#it up it was sick and about to die. its back to normal now but based on what im finding online theres not rlly a way of knowing if this

[neige-leblanche]

guys if my tamagotchi doesnt grow up how i want should i abort it 🥺👉👈

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[eldritch-spouse]

You are running naked in the Jungle, searching frantically.

You look and you see another human, the first one you've seen in months and you run towards them.

“Thank God! Listen, we need to get out of here immediately, it's dangerous! Do you know the way out? Back to civilization?”

You feel a tentacle around your ankles

[Months? Couldn't be me, I'd just die. Let's downsize that to a week. Fem reader.]

TW: Reader has a self-loathing inner monologue; Reader is in a bad place mentally; Dubcon to full consent.

It was a stupid idea.

You knew that when you started it. So did everyone that tried to convince you otherwise. But common sense isn't something that could have stopped someone like you, someone who was ill enough to think taking a break from life in the middle of buttfuck nowhere would work out.

You didn't even have any sort of experience in this type of thing. Neither did you seek any kind of useful tips.

You just wanted to escape.

And you did, literally, into a forested nightmare that you got lost in not even hours after your arrival.

You just wish you could find your car, you just wish you could find somewhere warm and comforting to sleep in.

It's been days. Probably a week by now. Your stuff all disappeared, somehow. You swear you're not tripping, it all just vanished! Your phone, your bag, your keys...

Your back hurts, the nights are cold and humid and you're sure you're getting sick by now. Clean water would be a godsend, you've been drinking and cleaning yourself with some questionable-looking sources for a while. Not to mention you can't feed yourself properly, and you certainly don't know how to hunt.

Not that there's much to hunt. Every time you think you hear a peep, there's a brush of foliage and silence dominates seconds later.

You're going to die.

A horrifying reminder that has your chest pounding painfully and sweat glistening on your forehead.

You don't want to die.

But the modern human wasn't born for the wilderness, and you can only stand being clothed for a little longer before the sensation of being dirty has you clawing the skin off your body.

It was a fucking miracle that you managed to get a small fire going.

Finally.

You can heat up that fish you caught earlier.

If it's still good. Is... This is safe to eat, right?

You lean to sniff at the leaf-wrapped catch.

Eh. You can stomach it...

God, you're starving.

One thing that's been bugging you for a while is how... Deserted this whole place feels.

You're no wildlife expert, but isn't this kind of location supposed to be brimming with animals? Why is it that, everywhere you go, it's mostly just you and insects bumbling around?

Shouldn't there be some mammals here? Some birds? Maybe a squirrel or a snake... Aren't there predators you'd have to worry about in this kind of scenario?

Ironically, being alone makes you feel even more stressed out than if you were constantly surrounded by wild animals.

You huddle closer to the small fire.

Alone.

But always so on edge.

Always getting that tingling feeling crawling up your spine.

The one that screams- Look, look behind you! You're in danger!

The phantom feeling of something hovering behind your neck, goosebumps that hardly fade every time you do turn around to check and find nothing.

Is this a normal amount of paranoia for your situation? Is this your brain trying to cope with the fact that you haven't seen much wildlife so far?

Or is there something watching you from beyond the trees?

Something stalking.

A persistence predator, coming and going, to check on its latest prey.

Oh, and what a catch you are. Big and juicy compared to the things that probably roam this place -Roamed, more like...

Have you wandered into the territory of something that'll inevitably snap its jaws around your neck?

...

Just eat the fucking fish already.

Food.

Focus on the present.

The smell starts to hit your nose. Salt, oh what you wouldn't do for some simple salt. How do people get salt?

You're glad you got some berries along the way too, because this fish is probably going to taste like ass. You're sure they aren't poisonous or anything of the sort. If they are, then you've been eating them for the past few days so honestly you could keel over at any moment.

You'll see.

Once the fish has roasted enough where it's likely safe to consume, you peel it open messily and start munching indiscriminately, ravenous.

It's... Well, it's sustenance.

It's about the most nutritious thing you've eaten since you got here.

This survival thing is harder than the fake actors on TV make it seem.

A sudden crack of a branch has you pausing mid-chew.

You truly feel like a deer when your head snaps up and you stand very still to listen for a follow-up.

Nothing.

Tired eyes strain, trying to make sense of a darkened blob in the distance.

Huh.

What the fuck is that thing?

Tall.

Two legs...

Arms?!

Shit- Could it be?!

That can't be possible, someone else roaming around this maddening forest. Is that a sign that you're somehow getting closer to civilization? That you're making it out by sheer luck? What cosmic force could be on your side this time? Maybe they just live here, like some kind of off-grid retired agent- Okay, you've been watching too many movies.

Without stopping to think twice about frankly important concerns regarding this sudden development, you place the cooked fish down on the leaf it was previously wrapped in and start scooting forward towards the silhouette you saw.

That build can only belong to a man. Well, you assume as much anyway. It's hard to spot more from here, with the foliage covering their form.

" H- Hey... "

You haven't used your voice in a hot minute. Some part of you almost doesn't recognize it. A healthy dose of paranoia stops you from brushing aside the obstacles and facing this person.

But you need to at least try, right?

The worst that can happen is that you really are hallucinating for some reason or another.

With a surge of bravery, but mostly desperation, you push all the branches and greenery away to run towards this person, opening your mouth to greet them, to beg for help, ask for new clothes or just something cooked!

" Hey! Please, I need your... Help? "

Nothing.

There's no one.

But that doesn't make sense, you clearly saw a silhouette, someone was there! You didn't even have to run that far, how could it be that you already lost sight of them? That they could get away so silently?

No. Everything's wrong.

Before you know it, your vision is blurring and your face heats as tears stain your cheeks.

Why... Why would your mind fuck with you like this? Going from a shining shred of hope to complete despair in seconds has you screaming inside.

Why is this happening to you?

Are you really about to die in a stupid fucking patch of nothing just because you can't deal with the stress in your life like a normal person? Just because you made one bad decision when everything was weighing heavy on your conscience? Are you really so incompetent and so pointless as a human that this is how your story ends?

Anger and regret blind you to everything, fingers course through your knotted hair as you sob and tug, having no way to calm yourself and nothing to unleash your tension onto.

The moment you try to stomp your foot in a petulant act, you find it rooted to the ground. It takes a couple more insistent tugs upward for you to realize that something is coiled around it, keeping it firmly planted.

The train wreck of emotions and bile of self-hating thoughts takes a backseat, goosebumps pricking your skin from tip of the head to your very toes. The first thing you think of is some kind of snake, eyes bulging behind digits.

You look down frantically, shaking, but in spite of the sky being clear, all you see is this reddish mass, with neither end nor beginning. What... What the fuck is it?!

The thing tightens around your ankle, starting to slide up the length of your right leg, up to your knee. And immediately, you panic, kicking and shrieking, achieving absolutely nothing and getting promptly tugged to the ground.

Yeah.

Maybe freaking out isn't the best bet for your survival here.

Twigs and dirt get on your face, it takes some coughing and swiping to finally clear your field of view. But honestly...

You almost wish you hadn't.

Curved over your prone figure, staring down, is a creature you have never seen before.

Bipedal and quite large, like the silhouette you had glimpsed before, but so very far from human. The reddish coloration spanning the length of that bizarre body makes him -Because, again, you can only assume that is a male- Look as if he's made of flesh quickly molded together to imitate the figure of a human. What initially made you think he was skinless soon turns into the realization that there was never room for skin anyway.

Because his body is quite literally comprised of what you can only call tentacles. Tendrils and coiling tissue that clings and organizes itself in the vague lie of an organism like yours.

From elbows to fingers and knees to feet, the tendrils become a lot more discernable, coiling and uncoiling while he watches curiously. The thing around your leg is one of said tendrils, coming from the mass forming his own. Along the length of its torso, sharp-toothed mouths form and shift, almost seeming to have a mind of their own as they scent the air and snap at nothing.

That head has got to be the most striking feature. It's an amalgamation of tentacles all wrapped around each other, leaving room for an incredibly sharp golden eye to fix you in place. This thing looks like it crawled out of a sleeping ocean, like the roots and vines of an ancient jungle came together to form a totally new extension of themselves. He looks like he's been sculpted from the guts of others yet also composed in a way your mind could never hope to grasp.

Somewhere between trying to determine if you're dealing with an animal or a person, you reach the conclusion that an animal wouldn't stare you down for this long.

An animal would take a couple of seconds to determine if you're prey or predator and act accordingly. He would have snapped your neck or suffocated you like a boa constrictor with those tentacles by now.

And yet, he just stares.

Like you're the strangest creature to ever grace the woods this thing probably calls a home. You're as freaky to him as he is to you, enough so that he seems out of depth on how to proceed.

You stare back.

This has got to be the monster that you saw back there. Watching you. Now that you think about it, maybe this was the reason you'd always have a tingling sensation reminding you that you're not alone. Because he was there all that time, stalking.

Plenty were the moments he could have dug your grave until now. It's strange that he hasn't. Because surely, he's seen how you're failing to adapt to this location. Every step you take, you're stumbling and getting pricked, hungry, thirsty, afraid, disoriented- You're a fish out of water and he could have ended that misery a long time ago.

Odd.

Neither of you move. It blinks, vertically. You blink too.

And then, it makes this chitter.

Wet, like a gargle, followed by some kind of rumbling as more of those tendrils that form his limbs unwind, explore.

They reach down towards your frame when he squats, and you stifle the urge to scream at the sight of them getting nearer. Because who knows what he's going to do...

They poke and prod, grabbing lightly at parts of you, wet yet not quite. Two coil around your arms, then elbows, then wrists.

Other strays squirm around your sides, unintentionally triggering a squirming reflex as you muffle helpless laughter.

The monster seems intrigued by the noise anyway, making his own vocalizations as if attempting to communicate with you.

Abruptly, there's a blur of movement and you're yanked into the air by the arms, shrieking in fear and pain.

Not for long, because more of his freaky, flowing appendages wind around your middlesection, hips and knees, pulling in different directions.

In seconds, mere moments, this being has you suspended in the air.

Immediately, your panicked mind is going places where it absolutely shouldn't.

He seems more relaxed now that you're restrained, that gaze becomes softer, clouded with curiosity. To be monitoring you this long, you don't doubt he has his own questions and intrigue regarding how you work.

