that is stained with crimson; his knuckles are bruised. The man’s chest bears a series of fresh, shallow cuts, creating a macabre pattern. The room is filled with a tense silence, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the chair and the rhythmic drip of blood onto the floor.

“Didn’t I make it clear? I told you to stay upstairs,” Simon’s piercing gaze lands on you. He radiates anger, a simmering frustration that’s palpable. Yet upon seeing your face, the hard edges of his demeanour soften, just enough for you to notice, but not enough to prevent you from taking a step back.

“He… he mentioned him,” you try your best to maintain your composure, to sound calm and collected, but it is futile. Each word you utter comes out in a rush. They tumble over each other faster than your brain can process what you’re saying. “He said my brother’s name.”

The man throws back his head and laughs. He runs his tongue across his lips, trying to wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. You glance at the stranger. When he looks back at you, you cannot withstand the eye contact and shift your gaze back to Simon.

“How do you know Y/B/N?” Simon asks. When the man refuses to speak, Simon walks over to him. He reaches out his hand and grabs a fistful of the stranger’s hair. He yanks the man’s head back in a brutal motion. That forces him to look up; you see, as his eyes dart between Simon and you. “I suggest you start talking before I continue carving you,” Simon growls, raising his other hand so the man can see him twirling the blade in his fingers. “Or better - if you remain silent - I’ll cut out your tongue,” he brushes the edge of the blade against the man’s mouth and then uses the tip of it to part his lips. “After all, you seem to have no use for it—” Simon pushes the knife deeper, laying it flat on the man’s tongue, causing him to gag. “—and just to make it interesting, I’ll even feed it to you.”

Under different circumstances, Simon’s behaviour, his words, sharp and hurtful, and the threats that he so casually tossed around like loose change, would have made your skin crawl. But right now, you don’t have the time to dwell on it.

“He’s one of the prisoners.” the man says, his voice wavering. Then he falls silent. It’s clear from his eyes that he doesn’t want to say more. As Simon’s knee collides with his stomach, he opens his mouth again. “The base is enormous. We need people to manage it… to do things we don’t want to, like killing the dead who sneak inside the perimeter or cook and serve food.”

The stranger continues, his voice growing steadier as he pulls himself together. He says that when he and his people venture out, if they encounter other survivors, who appear to be in good shape, healthy, not bitten or injured, they bring them back to the base.

“What about the woman he was with?” You ask when the man mentions your brother was with an older woman, whose description matches your mother’s. “Is she with him now? Are they together?”

“She was bitten,” the man says. He takes a deep breath before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground near your feet. A sadistic glint appears in his eyes as he realises who the woman you’re asking about is. He seems to enjoy the suspense before the next words leave his lips. His voice is cruel and devoid of any sympathy. “We don’t have any use for dead weight in our group. So, I did what was necessary–put a bullet through her skull.”

The next few minutes are a disorienting blur. Relief washes over you as you realise your brother is still alive. But this joy is quickly overshadowed by the chilling reality that the man - who is grinning and looking at you - killed your mother. Simon blows out the candle, letting darkness engulf the space. He then guides you up the stairs. When you stumble, he insists you sit on the couch. It’s only when he returns, holding a half-empty water bottle, that you notice he has left. As you attempt to drink, a soft whimper escapes your lips. It causes water to spill from the corners of your mouth and the bottle to slip from your trembling hands.

With teary eyes, you glance at Simon. His gaze, filled with concern, meets yours, taking in raw the torment etched across your face. He wants to help, to ease your pain, but he doesn’t know how. When your sobs break the silence, he sits next to you. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and he pulls you into his embrace, drawing you onto his lap. You bury your face in his chest. Your hot tears soak the fabric of his shirt. He remains silent, knowing words will do little to console you right now. But you don’t care for words. The world around you spins. It feels as if the ground is slipping from underneath you. And you just need him there. You need him to be with you and hold you.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing, @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice If you want to be added, let me know!

[omniscient-wanderer-of-worlds]

Laughter | Banda Sunato

Pairing: Banda Sunato x Fem!Reader

Author's note: Fine, *aggressively opens laptop* I'll just write one myself then. Also, first fic ever so uh yeah. That's how desperate I am lol. Edit: Yeah I edited it a bit because I was sleepdeprived when I wrote/posted this and got rid of horrible spelling mistakes :)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Weird relationship (it's Banda, a serial killer and manipulative piece of shit), Violence? (because you know, it's aib?), A mention of wanting to end it all, potential spelling/grammar mistakes?

Summary: Banda Sunato takes interest in a girl he meets during a game and is captivated by her laughter

__________________________________

As soon as the 20 minute timer went off, most participant immediately scrambled to get away from the open playground and ran straight into the abandoned school to find a spot to hide from the seeker who’d be released in a one minute.

Banda Sunato hadn’t moved an inch and was instead just looking around. His eyes followed the hurrying people, an eerie smile on his face. He appeared rather amused. Content even.

You were also still standing in out in the open, right behind him and staring at the back of his blood stained shirt. “Are you not going to hide mister?" You asked. "Do you want to die?”

He turned around, no surprise visible on his face. He stared at you as if he was analyzing your face. “What about yourself?”

You flashed him a smile. “I’m still thinking about a good hiding spot.”

"I wasn't referring to that." When you tilted you head he added, "do you want to die?"

You looked around you, taking in your surroundings before looking down at you phone. It read 19:22 and was counting down. "I still have so much to do, I won't die."

Banda stared at you intently and looked you up and down. You were dressed in a white summer dress which looked a little bit too clean for this world, not a spot of dirt or blood to be found. You looked very young, young enough to still remember high school infrastructure.

"Well," he started, switching topics again, “Surely someone like you knows a good hiding spot. I'd say most students that attend highschool know the place through and through, don't they?”

You hummed in response. “Home schooled.”

Banda didn’t respond or gave any sign which you would interpret as disinterest, if not for his piercing gaze. It was starting to creep you out, but you enjoyed talking to someone as you hadn't had the opportunity to make new friends in the borderlands.

“You know, it’s my first time in a school building, so I’m actually a bit excited. Well, who knows, maybe I can explore this place after the game is over, right?” You wanted to say more, but then the school bell rang, indicating that the seeker was on the move. Even though you looked around cautiously, Banda couldn’t spot any sign of actual fear on your face. As if you knew you were getting out of here alive.

“Well then,” you said with a nod and you skipped off.

He watched you leave towards the gym building. When he heard a gun shot he decided to take it as a sign that he should probably also get moving.

He followed you in the direction of the gym, but stayed behind the square columns in front of the building, covered by shadows where he knew he was safe. He looked down at his dark green button up shirt, ripped and covered in blood. It sure worked fine as camouflage.

He could oversee the entire playground from his position, including the main entrance to the school from where he could hear gunshots. It didn't take long for the seeker to exit the school building and cross the playground.

Banda moved to the other side of a column, blocking himself from the seeker's sight. This would be easy, he thought to himself. He would simply rotate around the columns until the game was over.

Well, it was only a two of clubs after all.

The seeker entered the gym and for a second it was absolutely quiet. Banda smirked. That girl is as good as dead, he thought. And when hearing the gunshots he almost patted himself on the back for his accurate prediction, but he was stopped when he heard you laughing as if you were enjoying yourself.

He froze, completely captivated by the sound. It had been a while since he'd heard such carefree laughter. What an addictive sound. How interesting. He smiled, almost wickedly.

There was a loud crash and more shots were fired before the doors opened and slammed against the wall, revealing you.

You had tried to hide in all the way up in the huge draped curtains when your hand accidentally slipped, moving the entire curtain, which had given away your hiding spot.

You were met with a barrage of bullets that miraculously didn't hit you. As always, luck is on your side, you thought.

The bullets had however apparantly hit whatever it was that supported the heavy curtains and you fell down on top of the seeker. You quickly rolled off while he fought with the curtains, trying to get out from underneath it while also shooting around randomly.

