#ignore my clumsy attempt at masking

[thenightunfurls]

it's all coming together

[yoursweetwife]

Synopsis: you were sure of the excellence of your cooking, and you didn't want to throw it away due to lack of hunger, so you decided to feed the Ratio.

Warning: the reader is an excellent cook, fluff, friends to lovers, professor!reader, I'm sure that Ratio hates cooking, I won't change my mind.

There are three things that most infuriate Ratio.

Idiots.

When his phone is bursting with calls and messages.

Cooking.

It's not that Veritas doesn't know how to cook, he knows a couple of recipes, is smart enough not to burn down the kitchen, the cooking process itself irritates him.

However, too often the Ratio instead of the usual dinner or breakfast drinks a cup of coffee or eats a hastily prepared salad. Even at work, he rarely took a lunch break and locked himself in his office, the food in the dining room did not attract him at all, so attempts by other colleagues to invite him to have lunch together were ignored.

On one of those days, you decided to go up to him and treat him to your food. You didn't have an appetite today, and you don't want to just leave one of the best dishes you've ever cooked.

When everyone left for lunch, you walked into his classroom and briskly walked up to the workplace of Ratio.

At the sight of you, the scientist stopped putting things away and looked at you.

Because of the plaster mask, you couldn't see his expression, but you can tell from his friendly voice that he doesn't mind your presence.After all, you are one of the few whose mind Veritas has recognized as almost equal to his own. It became a catalyst for your friendship.

"Professor [Surname], what brings you to me? You usually have lunch with other people at this time."

He sat down on the chair again, holding the book in his hands, waiting for the moment when he could open it.

"Enough of these formalities, we're alone," a smile lit up your face and you quickly groped for the food container in your hands. - and about lunch..."

You held out the box and looked expectantly at Ratio, who didn't even move.

"I'm not hungry today, so I want to give this to you."

"So give it to someone else."

You puffed out your cheeks and made the saddest look, trying to convince Veritas. At such moments, he did not understand what he found interesting in your childish behavior. Nevertheless, he was attracted to it.

"I want you to try it. I swear, it's very tasty and healthy! Ratio, you won't regret it."

The scientist sighed in amazement and put the book aside. No matter how strong his desire to refuse, it was pointless to resist you.

"So be it, I'll try it."

You smiled gratefully and held out your hands to Veritas. When Ratio's hands touched yours, he couldn't help but feel the warmth from them.

"Fantastic, then you can share your impressions. - you looked at your watch and exclaimed in amazement. "Oh no, I still have to prepare for the lesson!"

Waving goodbye, you left his office, leaving Ratio alone with your "gift".

The smell of freshly cooked food filled the empty room as if it had been cooked just today.

Even the plaster head couldn't stop the smell from spreading through his body.

It looked and smelled just great, for such a clumsy person like you, such filigree and neatness was just incredible.

Ratio winces at the memory of your workplace. He still doesn't understand how you can sort out all those papers and appliances on your desk.

"You can't tell the quality of food by the smell alone."

Soon the mask was left on the table, next to documents, books and tests for students.

The first piece and...

The soft texture of the meat began to delight his taste buds from the very first minutes. The golden eyes widened with an all-encompassing sense of pleasure.

It was the most delicious meal he had eaten in a while. His pride won't allow him to admit it out loud, no, admit to himself that he doesn't mind eating it every day.

Ratio didn't even notice how empty the container was. He mentally scolded himself for his lack of restraint and pushed the container aside.

His eyes ran over the lines of the book, reading the text, but his thoughts were about something else, the students should come soon, which means that he has very little time.

A smile formed on Veritas' face. Perhaps he should also be hinted that he doesn't mind at all if you bring him your cooking every day.

[aritsukemo]

Your heart's too big for your body.. | Muichiro and Yuichiro Tokito

Warnings: Mentions of the reader throwing up in Yuichiro's part! All my emetophobic folks beware!!

A/N: I honestly don't know what this is lmao- I planned a completely different set of characters when I wrote this but as I was listening to Melanie Martinez's Crybaby album, I guess my mind just went to two characters who bring me a bunch of comfort. Like, as I listened, I felt kinda sad so my mind just imagined a bunch of scenarios with these two comforting someone.. ( Also, in case anyone's confused. Muichiro's part is set in a more modern au like the Kimetsu Academy au, Yuichiro's isn't )

"What the fuck," Is the first thing the teal-streaked medic mumbled when you stumbled into the Butterfly Manor half conscious, blood dripping from your head. and your hand poorly covering your stomach which had a horrifyingly-large gash on the center of it.

"T- Tokito.." You called, although you could barely get the words out before you tilted. Luckily, Yuichiro caught you in time before you completely hit the floor.

As your head hit his shoulder, a quick wave of panic shot through him. After all, it wasn't often that a Hashira—especially one of your caliber—to come in this wounded, or wounded at all for that matter.

As he helped you to your feet, Yuichiro threw your arm over his shoulder, ignoring your blood that had quickly begun to stain his clothes, and called for some assistance before guiding you to the nearest patient room and sitting you down on the bed where you immediately flopped over.

"Shit," He cursed out, finally noticing how bad of a state you had gotten yourself in. You showed obvious signs of having a concussion—a severe one at that. But he had little time to focus on that before you began choking.

With quick movements, Yuichiro helped you sit up only for you to immediately fall forward and cough up your stomach, staining the bottom half of his clothes with your blood and what was most likely your breakfast, shit.

It was only then that the Kakushi had rushed in, staring at the sight in surprised horror only to finally rush to your side after Yuichiro shouts at them to unbutton your uniform vest and press down on your stomach wound while he prepared the bandages...

When you finally awoke, you were experiencing one of the worst headaches of your life. The Kakushi had long been sent off, but Yuichiro was still there. Towering over you, scrutinizing you.

"How are you feeling?" Was the first thing he said. It came out in a rushed, whispered tone of voice instead of his usual vexed one.

"My head hurts.." You mumbled in which he hums and mumbles something involving Shinobu and medication under his breath. Although, it was hard to really concentrate on his mumbling when your head felt like it was being split open and the strong taste of metal was lingering on your tongue..

"So what happened while you were out?" Surely you had run into one of the Twelve. Logically speaking, there would be no other way for you to obtain such injuries. Unless you somehow tripped into a bear's mouth or something on your way home. Although he hopes that isn't the case. You were an idiot, but hopefully not that stupidly clumsy.

Your eyes drifted to your hands subconsciously, an expression of which the medic could only think was embarrassment slowly forming on your face.

"It was my fault," You began, and Yuichiro was already furrowing his brows, "I underestimated my opponent and nearly got another slayer killed as a result.."

"There was another demon slayer there?" His voice suddenly grew low as hed muttered his next words with poorly masked dread, "..What happened to them?"

"They..ran away," Wait..what?

"They did..what?" The sudden sharpness of his tone has you wanting to shrink away from him, "Say it again. I want to hear it. Now."

"There.. There were multiple slayers.. One of them attempted to help out, but in the end..when I was pushed back.." You pause, looking for the right words to your next sentence that wouldn't shove the truth of what happened in your face. The disheartening truth that makes your chest tighten and your heart sting. The truth that your comrades had left you to die, "I awoken and my comrades..had all..retreated to safety."

"So, they left you to die," You wince. The way he always worded things always sounded so painful to hear. It squeezed at your heart in a way that made your eyes sting and your throat tighten, but you try to brush it off as best you can.

"No, they just—"

"Decided to save their own worthless asses as soon as the fight didn't go their way and left you to clean up the mess?" As his anger grew, so did his voice, "No way you slice this will make the truth any less apparent that they left you for dead!"

"How many times have I told you about this? You need to understand that most people only care about keeping themselves happy and alive and don't care who dies at the expense of that! Not you, or me, or anyone else!" He's right. Both of you are aware of that and as a result, silence replaces any words that would've been spoken after that—well, that and the tears that are beginning to form in your eyes because of the intense stinging..

You raise you hand, your eye instinctively closing as you wipe at your eye, your tears smear as a result, but you could care less. As long as it got rid of them.

At some point, the silence was broken with the sharp sigh that slipped from Yuichiro's soft lips. He shuffles closer before leaning down where the coldness of his thumbs comes in contact with the warm skin just under your eye. They capture the tears that manage to escape and gently flicks them away.

"You shouldn't waste your tears. Not on them, and certainly not on me.." He tells you, but it only makes you want to cry harder—which you ended up doing.

"I'm.. I'm sorry..*hic*.. I.. I.." You couldn't even get your words out from how much you were choking. This was so embarrassing and you wished you could just crawl in the hole and never come out of it..

But you can't. So you'll just have to make do with Yuichiro caging his arms around you as you sobbed instead.

"Thank you for coming," You told him, intending for it to sound more like an happy and excited little kid than a heartbroken and dissapointed adult. He looks around, streamers and banners decorate the walls, rounded tables and chairs were dressed down in various colored flowers and other assortments—all of which were mixed and matched in your favorite colors—and a beautiful multi-tiered cake sitting in the middle of a long rectangular table in the back of the room—the cake's decor trailing down the layers and onto the table where it then hangs off the wood, like hanging wisteria trees..

Not a soul in sight.

It was confusing to him. He vividly remembers the long nights with you, both of you up at ungodly hours, dressed down in your pajamas. He remembers being on the phone with you, staring intently at the slumped beds that had begun to slowly form under your bottom lashes and the faded look of drowsiness on your drooping face. He remembers your hands, tiny cuts of all shapes and sizes dented in your skin from the many slip ups and paper attacks that happened that night and previous night. He remembers the afternoons slowly turning to evenings and then nights and he remembers you working nonstop on your invitation cards. Each were just a tad bit different, some of the handmade decorations being different sizes and beautified certain ways to mask the small but noticeable mistakes you made on some of them. He remembers how proud you looked everytime you finished a card, showing him while flashing the widest grin he's ever seen from you. He remembers how pretty each card looked..

Why didn't anyone show up?

"I suppose everyone was busy today," You said, but he couldn't tell if you were trying to answer the silent question in the air or trying to tell yourself that to make yourself feel better, "I knew I should've waited til' the weekend.."

"Why.. Where is.." He didn't know what to say. You were pretty well known throughout school, everyone loved you or so it seemed. Why is he the only one here?

"Y'know, when I first started passing out the cards, most people told me that they probably couldn't make it. It made me a little sad, but then I was asked if I could help them out.." You told him. He hated the look in your eyes as you said it, "Heh..I ran all over the place running errands for all those people..they said that because of me they'll have enough time to at least stop by and drop off their gifts.." You began to walk, your shoes dragging against the wooden flooring of your living room, Muichiro cringed at the screaking sound it made.

"I did all of that..and no one showed. I waited all day.." Your voice was so shaky and fragile, like a mirror slowly cracking. It felt like the shards of glass were slowly falling off and shoved down his throat.

Then your voice suddenly raised, "But it's okay!" You said, "It's okay," You repeated, "That just means there's more cake for the two of us to enjoy!" You stop right infront of the large cake, your head rolling to look back at him. His own mirror began to slowly crack as his teal eyes met your teary ones and you flashed him a smile, one thinned out instead of the usual full, bright one you always blessed him with.

It was heartbreaking. It made him want to cry. And he did. He didn't realize it, but the tears had begun to slide down his cheeks one after another..

"I'm..so sorry," He said as if he wasn't the only one standing here before you, "..I'm so sorry, Y/n.."

"Why are you apologizing? It's okay, Mui. Don't feel bad. I'm okay.." You croaked, watching with your bottom lip shaking as he neared you. Biting down on the skin when he enveloped you and his sobs filled your ears.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I'm..I.." With a loud hiccup to signal that the dam has broke, you fell apart completely. Body trembling as you leaned into his shoulder, mumbling words of reassurances over and over like a damaged record.