When that hulking red mass walks towards you, anxiety prevents your mouth from staying shut.

" H- Hi? "

A sound not too different from the peep of a skittish bird.

One that causes him to cock his head in a brief pause, processing the noise, and returning it with his own light gurgle. One of the mouths on his figure gets the pitch right down to a T.

Soon, he's lacing a hand through your hair, grabbing it, manipulating the protrusion and stroking your head inquisitively. He squeezes and almost scritches at your scalp, reminding you of the way someone acts when spotting a particularly cute cat. Yes, hair is likely a mystery to this creature, you can kind of understand why it'd linger here.

But that doesn't change the fact that you're being patted like a pet by a strange, unknowable creature- And that's morbidly hilarious.

When your cheeks start to puff with laughter, his attention finally deviates. You can feel the tendrils that form every digit when he splays them across your face, tracing your eyebrows, playing with the tip of your nose and even trying to poke into your ears- Something he halts when you jerk away rapidly each time.

When he starts trying to put a digit in your mouth, he's a lot more careful, aware that you have teeth and can bite, even if yours are quite small and blunt compared to the ones he sports. He succeeds, because your strength is nothing compared to that of a monster of his size and nature. The digit he dips into your mouth rests there placidly for a couple of moments.

You aren't sure what to do. Biting is not a bright idea when you know this creature can probably easily dismember you in this position. He himself looks slightly lost, as if he put his finger in your mouth out of impulse mostly. A false sense of security begets your own curiosity.

Perhaps you're just insane already -That probably says a lot about your overall mental fortitude- But seeing another living being that behaves and looks vaguely like what you might call a person makes you feel calmer than you have since the beginning of all this. You know it's an irrational feeling, that you're not any safer than before, but it's a thread of comfort you desperately cling to.

And it's what allows you to look this thing in the eye while you experimentally lick his bizarre tendril-clump of a finger.

It was only a little flick.

But naturally, he felt it.

The monster rumbles something incomprehensible at you, leaning closer still to cast a shadow upon your front. In this position, he looms between your clothed legs, though seems mostly unaware of the lurid position he's got you in, fixated on your mouth.

The sensation of his digit unfolding into two separate thin tentacles is bizarre. You picture a human finger splitting in two and curse your brain. Said tentacles poke and wriggle, capturing your tongue between themselves.

Yes, that's probably the part of your body that most closely resembles the mass of prehensile tissue composing his own.

The touch has you drooling, saliva trying to break down something probably few to no humans have ever come in contact with. He tastes slimy yet slightly rugged in some areas, not something you'd write home about.

Reflex has your poor muscle squirming to be freed, but that only causes him to tighten the grasp upon it. And, surprisingly, to let out this humid noise that sounds far too much like a groan of delight for you to interpret it as anything else.

There's a pause from your part as you wonder, incredulously, if this thing just got turned on.

There's not much time to ponder, because that digit very quickly slips out, and as he examines the sheen of drool on it, something else steadily approaches your mouth.

Ah, you've graduated from finger to proper tentacle mouthfucking. Commendable.

Making light of the situation is about the least recommended course of action, but after what you've endured so far, you think you deserve to be a little, tiny bit, insane.

Apparently convinced that you won't try to harm him, the crimson monster wiggles that darkened appendage and taps it against your lips, seeming very interested in how this is unfolding.

You should not have opened your mouth.

But you did.

And he visibly brightened up.

The tendril wedges itself in without much hesitation, resting upon your tongue. Much thicker than his digit, your jaw has no choice but to stretch, and your lips wrap around it in a rather phallic, dirty image. You barely realize you're making an effort not to scrape your teeth on the appendage. Perhaps because the sensation of it is a tad spongy and remarkably similar to that of any standard manhood.

And, as if to give reason to your lewd comparison, he shudders at the warmth of your wet mouth, the thing pulsing within you.

While he mostly simply lets the extremity sit there motionlessly, you do explore, trying to lick around it out of morbid curiosity. He watches you avidly, but apparently, what really gets to this bizarre entity is feeling you suck down the saliva that pools in your cheeks, swallowing.

Suction. Because of course he'd enjoy that. What man doesn't?

That begs the question, is the thing in your mouth part of his genitals?

Again, thinking is a privilege you can't afford when that tentacle starts sliding down your throat experimentally. It doesn't take him long to trigger your gag reflex, a violent kick and curve forward from your part causing him to pull back quickly. But he continues to test the waters afterwards, probably seeking the sensation of your stressed throat muscles tightening around him.

Instinct takes over.

Because even if he seems truly out of his depth maneuvering a human body, he's curious and, if you had to guess, attracted to you. Enough to put sensitive things in your mouth, to fetishize that part of you. Hormones make things work, which means he soon realizes he can make repetitive back and forth motions to get friction.

And so, just like that, you're getting fucked in the mouth, inside the woods, by an eldritch abomination of a monster you might find in a cheaply made H. P Lovecraft rip-off.

It should not arouse you.

It should horrify you.

... But it doesn't.

Those reactions are missing, leaving you befuddled at your own enjoyment of the situation. Are you just happy to have someone around? Has it truly been so long since you received this type of attention that you don't mind if it comes from an entity of unknown origin who is clearly not civilized? Are you just a freak actively discovering new sides of your sexuality?

Who knows anymore.

All you know is that there's a wet noise ringing every time he thrusts that slimy thing into your mouth, that he's resorted to gripping your hips hard while making intense eye contact, that he growls and gurgles whenever you have enough control to suck at him. If you had to guess, it's his unwavering, lewd and fascinated observation of your face and lips that has you likely forming a wet spot on your poor pants.

You think your wanton squirming is subtle, but reality proves otherwise when the monster starts getting distracted, one of those pupils shifting to the rhythmic movement of your legs as you shamelessly seek friction. At first, he seems irritated, as if questioning why you'd want to leave when you'd been so docile so far.

Then it appears to click.

You can almost see it in his face, in spite of how inhuman it is, that eureka moment.

And the tendril in your mouth slows down to a crawl.

He starts pawing and pulling at your pants, but not aimlessly. Not at all. He's studied you, he knows what he's looking for, the button and the zipper. You pale a few shades, the only way this thing could know how to take pants off is if it saw you doing it, if it saw you relieving yourself or trying to bathe to avoid infections.

Just how many embarrassing moments did he catch?

Too many, probably.

Still, you're pleasantly surprised to see him so easily remove the garment, fluidly shifting the positions of his tendrils to avoid tangling the fabric in them. Your pants come off without a single blemish, aside from those they sustained previously. Is he removing them so carefully because he thinks you need them to survive or is he just being considerate?

Your underwear is treated the same way, he spares no extra thought to it, and only appears to pause once your pussy is exposed.

Usually, you'd feel self-conscious in this position. There's not a lot you can do to properly groom yourself without the simple privilege of soap and whatnot... But what does it matter here? As far as you know, for this monster, pussy is pussy regardless of it being shaved or bush-heavy, "perfumed" or au naturel.

And a soaked, needy hole is hard for a lonesome monster to ignore.

He looms closer to your womanhood, watching closely, gargling a string of vocalizations you still can't interpret, until another tentacle slithers into scene and slaps against your cunt.

No, literally.

The thing whips from mound to the bottom of your entrance, swiping up and down in a pace that has you seeing stars every time it flicks your clitoris and catches on a clenching entrance. To say your legs kick out occasionally from the intensity of the stimulus is no exaggeration, but he's quick to adapt his hold so you have no way of wiggling aside.

You don't know why it's doing that, but frankly, you don't care much, it just feels good. A racing heart and a heaving chest have you tipping your head back to moan against the thing stuffed in your mouth. You realize, a little belatedly, that he was probably mostly just trying to lube that appendage with your own arousal.

Your plump pussy still tingles when the assault stops on all sides, you strain to watch what he's doing, observing the monster evaluate the sheen now coating that wriggling extremity.

He's less careful than before now, a product of excitement no doubt, parking the somewhat thicker length at your entrance and pushing in tentatively for only a couple of moments before ramming a decent chunk of that tendril into your cunt.

Eyes bulging, you spit out a beastial sound that startles the monster, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch. He's reached a depth within you no one else has found before, and the pressure is such so that you've been robbed of the ability to speak.

He shouldn't be that far in you.

You may come from extremely distinct backgrounds, but some things are vastly universal, like the facial expression of pain. Which, credit where credit is due, he picks up on relatively fast. The moment the entity removes a good chunk of its length, you sigh and sag in momentous relief. That's a lot better. You still feel as if you're being stuffed to the brim, but there's no longer that stabbing pain.

He understands what he did wrong after a couple of still moments and some bizarre palping sensation from your insides.

Much like the previous tendril in your mouth, this one too starts to thrust back and forth, with more care now, experimenting with differing speeds and curling in various ways as he gets closer and closer to watch how you react.

You're no researcher, but maybe if the mounting pleasure wasn't swimming to your head and making it very very hard to think coherently right now, you'd be fascinated with the way this monster is being so thorough in his examination of you, wanting to learn what makes you tick in every way, what has you choking out noises and rolling your eyes.

So intense is the heat rushing through your body from his repeated, filthy motions that you hardly notice anything happening until his all-seeing eye is almost glued to your face. The tips of the tentacles that make up his rather disturbing head unfurl and appear to drip downwards, clinging to the sides of your face so he can fix it in place, observe every detail as soon as you part your mouth to moan and gasp and babble nonsense. Each noise you make is eagerly eaten up, he tries to mimic the same motions that make you squeal as if begging for more of them.

There's no time to warn or even shriek about it, your orgasm barrels its way down your body with the intensity of a bullet, curving you in its tentacles, a breathless "oh" being all you can offer as your abdominal muscles contract and you squeeze the life out of the tendril inside you, making a mess that drips to the ground between you two.

It may not have been easy to spot in that pleasured trance, but the monster halted to watch it all unfold, mesmerized. Retracting to test the nature of the new slick now grossly painting you.

By the time you're done riding the high of your climax, you've been shifted again, this time a little lower, and you find the entity staring down to the spot where your core meets something that wasn't there before.