You ran out giggling. From the corner of your eye, you saw the man you were talking to before and you stopped for a second to wave at him before hiding behind the doors that you had just kicked open.

A minute later the seeker walked out and went to look for other victims. You managed to slip back into the gym unnoticed.

The rest of the game was uneventful. There were two other incidents where gunshots were heard, but when the participants walked off the school grounds after clearing the game, it seemed as if everyone made it, as far as you could recall. Your facial recognition memory wasn't awesome.

"You seem familiar."

You turned around in surprise at his sudden voice behind you. "I highly doubt that." You said.

"What's your name?"

"You seem familiar too, what's yours?" You replied, ignoring his question.

"I asked first," he responded.

You hummed. "And I don't give my name out to strangers, so it seems as if we're at an impasse." You looked at him expectantly. When he didn't appear to have any intention of answering, you turned to leave.

"Banda Sunato." It stopped you in your tracks.

Did you know him? Of course. What else is there to do when you're isolated in your house, except read books and listen to true crime podcasts? Were you scared of him? A little, but you had your own fair share of victims since arriving in the borderlands. As did everyone here.

You gave him your name. Oh how easy you were, he thought. He could definitely charm his way to you.

"Your last name, is it the same as the former prime minister?" He asked. "I thought his child died." He commented when you hummed in acknowledgement.

"Me and my mother were shot during one of his campaigns. They managed to save me, but my father got paranoid and kept me away from, well, everything ever since." Your expression fell and looked past Banda into the distance as you recalled your dull life.

"So now you enjoy the freedom you have. You're no longer locked away, and can go wherever you please. There are no rules here, so you're discovering the world for yourself, instead of through media. It's why you're walking around with curiosity instead of falling into despair, and also why you're the only one in the game who was enjoying themselves." Banda's voice was dangerously low and his eyes dark as he scanned your face.

"I bet your isolation messed with your mind. You've probably thought of ending it all, so you aren't scared at the prospect of dying, right." He concluded for you.

You didn't answer him. Partially annoyed that he thought he was smart enough to make assumptions as if he knew you, and also annoyed because he wasn't wrong.

He had stepped closer to you during his analysis and you fought the urge to put a step back to get him out of your personal space.

"I like that." He finished. His face hovering close to yours.

You nervously laughed. "So I won't be your fifth victim then?"

Banda's smile widened as if you said something funny. "You've caught my attention. Let's be partners."

"I don't know, what's your policy on killing partners?" You asked, finding the situation ridiculous.

He leaned closer to you and you could feel his breath on your cheek. "If you pledge yourself to me, I'll show you the beauty of this world." He spoke lowly.

Now that interested you.

You opened your mouth to answer when he closed the small gap between you two, pressing his lips to yours, hand wrapping around the back of your neck, thumb against your pulse.

You've never been kissed before, but found yourself pushing back against him, grabbing onto his shirt, not lettiing go even after the kiss ended.

"Oh you meant that kind of partner." You giggled when you broke apart.

Then your giggling started to grow into a laughing fit, because how could you not if you stopped to think about the situation. You just had your first kiss with a serial killer stranger whom you just met 25 minutes ago in a life or death game in an abandoned world.

Banda relished in the sound of you, corners of his mouth curling up in satisfaction. Gotcha, he thought.

When you managed to subdue your giggles and he didn't move or say anything else, you decided to go and start walking towards your appartment with him in tow.

"Your shirt is ripped and covered in dirt and blood." You said while wiping away the blood on your hands from grabbing his shirt.

You flashed him a smile. "Luckily for you, I have a clean light blue button up shirt at home."

|

|

|

|

|

Part 2 ( +18 content)

Part 3

[magicalrocketships]

Hello! I hope you are most well. I just got to share your baby Daniel in the going -Small verse with a friend, special place in my heart for him. Then I thought about it for two long and my thoughts wandered off rabbit-hole style. Do you have any thoughts on how adult Max might react if he'd met baby Daniel after his embarassment about going small and living with Daniel for three months? Baby Daniel doesn't know that! He just wants to love on Max.

Sending love, hugs, and cheesy garlic bread <3

Oh I HAVE thought about this a lot. Unfortunately my eyes are pretty blurry today (love you chronic illness, kiss kiss) so let's have some brief thoughts at 175% zoom and I'll come back to it another time

Max IS going to meet baby Daniel again. He's also going to meet baby Daniel when he's baby Max as well (and Daniel's mum and dad look after them). 

Max when he Goes Small doesn't have his competitiveness; he doesn't want to fight, he doesn't want to race, he doesn't want to come first. And a Max who isn't competitive and therefore also doesn't have to push through fear and never show it gets to… explore things differently this time around. And it's not just Max that learns that, it's Daniel too, looking after him. But it's Max who's ashamed of this little baby Max and doesn't want to be connected to him, wants to run away from him when he's big again. 

When Daniel Goes Small he doesn't feel fear, really (except if there's a dog, and he hides behind Max) - or rather; he does feel fear but he often doesn't know he should be scared. He wants to climb on the balcony wall to look over the side and see how far down it is (he's not huge on heights when he sees). He wants to ride his bike really fast and jump in the pool and make a big splash and he's not cold (he's really cold) and go in the fast car and can Max go faster please (holds on very tight to the seat but says wow extremely reverentially afterwards). He'll climb on things he shouldn't climb on, and open things he shouldn't open, and trusts everybody, and hates bedtime so Max has to carry a passed out Daniel to bed every night because he does not know how to get him to go to bed, and Max spends three days looking after him and at the end of it he's exhausted. 

But Max doesn't once think that Daniel should be embarrassed about baby Daniel when he Goes Big again. Not even when Daniel skids off his bike on the second day and takes all the skin off his knees and his elbow, and he cries loud and hard because there's blood and it's run down his knee and hit his sock, and Max ends up using half of some other mum's first aid kit to wipe the dirt out of Daniel's grazes and get antiseptic on them and plasters. Daniel gets to have chicken nuggets afterwards as a treat, and there's a little bit of Max that knows, when he was a kid, crying wasn't something he could do to get a hug and some chicken nuggets. And Daniel had instinctively cried out Max's name, but Max had already been running across the bike track to make sure he was okay. 

When Daniel Goes Big, he says thanks for looking after me, like he and little Daniel are the same person, like he's okay being a curly haired kid with poor judgment. Max says, "You will have to keep looking after your knees, the grazes are quite bad." Daniel looks down at the Pokemon plasters peeking out from underneath his shorts and shrugs. When I was a kid I was always doing shit like that. Thanks, Max. 

Afterwards, Max misses the noise. He misses the constant questions, the what's in there, how fast do lions go, why can't I, and the way he'd fall asleep passed out in Max's lap, still protesting he wasn't tired, protesting he can eat what he wants, asking how fast he was when he ran around Max's flat twelve times to get rid of some energy. 

Max doesn't think: you should be ashamed. 

He thinks: I wish I wasn't. 

(All actual parts can be found either in this masterpost or on AO3 here.)

[plush-rabbit]

Spots and Stops

Continuation to Cookies and Cream this isn't really a fix-it fic, cause like i got like a request to do so and i'll defs try to, but also i got like two people who wanted a part 2 so here it is

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: People wanted a part two and i want to please the masses, and i have ideas so like here you go

-

Regret is all that you know. It consumes you, starting at your chest, making it ache the entire day, and settles in your stomach to the point that you can’t consume anything without it tasting bitter. You should have reacted better. You should have held him and told him that him being spotted wasn’t a dealbreaker. 

But you didn’t.

Instead, you did everything wrong. He needed you. He needed someone, and he came to you. Somewhere, he thought to himself, that you would have accepted him, past your fear, past your hesitations and desires. He thought that you would want him. 

In your entire relationship, you never thought that he would have ever been wrong. But he was, and in the worst way imaginable. 