"I'm..fine.. I'm okay.. No need to cry.." You said, but your words comforted neither him or you—if anything, it only made your tears come out in quicker, thicker clumps, completely ruining the little makeup look you had spent an embarrassing amount of time doing.

At some point, you two hit the floor. Neither of you noticed it, but you were curled up in each others arms on the cold, lonely floor. Tears wetting each others' sleeves. It was a mortifying sight. If anyone walked in, there's a chance you'd both be made fun of for being such crybabies over a simple birthday party gone wrong.

But you never left his embarace and he never left yours. You both sat there, tangled in that messy embrace and sobbing, heavy feelings weighing in both of your hearts.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[catiuskaa]

rice pudding! —bf!felix thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because i’d kiss each and every one of his freckles SJFJSJGJJS mama i love him)

felix, who pouts, staring at the empty kitchen, and you gently smile at him when he looks at you as you mindlessly watch the TV.

felix, who is still pouting when he sits next to you on the sofa. A soft “…yongbok-a?” rolls of your tongue, and he can’t help but smile at the comfort your voice brings.

felix, who hides his face in the crook of your neck, and he sighs. “I was gonna call Hyunjin and Seungmin over, ‘cause I wanted to cook on live, but they said they had scheduled things or somthing.”

felix, whose arm passes over your shoulders, half-hugging you lazily, laying his legs on your lap and taking your hand with his small one, fidgeting with your rings.

felix, who’s distracted enough to ignore how you press your lips to hide a snort. It had been you who had mentioned the plans to the boys, amused by those two clumsy idiots.

felix, who would be purring if he was more of a cat than he already behaves like, happily enjoying the softness of your hold and the warmth of your body.

felix, whose face lights up impossibly bright when you kiss the corner of his lips, giggling. “Do you want me to help you, baby?”

felix, who hesitates, knowing the company had mentioned that even if STAY knew about his relationship with you, your screen time with him was quite limited for now.

felix, who grins like a child when some paboracha idea connects to his brain.

felix, who can’t stop laughing with you. “Doesn’t this look very stupid?” you’re grinning like a fool at him, just as much as he is.

felix, who had messily tied and hid your hair in one of your dark beanies, then covered your face with a black mask.

felix, who snorts. “Of course not!” He looks at you up and down, thinking, and blushes when you teasingly wink at him, both of you back to laughter.

felix, who runs to his drawer. “The eyes are missing!” You could see him from the hallway, stirring between his belongings, looking for something

felix, who quickly comes back to you. “What the—?” But before you could ask, he settles the last accessory on you, laughing so hard at the full picture that he starts crying.

felix, who watches you, your tone sounding equally amused and shocked. “…sunglasses?” you mentioned, looking at your reflection in the mirror over the tinted glasses.

felix, who’s shining in giddy cheerfulness. “Would you rather I accidentally commit arson?” he teases, and you notice in his smile after accepting that maybe he was exaggerating a little just to have an extra help.

felix, who can’t see your fond, hidden smile as he turns on his phone and greets the fans who enter the live.

felix, who snickers at the confused comments regarding the new mystery debutant—you. "I wanted to record a cooking live, but the members ran away like cowards… so, guys, give it up for skz-ji!” He’s giggling and cheering, a cheeky smile that almost makes you coo.

felix, who after repeating that you were a ‘member of staff’ that had to join to help him so he wouldn’t ‘break or burn anything’ —his words—, introduces the recipe for the whooping 834k people watching: rice pudding!

felix, whose hands come up to hold his tummy as he keeps laughing when you sheepishly wave at the camera and give a shy thumbs up, your shoulders shaking slightly in the failed attempt to cover your laughter.

felix, who, while you go ahead and start washing the utensils prior to use, he goes over and starts reading the comments. Most of them are about you.

felix, who argues that with the amacing armour that you two suited on you, your anonimity will be ok. “Gwenchana?” He teases, looking at you. You lower your sunglasses just enough so he can clearly see your eyebrows furrowed, and then you fan yourself with your hand.

felix, who is loving the whole conundrum as much as the thousands of comments laughing at the strange situation that briefly crossed his phone. “In their defence, I said that I’d burn the house if I cooked alone.” He jokes, going back to the ingredients.

felix, who tries as skillfully as he can, and enjoys the afternoon as you try to direct him without speaking, only whispering and lowering your mask when he moves to cover your face from the camera.

felix, who, after several hours of hard work, sits at the table at your command, and you take your beanie, sunglasses and mask off, now off-camera, encouraging him to try the dessert.

felix, who is cheekily nervous, but his eyes go wide when he shoves the spoon of warm rice and cinnamon. “Wait— It’s actually so good!”

felix, who eats up the serving, and then starts waving goodbye to STAY, mouth half-full.

felix, whose cheeks hurt from smiling so much, now almost red, but he can’t help but cackling loudly again when you chuckle, muttering “back hug!” as you put your arms around the camera.

felix, who sighs happily after you turn off his phone. “You can stay here. I’ll clean up.” You say with a gentle smile.

felix, who looks up at you from the chair, goofy smile planted on his features. “Mmhmm, missed your voice,” and he giggles, watching you blush.

felix, who’s the one back hugging you now as you clean up the dirty dishes and tools, and whispers to your ear a low “thank you, my little rice pudding,” kissing your temple with a snicker.

~Kats, who got this idea because she once burnt a rice pudding after being told to ‘watch it for ten minutes’. ☠️☠️

[achairwithapandaonit]

squint is atla shame the zuko self hating gay one or is that the soulbond au . either way explain atla shame pleeease

shame is the right one >:3 <- me knowing you have obviously been paying enough attention to know about my zuko struggle fic (cause he is struggling so much. guy who is in a consistant struggle).

it's basically a same age zuko/aang au set in ba sing se with the premise that aang kissed zuko at pohaui stronghold and he's really fucked up about it cause the fire nation is homophobic, but the avatar has now forced him to confront that a) he is very very gay and b) he is gay for the avatar.

some snippets cause this fic is my baby:

The Avatar laughs awkwardly under his gaze. “So, uh, there’s this thing, um—and I think you should see it. I mean, I want to show you it, so…uh, are you free? Right now?” “No,” Zuko rasps. His eyes burn and dirty water flakes his hands. He is tired. As if he’s heard something completely different, the Avatar grabs Zuko by the hand. “Great! Me too! Let’s go!” He doesn’t care for Zuko’s angry outbursts. He ignores his attempts to pull back. Once they’re halfway down the alleyway, the Avatar turns and grabs Zuko around the waist, hoisting him up and over his shoulders as if he weighs nothing. He acts as if Zuko isn’t scrabbling at his back like he might pry it open with his dry, cracked fingernails. “You can’t capture me!” Zuko shouts, knocking a fist over the Avatar’s tensed shoulder blade. “I’m the one who’s meant to be capturing you!”

.

“The people here have never had to want for anything,” Zuko says bitterly over the rising sound of a gong from the street. “They’ve never had to fight. No one’s ever taken anything from them.” The Avatar sits down beside him. “What was taken from you?” “My honour,” Zuko says. Longing fills his tone. His head aches like the recollection of his father’s voice is anything but lost. He turns, angry, to the Avatar. “You took it from me.” “I didn’t take anything,” the Avatar says. It’s true. Zuko’s honour was already long gone—but before, there was a chance. There was an ultimatum. Before, there was an offered redemption and metal walls to hold him; his Uncle’s hand soothing over a feverish forehead and falsely telling him, “You are not at fault.” Now, he knows better.

.

Years ago, Zuko’s mother had taken him and Azula to the theatre. The play could hardly be called a play by Earth Kingdom standards. No words were spoken by the actors (who’s faces were all covered by masks.), and there were no props on stage except for the swords and ribbons the actors took with themselves. They danced and sung without words, and fire moved with them as if it was a part of them. Azula had tried to replicate it later on, pulling clumsy moves she’d obviously seen from Ty Lee and blushing bright red when they didn’t work for her the same way traditional firebending form did. Seeing his talented sister fail like that had made Zuko laugh. He hadn’t been laughing when she’d set fire to his bed. Or when he could slink into the moves, but couldn’t wrap his flame around himself the way she could without getting burned. The memory lulls him. He finds his eyes slipping half closed; feels the warmth of his sister’s fire back when she liked him and he liked her. “I think people can be like that too,” the Avatar says. He sounds like he’s testing the waters for something. “Fluid. Together. I think, there are people who work well together.”

[lionheartslowstart]

Meltdown on an Airplane

As the title suggests, I had a meltdown on an airplane a few days ago. I was returning home from vacation, and the plane was still sitting at the gate. Which, despite everything, I'm actually pretty thankful for, as I can only imagine how much worse it would have been if we were in the air or taxiing.

It started when we realized there was a problem with our seats. I had been sure to pre-book the seats, as I always do because I need an aisle seat. However, for some reason, "Thomas'" seat had been switched at the last minute to be way at the back of the plane. I have no idea why. So of course, I started to panic. As I've gotten older, I have become more anxious while flying, especially with all the Boeing drama (and yes, unfortunately we were on a Boeing both ways of the trip). Take offs and landings make me very nervous. I CAN fly by myself, but I always prefer not to do so. On top of that, I suffered a foot injury earlier that week (I had tripped over some uneven pavement because I'm a clumsy b*tch), and I felt much more comfortable being near Thomas, just in case, since I needed crutches, walked with a limp, and had a boot on my foot.

I asked Thomas if he would ask whomever was supposed to sit there to switch with him, because I became too upset and anxious to ask them myself. I figured maybe it wouldn't be a problem, since they were both middle seats. Nevertheless, my anxiety increased and I began to cry silently and attempt to regulate by rocking back and forth, one of my biggest self-soothing stims. On top of the emotional overwhelm, the plane was playing music pretty loudly through the speakers, God knows why, adding physical distress to my emotional distress.

Then, a baby started screaming, which of course made everything worse. I started crying harder, though still silently, and started muttering to myself that it wasn't the baby's fault and to "please stop crying please stop crying."

THEN, the guy who was supposed to be seated in Thomas' seat came over and Thomas began explaining to him that there had been a mix-up and that I'm disabled and would he please consider swapping seats. The guy, audibly disgruntled, (I was still hunched over trying not to be too disruptive so I couldn't see him,) said he was going to get a flight attendant to see if we could figure something out.

It was at this point that someone's f*cking luggage fell out of the overhead been and hit me on the shoulder. Sure, it hurt, but not terribly because I have a high pain tolerance. But the extreme shock of suddenly being struct bluntly was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the meltdown erupted out of me before I could make any more attempts to wrest control.

Whatever you picture in your head when you imagine an autistic meltdown, that's what happened. I was screaming, sobbing, rocking furiously, yanking my hair by the roots, trying not to hit myself...I mean it was bad. And the thing is, I've had meltdowns in public before, but never one so absolutely untamed. As a high-masking autistic, I have (unfortunately) developed some skills to hide a meltdown when it happens, at least until I can get somewhere where I'm alone, or with one of the very few people I consider safe to have a meltdown in front of. (My parents, my brother, and my partner.)

But this? I can't remember the last time I had a public meltdown like this as an adult. Maybe never.

And of course, despite the all-consuming nature of a meltdown, there's also the dread looming way in the back of my mind, that I KNOW people are staring, and, most likely, judging.

As I sobbed and rocked, I heard the murmurs, and I felt so many eyes on me. Based on the few words I could pick out, I knew they assumed my outburst was because I had been hurt badly. I tried to ignore the shame and humiliation I felt creeping in. It was only adding to the distress, and there was nothing I could do about it. People will always stare, always assume, and always judge.