You'll admit you didn't have the time to properly process the full extent of his appearance when he first appeared before your stunned self. Now you're unsure if this monster had some kind of pelvic pouch, or if he merely unfolded two more tendrils out of his mass where one would expect a dick to be.

The two appendages wriggle and roll impatiently, seeking each other before parting in search of heat, of wetness, slapping against your belly and thighs. They may not look like it, but you can only guess those are his cocks. And he's considering something quietly.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, the communication barrier doesn't help. Maybe he worries that the length of them will hurt you. Perhaps he wonders if he can impregnate you this way. It could just be that he thinks perhaps mating with a strange human is not a good idea, but the way those things are spreading a coat of thick precum on your skin says otherwise.

Instead of letting his stall further, a small hand reaches down to feather over the tip of one of those members, immediately getting captured and pulled at in the process. His figure rattles, hips offering a useless piston before his head snaps back up to watch you.

" ... Try putting one in. "

You murmur, knowing damn well it can't understand a single word.

He looks back down, peels back to spread your cuntlips invitingly, then seems to make up his mind, allowing the very tips of both squirming cocks to connect with your entrance. They've found warmth and they're desperate to worm in, stretching and flirting with your walls.

You grin incredulously, already trying to guess what it'll feel like, gasping as soon as he leans forward and allows more exploration. The first hint of a burn arrives as he rumbles in delight-

But a branch snaps in the distance.

And the moment is ruined because he halts immediately, your cry of frustration ignored entirely.

His body twists in an unnatural way so he can glance behind, inhuman eye seeing through greenery and undoubtedly spotting something off.

In the tense quiet that has now settled, even you pick up on the faraway mumbles of what must be people.

Eyes widening, snapping out of this episode, you begin to squirm earnestly now, wanting to see them, to find a way back, to go home!

Finally, people came looking for you!

The monster snaps back around, making you realize how truly fucked you are in these circumstances. Something flashes in that gaze, a hint of contempt, of hurt maybe.

Something too human to fall upon such a nightmarish face.

You can only scream as more tendrils dart in lightening speeds to cocoon you inside them. That single noise being all that escapes before you're forcibly gagged and physically thrown over the monster's shoulder.

His molding body swings from tree to tree in a blur of movement, taking you God knows where...

And leaving your saviors in the dust.

[sunoosdesire]

hiiii!! can i request a fic where the female reader who is so nonchalant suddenly shows her affection and love to hyunjin one random saturday? (shes actually insane and gushes over hyunjin daily to her best friends but she always suppresses her affection and act normally around him)

please include body worship and edging or overstimulation and a lot of kisses and making out ugh i love hyunjins lips so much its so pretty and if its not too much, please make hyunjin extra whiny ily 🫶

𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 ── .✦ 𝒉.𝒉𝒋

summary .ᐟ

when your overly dramatic boyfriend, hyunjin, decides that you've been neglecting him, you give him the attention he thinks he deserves

pairing .ᐟ

whiny!hyunjin x slightdom!reader

genre .ᐟ

smut blurb. and period. ⭑.ᐟ sub jinnie, begging, overstim, nastay nastay

thank you for requesting !! drooling over this little thought ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ pls continue to send in requests + every note counts !! 𝜗𝜚 im trying hard to improve my writing skills, so pls support

Hwang Hyunjin is the king of drama. He can make anything, and everything, more theatrical than necessary. Honestly? It made you laugh. Behind the handsome face, long legs, and devastating muscles, he was pitiful. Hyunjin was desperate for your attention and approval, and you loved it. His neediness didn't bother you one bit; it fueled your fire.

Now, you didn't ignore Hyunjin. Your world just didn't revolve around him, like he believed it should. You had work, friends, and family. He was the star of the show, of course, but he didn't fully occupy your every waking moment. That's why he put on a little show at least once a week.

"Baby, why don't you love me?"

"Don't you want to spend time with your favorite boy?"

"I see, you're just leaving me here to die."

He joked around, laughed it off, but you knew at least half of his starving heart meant every word. So you gave in. Sometimes. Tonight was a very good example. You received the typical messages he sent when the poor baby was ever so lonely. He wanted you to leave your little family lunch early, come see him instead.

You would usually ignore these messages. Hyunjin was a big boy; he could entertain himself. However, you were bored. Sick of your daily routine, your aunties. You could entertain him, just this once. Besides, you were overdue for a date night. Under your unamused exterior, you really did love him to death. So, you agreed. You drove yourself to his apartment, and you greeted him a little more attentively than usual.

"Hi, handsome," you hum, scratching the back of his scalp as he pulls you into a hug. His hair was dark again, grown out the tiniest bit. Honestly, it made him look sexy. Messy, down for anything.

"Who's this pretty thing?" Hyunjin questions playfully, allowing you to step inside, a lazy grin spreading across his face. That grin he does when he gets his way, when he thinks he's won. He ruffles your hair as you kick off your shoes, turning to lock up.

"Your favorite girl," you answer easily, peaceful in his space, because it was your space, too. Hyunjin snorts, leading you to the couch. His lips were already on your neck by the time you were sitting, a cheeky aura about him.

"You left me all alone, all day," he pouts, kissing your cheek before pulling your legs over his lap, slinging a blanket over both of you. With a roll of your eyes, you take his hand in yours, gently kissing each of his knuckles.

"Poor baby," you tease, placing his hand on your knee. You scoot close, patting his chest. "I need to make it up to you, huh?" As you run your fingers through his short, unstyled hair, he practically purrs. Hwang Hyunjin was meant to have all of your attention on him. He was made to stare on in awe as you dote on him.

"I wouldn't disagree," he says sweetly, taking your wrist in both of his hands, kissing your palm. There was no doubt that he was over the moon.

"I'll give you the attention you want, baby."

You were about ten minutes into teasing him, and Hyujin was already sweating, already whiny. His jeans and boxers were bunched up around his ankles. Your hand was pumping his leaking cock painfully slowly. Hyunjin's eyes were glossy, his fingers wrapped around your other wrist.

"Aw," you coo, letting go as his hips jerk upwards. "Almost." When he calms down and isn't as close to spilling over as before, you firmly grip his throbbing length once more. He had been pleading with you to let him cum, to at least let him touch you. You werent so quick to give in.

"Baby, you're killing me. Please, pretty, anything for you, anything to cum," he whimpers, bottom lip trembling as your thumb swipes over his tip, collecting the runny precum that was freely flowing now. You only hum, leaning forward to spit on the angry head of his dick.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Jinnie? You wanted someone to pay attention to you." Your words were smooth, calm, utterly unaffected by his pleas. This time, when you let go, you urge him closer, connecting your lips. Hyunjin whines against them, a hand resting on your cheek.

You bite at his bottom lip, tugging slightly. An invitation. His tongue is immediately on yours, and he's crawling on top of you, tugging the hem of your sweats. He rests his forehead on your chin as he works them off, and the minute his frustrated tip rubs against the soft fabric of your panties, he's cumming all over them, with huffs and whimpers.

"Oh no," you hum, rubbing his back as his muscles tense. "Looks like we're all done."

maybe im a self critic but what is this .. my vision is not coming out

[thewritingfairy]

🪷 is here again. I hope I'm not bothering you but I have some more ideas.

1. Imagine something happens and when Alfred tells the reader "your mother will be disappointed" when they stand up for themselves reader snapped at Alfred. "She will be disappointed. Yes. Disappointed in *you*!" As they looked at him like his noting anymore to them. As that last shared of love they have for him die.

2. Imagine reader got really sick one day, where Alfred was not around and they collapsed in one of the abandoned parts of the manor. Get found by Bruce or Jason, as he sees them crying in their sleep. And as he picks them up to take them to their room he sees how sick and underweight they are. Saddenly as reader cry in their sleep they cling to him as they whispered something like "I'm sorry...mom I'm sorry...I didn't protect it...". And as he (Jason or Bruce) tries to put them in their bed they hold his hand as they whisper in their sleep (or maybe they are half asleep and too sick to know what is going on) "don't go...". {I want them to see more of the damage they made}

3. Alfred or Bruce sees the reader standing up for themselve to someone who is not from the family and feeling proud only to realizing the irony of how they feel proud of reader for standing up against someone who hurted them in a less way than how the Batboys did.

4. Dick meeting reader friends and them being cold towards him. I can imagine one of them chuwing him out. It will be best if it's another older sibling.

5. When Jason destroyed Reader's room the Batfamily saw all the broken awards they won, ripped books and art pieces and were truly surprised by how talented the reader is. And now they sometimes keep remembering the things they found and how they have something in common with the reader. Maybe they kept some of what they found in reader's room. "I mean, they don't need it. They have a replica." They tell themselves.

Jason finds a book reader that is an old diary of someone from the past. As he reades it he found small papers between the pages that have notes written by the reader about the person. He can't help but read them. Finding some of the jokes funny. Finding inner jokes both reader and that person did read (maybe Jason did read some of them or will read them).

Damian finds ripped art pieces that can't be replicated. They are so beautifully made but oh so wrecked. have so many emotions in them. And the more he peace the peaces together the more he sees.

Bruce found a book he remembers his mother reading for him when she was alive. He can't help but open it up to see the pages. Only to find it signed by the reader's mother. Some pages are ripped, but tankful he can fix it. He did put it in Reader's (new?) room, but. cant take his mind off it and off the reader.

Tim finds a hand clock he fixed. Looking at he he found that it seems that its parts were taken out and cleaned before being fixed. Realizing that the reader can tinker. He also found himself impressed by its old machinem, because it's more complicated than normal watches. Or maybe he found an old music box. He gave it back to the reader.

Related fic: 04.1 Jason's crime

You aren’t bothering me at all, but I will be honest, the only thing I would consider is Tim, one of the next chapter of the main fic will be about Tim (and cassandara). Tim is the only one that you have a cordial relationship with, he’s a child of neglect himself, he knows what you are going through but since you aren’t involved with the night business he sees it as a necessary evil. He’s observant like Cass, but unlike Cass he wouldn’t ignore your pain. He would try to help you, but he would do so invisibly.

I think some of the future side chapters might disturb some of you tbh (honestly maybe me too)

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere batfam with a sick reader?

Yes but sick reader who is still defiant because hello, they kidnapped you?????