You have to force yourself to hide what belonged to him. You can’t bear to look at it- at him, at what used to be his. You hold his nightshirts in your hand, staring at them for far too long, lost in thought of what could have been. You really did think that you two would be together for a long time. 

The fabric is wrinkled, the tag of the shirt curled in on itself and frayed at the edges. His toothbrush is still next to the faucet, and his face wash remains untouched. You can’t bring yourself to throw it away. 

He won’t return. You won’t see him again, and as selfish and awful it is of you to keep something of the man that you rejected- you need to keep his things. You need to keep his shirts, and pants. You need to keep his skincare products. You need to keep his toothbrush. You need to keep some part of him with you. 

A part of you wants him to return. You want him to come back; you want to take him up on that deal of starting fresh, of how he won’t hold what you said against you. How he was so willing to hide himself, just to stay with you. At some point, you expected to come into your home and find his stuff gone- the final sign that he has left your life- that he took what was his when you weren’t home. But he hadn’t. And he won’t. He would always listen to you. Always respected your wishes, and the final one was for him to leave.

You’re an awful person. You’re sickening. Tears dot on his shirt, and you place it beside you on the edge of the bed. Your knuckle wipes harshly at your eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to think of something happy. You don’t deserve to grieve the loss of the relationship. Not when you still have a home. A job. Loved ones. You have it all. He doesn’t. If anyone deserves to cry, it’s Jonathan.

You think of kittens and puppies.

You think of how his voice broke when he called your name.

You think of a memory with a friend where you had a picnic.

You think of how you couldn’t handle his touch.

You think of how he would hold your hand, and act as if it were the greatest honor to do so.

You think of him crying without a face.

You think of him lonely, and cold out in the night. 

You bite your lips harshly, desperate to bring yourself back to your senses. 

The sound of the city is alive outside your window. Lights flash, colors change, and you stand in the middle of your room, willing yourself not to cry. 

-

You unlock the door, and throw your jacket on the couch. It slips and you pull a face at the audacity of having to pick it up. In your hand, you clutch the phone and listen to your friend talk.You shake the jacket, ridding it of any dirt that could have attached itself from the floor.

“Mhm,” you hum, kicking off your shoes and turning on the standing lamp, turning the knob to let a warm glow illuminate the room. You think you hear something somewhere, but you reason to yourself that it must be a pipe. “No, no. I get it. I mean, if it were me, I think I would have liked died.” Your grin is sharp when you hear your friend laugh.

“Exactly. So, that’s why I can never return to that specific bubble tea shop. Honestly, I just- it was so embarrassing,” they whine. You hear them sigh over the phone, and you stretch yourself over the couch, letting your head fall back. “Anyways, how was the date?” Your mouth pulls into a frown. “It’s been a good minute since-” they trail off, not wanting to mention his name, and you whisper a silent “thank you” at the courtesy. “Did you have fun?”

You straighten yourself back on the couch, pulling yourself close to yourself. “It was okay,” you mumble. “I don’t- I mean, he was nice and stuff, but I don’t know. I don’t really see it going anywhere.” You ate across from your date, and you wished that it was Jonathan.

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere,” the counter. “You can just have fun. You’re allowed to have fun after your last relationship.” You clench your jaw. “I know you really liked him, but he’s- you know.” You’re trying to find your words, but none come to mind. “You’re a catch- honest. You’re allowed to go on dates and enjoy yourself.”

Tears sting in your eyes, and you swallow the lump that’s made itself into your throat. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, without even trying to add faux emotion into your words.

“You uh-” they clear their throat- “Have you heard from him? Or about him? It’s kinda hard for a guy covered in-”

“I gotta go,” you mumble, not waiting for a response before you end the call. You toss the phone to the other end of the couch. You close your eyes, trying to steady your thoughts, and on the other end of the couch, you hear your phone buzz. 

There’s another sound in your apartment, and you hope that it’s an intruder. You hope that they rob you blind and leave no witnesses. You hope- selfishly hope- that you can be put out of your misery without having to do anything. Then maybe, you wouldn’t have to feel guilt and regret eat away at you. You wouldn’t have to go on anymore dates or live in an apartment with items that don’t belong to you. 

The room spins and closes in on itself and it’s difficult to breathe. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed, held tightly with the palms of guilt and regret, squeezed until your ribs would splinter and heart would burst. Your breaths are quick and uneven. A hand clutches at your chest, and the other muffles any cries with the palm. You haven’t grieved, and the date that you went on, only confirmed that you shouldn’t. You tossed out your previous partner when he needed you the most. He cried in front of you, begged for you to accept him and you couldn’t. You’re able to continue your life as if nothing happened, he doesn’t have that same luxury. Even if you weren’t the one to cause the incident, you’re positive that you caused something worse to happen to him.

You miss him, but you shouldn’t be allowed to miss him.

Loneliness covers you in a warm blanket. It’s suffocating, and burning, holding you down as you wrap your arms around yourself. There is no comfort that you bring to yourself. There is no one that you can call. You wheeze and hold yourself. Tears burn themselves onto your face, and drip down your chin. You close your eyes tightly, biting on the bottom of your lip. You can’t cry. You won’t cry. You won’t allow yourself to feel bad about the ending of a relationship that you brought upon yourself. 

Nearby, you hear a door click open, and footfalls thump softly against your floor. There’s a knock somewhere- too rhythmic to be a pipe or anything of the sort. You cry more, hiding your face in your palms, hoping that whoever is there will take pity. There’s another knock, and you shrink in on yourself. You can’t mumble anything other than a plea for nothing and anything. Finally, the other person speaks. 

Your name is said softly, and you don’t respond. “I- I know you don’t want to see me, but are you okay?” Your chest shakes and heaves. You’re being tortured, you have to be. You’ve thought about him for far too long that you’ve begun to hallucinate his voice. “Do you need anything? I can um- I can get you a drink?” You take in a wheezing breath, one that hurts your lungs and chest. You hear rushed steps that echo away and come back in a flurry, and something blue is placed in front of you. You peek through the gaps between your fingers, and grab at a tissue.

Time seemingly doesn’t pass for as long as you cry. You sit there, whimpering and sniffling. You must look pathetic to him. And even then, he stands there. The thought of his previous form is what you picture. Picturing him as who he is now, only makes you cry harder. 

You tried to get over your silly fear. You forced yourself to look at spots and holes in clusters. You forced yourself to eat cookies and cream flavored snacks. Even after all that exposure therapy, it still made you sick to look at spots. 

This isn’t fair. None of this is. You wish that he had met someone better before he became what he is. 

You bite the inside of your cheeks and look at him through wet lashes. You can’t even tell if he’s thin or not. His body is too off- too stretched at the limbs and compressed at the torso. You can’t remember if he looked like this all those nights ago.

“I know you told me to get out but I needed some stuff.” His voice rushes at the end, and he shifts his weight, tightening his hands around the clothes and pulling it close to his body. You watch as their clothes and other items fall into a hole, and fall in a crumpled pile near the door. You turn back to look at him. “I meant to do that,” he says weakly. He clears his throat, and stands taller. “I’m allowed to come in here and get my stuff. Okay? That’s fair.” The holes swirl around, thin black lines that wrap around the edge of the circle, smaller, black dots that linger around the bigger holes. You turn your head, tears still making their way down over the curve of your face. “But um, are you okay?” He connects his hands, and fiddles with his fingers, and you can picture who he was before. 

Even after everything, he still asks if you’re okay. He does the one thing that you didn’t do for him. 

You should tell him no. You should be honest. It’s not as if lying will do any good, especially at this state. Your face is wet, and you’ve cried. In the corner of your eye, you see your former partner stand and tilt their head, trying to get a better look at you.

Looking at him hurts in a way that it hadn’t before. “I’m sorry,” you say in a quiet voice. He doesn’t respond. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, lowering your head. “I’m really sorry.” You cry, hiding your face in your hands once more. “I’m so sorry,” you wail, gasping for breath. Your shoulders shake, and your chest hurts. “I’m sorry, Jonathan,” you say as you gasp for breaths.