A flight attendant quickly came over to assess the situation. When this all went down, I felt like she maybe had good intentions, but upon retelling this story to my family, I have since realized that no, she really only had the airline's best interest at heart, and probably didn't give two sh*ts about me. But what are you gonna do? So she asks me to explain what happened, but I'm in the middle of a verbal shutdown, so I can't really answer. I look at Thomas helplessly, and bless him, he does not do well under pressure, so he immediately started raising his voice at her to "back off and give me space." So of course, I'm thinking, well f*ck I guess I better force myself to speak because I'm really not trying to get kicked off this flight and/or cause myself more embarrassment, so I started attempting to explain. I say "attempting" because, as I was mid-verbal shutdown, I was struggling immensely to even find my words, and once I did find a few, my words came out very stilted, and I was stammering. I somehow managed to squeeze out the important bullet points: that I'm autistic, I'm having a meltdown, and I just need space to calm down.

So then of course she starts peppering me with questions, despite the fact that I just said I needed space. She's trying to figure out what happened, was I hurt, do I know what fell on me, etc. This caused me to start clapping, something I do when I'm mid-verbal shutdown but still being forced to communicate, especially if I'm also being forced to talk over someone, and/or I'm already dealing with a meltdown and more stimuli is thrown my way. Through the clapping, I again tried to explain - I'm physically fine, I'm having an autistic meltdown. She asked me if I needed anything. (Insert epic eyeroll.) I couldn't answer, but shook my head as she listed off things she might be able to bring me. I just wanted her to leave. When she asked if I needed water, it occurred to me both that it would get her to leave, and also that yes, I probably did need some water. After she walked away, I leaned into Thomas and buried my face in his shoulder. I could still feel the stares.

The flight attendant came back later with the water, and then mentioned the issue with the seats. She asked if I'd be willing to switch with the person who was seated next to Thomas' assigned seat and we could sit where Thomas was originally supposed to be seated instead of the other guy switching. I explained that I wouldn't have a problem with that but I still needed an aisle seat because the tight squeeze of a window seat can exacerbate my sensory issues. She said she understood and went off to see if we could find a situation. When she came back, she said that it all worked out because the two gentlemen who were meant to be sat with each other in Thomas' seat and the window seat were able to find other seats so we would actually have an empty seat next to us. (I assume they were bumped to first class for their troubles, but I have no proof of that.) She asked if I was feeling better and then started talking to THOMAS, not me, about whether or not she should file a report.

I've found that, when someone finds out I'm autistic, they either don't believe me, or they start talking to whomever I happen to be with instead, as if I can't speak for myself. It's ableist, obviously, and extremely frustrating. She also came back while I was in the bathroom to talk to Thomas, who, of course, told her that she should wait until I came back from the bathroom and then ask me, since I'm the person to whom it happened. Later, she did come back and ask me again. I smiled, understanding she's doing her due diligence so I don't sue the airline, and promised her that, no, she didn't have to report it and I was really fine. It was clear to me that she was fixated on the possibility of injury, and that she didn't really understand the autistic aspect. As I said, my reflection of this incident over the last few days has brought me to the conclusion that this woman, despite her shallow warmth, probably didn't give a hog's a** about me.

But the worst part of all of this is that two days ago, Thomas revealed to me that he had witnessed an older woman in front of us texting someone about the event. She had written something along the lines of, "Some crazy b*tch just threw an absolute tantrum on the plane like some whackadoodle. I hope they escort her off the plane in handcuffs and give her a cookie."

Now, I grew very upset at this and explained to Thomas that this wasn't something he should have told me. I understand why he did though, as we have very open and honest communication in our relationship. I'm sure he thought I'd want to know. I explained that it would be different if he had stood up for me, if he had said something to her, called her out for being ableist, then I would have been fine hearing about it. But because he did nothing, it's just not something I wanted to, or really, needed to hear. I know people are ableist. I know people make comments. I know people judge me when the mask falls off. I don't need to hear specific examples of something of which I'm already so painfully aware, especially when there is no resolution, and most likely never will be. Thomas apologized profusely, saying he would never make that mistake again, and that he never wants to say something that upsets me.

For the record, as hurt as I am that Thomas didn't stand up for me, I can't be angry at him for it. We were on an airplane, and he was afraid we'd be kicked off, or worse. The woman in question didn't say anything out loud, so there were no witnesses to her comments. She could have easily deleted the text and claimed Thomas had started a conflict with her for no reason. While I know I would have handled that situation differently if the roles were reversed, I also know that Thomas probably did the right thing in not starting an argument. I will be the first to admit that my tinderbox temper does not always result in the most productive outcomes.

Like I said, I know people are ableist, judgmental, and cruel. I know that. And I know I shouldn't care. But I do. And I hate that I do. I don't understand why anyone thinks people just claim to be or pretend to be autistic for attention. It's not attention I want. Being autistic in an allistic world is HARD. There are so many harmful stereotypes and misconceptions out there, and people can be truly awful, both intentionally and unintentionally. I walk around with this monkey on my back, constantly aware of what people might think, or in some cases, what I know they do think. My childhood trauma made damn sure of that. I so wish I could just be myself without fear, comment, or disdain. Yes, when I experience sensory overload, but also in the way I communicate, the way I perceive the world, when I rant about my special interests at length, my difficulties in social settings, all of it. I just want to be myself and not feel like I'm being punished simply for having a brain that works differently. And unfortunately, I'm probably going to remember what that horrible woman texted about me for a long time.

I posted a video describing this event, and someone left a comment that has stayed with me. Not because it bothers me, or because it hurts my feelings, no. It's stayed with me because I'm certain that this specific sentiment is shared by so many other people, and I find it quite interesting.

"Those people were just trying to travel."

My very first response to that was, well, I was just trying to travel. They didn't need to hear me screaming and sobbing? Okay, well I didn't need the airline to switch my boyfriend's seat. I didn't need the plane to be playing bad music for 30 minutes. I didn't need a baby to start shrieking just a few aisles down from me. And I definitely didn't need a heavy object to fall on top of me.

So...why does that statement not apply to me? Why don't people care about my flight experience being ruined? Why am I not extended the same empathy?

The answer is simple. Autistics are not seen as human beings. Or, at the very least, we are seen as lesser human beings. Our comfort, our safety, both physical and emotional, and our well-being, are just not held to the same standard, to the same importance, as those of allistics. They don't care about us. Worse, they actively dislike us.

I love traveling. Well, I love BEING in a different place. The getting there part has always been stressful for me. But I have never had anything like this happen before last Sunday. Never. And I'm flying back in three days...alone. Of course, I'm going to do everything in my power to prevent something like this from happening again. I really don't want to go through something like that again, especially alone. I'll have my headphones with me in addition to my ear plugs (and yes, I did have my earplugs in at the time of the meltdown so sit tf down), and I'll probably purchase the in-plane high speed wifi so I can keep myself distracted. But there is, of course, the looming fear that, sometimes, these things just happen.

I wish I could teleport.

[yautja-lover]

Headcanons of each Yautja on how they'll react to their human mate finding out that they have toe beans.

Feral Predator's Reaction:

• Unlike the others you found out during your first encounter with your Yautja mate then, latched yourself onto him quite literally.

• You went out on a camping trip with some friends and somehow managed to get separated from them while your soon-to-be mate came to earth to hunt.

• You were too busy "ooing' and 'awwing' over the natures of wildlife that you didn't even notice that you were being hunted by a large bear.

• It was when you noticed a patch of flowers and decided to help yourself on collecting some then, sat down by a tree criss-cross applesauce and hummed to yourself while making a flower crown.

• The bear that's been hunting you goes to attack but gets taken down by an unseen force.. the Feral Predator, as the two predators wrestle. You being completely oblivious and being way too focused on making yourself a flower crown.

• It wasn't until you heard splashing noises was what alerted you and caused you to stop what you were doing to turn your head and see, what all the fuss was about.

• You see this nearly eight foot humanoid sexy beast taking on a large bear with it's bare hands, just staring at this strong specimen.. you could just feel Martha May's character from How the Grinch Stole Christmas channeling thourgh you, this feral masked creature stired something within your core as you spoke "...those muscles.. and those abs..." while licking your lips.

• When you noticed that it was stalking towards you was when you got to your feet and of course, being a clumsy person that you are tripped over a tree branch causing you to stumble backwards and land flat on your ass with a yelp.

• The Feral Predator reached out to grab you but froze when you let out a strange ooman sound "OMG!! Look at your hand!!.." as you leaned over and grabbed his hand causing him to make his own version of 'eh' sound.

• "You have toe beans!!" you exclaimed, excitedly causing Feral to cock his head both confused and curious 'what's a toe bean?' he wondered "You must've been the cutest little thing, as a baby?!"

• Feral makes an offensive growl, when he heard you say the word "little" and thought 'did this ooman just call me a pup?' his thoughts were interrupted when you pressed your face... further into his hand? 'What's the ooman doing, now?'

• You couldn't help but gently nuzzle your face into his hand causing him to purr, like a huge a kitty cat.. 'does he have them underneath their feet too' you wondered.

• You being the curious person that you are, make an attempt to lift up his foot to inspect your curious thoughts.. causing him to growl in warning but lift up his foot for you, just as curious as you to see what your up to 'oomans are so strange' he thought.

• You make that same strange ooman sound again, like before "OMG!! You have them underneath your feet, too!!" you all but gushed out while latching yourself on his other leg, like a kola bear causing him to stumble back a bit.

• The next thing you know, he's trying to shake you off of him but you just wouldn't budge.. climbing up his leg, like it's a damn tree trunk expecting him to give you a piggyback ride and gave his ass a nice little slap with a shout "Onward, my good chap!"

• Taking-off with a startled roar before giving you a 'really?' look for slapping his ass but then you realized that you left your flower crown behind.. so you grab hold a few of his tresses and pulled to get him to stop, like using reins on a horse.

• Causing him to roar once again while stopping in his tracks, so fast that you fell off.. he whips around to face you clicking and growling, angrily while motioning with his hands, very sternly as if saying "DO. NOT. TOUCH. THE. HAIR."

• Doing his best to ignore the feeling in his groin, as he warns the ooman not to do that again causing you to raise your hands up in surrender earning a pleased purr from him.

• Feral watches you, intensely as you go back for the flower crown that you made.. you were about to put on but then, you decided to give it to him instead.

• Feral cocked his head to the side with a series of curious clicks, as he spoke in his own language "A gift? A gift, for me?" before accepting your gift with a trilled-pur.

• You rushed over to the patch of flowers while he admires your gift before turning his attention back to you, as you make another one similar to his and rushed back over.. then show, him that you place it on top of your head.

• Feral than gifts you with a skull from the large bear, that he just killed earlier.

• Which leads up to you two having a wild and sexy time together and discovered why he warned you about his tresses.

Scar Predator's Reaction:

• When you found out that your Yautja mate has toe beans underneath his paws, being the quiet and shy person that you are didn't gush over it..at least not verbally, so whispered, very quietly a "excuse me" before leaving the room your in.

• Your mate's two oldest brothers share a concerned look then looks at their youngest brother, a bit confused by your sudden change of mood.

• Which Scar does the most human thing in response by shrugging his shoulders, as in 'I don't know, what to tell you."

• Once you made sure that no one was following you, you rushed into the bedroom and take out your 'diary of affections' where it's dedicated to Scar.. you wrote down, how you accidentally found out that your mate has toe beans.

• Of course, Scar decided to follow you to see what you were up to and is now currently standing right behind you as you write an entry in your diary.

• He looks over your shoulder and trys to read what your writing and asks  "mi'esui, what's a toe bean?" jump-scaring you in the process causing you to scream in surprise.

• So you explain to him, what a toe bean is.. it took him a moment to process the words before he said with a pout "I'm not a yoni kat."

Wolf Predator's Reaction:

• It all started when you and your Yautja mate were comparing the size difference between the two of you, by recreating the hand scene from the Disney animated movie called Tarzan.

• Why were you recreating the hand scene from a children's movie, you ask? Well cause you would always tell your mate that 'he's the Tarzan, to your Jane.'

• Wolf would always get confused by that, so you made him watch the movie Tarzan with you explaining to him what the movie is about.. plus, how Tarzan and Wolf share certain similarities.