Reader is just glaring at them with tired eyes and a red nose as they once again tuck her under the covers, Dick is highly worried as he frets over you like a mama hen because he did have a heart attack when he caught you standing in front of your open window, where "harsh" gusts of cold air were "attacking your fragile form", so of course, he had to drag you in and wrap his arms around you, rub his cheek against you because he NEEDS to warm you immediately, lest you die of hypothermia.

Yes, Dick overreacts. And yes, Damian will accompany his brother in his delusions, or well, take any chance he gets to scold you.

"You should be in bed, Y/n." Damian said sternly, his eyes narrowed because how dare you worry his favourite brother like this. "Didn't Dick tell you to rest? Are you that incapable of following simple commands?"

You narrowed your eyes back at him, opening your mouth to say something mean but got cut off by your own coughing fit, making Dick rush to help you drink some water, rubbing your back along it. Your throat felt scractchy, and it hurt to speak, but you still wanted to convey your feelings so-

You flipped him off. For a nano second, because Dick immediately grabbed your hand and tucked it back under the covers while Damian's eyes widened at you disrespect, but before he could make any more gremlin noises, but Bruce walked in and Damian knew better than to complain to him about you when youre already sick, cause Bruce wouldve still favoured you.

"Y/n? How do you feel now?" Bruce asked, his voice gentle as he walked closer to where Dick was throwing away your mountain of tissues.

"Im fine. I wanna go out-" "No." "And why not?" "Because youre sick." "You may be Batman, but youre not a doctor!" "I am your father though."

No, youre not. You wanted to say, but knew that would only piss him off and you need to be on his good side if you want Dick and the others to be off your back so that you can escape.

"Whats her temperature?" Bruce asked Dick, who put a thermometer in your mouth quickly. Dick sighed as he told Bruce how you were out of bed and standing in your balcony in the cold just moments ago.

Bruce placed a palm over your forehead, and you tried to move away but there wasnt really any space or energy for you to do that. Bruce's eyes shifted the slightest bit at your burning forehead. "Why do you insist on getting out of bed and sleeping on the floor? Ive already had to pick you up 3 times in the past 2 days."

You pulled out the thermometer and glared at him. "Im fine. Its just sniffles." Bruce's lip quirked a little. You looked absolutely adorable in your delirious state, like an angry kitten.

"I dont think its just sniffles this time. And-" Bruce pulled the thermometer from your hands that you were hiding under the covers. "-dont hide the thermometer from me." His eyes scanned it and the twitch in his brow was enough for Dick to know that the number was too high.

Bruce then eyed the cough syrup next to your side table- its still full.

"Why havent you been taking your medicine?"

"Im not sick-"

"White paint has more color than you do right now. So why havent you been taking the medicine?" Bruce asked and even though he was a little annoyed, he had enough practice dealing with the other kid's rebellious phases to have the patience of a saint.

You shrugged. "How do I know its just cough syrup and not a sedative?" "It is a sedative too. Its supposed to make you sleepy." "Well, I dont wanna sleep and let my guard down in a house full of 5 strange men." You obviously never counted Alfred- hes the only normal one here- except for the part that he wont call the cops for you, but oh well.

Bruce just casted a look to Dick and before you knew it, Dick was pinching your nostrils close and titling your head up while Bruce grabbed the syrup and poured some in your mouth before clamping his hand over it. You struggled to break free, but you were obviously no match to them. Still, tears of frustration pricked your eyes as you looked at them in betrayal and hatred.

"Drink this and dont argue with me, please." Bruce said- well, he genuinely requested at this point.

You didnt have much of a choice other than swallowing it.

With a defiant glare, you begin closing your eyes as your body gave into the effects of the drug, the last thing that you felt were Bruce kissing your forehead while Dick pecked your cheek.

Jason finally decides to drop by the Wayne manor, only to be greeted with the sight of reader lying on the kitchen floor. His heart stopped for a moment- you werent breathing-

"Y/n!" He rushed to your side, only to be smacked in the face by you.

"Shush. Dont be too loud." Your voice sounded like sandpaper against rocks.

Jason huffed. "Well, sorry for freaking out. I thought you were dead-"

"From a cough? Im not weak."

"Yeah? So, what exactly are you doing on the cold floor in the middle of the night?"

"..."

"Well?"

"What? So I cant even take a nap in this house? Jesus Christ, am I allowed to have any autonomy here?"

"Y/n." Jason called, clearly unamused by your sarcasm.

"Fine. I may have fallen and then didnt have the energy to get up, so im just catching my breath here."

"Why are you even out of bed?"

"I was hungry and Im not gonna drink another spoon of Alfred's bland soup again." Alfred made it bland on purpose so that your throat wouldnt be irritated.

"Please stop wasting whats left of your voice on complaints of the soup that you cant even taste." Jason chuckled as he picked you up, only for you to push at his chest weakly.

"I dont need your help. I can walk on my own."

Jason quirked a brow. "If you can make it to the front door without fainting or throwing up, I'll help you escape." You stared at the front door- it wasnt too far, but judging by the fact that its even hard for you to breathe properly and that youve fainted way too many times by just standing for more than a couple of minutes.

But youre stubborn. With great effort, you pushed yourself off Jason and used the kitchen island to pull yourself up. Jason decided to walk in front of you and stand near the kitchen exit because he really wanted to see your struggling face.

You took a trembling step, then another, one hand still using the support of the island until it ended and you were only a couple of feet away from Jason. At this point, you were already out of breath and when you took another step, your legs gave out and the room began spinning.

Luckily, Jason was quick to react. "Alright, just place your arm around mine- or just fall on me, that works too." He teased when you couldnt hold your body weight.

You slumped in his arms. "Just take me to my room." You huffed.

"Alright." Jason lifted your legs up and carried you back up the stairs. "You know you'd get better a lot faster if you just stayed in bed and took your medicine on time. Wouldnt that make your chances of escaping the manor better?"

You stared at him blankly. "Wow. The world must be ending for Jason Todd to be making logical suggestions."

Jason rolled his eyes as he tucked you in bed. "Im just saying, if you get better faster, you'll get to try running from us quicker too."

How do you explain to him that you just dont want to comply to them, even when they're helping you. How do you explain that you dont wanna listen to them because the soft pitiful, patronising look they get in their eyes when they look at you makes you wanna scream and carve your skin out. These are strangers, rich men who just kidnapped you to be a part of their family. No one is that kind. And nothing ever comes for free. Nothing.

"Do you need something? Food, perhaps?" Jason asked. You shook your head. "No, I think Im gonna throw up."

"Oh shit." Jason was hauling his ass out of the room t get you a bucket, only to return with a backpack.

You barely held your puke as you asked. "Wait- whose is this?"

"I dont know!? Damian's?!"

You grinned. "Oh, perfect." You proceeded to throw up into Damian's bag. That little shit just got on your nerves.

BONUS:

"I know you have attachment issues with your blanket but its been a couple of days now and you need to let me wash it." Dick said, trying to tug it out of your grip.

You sniffled and glared. "Im not a child who needs their blankie, Dick. Im just too cold without it and no other blanket can warm me up the same way it does."

"Give the blankie, Y/n." Dick said seriously.

"Its not a blankie." You retorted, but before you could react, Tim suddenly grabbed you while Dick ripped away the blanket. And even though he immediately replaces it with a clean blanket, you still let out a gut wrenching cry

"You'll have it back tomorrow-" Tim starts saying, only for you to sneeze directly in his face, making him freeze.

"And that's why we use tissues." Dick says, wiping both your nose and Tim's face with tissues, while you're not making any effort to suppress the grin that comes on your lips.

[earthsparked]

Sparking Flames

Part Four | one two three four intermission five (AO3 link)

You wake up with a short gasp, confused and fumbling in the dark. No idea where you are, or why you smell a sickening-sweet mixture of dried blood, ozone, pine tar, and...new car smell? You're moving. There's glowing lights on the dashboard. You're in an unfamiliar car, no seatbelt on, conked out in the passenger seat. It's so calm and familiar, reminiscent of long car rides when you were a child, that it takes you a second to realize there's nobody next to you in the god damn driver's seat.

You come all the way awake already lunging for the steering wheel, throwing yourself across from the passenger side and trying to smash the brake down. The wheel won't turn. The pedal won't depress. When the car's engine gives a weird rev and swerves a bit, you shriek incoherently. You've had stress dreams just like this. Next it's going to bounce off the road and into deep water, somewhere, then your teeth will fall out and you still won't have studied for that final exam for the college class on ancient Roman literature you don't remember signing up for.

A voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, alarmed. Whoa! Easy, sparklet, let up on that will you? Scared the coolant out of me, Primus! Do all humans jump out of recharge like that?

What, who. Robot?! Where are you? you ask foggily, grabbing for the door handle in a bid to jimmy it open. Then you cling to it in shock when you realize how fucking fast you're going. Bailing out is not an option unless you want to die in a spectacular splatter of gore on the blacktop. You're grooving down a highway that you don't recognize, but there are thick trees on either side of the road. You could almost believe you're in a self-driving car, but it's too smooth, too quiet, and way too fast. You glance at the speedometer and feel a little sick when you catch the reading, well over 100 miles an hour. How in the hell is this car taking these winding roads at these speeds without crashing?

Oh, so you're the DAMAGED, kind of damaged. Fragging 'Cons.. it grumbles. It's me. I am the car. Remember? Roddy? Hot Rod? Your hero in bitching awesome flame paint that totally looks just like Optimus Prime's? Saved you from Brawl and Ravage? C'mon, sparklet, don't tell me you got a memory wipe in the last couple klicks. Is that, like, normal for humans when they recharge, or do I gotta go Mach Primus to get you to a medic?

...Roddy? you ask, suspiciously, sinking back down into the (luxuriously comfortable) seats. You jolt when the car's seatbelt independently slides over you and locks into place.

So that's what those are for, he says in an ahh, now I get it, tone. Didn't really bother to look much at the cabin specs when I chose this alt mode, just the space for what's under the hood. Needed something that can take the heat, 'cause I'm just that kind of mech, you know?

His rambling is almost soothing, each weirdly enthusiastic, cheerful word calming you. As your pounding heart starts to slow, you fully come back to yourself, memories returning in a wave...