He stays silent, and you hope that for his sake, he left you. You hope that he’s the one who gets to leave. 

Only quivering breaths that are coupled with a flushed face and teary eyes are the remnants that you mourned. Faintly, you remember a time where he held you, where he came home to find you crying, and how he raised over still in his work attire to hold you and rock you to sleep. You blink rapidly to rid yourself of that memory. 

He sits beside you, and he’s made sure to keep his distance, perched on the other side of the couch. He turns to you, and your tissues crumble and drop to the carpet. “You look nice,” he compliments. “I always liked that color on you,” he mumbles, looking away.  

You nod. “I went on a date.” Bile burns your throat at the admission. 

“Oh.” Jonathan pats his thighs, and his nails claw, the spots seemingly swimming away from his touch. “Lucky guy.” He pauses, and clearing his throat, he turns to you. “How did it go?” He asks slowly. 

“I didn’t like the guy.” Your shoulders slump, and tears prick your eyes once more. “Um-” your voice cracks, and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand jump, reaching over to comfort you, before having to pull himself back. “He was nice. But I wasn’t-” You stop yourself. You weren’t what? You weren’t ready? After all this time, after the break-up that you initiated, you weren’t ready to put yourself back out there. You weren’t feeling the date because it wasn’t what you wanted? You didn’t want him. You wanted-  You clear your throat. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again,” you mumble. You cast a glance over to where he watches you, the hole where his face should be, spiraling and growing smaller under your gaze. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

He snorts despite the lack of features. “People aren’t really fond of my new look.” You wince and turn back to look at the floor. “But it’s fine.”

“How have you been?” You grab at another tissue, folding it into little squares. 

“Well you know me, I’ve just been here and there. Messing with my holes and stuff.” You give a small smile, turning your head to look at him. “Money’s been a bit tight, but-” he lifts his hand in the air, doing a see-saw motion with it- “Eh. What can you do, ya know?” You force yourself to look at a small cluster of spots that have congregated at his shoulder. He turns to look at you, and when noticing where your eyes have landed, he covers the spot almost self-consciously. “And you? How have you been?”

You give a shrug. “My boss has been a bit of a dick as of late,” you mutter. 

“The one with the mole?”

Your smile brightens up a bit. “Yeah, that one.” You look to the side, and back to him. “Cut my hours after I asked for a day off.” The tissue in your hand tears. “I probably should quit.” You tear the tissues into strips, letting them fall to the floor. You’ll worry about the mess later. “But after the lack of hours and the rent, I really can’t afford that.”

Jonathan stays silent for a moment. “You think you’ll be okay?” You give another shrug as your answer, and when you don’t elaborate, he presses on. “I have some money saved up. I wouldn’t mind- it’s you, you know. I know-” His offer only makes the tears start up once again, and he stops. 

You take in a quivering breath, and rub at your eyes. “You shouldn’t,” you mumble. “I’ll figure it out.” You look away from him. “Plus, I’m sure you got your own things going on. Um-” you turn back to him- “where are you living?” You hope he gives you an address. You hope he has an address to give.

“Turns out, when you work for seedy people, they know even seedier people.” He doesn’t offer anything more than that.

Silence befalls the both of you. You should say something. You should close the gap between you. You should do anything. 

Your hand slides beside you, reaching out, and you see his spot, lower itself, acting as his eyes, lowering his gaze to watch you. Sucking in your bottom lip, you turn your head. Your nails claw at the couch. 

This is wrong. You shouldn’t do this to him. He deserves better than what you can give him. You haven’t even gotten over your trypophobia. But you still want to kiss him. You want to reach over and hold him, and beg to be forgiven. You want to cling to him like you used to after a long day. You want to kiss him, and hold his hand.

To whoever is listening to you, you plead for him to reach over. You want him to take another leap of faith and beg for you. You want him to need you as bad as you need him. The box of tissues becomes blurred, and your cheeks are wet. 

“I should go.” The silence is broken, and you watch as he stands. His spots seem to drag, weighted at the bottom and stretching as he walks further away from you. “I think I got most of my stuff.”

The hole is his stomach bubbles around the rim, the circle wavy and imperfect. You rise with him, and he stands so much taller than he did before. “Do you want to borrow a tote bag or something?” He tilts his head at the offer. “It’s just that when you hold onto things, it um- it looks like they fall into you. I thought a tote bag would make it easier to carry,” your words trail off, softer and softer by the syllable. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he replies.

You nod your head and rush to your room, grabbing at a tote bag from the closet, holding and running your thumb over the stitched handles. He’s going to borrow it. You bring the handle close to you, and press your lips softly against it. 

When you walk back to the living, he stands at the end table, holding a photo frame of the two of you on an early date from what seems like a lifetime ago. You let your gaze linger on him, and when he turns, you scurry to the door, grabbing at his clothes and items, placing them delicately in the bag. You take your time to make sure everything is neat. 

He meets you halfway across the room, and when you hand the bag over, he makes sure to hold the bag above your hands. His pinky touches briefly against your index. You clench your jaw, and try not to look at him.

“Thank you.” He pulls the bag close to him, and you give a curt nod.

“Anytime,” you answer.

Turning on his heel, he walks further from you, and he stops. “I’m going to use the bathroom. I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do.” You want to see. You want to get desensitized. “It won’t be long, I promise. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

“Jonathan?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes once more. 

“Yeah?” 

“I-” You need to apologize to him. You need to tell him that you’re sorry. You need to tell him that you miss him. You need him. “You can- You can always drop by if you need something.” 

He visibly deflates. “Oh. Yeah- cool. Um, Thanks.” 

All he has to do is say that he wants you. He needs to just say it, to ask one more time- that’s all he has to do. You can’t do it. Not when you broke his heart, not when you’re unsure about where you stand in his life and his wants. 

He just has to look back, and you’d tell him that you need him. You’d kiss him, again and again. You’d plead for him to stay. You’d get over your dumb fear, and you’d be happy with him. He takes another step away from you, and you need for him to hear your heart beat against your ribs in an attempt to bully itself out of you. You need for him to stand there for a second longer, to watch and look at the lines that wrap around his body, and the holes that sift and move. You’d get over it, all for him. 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s walking further away from you. He grabs at his body and pulls out a spot. Your stomach churns at the thought. Over the sound of cars and life, he needs to hear your heart break. He needs to understand that you need him the way that you need air. You’d die without him. You’d let yourself suffer. You stand, and lift your hand up, wanting to reach out for him. 

Turn around. 

Please.

Turn around.

That’s all he has to do. Nothing more. He doesn’t have to be someone else. He’s yours. He’s already himself. 

The door to your bathroom closes, and you suck in a breath, tears springing to flood. “Jonathan,” you croak out, finally, and you rush to open the door to the bathroom, and when you do, he isn’t there. 

You rush to your bedroom, and move the pillows, and you cling to the one shirt that he missed. The one that you hide underneath your pillows. The one that no longer smells like him, but still belongs to him. With all your might, you wish that he would return, but your prayers remain unanswered. Instead, you sit alone in a bedroom, clutching a shirt that no longer belongs to you. A shirt that has no owner. A shirt that is all that remains of someone who you need.

[theehoneeybee]

♩ Mike Schmidt as Songs ♩

a/n: I used to do this with characters on an old blog of mine and wanted to do it with Mike. I've also linked all the songs so you can give them a listen. Comment what song reminds you of him! <3

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

♬ Shadowplay - Joy Division ♬

To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you

Idk how the explain it but the overall vibe of this song just fits Mike. These lyrics remind me of how he is constantly searching for Garrett, waiting to find out what happened to him. Mike feels a sense of hopelessness, he wants to keep moving forward in his search but is stuck motionless, waiting.