• Like, how a man raised by gorllias chose to be the protector of his family of gorllias and how Wolf is an Elite ranking Yautja, who chose to protect his kind.

• Or like, how Tarzan and Jane first met was, when he rescued her from getting chased by a bunch of angry baboons and how Wolf and you first met was, when he rescued you from a bunch of Xenomorphs during a 'distress call' mission.

• Of course, Wolf snorted at your comparison of a seven foot kiande amedha to a fuzzy imp but could see the similarities.

• By the end of the movie, you started singing 'Two Worlds'   "Put your faith in what you most believe in Two worlds, one family Trust your heart Let fate decide To guide these lives we see"

• Which leads up, to you two recreating the hand scene was how you found out that your mate has toe beans and started gushing over how cute he must've been as a pup.

• Which caused Wolf to get very grumpy all of a sudden and pretends to be annoyed by it "Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills." while lightly tugging on his tresses earning a growl that turned into a pleasured-purr instead.

Fugitive Predator's Reaction:

• The day that you found out that your future hybrid yautja mate who was your 'guy best friend' at the time, that he has toe beans you were teaching him how to play patty-cake.

• Why were you teaching him a kid's game, you may ask? Well he asked you 'what type of games do ooman pups play with their friends?'

• So you started naming off all kinds of games and what ages they normally played at.. of course, he then asked 'what's a pattie kake?'

• Since it was one of your favorite games, as a kid you got all excited and just HAD to demonstrate it for him.. which led to you making an excited inhuman sound, (strangely it spooked him, a bit) when you noticed that he has toe beans.

• "OMG! OMG! OMG! You DO have toe beans, you really are a giant pussy cat from outer space!!" you all but screamed out in a high-pitched voice, as he just stands there completely baffled by your reaction "You must've been the cutest little thing!" you cooed while reaching out for his clawed-hand to examine it closer.

• The next thing you know, he just starts tickling you in order to restore his yin'tekai for calling him a giant yoni kat.

Crucified Predator's Reaction:

• Cruci was teaching you how to make s'pke, when you found out that your yautja mate has toe beans.

• You weren't even paying attention to what you were doing and accidentally burned your hand on the stove, which led to Cruci fretting over you and nearly tripping himself as he rushed for his medi-chomp to search for some burning ointment.

• Once he found, what he was looking for and started applying the weird alien goo on your hand.. is how you found out that, he has toe beans.

• "OMG! OMG! OMG! Why didn't you tell me, you have toe beans?!" you asked reaching for his clawed-hand while he's trying to apply the stuff on, he may be focusing on trying to aid your burnt hand but he's trying to hide the fact that he's blushing over your affections.

• HIS sweet and affectionate ooman mate, still cooes and praises over him even when she's in some type of pain.

• 'Paya, blessed me with such a sweet ooman mi'esui, at least something good came out after being held captive on the Game Preserve Planet' he thought to himself, as he applys the ointment on your hand while you marveled all over him.

• Making him puff out his chest, like a proud peacock and thinks to himself 'I am a worthy mate, aren't I?'

Yautja Language - English Translation:

ooman - human

mi'esui - mate

yoni - pussy

kiande amedha - hard meat (Xenomorph)

yin'tekai - honor

s'pke - Yautja fruit stew

Paya - Yautja, God of Life

[basuralindo]

You'll Have Me Rise ch.16 is up!

And I finally got to properly include Cater! (he's kind of a crossover from @terrible-eel's Trey/Cater fic!)

This time it's also featuring editing by @kamikazequail, so, if you notice an overall improvement in the polish, you know who to thank!

Also, thank you to everyone for being so supportive and patient this past week. It's been hellish, but you've all been great, and I'm glad to be able to pull back and put some time into something nice for a bit.

Now, I know I'm missing a few chapter notes that I wanted to mention on this, but I've been trying and failing to remember them since last night so I'm giving up for now (just leave a comment if you wanna hear my thoughts on something specific). Anyway the rest, as always, is under the cut

-Soooo about my "Kalim grew up around brutal assassination attempts and his only friend was a trained killer and overall he's just completely desensitized to graphic or spooky shit" theory? Slasher films must be more chill than his last family reunion,

-Hey so did I mention I love Cater and Lilia? This was my first time trying to write them, and I feel like it was clumsy, but I really wanted to show an outside view of Kalim and Jamil's dynamic through someone who's more familiar with modern human society. I feel like anyone observing these guys interact is eventually gonna experience that skincrawling dread of "something is not okay at home"

-Also yeah I imagine Jamil having the most deeply uncomfortable vibes once he's in his own environment. Like, the housewarden chambers is where he doesn't usually have to perform and mask for other people the same way, so once he drops the act a bit there's gotta be some sinister, angry detached shit under it all. Not to mention all the hostile magic woven into the area to protect Kalim. Kalim, of course, is desensitized to all this because that's just what his lifelong friend feels like. It's probably cozy

-Oh? The scarabia duo starting to develop wildly different english dialects as they spend more time with people of their choosing instead of assigned company? Big time side agenda to show an immediately perceivable metric of them growing into themselves separate of each other as time goes on? Couldn't be

-Speaking of language: I think I've mentioned before that Jamil allows himself to admit ignorance and ask questions to Azul more, because Azul always takes him seriously and doesn't try to embarrass him for not knowing a word or phrase. There's trust and respect there. With Cater he's also asking more questions because he knows Cater has been helping to tutor Kalim with some decent success, and is willing to test the waters a bit. Partially because he can barely keep up with Cater's lingo and is treating it like learning a new dialect, which he knows he'll need some help figuring out.

-Notes on their speech: Jamil focuses a little obsessively on impeccable grammar, vocab, and pronunciation in the hopes of not giving anyone more material to criticize him. He struggles more with casual lingo and slangs because of this (and not socializing much in general), and is afraid to fuck up at contractions so he tends to drop them when stressed/flustered or over text (some are easier than others, like I'm and it's vs don't and won't). Since he mostly learns from Azul lately, his speech skews even more towards formal and anachronistic. Kalim isn't that concerned with accuracy. He likes to socialize and starts up casual conversation easily, so he picks up a lot more slangs and dialectical quirks but doesn't apply himself to learning "proper" english much. He's able to navigate casual conversation well, but often fucks up at unfamiliar vocab and grammar rules, and doesn't sweat correct use of things like conjunctions so long as he can get the general point across. Cater helps him out a lot, so he picks up a lot of Cater's terminology and cadence and ends up sounding much more modern than Jamil. So, their differences in speech aren't a matter of intellect, just a difference in learning style and social values.

-So, Cater's supposed to be from the shaftlands, and his Halloween vignette mentioned moving a lot and never really fitting in, so I'm choosing to believe that he moved to the queendom of roses as a kid and had to transfer around there a bunch growing up.

-Headcanon that, because there weren't a lot of mages around the palace, and even less who would spare time to teach a servant, Jamil is mostly self taught. The result of that being a lot of kinda juryrigged practical spells that, once mastered, ended up being modified in various ways for whatever needs they could apply to. The things that weren't so self taught were mostly curses and assassin techniques passed down through his family, which also got modified over time for practicality and protecting Kalim. So a lot of his magic just feels immensely uncomfortable, like protection wards that are actually modified curses and shit like that. The rest is just very noticeably different from standard teaching, and of course Jamil doesn't want anyone to know he's invented so many of his own spells, so he downplays and straight up lies about it if asked

-Writing from Cater's perspective was a lot harder than I expected, but I really like him and wanted more of him in the story. And again, an outside perspective on this whole situation is much needed imo. Just, let someone actually look at Jamil and see that he hasn't gotten to be young yet

-The whispers movie is a reference to the Suspiria remake. The way dance is used for spells in that partially inspired Jamil's sandstorm dance in the first chapter, and it seemed like something he'd like

-Anyone: "Don't worry about it." Jamil: *Worry intensifies*

-Cater is out here holding the emotional intelligence and basic social skills of the entire school together. There wasn't a lot to go around, but he's making it work.

-I love the idea of like, between the preferential treatment and Jamil's own warped standards, his description of the octatrio and their merits being completely unrecognizable to the rest of the school. I don't think Cater would have been so encouraging if he knew who he was encouraging Jamil to give the benefit of a doubt to.

-Headcanon slightly supported by actual canon: I think Floyd has a relatively photographic memory, and he shows affection by taking note of the things that make people light up, and supporting those hobbies/interests with little relevant gifts, or just encouraging them to explore and talk about it and listening to them infodump. If it's particularly important to them he'll learn up on it enough to hold a real conversation. Since Azul and especially Jade are the type to get really deeply invested in every little detail of an interest, and he sees that Jamil seems to happily talk to both of them about that kind of thing, he figures there's a good chance Jamil would enjoy being bombarded with informative material and the like too.

-Since I'm bringing up Floyd's love language, I might as well add that I think Azul would deeply investigate to determine what someone might want from him, then try to provide it at a level above and beyond all expectations (partially driven by an obsession with proving his worth. potentially disastrous results when he misjudges what was actually wanted). Jade would give little gifts of things that a) he thinks they'd like, b) he wants to see how they'll react to, and/or c) he wants them to have because he likes the idea or aesthetic of it for them. These almost never include things they actually ask for, because it's more fun to experiment than just do something with guaranteed results. And he'd gift an overwhelming amount of these little things constantly, half because he gets a thrill out of seeing the reactions, and half because he wants the recipient to always feel the presence of his affection.

-Jamil, meanwhile, would probably show care through acts of service because it's all he knows so far (this may change over time as he heals). His hate language would be malicious compliance.

-Okay so I think Cater is absolute drunk aunt friend? I think he compulsively adopts people and drags everyone else into it and makes a whole project of helping them, and then ditches out for several weeks to have his own secret crisis. Then he pulls himself together and comes back chipper and doubles down on the project to keep his mind off of his issues because if everyone else is happy then he can fake it till he makes it. …I also think Riddle's overblot was a little traumatic and the idea of another one happening is freaking him out.

[mxvanrichten]

Van Richten's Reflection on Silas.

(Written by my partner/our DM) (I have cried like 10 times)

I do not recall anything of merit or praise about Silas upon first meeting.  I was busy with my plans whilst disguised as the “performer” Rictavio. I think I was eating dinner for the evening at The Blue Water Inn before retiring to my room upstairs that I had held for a few weeks at that point.  I was not up for conversation but feigned interest as the flamboyant corpse I was pretending to be. They spilled their activities as do-goods, carting the red-haired woman from Barovia Village to the Church.  I didn’t care to remember anything about them, as they were as good as dead, obviously brought here by the Mists of the land for the master of the realm to toy with. I had a weapon to assemble covertly. I knew there were agents of Strahd about the town of Vallaki.

After a couple of weeks of them causing ripples around town, they settled into the Inn as regular guests, like myself, so they were far too annoying and present to continue to ignore. Silas, who I suspected of being a sentient corpse due to his complexion, made clumsy passes at Rictavio.  I apparently had not played up the irritating aspects of the thief whose soul I wore enough. 

Rumors of somebody that could draw Strahd out in Krezk made it so I was held to being transport via my wagon for these now bolder do-goods.  An annoying detour to a winery they had ingratiated themselves with later and we would our collective group in Krezk.  The bold martial woman, Brandy, had been bitten by a lycanthrope on the journey.  I had possible cures at my tower hideout, but I did not want that location divulged at that time.  The decidedly-skin-crawling Abbot was to help her out.  Luckily, that was the man I was there to see, as he had been flesh-sculpting a “woman” that he would have had be a substitute for his reincarnated entitlement.  Laughable, the gaul of the glass-eyed creature.  I hid and attempted to test my new weapon prototype on the devil himself along with his chamberlain as this current crop of adventurers battled it out with raised corpses of what their future held.  Shockingly, they did not die.  Upon leaving Krezk, I was happy this group shared my disinterest in helping the simpleton populace of the village.  Surely they could scare off or kill some werewolves?  I suppose the “right” thing to do would have been to help the citizens, but I was relieved I didn’t have to abandon my walking, killing insurance for the long trip back to Vallaki. 