The robot slides down the cliffside with its hand crushing rock along the way, rappelling without a line, with you clutched protectively against its chest. It's a drop zone ride from hell, with no safety bars and a long way down. Just when you think you can't take the disorientation anymore, it leaps the final distance to the ground with a boom – taking the impact entirely on its legs, with barely a tremor getting through to you. It's honestly kind of impressive.

Who are you? you ask, finally, once you're sure you're not about to black out. What in the absolute fuck is happening? Where'd you come from? Why were you fighting those other robots? Why'd you protect me? Why did that one look like a metal mountain lion?

The robot looks down at you with unrestrained glee. You get the impression it's been looking forward to you asking some of those questions. The thought that someone was so interested in talking to you sends a pleasant little flutter through your heart. For a second you think it's about to stop and put you down so it can preen – there's something so young, and energetic, and good-natured about it, though why you feel that way, you're not even sure. But it shakes itself and strides into the woodland. You're well past the hiking trails down here, thanks to the shortcut, and the direction it picks isn't even one you're familiar with.

I'm Hot Rod, Autobot. Better known as Roddy, Rodders, Speedster, Speed Demon, The Pit On Wheels, fastest mech on either side of Andromeda, right-hand mech to Optimus Prime himself -! And..you don't know what any of that means, do you. When you shake your head no, it deflates a little, making you realize that it had puffed up its plating like a peacock ruffling its train. Uh, I'm really a big deal. I'm important, and fast, and I kick 'Con ass. That's all you really need to know.

But I'm not a robot, it corrects firmly, as it pushes through trees. Wincing as yet more leaves get stuck in various places in-between its armor. Robots aren't sentient. I'm a mech. And a - hm, you'd call it a "badass dude." Organics have gender, don't you? What gender are you?

Um, you say, but he keeps on going, both through the woods and running his mouth.

So, Autobots. We're the good guys. We're all from a planet called Cybertron, but the Decepti-dicks are a bunch of slaggers who follow their leader Megatron like their olfactory bulbs are welded to his tailpipe. He's all "look at me, I'm big and scary and I turn into a tank, so I can roll over everyone who stands in my way, hurr hurr." I could take him, he says, conspiratorially. But I just got here on the planet like, today. So I haven't had the chance yet.

Ah, you say, somehow more confused than before.

He seems to notice in that weird way he has, as if he knows what you're thinking, or feeling, or something. He gives you that same soft smile he had back in the middle of the battle.

Look, it's an old war that old mechs have been fighting forever, and then shit happened and a bunch of mechs all ended up on your planet, a while back. Optimus Prime, our leader, sent out a call for reinforcements to help protect you little guys, 'cause the 'Cons don't give a flying frag about organics. Like to stomp you for fun, even.

But you said Revenge -

Ravage, he corrects. Primus though, that'd be an amazing name. I like your language.

Ravage, you said he wouldn't just kill organ- um, humans, out in the middle of nowhere. So what was he doing there? Why did he kill those people? And who were they, what were they doing there in the fire tower? I thought it was weird they had a lot of really advanced-looking radio equipment, not the kind of stuff most of the lookout towers have. And what does this have to do with the attack in town?

Dunno! he said, and you can't miss the glint of excitement shining from him. He's worried, sure, but he's thrilled too. But we're gonna find out. This has gotta be why they attacked your town, earlier. Ravage said maybe we're looking for the same thing they are. Energon? That's that pink stuff you're wearing, but in crystal form. We use it for fuel. But, our scans didn't show any significant deposits around here, so it can't be that. And humans don't have any real use for energon anyway, so what would those guys you talked to want with it?

So it can't be that. They called me a civilian, you remember, piecing it together now that you're not in the full-on grip of expecting to die any second. That means they had to be military. Or maybe, ex-military?

That's a disturbing thought. There's plenty of weird guys with way too many guns lurking around, with really scary and bigoted ideas, but you'd never thought there would be such a group near your tiny town. On the other hand, if they had access to a helicopter and that kind of advanced equipment – that sounded a lot more like some kind of para-military, or James Bond bullshit, not racist nutjobs.

...though you supposed they could be both, which was not an encouraging thought.

Hot Rod didn't, unfortunately, ease your fears. He frowned as he carefully stepped over a little brook, feet sinking into the wetland with an uncomfortable squelch. Can't be military. Optimus and his team made contact with your military ages ago. They even set us up with a base of operations and some supplies, though they're trying hard not to let anybody know we exist. There's this weird intelligence agent, Fowler? I met him this morning. Bet he's having a whole litter of turbofox pups over this slag.

You let that knowledge percolate a while. It wasn't too terribly surprising your government had knowledge of aliens and were trying to keep it a secret. You had to wonder if maybe Guillermo del Toro had ever run into one of these Cybertronians.

Because you were in danger, Hot Rod says suddenly.

Huh?

You asked why I protected you. 'Cause I'm an Autobot, and that's what we do. Help people in danger.

There's a straightforward earnestness to him that's very nearly innocent in its honesty. You're learning quickly that he's a robot - er, mech of intense feelings, not good at hiding anything. You find it makes it easier to trust him. There's probably no chance this guy could keep a secret to save his life. He really means what he says. He even came after you when you disappeared from the battle, even though it meant following your trail through terrain that was not friendly to him.

It starts to sink in you've somehow managed to gain the protection of a giant alien mech. Your own personal jaeger, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile, a funny sense of humor, a quick temper and a big, brave heart.

Though you'd need to have a talk about his tendency to go all Spider-Man without a word of warning, while holding you.

You lean into his chest, where you can feel something like static electricity, something like a heartbeat under your touch. You lean your head against him, a moment of trust. No human had ever done anything like this for you. And here was an alien, only on the planet a day, and even though you'd met him in the worst way possible, you already knew you'd never forget him or his kindness.

Thank you, Hot Rod. For saving me. I didn't get the chance to say it, before. I'm pretty sure you've saved my life at least twice now. So, if that's what being an Autobot is about, you're great at being one.

You'd expected some cheerful bluster, but what you get is a sudden heating of his armor, even some flames licking out of the pipes along his shoulders. You look up at him, and find him staring at you with a sort of startled expression more at home on a doe-eyed fawn that a giant alien mech.

People don't tell you that very often, do they? you softly guess from his reaction. You busy yourself with plucking bits of pine bark and pine needles out of the seams of his armor.

Sure they do! Hear it all the time, he bluffs, and it's so painfully human that you feel dizzy. How can these mechs be so much like you?

Anyway, Ravage looks like that 'cause he's an animal-form symbiont. He's small 'cause he's one of a contingent of several symbionts bonded with this weird fragger named Soundwave. You ever run into a big, spindly mech with a strange voice? Run. There's tentacles.

Hot Rod shudders, and you decide you really don't want to know.

That's about it. The plan now is to put some distance between us and that tower, which would be a lot fragging easier if your stupid planet wasn't covered in this green stuff. Any more questions, sparklet?

Just one. Where are we going?

His strides falter and he looks at you with an expression you can only describe as sheepish. Uh. Was kind of hoping you would know.

When you start to scowl, his face breaks apart into a laugh, and you feel his chest heaving with it. Oohh, the look you just gave me! No, no, sorry, we're cutting through the woods to get to the next highway over. I have um, what do your people call it...GPS? I'm not gonna get us lost. But we gotta make sure we lose -

Then you hear it, the thing you'd been fearing was going to descend on you this whole time, even though the conversation had been a nice distraction. It's the thudding blades of a helicopter, coming closer. Roddy gives a start - had he not been paying attention?!

Hot Rod, they're coming! Do something! you exclaim.

He sounds about as serious as you've ever heard him sound. Right, can't run, time to hide. And then he does...something.

He folds himself around you. One minute you're in a giant robot's hands. The next, the whole world comes apart in a tornado of metal. You catch a single bright flash of light, a lick of flame, and then you're blinking at finding yourself in the passenger seat of the most expensive sports car you've ever seen in your life. You feel too poor just to let your butt touch the seat made of ...it's probably leather? Alien leather? From alien cows? It's sinfully soft, and warm, and you hadn't realized you'd gotten so cold. But the sun has just about set, and you are so, so beyond tired.

Do I even want to know, you say, leaning back against the seat. Why you didn't tell me you can turn into a car?

You didn't ask, he says, predictably, but with the glee of a toddler getting to make that joke for the first time in his life. Now, shh. My cabin is soundproof but my engine throws off a lot of heat. I gotta run silent. No way they'll see us under all this plant life, their radar's gonna scatter all over. Just sit tight, human.

Not human, you mumble sleepily.

Huh? You're not?! Then what the frag are you? he exclaims, jostling on his tires despite himself.

You snort. My name, you goofball. It's not "human." My - designation is...

You tell him, and he repeats it several times, using different inflections. Does that help him remember? Or do robots - er, mechs - just record things for remembering later?

I like it. What does it mean? Did you pick it yourself? Where were you sparked, anyway? Where do humans come from?

Quiet, you remind him, hiding from scary people. Shh. You can't hear the rotor blades anymore, or see searchlights in the sky. They've passed over you, whoever they are.

Warm, comfortable, not alone, if not at all that safe – you fell into a much-needed sleep.

Only to waken hours later, well after dark, confused but slightly better rested.

You lean back into Hot Rod's seats, which you're pretty sure are heated. It's incredible how smooth the ride is. If you'd had any doubts that what you're sitting in isn't a human-made vehicle, that alone would have erased them. It's like riding on air, and the surety with which he steers you is more like a falcon navigating an air current than a human driver trying to steer a two thousand-pound metal deathtrap down backroads of a conservation forest.

You want to go back to sleep, and he tells you that you can. I'm doing some patrolling before we go back to your town. Hoping to catch something on my sensors that could explain what the frag is going on here.

But your stomach growls loudly enough that it sparks a conversation in hurt tones about why are you growling at me, what did I do?! (You're starting to think he's a wee bit sensitive, your new giant alien mech protector.)

I can't remember when I ate last, and - fuck, you groan, as your injuries give a horrid throb. The brief burst of adrenaline had warded it off, but now your side, hip, and most of your body was hurting fiercely. You had raw scrapes from the road rash, and should probably start getting worried about infection.

I really need a doctor. And a bath. And some new clothes. Or at least a place I can wash up.