♫ The Bends - Radiohead ♫

I need to wash myself again To hide all the dirt and pain Cause I'd be scared That there's nothing underneath

There's a few lines in this song which remind me of Mike, but these ones stick out the most to me. I think Mike believes that by finding who took Garrett, in way he will be able to rid himself of the guilt he feels. His search for Garrett consumes so much of his life that there may not be anything left afterwards.

♩ Malmo - Mook ♩

But I'm not trying to be much of a person right now I'm just trying to get some sleep

Mike sleep so much that the people around him notice it. The circumstances of his life are taxing and I'm part of the reason he sleeps so much, aside from dream theory, is escapism.

♪ Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now - The Smiths ♪

I was looking for a job, and then I found a job And heaven knows I'm miserable now

I think it explains itself.

♬ Boys Don't Cry - The Cure ♬

I would break down at your feet And beg for forgiveness, plead with you But I know that it's too late And now there's nothing I can do

While Mike knows he cannot change the past, if he could apologise to Garrett, beg for his forgiveness, he would. But ultimately there's nothing he can do.

[crystal-cliffs]

Okay so I slept on it and uhm

I still don’t know what to say about this animated short. Crucabena, the clash, Scaramouche in his oversized jacket

But I think I’ll do the things that definitely stuck out to me and probably seeing things that aren’t there.

1. Crucabena and the Lumidouce Bells

So, when Arlecchino confronts Crucabena she’s in front of two dead or dying Lumidouce bells. She says she should’ve pruned the flower long ago instead of waiting for it to already show signs of decay before finally pruning it. When your prune your flowers you’re trying to control their size and shape, optimize its blooms, and to get rid of any diseased, dead, or dying parts that can’t be saved. However, her plant is already beyond saving since whatever she should’ve pruned to keep the flower alive has already taken over the rest of the flower. So of course these flowers probably represent Arlecchino. How Crucabena should’ve reigned in her child long before she finally rebelled. The choice of flower though is fun, we’ve been told time and time again that this flower is supposed to represent parting and the wish for reunion. This could represent their inevitable parting, but I’m more partial to the idea that the two blooms represent Peruere and Clervie. I mean two Lumidoce bells both dying, flowers that represent parting and the wish for reunion. The 4.6 preview page with her on it, the 4.6 trailer saying Father is looking for someone. Yeah…

2. The implication of ‘Father’ as a title.

So… using a title that contradicts someone who has caused pain your life because you don’t want to be associated with them ever again and you strive to be better than they ever were. Yeah…

Being serious though, other than the fact that she might not want to be associated with someone like Crucabena, the title Father we already know comes with very different implications, and now that we know Crucabena was called Mother I think I can safely come to the conclusion that the term Father also represents an entirely different role, not just the same role under a different name. After all, in the very end Arlecchino uses the terms ‘strict’ and ‘unfeeling’. Which whilst we know Crucabena was brutal, in the beginning she’s reading them a story book and is overall showing happiness, contentment, and then ‘concern’ over where Peruere was. Her role whilst being someone we should stomp into the dirt was filled with emotion, but that emotion and care is fake. It was only used as a weapon against her, and a weapon against her family. So now, as Father she is hiding whatever she feels probably because she thinks showing how much she cares would only hurt the orphans under her care, especially since if this is the case her feelings and her actions would directly contradict each other and would only confuse the children.

You care about them but you make them do all these horrible things? It’s probably the same dilemma Peruere went through, you care and yet here I am experiencing pain that you caused. On this note, something a little smaller…

3. Peruere becoming Arlecchino.

This will be shorter as there’s not much to say, but she was arrested clearly when they found out she killed Crucabena, a harbinger. However then the Tsaritsa pardons her crimes and takes her into the Fatui. Now, this is important to me because I think we can conclude that Peruere didn’t want to become a harbinger, that wasn’t her goal, she didn’t want to become the exact same person Crucabena was and now here she is getting bestowed her title and I can only assume her name too. Just as Pierro says “This title and its legacy of bloodshed are now yours to bear, my poor, mad, cursed Knave.” The only thing I can say is this was certainly the beginning of the end for our poor Knave.

I have more but I lost most of it

Either way I hope Freminet calls Arlecchino out on how she’s starting to behave like Crucabena in a few ways. Let my man scream, he deserves it bro.

[blushstories]

pls can we have an “I thought you were dead” + reunion w/ someone?!? 😭😭 like idek you choose Billy, Bucky, WHOEVER U WANT DARLING!!!

~ 🦣

ohohoho this is it. this is the one. this is um actually genius but forgive the exposition here, i chose billy!

Hughie and MM are muttering at the back of the room. Their gazes lay heavy on Butcher’s back, but he doesn’t care anymore.

He swirls the auburn liquid around his glass, a mini whirlpool appearing in the centre. Hughie’s pitch rises but his speech is cut with a smack muffled by layers of clothing.

“Will you twats either shut up or fuck off?”

His words aren’t slurred. They’re sharp, crisp, and Hughie realises the level of alcohol in his glass hasn’t decreased since he poured himself a glass.

He can’t bring himself to drink away his grief, not with your voice in his head tell him it won’t get any better if he does.

Instead, he replays the last time he saw you in his mind. Over and over, rewinding the tape and allowing the memory to slice at his heart again.

Your body wasn’t found in the rubble of the warehouse. Whether blown away or buried so deep that retrieval was impossible, The Boys don’t know.

They do know how Butcher cried. Pawing at the bricks until his fingers bled, ready to throw a right hook at anyone who tried to stop him.

Now, a week later, Hughie and MM recall the bags under his eyes, a newfound lassiez-faire attitude, and appearances where he seems to have been crying beforehand.

There’s a commotion upstairs, Hughie and MM bolt up the staircase. Two weeks ago, Butcher would have forced himself in front and prepared for a fight. Now, he doesn’t care how they get rid of the bugger, so long as there’s peace.

The alcohol taunts him, his shoulders are sore from his weak posture.

Someone barrels down the stairs, and says, “Monsieur Charcuter! You have a visitor!”

More footsteps.

“Tell ‘em I ain’t interested, Frenchie,” his hand tightens around the glass.

Lighter footsteps tread down the staircase now, and his heart swells with sorrow, their rhythm reminiscent of your almost melodic skips up and down the same staircase.

“Not even for me?”

The momentum with which Butcher spins knocks his glass over. It’s like an anvil has fallen through his chest and then his stomach, his jaw slackens and he has to blink twice.

Maybe he drank the alcohol after all.

You’re standing in front of Frenchie, whose arms are folded across his chest. One arm supports his head as he fails to hide a grin.

Your eyes are red rimmed, and there’s a cut across your cheekbone. Semi-healed, and there’s dirt scuffed along your jaw and forehead, and baked into the fabric of your clothes.

Hughie looks relieved, but concerned, and Butcher’s head falls out of the clouds.

Butcher is up in a second, in two steps his arms are around you. The hoodie that you’re wringing in your hands falls to the floor in a heap and you’re engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.

You’re surprised he doesn’t smell of alcohol, really. He inhales and squeezes you tighter, unspoken prayers of gratitude at his fingertips.

“This ain’t fucking real,” he says, and you feel a dampness in the crook of your neck. You tighten your grip, feeling his back muscles flex under his shirt as he shifts for comfort.

“As real as that spilled drink,” you sniffle. He chuckles wetly, and your shirt is pulled into his fist. Just before you begin to sway he pulls back, hands welded to your shoulders.

His eyes flit between every feature of your face; your eyes, nose, lips.

“Now, don’t you fuck with me. Don’t you…I thought—” His words flounder, your heart aches.

“I’m sorry, Billy. I never meant to—“ He’s wiping a tear away before you realise it’s even fallen.

“What happened?” He grips onto your biceps tenderly, pulling you as close as he can. Your hips brush against his. He notices the immediate change in your demeanour, feels the tension flood into your muscles. The lines between his eyebrows deepen. Frenchie’s smile falls.