As the Festival of the Blazing Sun drew closer, I had info from Ez that Strahd would move on the Church to cease Ireena, his current prized pig, I had discovered.  I had taxed myself to finish the oversized crossbow for blessed water & sodium arrows; the mask I wore slipped as Silas got on my last nerve the night before the event.  His kindness had been pleasant on occasion before, but not at that moment. I failed to wound Ireena to draw the vampire to a trap at the Church, distracted by Silas’ Sendings.  The group’s fighting in the burning building, which matched much of Vallaki at that point, delayed Strahd, but not enough.  I gave up the disguise & revealed myself to the gang of injured adventurers, and left town with them for the tower.  

The days in the tower were removed from the bustle of Vallaki, and I think back on that time more fondly than it was to me at the time.  Small acts of kindness on Silas' part lended to me seeing him more like-minded to myself than I originally conceived.  A blanket over my shoulders in the morning I thought to be from my pupil Ez was Silas, I later found out.

Silas returned from the swamp ruins changed; tainted.  My arcane detentions registered half-alarms about him.  It made me sad, truly, to have to shrink away for protection.  I would later find out it was a Dark Vestige that had raised Silas from death for a pact to be drawn. Still, Silas was not slowing down in his and his ilk’s objectives, which I found to be a good quality.

It was some weeks later, after much tracking of a mystery beast in the woods north of Lake Zarovich, when I saw Silas again.  He was amid efforts to “rebuild the wall and make Vallaki great again” as the workers they were protecting kept saying.  The “beast” was a crazed mage Strahd broke before, but once again this troupe succeeded in taming the animal, who gave us a pocket dimension of sorts to rest in.  That morning, I read a confessional from Silas, on feelings he harbored for me.

For.  Me.

The emotion that won out in the whirlwind was my old stand-by: anger.  I chided Silas for useless feelings amid dangerous times.  Ez, cool headed, coerced an apology to him out of me.  I was glad to give it, but I would have rather died than express the gratitude I had for affection for me.  It was alien and terrifying.  I sat with it for some time.  To put the lame specter of emotion out of its misery, limping along as it was?

Where words failed, gifts of helping items, divulged information and magical protections were how I nursed my ability to care for someone in a positive way.

Our trip to, and stay in, the Amber Temple was cursed, truly, with Silas’ spiritual leech, named Sykane, reared his head and wishes.  I attempted horribly to offer comfort to him, though it came out as partial insults to the idiot mage Kasimir, who was traveling with us for some ignorant reason.  I kept my research on how to possibly sever Silas from his leech to myself, as futile as it was and as telling as my motivations would have been.

A last hurrah of sorts in the Mad Mage’s home broke the dam for me.  I returned affection and was given more.  Unprecedented for this rotted soul.  Though I stated Silas’ use and my praise of that, I failed in mentioning the portion of use he was to my mangled heart.  It felt relieving for it to be in the open.  A weight lifted, in the last moments before Ravenloft and death.  My arcane explosive was growing less and less a final and glorious “out” for me.  I had come to Barovia to die.  To keep busy and go in a blaze loud enough to distract me from the echo inside me, hollow as I was. A mutual magical shield against death between us was…welcome.

Welcome and unwelcome.  What use do the damned have for affection? 

As it turns out, I would not know, for I was…am not damned.  The castle was ruined, Strahd struck down, and the dark power behind him uprooted and crushed.  Unbelievable. To this day, unbelievable.  I have happiness most days now, whether it’s in a repurposed haunt in Vallaki (now in the realm of Fearun) or stocked personal library in Waterdeep, a coastal bastion of proper civilization.  I owe that happiness to Silas. His apt mind and boundless ability to give selflessly.  His respectable command of magic and his willingness to imagine me underneath the shit and dirt around my soul.  To laugh in a public place and be okay with that vulnerability is something I never thought I would do again.

I now know indeed that I love the cleric of Kelemvor, liberator of Barovia, and archaeologist of my long-buried self, Silas Xavier.  Our official joining is on the horizon.  So much LIFE is present for me now.  I am haunted still, but every day spent in this existence of content puts distance between me and those dark decades.

[railingsofsorrow]

Truth

[peter parker x reader]

summary: peter kept you like a secret but you kept him like an oath.

pairing(s): p.parker x f!reader; h.osborn x f!reader

w.c: 4.4K

warnings/content: the pain was supposed to be unbearable but I kind of had a change of heart last minute; canon is a joke here more or less; lots of crying lots of apologies lots of heartache; the Talk ™ happens; foul language; minor violence; tw!flashbacks; yelling (arguments); tw!no harry in this one :(; some fluff? just a bit.

A/N: third installment of broken promises. so, at first this was supposed to be the last chapter but my mind gave me ideas and I'm just going to follow it. next chapter will be an epilogue. enjoy!

navi

masterpost

series masterlist

[1] [1.2] [2] [3] [4]

❝ And there were are again when nobody had to know.

You kept me like a secret,

but I kept you like an oath. ❞

A zoom of red and black flashed through your tangential vision and you made a sound of exasperation from deep within your throat.

“Are you pissed that I saved you?” Spideman teased, swaying in one of his webs as he followed after you without much concern. You were doing a great job at ignoring him, until you noticed you had no idea where you were going anymore. You halted, surveying the area with raised eyebrows. You have never ever been to this side of the city. “Lost, aren't we?”

“Shut up, webs.”

The wind suddenly went still. The sky was preparing to release heavy streams of a thunderstorm, everything was gray as clouds swerved together, taunting you. You didn't have an umbrella, you didn't even put on anything other than a thin blouse as you left your dorm. That was just so fucking great. Is the universe playing you? You think it was.

“What did you say?”

You froze, remembering you weren't alone.

“I told you to shut up—”

Spiderman landed in front of you causing you to stumble back in surprise. “Yes but what did you call me?” the voice almost wrecked you all over again. And you knew you had to get out of there. Get away from him. “Where are you— Wait!” You yanked your arm away when he attempted to pull you back. The eyes of the mask widened slightly. He wasn't expecting that reaction.

“Don't touch me.”

“I'm sorry,” The hero tried, softly, “I didn't mean to upset you I just— You called me exactly how someone used to call me.”

Peter. How can you be so dense?

“What do you want from me?” You snapped, striding towards him as he backed away lightly. “Need me to kneel in honor of your saving grace? Thank you, oh great Spiderman. I would be nothing without you—”

“What's your problem?” He didn't know where that hostility came from. What had he done to make you this mad? That had been the first time he appeared as Spiderman to you. He can't remember doing anything bad to make you... hate him like this.

“My problem, webs,” You made sure to emphasize the old nickname you used to call him. “Is that I've been lied to for an entire year. And I don't appreciate being made a fool.”

So this is why you're crying. He thought. Someone hurt you.

He had caught onto your red-rimmed eyes the moment he pushed you to the sidewalk to stop the car from literally hitting you. Yes, alright. Peter made a vow to take some distance from you. But the partnered project wasn't his doing, neither was your clumsiness while crossing the street. He had to do something. Spiderman duty and all. No, he was not watching you beforehand. He didn't do that.

Not all the time.

Rain started pouring down in small drops. It was only a matter of minutes until it increased.

“You're lost.” He grimaced when you groaned because he was still following you. “Let me take you wherever you want to go. It's going to start raining heavily soon.”

“I'm not lost,” you replied, pathetically holding onto your scarf. The one you planned to burn not a few minutes ago but now it gave you a sense of security. “You can go save somebody else.”

“I'm not leaving you alone.”

You picked up your pace, turning your back to him again. “Why not? You've done it before.”

What.

What?

“I've never seen you before,” He succeeded in matching your fast strides, eyes studying your frame for any indication of the reason why you had said that. As far as you knew, Spiderman hadn't crossed paths with you. Peter had.

You stopped. He could see your shoulders tensing and your hands gripping tightly the objects on them. His eyes only now detected the scarf and a worn out cover book.

“If you've never seen me before, then how come you know my name?”

Peter felt his insides turning cold. “I don't.”

The expression you wore told him otherwise. As if you were one step ahead of him in a game of tag. Your head tilted as you stared him up and down. “You're not a very good liar.”

Something in what you said irked Peter. That single sentence, filled up with such certainty that had him tripping over his own head. What exactly did that mean?

“Goodbye, Spiderman.”

His eyes squinted as he could finally see what was in your hand other than the scarf. That wasn't a book. That was a photo album. Not just a photo album.

In a bold move, he wrapped an arm around your waist and swept you up with him. You didn't scream, but a choked up sound came out of your throat in surprise. He heard a curse on his ear as your arms gripped his shoulders tight.

“Fuck— What the fuck, Peter!” You pushed him. He didn't move an inch, it didn't even hurt. He was too immersed in what you said — what you called him to do anything else other than stare at you. “I told you I hated it when you did that without warning!” You pushed him again, both hands this time, and he stepped back, blinking. Your anger was in the palm of your hands and the way your face turned red.

None of you gave much thought about the rain.

“You absolutely fool!” You croaked out, hitting his shoulder in an attempt to inflict a chip of the pain he had inflicted on you. “You never listen. Never—”

Everything that his brain could think was she remembers she remembers she remembers. He took ahold of one of your hands, but you kept punching his chest with the other. The photo album and the scarf were forgotten on the rooftop, somewhere you didn't care nor did it matter.

He said your name. You pushed him one last time before a sob broke out of your lips. It seemed to have come from deep down your chest, so much pain. Peter’s throat closed up.

She remembers she remembers she remembers she remembers

How?

“Breathe.” He said softly, when he finally got the chance to approach you without you squirming away. “Please, breathe.” His hesitation in touching you was transparent, it was like he didn't know what to do anymore after years of knowing it with eyes closed. When you let yourself be held by him, face buried in his chest, it was like nothing had changed at all. Peter guided you through an old breathing exercise you had all of your life for anxious situations. Rubbing a hand against your back. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, lips pressed against your forehead. Jaw clenching so he could stop his own crying. He couldn't do that. Not now. He didn't have time. You would run away at any second. “I'm so sorry.”

“Get me out of here,” you ordered, running a hand through your face as you sniffled. You leaned away from him albeit reluctantly. Your body was so used to his touch. He was so warm. So safe.

He took off his mask, feeling weird that he kept using it until now. He didn't even realize. “Can we please talk?”

“So, you'll lie again?” You replied halfheartedly, grabbing your belongings that were safely tucked isolated from the rain. Not your doing.

Peter trailed closer to you, “I won't. I promise.”

You laugh without humor, turning to look at him, “You've promised before, Peter. You've made so many promises and not once have you kept a single one.”

He ran a hand through his already disheveled curls, exhaling with difficulty. “Please. Please, I—” You are right. I'm an idiot. I'm a liar. I'm a mess. But please, don't go. Please. “I can tell you everything. Let me explain.”

You shouldn't have agreed.

Now you were sitting in his apartment, at the edge of his bed, afraid of moving. Afraid of breathing. There were so many memories and none at all. That place didn't exactly mean anything to you. But it brought back the past — what happened, who was gone — you could barely blink without a flashback resurfacing.

That's another thing. Your memories weren't supposed to come back at all. Strange's spell should have made sure of that. He made everyone forget who Peter Parker was because of all of that mess he created. Yes, Stephen did create that whole mess about the multiverse. How would you explain letting four teenagers deal with an identity reveal and wrongful accusations by themselves?

You swore the Avengers only cared about themselves. Even before Thanos happened. The world is ending: well, Captain America isn't available at the moment. He must be taking a long shit.

They were always busy when Peter needed help.

You were overcompensating again. Blaming people who shouldn't be blamed. Or maybe they should, but not for the reason you were suffering. Not right now.

“Coffee?”

Peter had changed from his superhero uniform to jogger pants and a dark blue jumper. His messy hair pointed all around and he didn't help by moving his fingers through it at every five minutes. That's his tell for being nervous.