Yeah, poor little guy, you really got knocked around, he says sympathetically, with just enough condescension that one of your eyes twitches. Ratchet - that's our chief medical officer, he read me and Drift and a bunch of the other guys all these ways to kill a human, so we wouldn't do them. You're like protoforms, you're so - soft.

You'd take more offense to it if his tone wasn't so full of wonder. Though it's hard for you to understand how your smelly, banged-up, completely imperfect body could hold any wonder for anyone, right now, let alone The Pit on Wheels, whose alt mode was probably worth more than some people's entire life earnings.

I think there's a rest stop up ahead, you say, squinting as the sign blows past in the rearview mirror. They'll have a bathroom. If you can stop a minute, I'll get cleaned up and then we can head back to town?

Yeah, I guess we're not gonna find anything out here. Frag it. I was hoping I'd have something more to bring back with us. I uh, kind of disobeyed orders to come after you, he admits. On impulse, you reach out and gently stroke the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything, but his powerful engine purrs gently.

You pull over and groan loudly as you limp into the rest stop. You spend a blissful, yet miserable twenty minutes washing various substances off of yourself. Your clothes are absolutely trashed, but a quick rinse and dry under the automatic hand-dryer has them stiff and uncomfortable but less goopy.

You drink your fill from the sink and drag yourself back outside. Only to find the parking lot empty.

Roddy-? You call, heart sinking. Had he left you?! Without a word? You'd only known him for perhaps a dozen hours, but that strikes you as incredibly unlike him. Getting distracted maybe, but abandoning you? No.

Before you can call out again, gloved hands slam themselves over your mouth and wrap around your waist, heaving you backwards into the confining grip of a tall, muscular body. As you screamed muffled cries into the hand, something sharp pricks the side of your neck, and against your will you fall into darkness.

[tumblingxelian]

No Pit Madness - What the Lazarus Pit might actually do to a human brain:

So, I hate the whole "Pit Madness" BS but I do find how the brain works fascinating and ended up wondering how something like the pit might effect the brain and if it could influence behaviors in a none ableist or "Evil magic" way. So please join me as I outline a fun little thought experiment about how the Lazarus Pit could influence someone's personality, but not in the way you'd expect!

Let's begin with a fun fact!

When we experience trauma is can leave a physical mark on our brain even if it wasn't physical trauma it still mars the fleshy sponge that is our brain.

This can be useful, like learning fire = hot & the ensuing pain = bad!

It can also hard-code in a lot of really bad stuff which is why when it comes to certain mental illnesses medications to suppress certain parts of the brain need to be taken for upwards of ten years. This is to ensure the damage does not keep perpetuating itself while the brain builds new neural pathways until the source of the sickness is gone.

So, now imagine if you get dumped in a Lazarus pit and and EVERYTHING comes back in perfect clarity. That's likely why people coming out are so initially panicked and wild, they are experiencing total sensory overload on a level never before imagined!

But, the influence of the pit likely lingers as it works its way through the body and so its still repairing damage as it happens. Which is key to my next point and we'll use Ra's as an example.

Ra's was a doctor, a healer, a man who wanted to better the world. But in that journey he saw and eventually did terrible things. Things that would forever change him, quite literally in this case.

Because imagine if you will, all that stuff coming back all at once, but then imagine the Lazarus pit remnant going "Oh the brains getting damaged real fast, better fix that!"

Put simply, it effectively heals the damage done to the mind via traumas as the brain is trying to process and learn from them.

This happens be they brought up by the pit or simply on the persons mind in the immediate after effects. The brain is trying to hard code in "Thing bad" but the Lazarus pit won't allow the brain to experience that kind of damage and wins out for at least a time. Essentially fortifying the mind against taking this kind of damage.

Using Ra's as an example the longer he lives, the more he sees and does, the more this stuff compounds and the more the pit has to heal when he goes in and comes out. By virtue of getting that healing, those actions no longer have the same kind of mental or emotional impact they once did. Causing him to become increasingly alienated from the human condition and the horrors he inflicts on others.

Now, for someone who went into the pit once this is likely not a huge deal but let's go over some example using this current model:

1: Cassandra Cain was killed by Shiva and thrown in a pit, she came out and killed Shiva, something she would normally be so violently opposed to she'd die rather than do it. This isn't merely philosophical for Cassandra it is also rooted in intense trauma. But this act did not impact her the way it should. Cassandra retains her intellectual and emotional morals, but the trauma that comes with seeing or causing death no longer hits her the way it once did, because her brains now been hard-wired to be able to handle that without taking damage.

2: Bruce has if I recall been in the pit at times, so wouldn't the trauma over his parents be lessened? No, because Bruce tends to go in the pit when he's on missions and thus compartmentalizing. Thus instead the trauma is just as bad or slightly worse because its in a sense been refreshed once he's out of mission mode and the Lazarus Pit effects wear off. IE, he got factory reset but kept all his memories, now they are just clearer than ever before and that's worse.

3: Much like the the above, Jason was factory reset as far as is brains physical trauma went and so confused when he came out that he wasn't entirely clear on having died over just getting injured. By the time he did know the pits effects had worn off, so this was his brains first major "new" old trauma, and thus it responded the way a new brain does to trauma with "This is the worst thing because its the first bad thing" magnifying its impact and solidifying it in his brain.

This hasn't made any of them new people, they retain agency in their actions and beliefs. But for a physical comparison, its like how some stories have someone coming out of the pits feet be baby smooth and thus needing to build up calluses, except for the brain.

The difference is, because one retains the memories, if they are in a calm scenario and ideally unconscious when first coming out of the pit, they could wake up, calmly meditate on things and come out more or less the same as before save maybe a little more level.

Most people cannot do that and so their brain gets a jagged, clumsy, often entirely unhelpful wave of protective film over major horrors, or get to experience them again like they are brand new with no in-between. Thus meaning the results tend to be either:

"Huh, that used to fuck me up but now it doesn't."

Or

"Oh gods this is worse than I remembered it, aaah!"

Or in other words you either get over stuff you probably shouldn't or get super re-traumatized with no middle ground and neither is ideal.

[yasuumiu]

𝑶𝑵𝑪𝑬, his heart whole; ᘓ ݂ ໋ . 🍎

SYNOPSIS. his entire life, he’s never looked away from you. how do you not see this; how can you not know? what must he do to make you see?

WORD COUNT. 3.2k | WARNINGS. cunnilingus, use of pet names, angst.

𓏲  .⋆ﾟ. ͘ ࣭⠀⸰ absolutely devastated by this pixelated man, and cannot form any coherent thoughts except this. enjoy 🤍

This is what it will be like from now on, he thinks. Me here, and her over there, far away from me, a place I can never reach. Two lines parallel to each other, where before was one.

Fine by him. If he gets to look over you, after you, the separation is bearable. Distinguishable, like an arm losing feeling over time when all its life it’s known otherwise, like his arm—the hand relaxes the unconscious fist, its fingers flexing once, his jaw clenching at the numbness of the movement; he clearly remembers, not too long ago—he wants to remember, he wants—but bearable.

Your necklace scrapes against his chest, the constant reminder, the gift that haunts, the promise he can never break. And still, you—you, you, you—beyond the glass, laughing away with these so-called friends you haven’t seen in a while, not a care in the world about what time it is, about the unanswered calls on your phone, about Caleb—

(He does not let this thought fester like all the others, he will keep this to himself, he will do this for you.) (One of them is a man, don’t move, stay, she’ll get mad, she’ll demand fucking space again—how do you know him, where did you meet, who is he, what does he want—well, what every man wants, what everyone will want if he’s not there to keep you safe—how can you be so naive, so blind—and you dare order him away?)

You’re all grown up now, and so sure of everything, aren’t you, pip-squeak?

He’s sick to his stomach. Even after all these years, the countless sleepless nights tossing and turning, insomnia beating on his skull like a well versed drum, the relentless self-training; teaching himself how to physically turn away from you, all the appropriate responses, but forbidden to cross the Invisible Line, the line that was kept in place for your sake, your selfish convenience; how to keep himself stock-still, to pretend to be normal for you, to not reply instinctually to what he feels for you, how he feels—it all threatens to obliterate him as soon as he loses even an ounce of control.

Shove it down. Shove.It.Down. You’re used to it. You cannot fail now. You cannot fail.

Caleb straightens, his resolve absolute, his purpose unshaken. It’s pitiful, he’s well aware, but it’s all he has left. You’re all he has left. The body holding together knows.

He scorched the earth to find all your missing pieces, slowly reassembling how he knew you before, without thinking you might’ve changed in the time between then and after. And it doesn’t matter. He never once looks away from you. He does it all very, very diligently. And if something is wrong, if he did do something wrong—will you please consider forgiving him? You see, he’s tired. He’s been doing this for a really long time. Over and over with no end in sight.

I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.

Never faltering.

It’s okay if you’ve forgotten. I’ll remind you. I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.

You won’t be alone anymore. I’ll always be by your side.

It’s okay if you’ve forgotten . . . It’s okay.

I’m Caleb.

I forget things too. Everything, sometimes.

You’re the only thing that brings him back. The anchor that pulls him in. His very own navigation system. He doesn’t go anywhere without you. He can’t.

He hides, instead. Watches from afar. That way, you never part from him, and he can keep an eye on you, just how it’s always been. He keeps his hands very close to himself, and he doesn’t dare want any more than he’s allowed to. What happened a few minutes ago—it’s erased, discarded somewhere deep within him, somewhere he’d have to die to reach.

The coffee shop’s door opens, and the sun comes out, burning. You don’t notice him, not at first. This way, he gets to see you happy a little while longer. The friendly way you say your goodbyes, the soft wave of your hand, your mouth, how it pulls at the corners, how the clouds have moved, how concepts like redemption and salvation become a little more real, a little more possible for someone like him.

Do you know—the Heavens come down for you? And him, forever the snake, forever the apple given, slithering towards the Garden of Eden, condemned to entice but never taste, the original sin, punished to come close but not close enough, exiled, accursed.

He fills with desire, he prays. He speaks your name very quietly, and he hopes, and he waits.