You can’t get the words out, any relief at finally being home eviscerated by fear striking you like a lightning bolt.

“Whatever it is, I swear to ya, we’ll sort it.”

Your next inhale is fragmented.

“Y/N?” He says softly, concerned, and he quickly glances at Hughie, Frenchie and MM behind you before looking back.

“I’ll tell you,” you say. “You should sit down first, though.” You turn to the others, “all of you.”

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

Lucifer — I really hate your face

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4

CW: enemies to lovers, lucifer hates you lol (part 1), slight angst (part 3), he insults u in his mind multiple times (part 1)

Nuisance.

If there ever came a time Lucifer was asked to describe you, he would describe you as a nuisance. Another inconvenience to add to his already growing pile of problems.

The moment Lucifer found you snooping around the stairs leading to the attic and he had to threaten you to keep you away from it, he already knew you would be a more giant headache than he initially thought you to be—which was proven to be a fact when Beelzebub had revealed to him that you encouraged the orange-haired demon to hide a certain angel in your shared bedroom that time.

Lucifer wouldn't go so far as to say that he hates you, that's a word that he can't just throw around lightly, and he did genuinely feel bad for possibly traumatizing you when he attacked you that time, but he is in no way fond of you either.

In fact, a small part of him wishes Diavolo hadn't shown up then, wishes he could get rid of you one way or another, perhaps, make it seem like an accident. But alas, that can't be as it would be the Demon Prince's reputation that will be dragged through the mud if something were to happen to the human exchange student.

And so, Lucifer swallowed his complaints. In a way, this was also his fault for not thinking the selection through, it was his fault for just picking up a paper that flew away and deciding that this person would be their exchange student. He can't help but want to smack his past self upright in the head for being so careless.

The Avatar of Pride can look past your previous mistakes, and chooses to look past your previous mistakes, but now that you've involved his brothers in your scheme? He can't help but feel his blood boil at the thought.

Lucifer wasn't a soft-hearted demon by any means, but he was extremely loyal, and his loyalty lies with his brothers, whom—even though he doesn't show often—he loves more than anyone and anything in the three realms.

Now, he knows he can't exactly do anything to stop it as his brothers all have their own free will, but he doesn't like the idea of you, his newest headache, charming his brothers one by one into forming a pact with you. Your reasoning for this?

Apparently, you want to gain Lucifer's respect by proving yourself through making pacts with his brothers.

Upon finding out about this, Diavolo had stars in his eyes and a wide grin of amusement on his features, he let out a joyful laugh and gushed about how happy he was that you have found a goal to achieve during your stay in the Devildom.

Lucifer, however, calls bs on your so-called 'reasoning'.

If you truly wanted his respect, there are other ways to go about earning it without involving his brothers. A suggestion of his would be for you to stop poking your nose in other people's (or demons') business and be less of an annoyance than you already are. But to bring his brothers into this? He certainly doesn't have a good feeling about the whole thing (though, he also considers that this unsettling feeling may just be because he doesn't like you).

You know what? He changed his mind, Lucifer would go as far as to say that he hates you, despises you, even, and that he can't wait for this school year to be over for you to go back up from that dirt of a planet you came from and never show you stupid face to him ever again.

He's well aware that humans are capable of producing intelligent and cunning offspring—Solomon is an example of that—even so, he's also now aware that humans are capable of birthing fatuous beings such as yourself that he can't help but feel a bit bad for the feeble race.

The demon lets out a sigh, the muffled sound of laughter coming from outside of his office drawing his attention away from his paperwork and towards the direction of the noise. He scowls, he doesn't even need to exit to know that it's you spending time with his brothers once again.

He hates you.

He hates how you have his little brothers wrapped around your pretty little finger, that you can literally make them bow down to you, kneel in front of you and lick your shoes if you so wish. His anger brought on by these thoughts made him snap the pen that was in between his fingers and he lets out another sigh, his crimson eyes tracing the exploded ink on the paper, on the table, and on his pale fingers.

You're planning something. That much, Lucifer is sure of. You're planning something and he'll be damned if he doesn't figure it out and put a stop to it before you can go through with that stupid plan of yours.

And for the next few days, Lucifer suddenly started popping up in places you happen to be. In the classroom? He's suddenly seating behind you. Walking through the halls of RAD? He's passing by you while discussing important things with Diavolo. Playing games in Levi's room? Lucifer is suddenly barging in to remind Leviathan of his chores.

But you didn't think much of it. You did live under the same roof, after all, and went to the same school. You were always bound to cross paths with him more often than you'd like.

So it wasn't a surprise either when you heard him coughing behind you in the kitchen while you were looking in the fridge for something to snack on, your stomach grumbling after Beel ate your share of dinner (he thought it was Mammon's plate he was taking from and offered you his own plate when he saw the horrified look on your face at the little serving left for you)

"It's already past curfew, isn't it?" Lucifer spoke, and you swear there's poorly hidden malice lacing his words with suspicion, "What are you doing?"

"Ah!" you gasp in surprise at his appearance, turning to look at him while taking a step back from the fridge and closing it. You smile warily at him, waving your hand in front of your face in a swift motion.

"Nothing, nothing! I was just.." you tried to think of an excuse, but could only sigh in defeat when you realized you didn't have one. "I was hungry."

Lucifer hums in response, his eyes scanning you from head to toe as if he was looking for something.

"Would you like to join me for a midnight snack, then?" He offers, his gaze meeting yours as he gives you a smile.

His crimson gaze bores through you, staring right into your soul, and in contrast to the warm color of his eyes, he looks at you with such coldness that you had to suppress a shiver from going down your spine. His smile reminds you that of Satan's; fake, but extremely convincing, only much worse now that it's coming from the source material himself.

You tried to read through his emotions, tried to gauge out what he was planning, if he was mad to catch you outside of your room in such an ungodly hour. But as usual, Lucifer kept his cards close to his chest, with you being completely clueless as to what might be going on inside that mind of his. You've always been wary of interacting with the eldest—the way he usually knows of things that he shouldn't scares you, and you always feel naked under his intense gaze.

Crimson eyes gazing through you, through your thoughts, feelings, you feel like he can play you like a fiddle if he so wishes. Perhaps, that was just what it truly feels like to be face to face with the morning star himself. God's favorite son. The one courageous enough to lead a rebellion against his own father—his own creator.

"Surely you haven't fallen asleep while standing up, eyes widen open and staring at me, have you?" His mocking voice cuts through the silence in the kitchen, effectively pulling you out of your own thoughts and back to reality.

"Oh- uh.." You spoke, just to let him know that you are still here, still listening, still thinking his offer through.

It's not news to you that the eldest brother isn't fond of you, not at all. You've received his sharp glare one too many times, and he seems to lose his patience and temper more often when it comes to you making mistakes than he does with his brothers—sometimes, you feel like you're one wrong inhale away from being hung upside down just like Mammon.

That being said, it made you wary to know that the demon that hates you, who also happens to be one of the most powerful beings in this realm, is suddenly asking you to spend time with him. Just the two of you. Alone.

Your survival instinct is yelling at you not to, that you should just politely decline him and be on your merry way back to you room. Put this evening behind the both of you and act like it never happened in the morning.. but then, you remembered your mission. Your goal.

A demon locked me here.

You're the only one who can help me.

You let out an internal sigh at the reminder, swallowing your own fear and uncertainty before looking up, your eyes meeting Lucifer's as you spoke with utmost confidence, as if you aren't fearing for your life at the current moment.

"Sure," you responded, a smile stretching your lips, "I would love to."

"Excellent,"

Lucifer loved that too.

[jelzorz]

173.

It's something that Claudia notices incidentally.

She'd noticed, of course, when she came back, how much Ezran had grown. His jaw is sharper now, his shoulders broader, his smile charming and roguish and handsome, even under the weight of his crown. Claudia had always thought him sweet as a boy, but he's a man now, and the knowledge is disarming more often than it isn't.