Or has that changed, too?

His question came back to you and you saw the way he hesitated.

Peter was fighting his mind on whether he should've offer you the cup or leave it on the dinner table so you could grab it yourself. He feared you might throw it on him. With the burning hot liquid.

He'd probably deserve it.

You took it from his hands, your fingers brushing slightly. You quickly drawled back to the bed, eyes shifting through the small apartment. That was nothing like his room back at May's place. God, it was so hard not to go back. May Parker. What must Peter feel without her?

He's on his own.

Alone.

In this gray apartment, lifeless surroundings. No pictures on the wall, nothing hanging from the keychain. His keys were thrown on a bowl by the door.

Pursing your lips, you could feel the extra sweetened taste of the coffee. Honey. He remembers how you took your coffee. Why has your taste not changed? It should have. It's been a year.

It's been a year and he still remembers how you take your coffee.

“You said you would explain.” You spoke after a large sip of the coffee. Your tongue was burning. Good, that's what you wanted. “So, explain.”

Peter took a deep breath and started talking. As he started detailing everything, the fog in your mind disappeared little by little, acquiring scenes and colors to each respective memory. It finally felt as if your mind was yours, not someone else's memories and stories that you had made up. The migraines made sense. It was your past knocking and knocking but you didn't have the key to open the door, now you did.

You didn’t know for how long he kept on talking, until he broke the silence.

“Say something.”

Your heavy stare to the dark liquid in the cup drifted to his eyes, he was staring this whole time, a desperate kind of gaze. Before you let out a response to everything he said, an object caught your attention.

“Ned gave you that.” You said, narrowing your eyes at the small lego figure. Your lips breaking into a grin. “We were at what, freshman year?”

Peter watched you take the toy quietly, something filling his chest with warmth at the way you were smiling. He saw it before. It was what he sought for after a bad day, having you smiling like that at him made him forget any problem from his double life.

“You know, that was like a good luck charm to him. He gave it to you because he knew you'd never lose it.” His gaze fell to his hands, one of his fingers was bandaged poorly. He'd tried to cook and, well, he was a mess. He's a mess in everything. “Peter.” He didn't look up. He couldn't.

His mind flashed with your first real argument. It felt like that same moment all over again. And it was his fault, always his fault.

“I just— Peter, I can't, I can't lose you again. If you go and don't come back I don't know what I'll do—”

He didn't really listen, did he? Those words should've been more important, But he was desperate then and he was desperate when Strange told him everyone would forget who he was. You needed to be safe. And all of the people he cared about needed to forget about him for that to happen.

“I will come back,” he said seriously, tilting his head to meet your eyes, “I promise you I'll come back, okay?”

“You promised before.”

How many promises had he broken?

“Peter,” you said, tone softer than the one you had used before. All of that might have been breaking you but you had no idea what Peter had gone through by himself. His intentions were the best ones possible, you knew that. That boy could never hurt you on purpose. But he made a mistake and he was already suffering for it, that was no point in you adding to it. Your heart clenched at the sobs he was giving out. You wrapped your arms around him slowly, ignoring the way your body reacted to him – as if it missed his touch and it was finally home. His face buried into the soft fabric of your shirt, tears staining it instantly as he hugged your waist.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he let out in a broken voice, tightening his hold around you as if he feared you were going to take off at any second. You should. You really should. He didn't deserve you. He doesn't believe he ever did.

By the time he stopped crying, the two of you had settled on the floor, cross-legged in front of each other. Your phone was vibrating incessantly on your purse, but you didn't move to grab it.

“You can take it.” He sniffled, giving you a soft smile. “It's alright.”

“What are you going to do now?” You asked, ignoring what he said.

“I— I don't know.” He blinked at you. “I didn't expect you to...”

“That wasn't supposed to happen.” A crease formed between your browns. “You didn't plan on telling me, ever, did you?”

He stayed silent and you took that as an answer.

“Why do you keep doing this?” You croaked out. “I've loved you all my life but nobody has ever hurt me like you have, Peter.”

Letting out a shaky breath, he nodded, “I know. I know.” His eyes danced through your features, you had a kind of look he's seen before. Only this time was worse, because there was nothing that indicated you'd ever forgive him. If you choose to walk away, he wouldn't blame you. It's what he deserved. It's what he deserved back then, too. “I never meant to hurt you. But I lost everything, if I lost you—”

“You chose to lose me!” You exclaimed. “You chose to not make me remember— at the edge of the Statue of Liberty, when it had all crumbled down? Do you remember promising me? Was it all just a lie?” The last part was a broken whisper. You couldn't handle being angry at him anymore. That was exhausting.

“No.” He said quickly. “No, it wasn't just a lie. I loved you. I still—”

“Don't finish that sentence.”

“I do,” He reached for one of your hands but you drew it back, averting his gaze. He inhaled sharply as if physically pained him. “I still love you. I don't know what love is without you.” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “And you have every reason to not forgive me. You have every right to— to hate me. But I love you more than anything in my life. You have to trust me on this.”

The coffee had turned cold, you had let it settle on the coffee table and forgotten about it over the hour you've been talking. More than one hour — you noticed, taking a look at the ticking clock on the wall.

You missed when being around Peter made time go by fast that you didn't even realize because you were having the best moments of your life.

That's the feeling it was supposed to remain. Not heartache. Not regret.

I love you too, Peter. That never changed.

“Okay.” His neck snapped from how fast he turned to look up at you.

“What?”

“I said, it's okay, Peter.” Your tone was not harsh, farther from it, actually. But your throat was closing up and you really didn't want to start crying again. You knew this time you wouldn't be able to stop. You were also tired. Not knowing if you could trust the love of your life because of the choices he kept on making. Looking into his eyes and seeing that same person you fell for but his actions said otherwise. A sigh fell from your lips as your phone vibrated again. “I can't fight with you anymore.” You replied, letting it ring for the tenth time. Whoever it was would have to wait, you needed to let some things out of your chest first. “Not about this, not about anything else. I'm tired. And I'm—I'm hurt.” His knuckles turned white from how strong he was holding his own coffee cup. It wasn't anger but fear. Peter feared for what you were about to say. If it was what he was thinking... “I don't believe your promises.” You said, not cowering under his gaze.

That's it — Peter thought. — I'm losing you forever.

This is how your story ends: pages filled with tears and heartbreak that overcame years of soft love and good memories.

It's only fair. But at the same time, no. It isn't. All of that can't be destroyed.

Peter is so conflicted. He's a determined kid, you see. Ever since a child he was obsessed with starting things and finishing them. May always told him he got that from his father. That's how he knows, from the moment he first laid his eyes on your crinkled smile, that he'd never let you go. He'd never hurt you to drive you away, that's a vow he took silently, to himself.

He broke that, too. Peter didn't deserve it, that much he knew. But was he supposed to let you go exactly like he did in the past? Is he supposed to make the same mistake he did back then?

Is he supposed to keep breaking his promise?

“But I do forgive you.” His breath hitched. And all of the things he was planning to say to beg you to stay were thrown out of the window of his beaten up apartment. “I don't think I could ever—” you shook your head, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards in a sad smile. “I don't think I could ever hold a grudge over you. It's you, Peter.” When you faced him there was something in his eyes you recognized and you made the choice to let it linger there for a while longer.

“You don't have to.” Peter said. “To forgive me, I mean. I don't deserve it and it's okay if you don't.”

You hummed quietly, cracking under his stare and looking away. “You're special to me,” you paused, not understanding where this would lead. It was up to your heart now. A dangerous path. “And I can't say I don't forgive you when I do. Maybe not completely now...” the look you gave him made him convey the words you weren't able to say. “But I will. Someday.”

There was nothing that Peter desired more in the world than to hold you. But he lost that right.

Fuck, he lost everything, didn't he?

“You can get it.” He stared at your empty coffee cup. His ears picked up on the incessant vibration of your cell since the first time it started. “It's probably important.” He gave you a half smile. You exhaled frustratedly but stood up to get the phone call and talk to whoever needed you that fast.

Hi, Harry.

He chose to ignore the tug at his heart and focus on the hairs in his arms going up. Danger.

He watched from his window five police cars racing down the avenue.

“Hey, so,” he drifted his attention away from the scene in the streets to you, who was munching on your lower lip. That's your conflicted tell. “MIT kinda has a Spiderman worthy threat right now.”

“The police can take care of it.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“What have you done to Peter Parker? He'd never say something like that.” His lips curled in an amused grin. Was that an expression different from the forlorn one you usually saw in him? It's been so long that you've seen that glint in Peter's eyes. Life. Happiness. The world was just cruel like that. “Leave it to the police? Where is the friendly neighborhood with witty remarks? He saved my ass plenty of times and canceled dates to save others and you're telling me to leave it to the police?”

The room seemed lighter. Maybe the conversation cleared up some things, the tension was almost gone now.

Peter folded his arms across his chest to pretend his ears weren't ringing with the radio on his room. You didn't need superhuman hearing to hear it, it was loud enough.

“I have priorities right now,” he said, sitting down on his bed at your previous spot, his hand smoothing down the wrinkled mattress. You could see — you knew — he was craving to go out there. That was his instinct, his calling. When you released everything you needed to say, you didn't mean that he should stop being himself. That he should hold back a part of him. Because that wouldn't be fair.

“Yes, you do.” You sit down beside him and he watched as your hands almost touched. “Your priority is at MIT, probably destroying some buildings. If they touch an inch of my dorm room I will hunt you down, Parker.” His eyes raised to yours in a confused expression. Your chest heaved out in a long sigh before you laid your palm on the back of his hand. “I don't need you to choose a part of you because of me. I don't need you to choose between anything.”

Peter Parker, a biophysics undergraduate student whose favorite place is certainly the science laboratory, because that's where you always find him. He has the kindest eyes you've ever met and he has trouble focusing on class — on anything, sometimes — because of his ADHD. And well, part of that is also because of his crime fighting agenda.

Because, Peter Parker is also Spiderman. He dresses up in red and black and makes his webs out of scratch. He's got terrible jokes, he tries to disguise his voice around his friends — but he's awful at it — and he'd do everything in his power to protect the people he cares about.

They are one but they are two different people, it's not that hard to understand.

It's not your job to make him choose, it's not anyone's job to make him choose between Spiderman or Peter Parker, really. That's just something you've come to terms with even before all of that happened.

It doesn't become easier.

But you love both and you won't settle for less than whole. Peter shouldn't either.

“Just...” you trailed off, missing the words. The warmth of your bodies was closing in and you lost your train of thought. It was a foreign feeling and so familiar at the same time.

“Let's start over, how about that?” You couldn't reset time, that much was clear. And never in a million years would you want to erase having met Peter from your mind. No. He was a part of your heart you could never take back. And you didn't want to. It was his to bear. “I'm Y/N,” you then offered your hand to him to which he stared at it with a blank expression.

Start over.

He wouldn't be able to let go of everything that you lived together, but he didn't have to, right? Starting over at least didn't mean you'd pull away from him completely.

Start over.

That could be good. If that's the only chance he's getting, he won't miss it.

“Hello, Y/N. I'm Peter,” he said, holding your hand as electric currents ran through the spot. Your touch, he missed it like no other. Start over. “Aren't you my computation partner?” his attempt to joke didn't go unnoticed by you, it pulled a smirk at the corner of your mouth.

“I think so. You do look fairly alike to my partner so...”

Both of you let out snickers. You stepped away first, awkwardly clearing your throat. “You should go. People need you.”

Peter opened and closed his mouth three times before you asked him to spit it out.

“Can we do this again?” His eyes widened comically. “Not—not this. I mean, talk. Just, just talk. As... friends—we can be friends, can't we?”

You hummed, smiling softly. “Yeah, Peter. We can be friends.”

If that's all that I can get, that's what I'll take.

It's a start.

His heart was hers so he didn't mind which way she had it. If it was platonically, then that'd be it.