When your eyes meet his own, it’s the Chronorift Catastrophe all over again. Massive stars die, their cores collapsing, the gravity immense, the density so high not even light can escape it. Black holes are born out of his Evol—the world caves in on itself. You blink and it happens again. Caleb has no control over it. Over himself, over this unspoken thing between you that’s been happening ever since creation.

Reprogram. Reprogram.

The man hugs you, unaware. Caleb can’t fault him, funnily enough, though it takes everything he fucking has not to answer to the nasty tightening of familiar jealousy inside his chest. Lightning courses through his veins, fingers begging to destroy, to bleed, to make an even bigger mess of things.

No.

He refuses adamantly, and moves his head to the side, severing all contact with you and your dangerous gaze, choosing to bite his tongue until he tastes copper, and ground himself to the cement underneath his boots.

He wants to grab you and shake you and demand. He doesn’t suppose you know what that means. He doesn’t know either. He knows so little about you these days, it seems. Much less about himself, and all this distance you’ve put between you. The unfairness isn’t lost on him. What is he doing here, waiting like this, when you’ve so easily moved on? If he had never glimpsed into that little window of your life today, would he have even known?

That there’s no value to his life anymore? That he signed it all away for the safety of a girl that puts her life in danger so easily, so recklessly, at every possible turn? What will it take to make you realize the evil lurking two steps behind at all times, and what if he’s not there when it decides— What does he have to do?

What more? What else?

Anger. Tap into it. It’s safer. It’s what you have. Copious fucking amounts of it.

He doesn’t see the way you don’t react to the man’s advances. How you hesitate after that. How sorry you are.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Caleb deflects. Puts on that see-through smile you hate the most, his amethyst eyes glinting with secrets and artificial sweetness. It’s getting harder to pretend, much harder to play the convincing role and keep the circus going. He attempts it anyway, even with the look you’re giving him. Against it.

“Not long,” he lies, and motions for you to follow. “It’s late. Did your phone die, or something?”

You lie too. “Yeah, sorry, were you calling? Forgot to charge it, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

Then, “How’d you know where I was, anyway?”

He doesn’t reply. You huff and slow down your steps. Caleb shuts his eyes tight for a second, breathing deeply, fighting multiple urges. This is already going terribly. He was only supposed to pick you up and bring you home. Ask if you had fun and deliver you to your room, where you were to stay for the rest of the night. It’s never easy with you. It will never be.

“Caleb.”

“Pip-squeak.”

“Answer me.”

He swallows with difficulty and resumes walking, fists at his sides. He doesn’t hear your footsteps trailing, but he does not stop. You’ve been stubborn all your life, but so has he. There is nothing wrong with having a way to know where you are. It is his job. His top priority. You can’t possibly be mad, especially with the way you’ve been acting. He can’t have you venture too far off by yourself. Not when he’s so close . . .

“Get in the car,” he says firmly, opening the door for you.

There’s fire crackling in your eyes. He’s seen it a million times. He’s wished to light himself on it, hand outstretched, a willing sacrifice for you. What will you say now, if he offered that same hand? Would you recognize the wrongness of it? Would you stomp your foot how you did when you were little, the whole world at your beck and call because he made it be so? Would you carry him back like he did?

“Is that the Colonel’s order?” your voice is full of the same emotion that governs him. It pierces through all defenses and lands straight through his heart. A clean shot.

He finds the damn thing still beating.

Caleb sighs and leans against the door of his vehicle, arms crossing one over the other. You mimic his stance. He smirks at you, feigning amusement, terrified inside.

“You already know the answer, sweetheart.”

“I want to hear you say it,” you retort, and he can’t stand the disappointment in your voice.

He ignores the very prominent tug of pure shame, and puts the fleet’s officer cap of indifference on for a little longer. “What do you want me to say?”

“That this is insane! That it cannot possibly go on.” You move faster than he anticipates, your small hands shoving at him with all your might yet failing to move even an inch of him. You try anyway. Again and again, until your eyes are wet, and your cheeks red with fury. He lets you, does nothing to stop you.

Not even when there’s people passing by, their accusatory glances messing with his already quickening temper. You can do whatever you want to him, but he cannot let you tarnish your reputation as a hunter for something as trivial as this. He won’t accept it.

“I’m taking you home. You can be mad all you want there.”

The silence that ensues makes him wish for a second death. A slow, painful one. One he can never come back from.

Because he’s responsible for this mistrust, this suspicion you won’t seem to shake off. He caused it, it’s his fault, his fault, his fault—

No matter how hard he tries to fix it. It’s beyond repair.

You’re leaving.

First thing in the morning. This was clearly a mistake, you tell him while slamming your suitcase open on his floor. He watches you do so, disgusted with despair. I’m not sure what I was thinking, clothes on his bed, shoes by his front entrance, your brush on his sink, your hand tearing apart whatever semblance of a man he scrambled to come up with to appease you.

My Caleb is gone.

He lunges towards you, your gasp the only indication of fear; he knew, of course he knew. You were afraid of this new version of him. The version that somehow commands an entire fleet, goes on classified missions that go against everything you’ve worked for as a Hunter, and keeps secrets from the same someone he used to sing lullabies to during bad summer storms. The version that would lock her inside a stranger’s room, inside a stranger’s house.

But really, wasn’t he always like this? The signs were there all along. He’d locked you in the attic before. He’d kept you there all day, knowing very well how you’d react, how you’d run to him after the coincidental rescue, declare him the hero. This darkness has been inside him for a long time. You’ve just been very good at looking the other way, very good at taking, not so very good at giving. Are you, pip-squeak?

When I don’t fit your definition of who ‘Caleb’ is, you simply shun me away and wipe your hands clean of me. I’m the one stuck here. Astute. Unable to move. Unable to let you go.

It ends here.

Your wrist is impossibly small as his fingers wrap around it, yanking, pulling you against his feverish body. You fight but only for a moment, his other hand coming to rest right above your mouth, rendering you mute, eyes wide, expecting, calculating.

“Will I do it?” He muses, violet eyes boring into yours, his desire palpable, his want a thousand knives, all double sided, honed for the perfect kill. You breathe deeply, trying to calm down that beating heart he so envies. Caleb leans further, hovering over you like a nightmare. “Will you let me, (Y/N)?”

You shake your head slightly, your brows furrowing with poignant emotion. Sadness. Towards what? Him? He can’t help but chuckle at the clueless girl in front of him. How he fought to stay the kindhearted boy from your childhood, at least in your eyes. He would’ve kept with the facade all his years, if it meant you’d always look at him with that proud expression he remembers from his college days. If it was truly up to him, you would’ve never seen him like this.

Alas, it was never up to him. Not once. Not ever.

“I must be pretty fucking pathetic to you, isn’t that right?”

Your gaze shatters and drops. Caleb presses on, fed up with himself, the self-loathing successfully managing to escape that dark pit at the bottom of his soul.

“What game are we playing now, pip-squeak? How do I win it?” He tilts your chin up, forcing your attention back on him. “Hmm?”

Seeing you cry will never get easier for him. It will always stab at him from the inside out, memories cataclysmic, and him, defenseless, useless, responsible, because—because—

“There was never any game, Caleb,” you breathe out, shakily. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Amethyst eyes lose the eternal fight, fall closed. His hands move, over your neck, hesitating there, tightening on your shoulders, bringing you close, holding you to him. Even like this. At least you’re here. Even like this.

“Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“My name. Say it again.”

He feels your ribs, their inhale, then the defeat—your head against his uniform-clad chest, your ear pressing closer, trying to listen for something that hasn’t worked right in a long time.

“Caleb. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb . . .” In the dead of night, he’s resurrected. “Come back to me,” a whisper of singular light that pierces through him, pierces through him, pierces through him.

It hurts. His love is not a good love, it is a violent one. A miserable existence, created from pain, from insatiable greed, from gut-wrenching need.

He kisses you. Grabs your face and walks you backwards to the nearest wall, his fingers buried deep in your hair, clenching, his mouth over yours, claiming, searching, your breath his own, your voice his own, your body, your body—

“You’re mine,” he rasps, drowning in you, lips trailing a path down, down, to your throat, where he sucks, where he marks. “You’ve always been, you’ll always be.”

“I don’t need you to—”

Caleb chuckles darkly. “You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” His feeling hand crawls over your flaming skin, reaching between you, under your skirt, your thigh, the inside of it, the place he’s been dreaming about, touching there. You cry out, surprised, aroused. “Tell me exactly what you don’t need, honey. Don’t leave nothing out.”

You say nothing, embarrassment flushing your pretty face in pinks. He wipes your tears very patiently, and slowly gets on one knee, then the other, until he’s kneeling in front of you, and isn’t that a sort of christening as well?

A man demolished, over six feet who-the-fuck-cares, commanding officer of nothing, exiled from his land, turned away from his home. He lost you, and then found you, and now again, this impossible story of repetition that shall never end, like the nightmares, like the torment.

He hugs your legs and rests his forehead on your soft mound. You stand very still, he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. This makes no sense to you. But to him—to him—

You’re sacred. You’re the war that’s raging on. The war he’s fighting for. The country he protects, the nation he serves.

“We’re too old for games, pip-squeak,” he ignores the ball forming in his throat, his burning eyes. “I’m tired.”

Caleb feels your digits digging into his scalp, running through his ragged hair, pulling at the ends, alleviating the pain. He swallows as to not cry out his hunger. The ache, though, it persists, and what to do with it?

It gnaws at him, little by little, every single day.

“It’s different now,” you say. “We’re different.”

He sinks his nose into your warm cunt, and inhales. Your knees buckle, but he holds you, he steadies you against the wall, he’s got you. You try to push, but he grabs your hand, interlocks your fingers with his. You try to speak, but he’s already pushing your underwear to the side, tongue daring to taste.

“Caleb.”

Moaning his name, he’s never heard of anything more beautiful. He wishes you never stop, wishes it more than anything. He almost breaks down right there. This is never going to happen again.

Is he dreaming? Is this a dream?

If it is—

“Don’t leave me,” he guides your leg over his shoulder, and doesn’t dare look up to see your face. You’re willing in his hands and you’re muttering his name. It’s more than enough. It’s everything. “My God, I’ll never forget this—”

You’re so compliant, he could do anything he wanted with you. All the fight had left your body. Was it even there to begin with? He knew you felt it too, he knew—then why condemn you both? Then why deny it?