They put her to work in the gardens after her return. Ez had called it justice: her hands, covered in blood after causing so much harm now sentenced to be soiled with dirt to help give life. He is kinder and more merciful than she deserves, and she'll never forget that. She will never forget that it might have been a noose if he hadn't pulled rank on his own brother, and that Callum is still angry about it months after the fact—but that kindness is handsome too, and it isn't helping. Ez had been so young when it had all happened, and then she was working against them and she didn't have the time to actually look at him, and now...

She knows what she likes. She knows the features she thinks are beautiful. She knows Ezran has grown up well.

And it's strange to think about, sometimes, because he's so much younger than her, because he was like a younger brother to her once, and because this is not at all the life she thought she'd be living, but the thought is there all the same.

She is in the library this morning. She's after a book on talloweed, because it's somehow found its way into her herb garden and she needs a way to get rid of it without harming her plants. The one she wants is a shelf too high, just out of reach of her fingers even as she stretches onto the tips of her toes. The ladder is two bookcases away and would take longer to get than if she could just—

"Here."

Someone reaches over her, graceful brown fingers sure in their movements, arm still crooked at the elbow because they are tall enough not to have to stretch. Claudia blinks as Ezran sets the book in her hands, clear blue eyes twinkling in the morning sun.

"Oh," she says stupidly. "Thanks."

Ez grins at her. "Don't mention it," he says cheerfully. "You're not the first. You won't be the last. These shelves are stupidly high."

"You do this for all the girls you find in here, do you l?"

He laughs, bright and bell-like. "A king is a servant to his people, right?" he says, sketching a bow. "Need anything else from up there?"

"Oh, um." Claudia glances away to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. "No, it's all good. Thank you."

"Don't stress," he says. "Happy to help. See you later." He grins again, waving a little before he heads out of the aisle and futher into the depths of the library, and Claudia stares, at the way muscles in his back move beneath his shirt, at the broadness of his shoulders as he swing shis arms, at the way his hair is braided and bunched above his crown.

He's not a boy anymore. He hasn't been one in a while.

Claudia turns back to her book and tries not to think too hard about it.

[knithell]

Hiya! Can I have caregiver undertaker and little reader hcs who loves to go outside and play, collect cool rocks, look at bugs and stuff like that? 🌱🐞

Caregiver Undertaker x Collector Little Reader

Hi anon! This was such a cute ask, and I feel like Undertaker would love to have a little like this. Enjoy!

Tw:Use of the term „daddy,“ talks about death, minor injuries

• Undertaker deals with bodies and corpses all the time, and it’s no surprise that he can stomach all kinds of insects. Sometimes this is literally, never one to pass up a deal at an exotic foods market... this means when you first come to him with a large moth in your little hands, he is beyond excited!

• A sort of pride swells in him, proud of his little for not only finding such a particularly beautiful moth, but for being brave enough to handle it. He wonders if his job has had any impact on you in being able to enjoy such creatures, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, instead opting for a wide smile and a light hearted chuckle. “Oh little one, what have you found?” “A bubberfly!” This takes him back momentarily before a genuine twinkle comes to his eyes. Your mistakes never fail to make his heart swell. “Oh sweetheart, well- perhaps we can do some experiments to see if it truly is a butterfly or not...” He keeps in mind to not correct your mispronunciations, even if they are wrong. Undertaker hates making you feel embarrassed with these things, and quite frankly, he finds it much too cute to want to get rid of it.

• Undertaker tries to find tools that can help you collect more bugs and things from nature, careful to avoid anything that would cut or hurt you. He opts for vials and bottles with larger lids he know your little hands could easily pry open, instead of the smaller, complicated ones with lots of confusing measurements. He knows he’ll end up just telling you any measurements and facts you need to know, so what’s the point in having his baby struggle with it? Undertaker still tries to teach you fun facts and tricks about any critters or rocks you may find on your adventures.

• Once he finds out your interest in exploring and going out into nature, he’ll try and take you on walks more often. Sometimes this means holding your hand as you waddle across a fallen log in the forest, or carrying you around a graveyard as you compare the wildlife there to the ones in a book Undertaker gave you. (And though he will never admit it, all of “the queen’s coins” do come in handy when buying you gifts. He doesn’t have much to spend due to the little money he makes in his business, morticians are not the richest people, but he puts all of it towards you. And groceries...). The books you are given on various insects and species are always “little-fied,” meaning they are either children’s books, or the Undertaker will skim through the books himself and write simplified sentences in the margins.

• He always makes sure to go with you on any excursions, whether you know it or not. Hiding behind trees, glancing at you between headstones, and even peaking from bushes. Undertaker also puts great care into getting you prepared, wearing your best and safest pair of boots, gearing you up with tools and first aid, (again unnecessary as he is constantly watching over you), but nothing too heavy where it hinders your ability to walk. Though the Undertaker is revered as spontaneous and goofy, which he can be, he never risks your safety in hope of a good laugh. This man takes his job as your daddy, (or your care-taker), very seriously! 

• Undertaker loves to play hide and seek, tag, and eye spy with your regressed self, loving the exhilaration of running around with you. He laughs all the way, and he loves to hear you squeal and giggle as he chases you, especially when he wraps big arms around you and catches you. He may roll down a hill with you, grass clinging to his clothes, and even though you roll down the same hill an have the same grass and dirt on you, he always tries to wipe it off of you, kneeling down so he is level with you, rubbing out the grass stains with a soapy cloth. He encourages you to take breaks and watch your breathing, his reaper stamina outweighing yours tenfold, he will hand you cups of water and rub your back gently if you get too winded, enjoying every second of caring for you.

• He offers to embalm and preserve the creatures you collect, but most of the time you say no. He is surprised by this, but once you explain, "I don't wanna hurt nuffin," that pride swells in his chest again. Even if he hasn't told you about any side experiments he has with the bizarre dolls, (and why he does what he does), knowing that you have the same respect for life brings him more joy than you could ever know.

• Undertaker loves when you come back to him, holding a snail, branch, or some other thing that interests his baby, but he gets scared when you decide to pick less innocent things. Snakes that you think are worms, spiders with particularly venomous bites, sharp rocks... there is so much your regressed mind simply can not grasp. This is just another reason in the long list of why he insists on watching you, eager to keep you safe. He will often pick up things himself on your adventures, things he knows are safe enough for you to touch, and interesting enough to interest his little one. "You like it dearie? Want to hold it? Just like this- there you go, nice and gentle. You know how proud daddy is? Haha, yes, quite the cute ladybug. Like you honey.."

• When regressed, you may seem a lot smaller and disorientated than is usual for you, and unfortunately this means you are more prone to being hurt. Falling, tripping, scraping your knee, you are prone to all kinds of accidents. This also means when you trip over a rock, or stumble on a tree stump, Undertaker is right there to pick you up. And though morticians may be used to patching up the dead more than the living, Undertaker is apt at both. He picks up your little form, cooing softly and caressing you hair, little kisses peppered on your forehead and cheeks. "Shh, it's okay my dearie, yes yes-I know..."

• Lightly seating you on a bench or log nearby he'll put your legs over his lap, still cooing. "Alright honey, Undie has just the thing... I know, but it will only sting for but a moment," he encourages you gently. You cringe and begin crying harder as he pulls out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, as he gently swipes away your tears, his large calloused hands brushing your skin. His long nails trace your arms, giving you goosebumps, as they try to relax you. "That's a good baby, just like that..." and before you know it, the peroxide is fizzing on your cuts, cleaning your wounds. The bubbling stops, and he grabs a small vial full of a soothing lotion, dabbing the mixture gently on top with a piece of cotton. A large cotton ace wrap is produced from his overcoat, as he lifts your leg, wrapping the bandage around your knee. He admires his work before bring your knee to his laps, kissing your injury tenderly. "There poppet, did daddy make it better?"