Project partners, lab buddies... He had a long way to go. But if there's one thing Peter Parker is known for is that he never gives up. And if there's one thing Spiderman is known for... is that he'll try his best to not hurt anyone he loves — again.

Now, both of their main tasks is to keep promises. Neither Peter nor Spiderman will fail this time. Not again.

[defnotjarlaxle]

Midnight Revelations (Fanfiction)

Legend of Drizzt, Jarlaxle, unnamed elven lady, Fantasy

-A few hours before-

As he sat at the grand table aboard his ship, the Eyecatcher, engaged in conversation with the group of adventurers he had chosen to align with, a subtle sense of unease crept over him.

Disguised as a dashing human captain, he found himself on the receiving end of numerous compliments and even observed two of the adventurers attempting to flirt with him. Yet, for Jarlaxle, something felt amiss.

Although he made a clumsy attempt to reciprocate the flirtation, particularly directed at the reserved elven woman he had taken a liking to, he couldn't ignore the unfamiliar sensation of nervousness that welled up within him. This was unlike Jarlaxle, who typically exuded confidence in all his romantic endeavors. It was at that moment that he hatched a plan to attend the shipwrights' ball scheduled for that very evening.

By securing invitations for the entire adventuring party, he ensured they would all be present. Yet, beneath the surface, he acknowledged the profound opportunity that this gathering presented to privately connect with the demure elven lady who had piqued his curiosity.

-At the masquerade-

Stepping into the opulent masquerade hall, Jarlaxle had abandoned his human disguise, opting for authenticity.

He positioned himself at the upper entrance, atop the grand staircase, affording him an advantageous view of the surroundings. Scanning the bustling crowd, he swiftly located the subject of his affection. His mind raced through various approaches, but before he could settle on a strategy, her gaze met his, and she began ascending the stairs.

Without hesitation, Jarlaxle made his way toward her. As they drew near, he gracefully extended his hand, gallantly addressing her, "An enchanting evening, my lady, wouldn't you agree?" With a courteous flourish, he placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. Then, with a charming smile, he posed the question, "Might you do me the honor of sharing a dance?" Her approving nod filled him with anticipation and delight.

They danced the night away, following Jarlaxle's carefully orchestrated plan, until the clock struck midnight. At that precise moment the masks adorning the masquerade guests lost their enchantments and dissolved into nothingness. Just before this transformation, Jarlaxle guided his dancing partner to a secluded balcony.

She briefly scanned the room, taking in the bewildered nobles of Waterdeep who were scrambling to conceal their true identities, but her focus soon returned to Jarlaxle.

His heart fluttered as her gaze locked onto him, and he couldn't help but smile.

Leaning against the balcony railing, they engaged in light conversation about the delightful chaos they got to witness.

Then, with a genuine warmth in his voice, Jarlaxle complimented her, "You know, without the mask, you're even more captivating. I didn't think that was possible. I would love to meet you again."

Her response was unexpected but not surprising to Jarlaxle. The woman transformed into the female Gith form she typically assumed. Unfazed, he maintained his smile and said, "You're beautiful, no matter which form you choose."

In that fleeting moment, she noticed her fellow adventurers required her presence and left Jarlaxle behind, offering one final smile.

As she departed, his smile wavered for a brief moment, replaced by a profound realization. His heart raced, and he knew with absolute certainty that he loved her. He was willing to go to great lengths to have her by his side, to protect her, regardless of the cost.

[comvi]

this, is a vulture. They are air predators with wings. They will spawn off the map and look down at they're prey to hunt them Flying down they will grab all types of shit. including lizards Though intimidating, Vultures are somewhat cowardly and often retreat after taking only 2-3 spear hits before running away, stealing your spears. If you can get one in time 9-11 spear hits to kill fully.

your warning of them coming are shadows.

attempting to run is bad

they will block your way and snatch you Just like lizards, they have a lethal bite chance giving you the time to escape. They will kill anyone and anything. but they ignore green lizards, and will run from red lizards (But... they dont give up that easy.)

They hold a very cool item you sche... see that mask? yeah its just a mask not apart of they're body. THAT. can be stolen

and what may this mask do..? Well... not gona tell u justtt yet but lets say its a warding signal for everything...(but...red lizards)

^ un masked

^ a REALLY rare albino vulture

honestly a part of me thought they might be a bit clumsy because of how much they flop around in the air with their wings, but i feel like i was VERRYY mistaken after reading this

im guessing these are the types of predators/enemies you HAVE to fight, whether you want to/can afford to, or not. like you said- if you run, youre basically dead nomatter what. Theyre so big you CANT get infront of them. so you HAVE to try to scare em off with spears!

the only thing i can really think of that might prevent an encounter is hiding under something/hiding somewhere they cant access, but thats probably either not a function in rainworld, or just EXTREMELY hard to come across a place/opportunity like that.

man. I just know that if spears are included in the trading system of rw, these guys must SUCK to encounter. i dont know if you have to craft spears, find them in places, or anything else but either way, you spent all that time bringing a spear over to trade with a guy ONLY FOR THAT HUGE GUY FORCING YOU TO USE EM ALL!!! I know that would be ENDLESSLY frustrating LOL

and actually, a few times in the past, ive seen pictures of slugcats wearing masks. wondered where they got em & why they use them, i just didnt know they belonged to VULTURES, THESE GUYS!!! And that they have warding abilities for. Literally every enemy ‘sept for one!!

unmasked vultures also look very silly. they look like theyre thinking “whoopsy daisy, that wasnt meant to happen”. weirdly snail-like to me too? not completely sure why but they really remind me of snails when un-masked

+ i think my favourite colour variation of these strange fellows are orange, pink, and ofCOURSE albino!! Orange since they remind me of solar eclipses, pink because. i mean its such a pretty pink. can never go wrong with pink.. and albino because they seem so oddly “delicate” in an almost morbid way. they look sort of ethereal & gorgeous to me, but knowing that they would attempt to kill me with no hesitation puts me off on using that label for em

[mara-xx217]

So... this might be very yandere-ish and dub-con so please ignore if ur not ok with that but like... Reader is terrified, so they hide in a locker- but of course killer finds them there- BUT instead of picking them up, they take a chance to get hand-sy since they trapped themself so nicely for them? I love how Wesker waves his finger at you when he finds you- so cocky! I just want him to find reader, crowd them in the locker and both touch and kiss them all over- reader moaning and wimpering~

Not okay with it?! This is my SHIT, kind Anon!

Warnings: Non/Dubcon, Yandere, Mommy Kink, Stalking

You were too easy to trap. In a panic you've locked yourself in a situation you couldn't possibly escape from. Even from several feet away, the killer could hear your wheezing breaths as you struggled to hide your fear.

They waited until you had fallen quite before he ripped the door of the locker open.

You couldn't even scream. You choked on your heart when it leapt into your throat. The fear you felt was more claustrophobic than the locker you were trapped inside. Unable to move, unable to even cry, you stare up at the killer, owlishly, with your eyes wide with terror and glistening from unfallen tears.

When the killer tenses, your heat drops to your feet.

W-What was-...?

Evan Macmillan/the Trapper

Nowhere to run, darling...

He towers over you, broad and reeking of bitter metals and rotted wood. You flatten yourself against the back of your prison, appearing even smaller than you already felt.

Will it be fast..?

No, of course it wouldn't be so. A calloused hand smooths over your tear-stained cheek before trailing down to your jaw, crushing it in his vice-like grip.

Your lip trembled as you inhaled sharply, hiccuping as a sob threatened to slip past your partially pursed lips.

A large, warm hand traveled up your torso. From your navel all the way to one side of your chest, pressure placed upon you slowly increased, until you cringed away and squeaked as one of your nipples were pinched.

He chuckled.

A slut, just like the rest...

Philip Ojomo/the Wraith

You could only see the faint outline of his invisible cloak. It was dark- too dark!- and now you're at the mercy of something that you can't even see!

The panic you couldn't hide only made you more tantalizing for the Wraith. Even the slightest touch sent you backwards or to the side, your back and shoulders bouncing off the metal walls of the locker with a hollow BANG!

Everywhere he touched, cold moisture followed. Like condensation on a sweating glass or fresh morning dew it collected on your skin, chilling you to the bone.

Something popped- or cracked- then a wet, slimy strip was licked from the corner of your mouth to the lobe of your ear. You attempted to withdraw from- what?- the killer? The situation? It only gave him more room to crowd you inside the locker.

When a set of bony fingers tickled down your navel and into the waistband of your pants, you whimper.

The Wraith will make you scream before he's done with you.

Anna/the Huntress

The little Lamb has nowhere else to frolic to...

She wipes away your tears, smudging your face with dirt and blood. Nothing a bath won't fix... But first-

The Huntress couldn't resist in admiring her new catch. Small. Timid. Frightened, even, but that can easily be remedied!

A clumsy kiss was placed on your forehead. The chill of a wooden mask was all you felt. Smooth and unyielding.

Strong arms snake underneath your own, first bringing you close in a sort of awkward embrace before lifting you by your armpits, out of the locker and high off the ground.

You have no choice other than to let Mama take care of you...

Danny Johnson/Ghostface

A terrible position to be found in by, perhaps, the worse of the worst in this hellscape.

"Oh-HO! It's like you wanted me to find you!" Tears and snot threatened to overflow as you choked on a sob. You grimaced, setting your jaw as you prepared for the worst.

"Aww... What's with the face, sweetheart? That's no way to treat your biggest fan!"

You shake off his attempts to grab your face. Ghostface settles on grabbing a fistful of your hair instead.

"What? Playing hard to get? Don't be a fucking tease." He brushes the tip of his knife against the button of your pants.

You suck in a lungful of air in a vain attempt to create some distance between you and him. The killer cuts through the fabric of your pants with ease. Your eyes grow wide as the severity of your situation hits you as hard as the metal paneling of the locker your head was slammed into.

"Don't play games you know you can't win. It's unbecoming of you."

Albert Wesker/the Mastermind

You silly child... Did you really think you could hide from him? No, no... you're being absolutely ridiculous now.

Whatever is he to do with you...?

You follow the motion of his finger as he clicks his tongue at you. The knife that is plunged into the walls of the locker mere inches from your head sobers you. It would be an appropriate time to faint.

Cries of disgust are strangled as tendrils slither out of his coat's arm. Warm wet-! Some wrap around your neck, lazily looping over one another as others slither southward, down your shirt and lower, lower-

"Hmph. Perhaps seven minutes isn't enough time..." He muses.

A leather clad thumb flicks over your chapped lips. You fight the urge to sob. It easily presses past your teeth and traps your tongue against the floor of your mouth.

You gagged as a particularly curious tentacle slides into your mouth, exploring it eagerly as the killer placed more pressure onto your tongue.

"Drooling suits you nicely, little dove. Keep your mouth wide, just like that..."

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire

If you like this, try this Ghostface fic!

[sourstars]

simplicity | itadori yuuji.

established relationship (married), mentions of food + getou, nobara, megumi and gojo.

not proofread! please tell me if you’ve found any mistakes, thank you!

For being your my-life-is-totally-together roommate, Itadori is notorious for losing track of time.

Two jobs and class—you don’t know how he manages it but he steps into your early bird rhythm seamlessly, passing you your toothbrush while he does his routine.

You’re a little jealous, knowing even in the morning he looks like he’s all put together; pajamas with wrinkles—his plain white tank top and some basketball shorts, a bright yellow headband with bear ears, and yet he still looks like if someone handed him a sword, he’d go to battle.

(Ever the fighting spirit, this one.)

The face mask he smushes across his face is terrifyingly green. So much so that when you walk in, eyes bleary as you attempt to ignore the irritating florescent light of the bathroom, the double take isn’t enough, you’re staring.

“Good morning, wicked witch of the west.” Your side eye remains as your hands are clumsy trying to squeeze the toothpaste out, eventually letting it drop onto the bristles. You listen as he shuffles, squeezing in behind you at the sink, limbs bumping into each other. “Boo, get your own bathroom, you’re too close,”

In the reflection, you catch him rolling his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I would have my own bathroom if you moved out,”

You raise a brow. “So you do want me to move out? I knew it, I’m telling Nobara.” Beginning to brush, you pause in between running the bristles over the flat of your tongue briefly before you catch his eye in the mirror. “You’re stuck with me. Besides, who else will wake up and open the door in the middle of the night?”

“Megumi.”

“He’d leave you out there for the hour and throw some snacks out of the front window.”

“Then it would be Nobara.”

Scooping up some of the water with your palms, you rinse your mouth, swiping your hand down the front of your face and cleaning your brush. “She would leave you out there, point blank,”

“And we’re under the assumption that Satorou would…”

“Not even be home, yes.” Dropping your now clean toothbrush into the designated ‘teeth cup’, as he calls it, you place your palms onto the curve of the sink, watching as Itadori moves behind you, letting his arms wrap around you to turn the sink on and wash his hands. “You’re lucky I love you more than them and let you in every single time,”

“Ah, yes,” You can hear the mirth in his voice, “where would I be without you?”

“Probably be in a ditch, biting off people’s fingers like some rabid animal,”

Itadori laughs then, a sound you can only compare to something short of a gong; that loud, echoing type of laughter that makes your knees shake and ears ring, the type that sends vibrations all through your blood.

(His laughter is like the sea; endless, deep, forever.

Itadori Yuuji has always had a knack for becoming something beyond someone’s comprehension, but a thing they love anyway; like music, like dreams, like art.)

“Is that some sick way of telling me not to bite the hand that feeds me because you’re cooking tonight?”

“You know,” You tap a finger to your chin playfully, savoring the moments that pass. “I didn’t even think of that. Actually, order out tonight,”

“Shameful—maybe I’ll order from Getou’s Cooking Curses. His spring rolls are so good I could pass away a happy man,”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” He stops, turning the tap to the sink to the right, making the water cold before he stills, keeping like a statue for a few moments before he lunges in for the kill.

He gathers up what water he can, splashing it against the front of your shirt as you yelp, his arms caging you in. He’s got you grappled, his head dipped low so his cheek is next to yours and he brings it in closer, making them touch skin to mask.

“Yuuji, no! You’re getting your overpriced products all over me,” Squirming for a minute in his arms, you flop over. “Maybe if I play dead long enough, you’ll let me live my life in peace,”

“In peace? Never that. Look up,”

When you do, Yuuji is smiling; pearly whites against ogre green and even though he looks ridiculous—even though the entire situation is ridiculous and you are in love with your roommate and he is the bane of your existence, you can’t help but join him.

Itadori knows the art of intimacy, and perhaps he’s learned it over time, but it wraps around him like a second skin when he takes your chin to push your head to the side, using his hand to swipe away the smudge of product, smiling the whole time.

The minutes go in silence as he cleans your cheek, and you leave the bathroom, and you continue on, but there’s this flutter in your heart you fear is not entirely amiss.

You love him, and yeah, maybe it’s just because he is kind, maybe it’s just because he’s gentle where the world is so rough, but regardless, he is here, with you, in your tiny bathroom with his too-rich-to-be-here items and somehow, that’s good enough.

(Itadori Yuuji is like this plague one cannot rid themselves of; an ailing that appears in the blood, travels to the heart and settles in, making root.)

“Ready?” When it’s time to leave, he waits for you in front of the door with his pink hair mussed and travel mugs of beverages in his hands, keys dangling from a finger. His bag hangs from one shoulder, and again, like always, he waits for you to catch up.

“I don’t want to be late,” He teases, “but you know I can’t leave without you.”

You grin, plucking a cup from one of his hands. “I know,” The world is bright outside; warm. “Just catching up. Sorry it took so long.”

“C’mere.” Kisses are peppered across your face; the highs of your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth—no space left untouched by his lips. “Take as long as you need, you know I’ll wait for you.”

“I know.” You chuckle. “You’re like this personified clock.”

“Get in the car, I’ll drive you to work.”

“Yuuji, you’re already ten minutes late.”

“What’s a few more? Let me spend some more time with you before I have to spend my whole day missing you,”

“…Fine. But I get to pick the music.”

(Alright, yeah, your roommate is a plague walking. Yeah, he’s too cheery for his own good and yeah, sometimes he’s a pain in your ass, but you still love him.

Because the only thing better than having a roommate is having the contagious roommate be your gentle husband and your best friend.)

(Crossing your fingers Nobara and Megumi don’t find out.)

reblogs are preferred!

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[dasomlimie]

Heyyy! I hope ur doing okay if ur requests r open can l request reader asking if she can see whats under sanzu’s mask like that one scene in naruto where he tried so hard to see kakashi’s mask something similar and funny like that take ur time l love ur work <333

%% BEHIND THAT MASK! #!/

characters : aged up!—Sanzu Haruchiyo

a/n : i cant believe im rewrtiting this sorry if this is half assed tumblr didn't save my draft earlier, enjoy ig

Sanzu Haruchiyo..... your masked bf sometimes you were wondering what behind that mask but ofc you wanted to respect his boundaries and dont want to make him uncomfortable, but curiousity start to eat you alive so you have a little plan in your mind

sometimes there's a lot of idea in your mind on why Sanzu didn't remove his mask, maybe he have big lips that unmatched with his face future? or maybe he have crooked teeth? or even worse he doesn't have mouth! but you scratched the last idea since how did he speak if he doesn't have mouth? his nose? yeah that idea once stuck in your head but you decided to remove it because it doesn't make sense at all

you called Sanzu to meet you up infront of a restaurant which he agreed since maybe you were hungry and he is too, you greet Sanzu before taking his hand and walk into the restaurant with him

"today is my treat" you said smiling he raise an eyebrow you were cheerful more than usual "did something good happen?" he ask you shook his head "nope i just wanted to spend time with my lovely boyfriend" you said he nodded start looking at the menu

"are you ready to order?" he ask after a few minutes you nodded letting him call the waiter, you both said your order as the writer write down your order, you noticed Sanzu's order was a heavy meal he probably going to remove his mask

you smile to yourself before mentally patting yourself for coming up with this idea as soon as your food arrived you stare at Sanzu causing him to raise an eyebrow "whats up my love?" he ask you shook your head "nothing eat up" he nod "you too" you nod

you stare as he was about to remove his mask until your phone start ringing you look at the caller ID noticing it was your boss you look at Sanzu "eat first i have to answer this call" you said he nod as he watch your figure walking out from the restaurant

you listen to your boss rant about how her husband keep cancelling their date and how she think he was cheating on her while you were wondering why the hell your boss telling you all of this as she finally hang up you walk into the restaurant only to be greeted by Sanzu scrolling through his phone you blink

"oh baby! what took you too long? oh and im sorry i finished my food first i haven't eat since yesterday" he said giving you closed eyes smile you nod sitting "did you forgot to eat again?" you ask he nod "im very busy yesterday and just go to sleep as soon as i got home" he said you nod

attempt 1 : failed

"want some?" you ask offering your food he shook his head "im full already" he said you nodded visibly deflated "whats up pretty girl? you were all cheerful a while ago" he said chuckling you shook your head from side to side finding a reason and decided to use your boss phone call as your reason "she did it again" you said he pat your head

"did she start ranting to you again? what was is about?" he ask you sigh "about her husband this and that you know the usual why don't they just divorce?" you said leaning to your chair

"maybe you should find a new job if you were that sick of your boss personal life rant" he said you nodded "yeah i should" you said

the second attempt might make him mad but what is life without a little thrill and spice right? right.

you took a deep breath before apologizing gripping the tray in your hand you walk inside the room smiling at Sanzu you walk toward him then purposely trip yourself

you watch everything happen in slow motion how the juice flew and wetting his mask you cheer silently before your face kiss the floor you groan but being muffled by your carpet Sanzu gasp ignoring his wet clothes and mask

"y/n?! are you okay? oh my why are you suddenly become clumsy?" he ask as he help you to get up you have to swallow your image its not even 6 month into your relationship here you are doing stupid things just to what behind his mask

he hiss when he saw your red forehead with a little bloody lips "we should get that lips treated" he suggest you nodded "let me put this away your hoodie was in my closet along with extra mask" you said silently before walking out from the room leaving a little space for you to peak in

you feel your cheeks heat up as you watch his half naked body you silently cheer as he was about to remove his mask when your doorbell rang causing you to curse silent

you keep debating either to look and discover what behind your boyfriend mask or to answer the door you were deep in thought when Sanzu clear his throat his cheeks tinted with rosy pink just like his hair

"i didn't know you're that type of person" he said clearing his throat again you look up before cursing yourself "oh no you got the wrong idea let me go and answer the door ok?" you said walking a little bit too faster "be careful!" Sanzu called as he look you who almost tripped twice

attempt 2 : failed

you look at Sanzu as you keep following—more like stalking—him you tried to make sure you didn't lost him maybe he would remove his mask at the most random time especially when he's alone? yeah thats what you think ,you were now dressed in all black outfit paired with black cap and black mask

yup much like a stalker

you watch him keep turning and leading you to a dark hallways wondering what he was doing here, little did you know he noticed you following him but didn't have any idea it was his girlfriend

"fuck" you curse silently as you lost him you were about to take another turn when someone pull you to opposite turn you yelped both in suprise and pain when your back make a harsh contact to the cold and dirty wall you hiss from how strong someone's grip on your hands is

"who are you and why are you following me?" he ask you stay silent too scared to answer him, Sanzu chuckle "why are you all silent? acting all scared are we?" he said you shiver under his sharp gaze

"i ask you questions" he said you shut your eyes he sigh annoyed and start to loose his patients then decided to remove both your mask and cap you felt his grip on your hands loosening

"y/n?" he said in softer voice than earlier you still shut your eyes tightly slightly trembling "darling look at me" he said as one of hand slither to your waist while the other cup your cheeks thumb caressing your cheeks "open your eyes my love im not going to hurt you" he said you open your eyes slowly meeting his soften gaze

"why are you following me like that? i thought you were one of those people who tried to get me again" he said chuckling you didn't answer instead hugging him burying your face into his chest

"did i scare you that much?" he ask you shook your head as a no, you were actually embarassed of yourself for doing dumb thing to get him to remove his mask

"then why?" he ask hugging you close to him "im sorry" you said he raise an eyebrow "why?" "im sorry for doing dumb thing lately and following you like earlier" you said he chuckled you look up to him

"i get it now" he said removing you from him gently then cup your cheeks with both of his hands "you know you can just ask right?" you pout "i just dont want to make you feel uncomfortable" he shook his head

"you will never im actually waiting for you to ask me by yourself" he said you nodded "then can i uh you know" he nod letting you remove his mask

heart beating loudly Sanzu was prepared from any insult from you yet nothing came our from your mouth, does he freak you out? he was about to apologize when you whispered out a very unexpected word he expects you to say

"beautiful" you said he froze not believing what he just heard "what?" he ask for confirmation "i said beautiful" you repeat before caressing his scars with both of your thumb he sigh in relief

"really? i thought you were going to freaked out" he said you shook your head with confused face while your attention was still on his face "why would i?" you ask

"people always told me its disgusting i thought you would too but apparently not im relieved" you heart broke a little from his words "who the hell said your scars is disgusting?! let me beat them up" you said with determination he shook his head "its okay you were an absolute angel i cant imagine you beating people up" he said pressing a kiss on your forehead

"you look hotter without mask" you whisper he smile "is that so?" he ask you nodded then cover his face with his mask "and only me can see you my beautiful and handsome and hot boyfriend without his mask no one can see your full face they would fall for you" you said he chuckled before ruffling your hair

"whatever you say angel" he said you smile as he lead you out from the hallway just so your know he would use your silly attempt to tease you in the future

attempt 3 : successfully failed

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