Sorry if this didn't really include a lot of Undertaker's more silly, light side anon! To be honest, as much as he would have fun and enjoy going on adventures with you, I think in the recent chapters we have seen more of the true emotions and serious sides to Undertaker. I think the last thing he wants is to have another person he loves, Phantomhive or not, succumb to any more harm. I hope you enjoyed! I love Undertaker, so feel free to keep sending asks about him! (Especially the age regression ones!) Also, as a thank you for waiting so long, here is a bonus moodboard!

Bonus • Caregiver Undertaker x Exploring little! Reader •

[yandere----fandoms8790]

Yandere! Toy Freddy x Reader(Part 2): Dark times call for dark measures(Chase of a lifetime)

I bolt out of the office and run for my life, hoping and praying that he doesn't catch me.

"My love, come back to me..." I hear Toy Freddy say in a calm and calculative voice. I take notice of his appearance, his baby blue eyes, his brunette hair that shines in the dim lights of the office. his nearly perfect features, his red and rosey cheeks. For his attire he wore a light brown button-up shirt as well as a black vest over top of it. Black dress pants cover his hips and legs, as well as an black apron around his waist.

His voice, smooth as a silk dress, while also holding a firm and strong undertone.

I have kept running, though he has started to walk after me.

I pray to the God above that he doesn't catch me as I run through this dim lit hall.

The walls of this pizzeria were old, run-down some might say, they could use a good cleaning. The ceiling of this drab place was currently white, though with the mold and dirt on the ceiling it looked like a greenish-grey. The floor, covered with papers, dirt, and mold.

I wish I never came here, never hired here, to work as a stupid security guard. Though how was I supposed to know that it would lead to my capture? Simple, I couldn't have known, though I should've seen the signs, the way he looked at me during performances, the way he talked sweetly to me. I should've seen this coming, then I wouldn't be in this old run-down building.

I have kept running all this time, down these drab, moldy halls. I began to get tired from all of this running, my stamina was nearly all gone.

I run into a well-lit room and I notice a meat grinder and I hide behind it. This room also had mold, dust, and dirt in it, but, I could care less. For all I knew, he could be behind me and I would be dead. Though since he isn't behind me, I am not dead.

I take notice of him coming inside this room I am in, he was standing there. As if he could smell me, he looked over my way.

"Oh, Darling, did you think you could hide from me?", He ask as he began to walk toward my hiding area.

As he walks to me I get an idea to turn the meat grinder on, so I can get rid of this nightmare. Therefore, I turn it on as he lunges at me, but, I dodge and he has fallen into the meat grinder.

All I hear are his screams, though they die down quickly as he is being grinded into little bits, blood spilling everywhere, his organs flying out of the grinder. His heart flies out of the grinder and lands at my feet I stare at it with horror as I then look back at the grinder, only to see his head peeking out of the grinder, I then scream in horror and begin to run away, faster than I have in ages.

I look back to see him crawling out of the meat grinder and I see him laugh. this was no normal laugh this was the laugh of a madman, this laugh could send shivers down a psychopath's spine.

I keep running and I nearly get to the exit before I hear a squishy sound coming from behind me and I look behind me. Only to see his lower jaw broken and hanging off of it's hinges, only hanging by the skin, his lower half torn off of him. It was a gory mess indeed

I run out of the pizzeria in shire terror. I quit my job the next day, and to this day still I have nightmares of that fateful night. I never want to go to that pizzeria again.....

[goferwashere]

FELL FOR THE HYPNOSIS !

omg omg okay first question.. what was it like for Disco Kid being possessed / realizing he's possessed for the first time ? how did he feel, what was his reaction, was he scared ?? how does he come to terms with it and does it affect his day to day life ?

SECOND im soo curious as to how Tiger gets all this dirt on ppl . like is he a realllly good listener or is he just rlly sly ? or is it something more of him playing a clueless role so that the others that are monsters will trust him ? WHATS ALL THAT ABTT HES NOSEYYY

third i have no excuse for this one but im a big fan of Soda and Bull being fond of each other but if i remember correctly, in this AU Soda isn't so tolerant of monsters ... did that muddle their relationship ? does Soda know abt his close friend being a monster ? HOW DOES IT GOOOOO

I COULD COME UP WITH MORE BUT IM LITERALLY GOING CRAZY NOT KNOWING THE ANSWERS TO THESE ONES AND I DONT WANNA TAKE UP ALL YOUR TIME !! thanks 4 seeing this if u do and THANK U FOR GIVING US SUCH A SICK ASS AU !! 🩷

YAYYYYY ILY BUGGY YOU ALWAYS COME IN CLUTCH HELPING ME W MY BRAINROT

Okay I’ll go one at a time & sorry if they’re a bit long lol

1. Disco pulled up to the wrong address when going dancing, and didn’t know it until it was too late. He was going through his run down building expecting to find a race happening in one of the rooms, but this place was actually an abandoned WVBA building. They had a big dip in popularity in between the mid 90’s and the late 2000’s, and they had to get rid of a few of their properties. This place just so happened to be the building that Kid Quick died in. So obviously having his resting place disturbed ‘woke him up’, and he checked out the guy wandering around the building. He looked fit, and kinda reminded him of himself, so he just kinda… walked into his body. Quietly.

Disco felt a weird shiver, and definitely felt off when it happened, but nothing was obviously out of the ordinary so he brushed it off. He eventually found the right address and partied the rest of the night away.

Quick rode shotgun in Disco’s body for at least a few weeks without saying anything. He did feel kinda bad, and was definitely going to say something eventually (he was not.) so when Disco saw a translucent guy sitting on his couch trying to turn on his TV he almost passed out.

Quick freaked out and tried to wake him up, but only ended up possessing his body, which freaked both of them out further. (Okay well maybe Quick was excited to have a body again but Disco was NOT a happy camper.)

It was a miracle that Quick convinced Disco not to call an exorcist. But they sat down and had conversation about their lives, like old friends. When Quick told his story about dying in the ring, Disco offered to help him out. He seemed like a chill guy and as long he didn’t run away with Disco’s body he was okay with sharing.

The rest was history! (Again I am working on that oneshot where they’re the protags so I hope I can finish that soon 😋)

2. OKAYY so Tiger is all about playing dumb. He’ll intentionally act clueless about situations he already knows all about to see if he can get new info, or will see how the person he’s talking to feels about what’s going on.

Example if Aran and Macho Man were beefing, he’d *conveniently* pass by and go to both of them separately later, without telling them that they’d talked to the other person. He can get a read on their vibe yk?

He also uses his magic to hide himself when important conversations are being had, or will send a clone to gather info if he’s busy. He’s running a whole operation. He has to know about everything that’s happening, because how can he tease people with knowledge he shouldn’t know if he doesn’t know anything at all?

I do think some of the other boxers have just kinda accepted that nothing is a secret from him.

But I think the big mystery he’s really after is Sandman’s identity. Like he wants to know if he’s a human or monster SOOO BAD. He knows that would be world ending knowledge so that’s his ultimate goal. No luck so far though.

3. Soda and Bull were both initially on good terms and had a lot of respect for each other until their first fight. Bull saw how hard Soda was pushing to try and beat him, to the point where he thought Soda was going to die from over exerting himself. But in an effort to make a good impression with the other monsters (since he was still relatively new at the time), still beat Soda’s ass.

Soda had received word from Great Tiger beforehand that Bull was actually a monster. He thought that if he could beat him in this fight then somehow it would ‘make up’ for the fact that bull was a monster, and they could carry on with being friends despite their differences.

But Soda lost, and was pretty crushed by the defeat. Their relationship soured after this, though Bull never really knew why. He was upset about it, but some pep talk from the monsters saying that ‘he’s better off hanging out with them’ had bull turn his back on Soda.

ALSO WITH ALL THAT SAID PLEASE TAKE UP MORE MY TIME I LOVE ANSWERING THESE QUESTIONS IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY THAT SOMEONE ELSE IS INTERESTED IN MY AU 🧡