Caleb didn’t stop believing once. There was no doubt in his mind.

“Please, I can’t,” you sigh, your words jumbled, blurring into one another, while his tongue sucks your clit into his mouth. The reaction he elicits out of you has him rock hard and leaking instantly. “Please, please, please, please. Caleb, I—oh my God—”

He works you up until the edge, feels your thighs shaking, feels the urgency of your fingers pulling. When you’re almost there, he moves away—your slick dripping, his chin glistening—and gets up, in all his height, gaze locking into yours.

You haven’t let go of his hand. He can’t feel a fucking thing.

A new wave of anger suddenly washing over him, he leans down and bites your lip. Your yelp gratifies the hankering inside him. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he only means for you to experience an ounce of what he does every time his body denies him your delicate touch.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he whispers into the dark. “I never thought it possible, only a dream,” he brings you closer once again, hugging you to him as if he could somehow absorb you in on himself.

He senses the change in your demeanor immediately. This shy girl standing in front of him is nothing like the tough Hunter he witnessed infiltrating his fleet single-handedly. For you to be different with him, alone—he feels normal again, if just for a second.

“Have you . . . done this before?” You ask.

Caleb can’t help but laugh. “How could I?” He replies, incredulous. “There’s never been anyone else for me.

“You occupy every single fucking part of me, sweetheart.”

[takami-takami]

Scent Kink!Keigo who's raptorial senses have been finely honed like a sharpened blade for as long as he can remember. For all his analytical prowess, he could never quite pinpoint the exact cause of his heightened senses. Perhaps it, like most things, is a combination of nature and nurture— avian DNA and brutal, militant training. The source matters little to him. Keigo has always been one for outcomes.

Scent Kink!Keigo who discovers pretty early on in your friendship that your scent is distinct. If he could put it into words, the first that would come to mind is warm. It smells warm when he sits next to you on the couch, bouncing his leg like a dog that smells something delectable right under its nose yet tries to behave and contain himself all the same. Your neck is perfectly bare. If he could just lean over and bury his nose in whatever crevice is most available, he'd die a happy man. 

Scent Kink!Keigo who is actually so normal about your scent, all these years later. Sure, he memorizes your smell, conjures up the scent in his mind's eye whenever he has trouble sleeping at night. The thought of it soothes him, aids in building his picturesque fantasies of you holding him from behind and shushing the bad dreams away. But he's very normal about it. Of course he's attached— you're his best friend.

Scent Kink!Keigo who can't remember the first time your scent began to cause his pants to grow tight. He thinks it was that night you arrived late for your usual meetup, panting and running before throwing your arms around him and apologizing, promising you ran just to make sure he didn't wait too long. He remembers his eyes widening while his pupils shrunk to dots, overwhelmed by the potency of you invading every sense. It made his cock throb. He made an excuse to hide in the bathroom within the hour.

Scent Kink!Keigo who does a remarkable job at containing the whine in his throat when you show him around your new apartment, quickly discovering you didn't bother to put away your laundry basket before he arrived. Why should you worry about your best friend seeing it? Keigo would never hold ill intentions. Keigo would never stuff a pair of your panties in his back pocket, Keigo wouldn't dream of fantasizing the second he secures it, flashes of the misbehavior he could get up to conjured quickly in his mind.

Scent Kink!Keigo who fidgets and avoids your eyes when you insist he stay so you can feed him takeout that night. The weight of his prize stings against his thigh; and as much as he loves your company, something else is calling to his attention right now. He quickly makes an excuse, faking a dispatch call by your window and waving once before he takes flight.

Scent Kink!Keigo who's brain glitches when he gets home and realizes he has to decide what to do first: take out his cock to touch himself and relieve the pressure straining in his pants, or pull your used panties out of his pocket. He picks the second option.

Scent Kink!Keigo who's whining in his bed moments later, your scent finally rubbed across his face with his hand fisting between his legs. It's like static when he twists his wrist with each stroke, imagining the smell of sex in the air as you ride his cock. Eyes rolled into the back of his skull, he swears the scent of your freshly used panties is enough. At least for tonight. At least until he needs a little refresher for his memory and has to snag another.

Scent Kink!Keigo who thinks he's a degenerate. He's a pervert. He's a sick freak who gets off on his crush's panties stuffing his mouth to muffle his moans, his saliva drenching the poor fabric; and he's even sicker for getting his dick wet to the thought of you catching him and repeating those insults in his ear while you sit on his face. He's sick, imagining himself inhaling it right from the source, spilling all over his abdomen to the thought of it.

Scent Kink!Keigo who is entirely, utterly fucked when you decide to move in together as roommates. Trouble isn't something he considered before. He's too excited by the idea of being around you to consider the repercussions on his mental health to be in such close proximity to you when night falls.

Scent Kink!Keigo who doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse that your room is directly adjacent to his. He knows exactly when you're touching yourself in the next room over.

Scent Kink!Keigo who throws his head back with a groan, hand ghosting down his happy trail and sliding beneath his waistband to grab his swelling cock again.

[secretsandwriting]

HELLO!!!, can I request a etho fanfic

So this is not hermitcraft but the life series, so I would like the secret life one. like etho got a task but it involves reader, they have to like they both have to kill 2 or 3 warden together, but unfortunately the reader died, but the reader will respawn tho. if you dont want to make it secret life you can do it in hermitcraft, but it will change a few, BUT ITS FINE, That it! I dont know if you get it or not😭😭 but I hope you do get it🥲🥲, THANK YOU💜 LOVE YOUR WORKSS🫶🏻🫶🏻

I got this in April, i'm sorry it took so long!! I hope you see this anon!

Anyways, this has a hint of the hermits being borderline god mentioned bc I love that so much. So many emotions too...

Death Games and Wardens

Etho wasn’t sure how to go on about this, He had to keep his task a secret but it involved you. He stared at the book in his hands.

Kill two wardens with Y/n. Neither of you can die.

The thought of you dying sent a pang of fear through him. Logically he knew that if you died, you would respawn and if you lost your last live you would go back to your home server. Which was hermitcraft, the exact Server he would return to. 

Respawning was bad on a good day, but on a Server with rules that didn't follow Players normal code and instead added some, made respawning even worse. He didn’t want you to go through that. 

“Etho!” His focus was torn away by you. He couldn’t help but relax around you, even when playing against you in death games. Somehow, you brought comfort to him no matter the circumstances. The book burned in his hand as he remembered what your task was. He saw your book in your hands and a nervous grin on your face. “You got a good one?”

“Let's go somewhere private.” You nodded and followed him to the border. Etho glanced at the two sentences in his book and signed. The fear of you getting hurt was back and growing stronger. You broke the silence, apparently he waited too long to start.

“Does your task involve both of us?” He nodded, the sick feeling in his stomach growing. “Good my task does too… Now.. Is yours something we have to do?” Another nod and more stomach pains. “Ok, this is my task.” You handed him your book and he opened it.

Etho’s secret involves you. Do it with him and guess what it is to finish.

Etho may read this book.

He somehow hated this more. You didn’t even know what you were getting into. That meant more room for mistakes and mistakes would lead to a very fast death. You were oblivious to his dilemma and just waited for him to figure it out, assuming he was just trying to figure out how to go about this. The expression on his face was very abnormal but these were death games, they put everyone on edge and filled them with stress.

“Are you ready?” Etho’s head jerked up to look at you. “We only have so much time after all.” He sighed and nodded. He really wanted to come up with a fake task but he knew you wouldn’t like that.

“We need to gear up.”

Fully geared,you followed Etho do into a cave, when the shrieker went off, you hesitated. This wasn’t looking good. This had to be a hard task and probably involved wardens. Something you avoided no matter what. The sound of the Shrieker going off a second time had adrenaline pumping through your veins and terror settling in your bones.

“Etho,” You whispered. “Is the task to summon a warden?” 

“No, but that's your closest guess so far.” You were starting to understand Etho’s hesitation and strange looks. The shrieker went off a third time, darkness filling your vision and the sound of a warden spawning filled your ears.

“It’s over here,” Etho whispered. You weren’t sure what to do until you saw Etho launch himself at it and attack it with his sword. Pulling out your bow, you shot it with arrows both to lower its health and to help Etho out of any sticky situations by drawing its attention away.

To focused on the fight, you didn’t notice the second warden spawn or it approaching from behind until it was too late

Y/n was slain by Warden

Etho’s attention on the warden shattered when he saw the death message and another warden standing in the middle of all your items. His hesitation cost him some hearts but he managed to get away and took the surface without them following. Rushing to spawn he looked around, desperately trying to find you and make sure you were ok. He found you not too far away, sitting on the ground looking a bit dazed.

“Y/n!” Etho grabbed you and held you close. “I’m sorry! I should have noticed! I shouldn’t have let it happen!” You sat in his arms, letting him ramble at you while you readjusted  after a hard respawn. When you finally got yourself together, you listened to Etho’s rambles, pulled yourself out of his grip, and slapped him hard. Etho immediately stopped and jerked back to look at you.

“Pull yourself together!” Etho immediately took a deep breath and squeezed your hand. Once he was calm, you continued. “Etho, I'd respawn no matter what. You know that. If I didn't respawn here, I’d be back on hermitcraft. If I wasn’t there we have enough people that are almost gods on the server I'd be found and brought back.”

Etho shuffled forward and dropped his head on your shoulder, he wrapped his arms around your waist and his shoulders shook with sobs. You ran your fingers through his hair while your other one rested on his back, you slowly rocked side to side. From your spot you could see a few of the red names started to surround you.

Your communicators buzzed with the 5 minute warning but you knew you wouldn’t make it until then. Not with the intent in Gem’s face as she came closer. She paused and pulled out her communicator and typed for a second before flipping it so you could see the message to Xisuma letting him know to expect you. Something only done when one of the players was having a rough time. She smiled when you mouthed a thank you and slipped it back into her pocket before lifting her sword.

Etho was slain by Geminitay

Y/n was slain by Geminitay

Waking up on hermitcraft was disorientating. It always was when you respawn from another server due to death. Your communicator buzzed with a message from Xisuma.

Xisuma: Did you respawn ok? Gem messaged ahead, she didn’t specify who

Y/n: Yeah

Y/n: Etho was having some trouble at the end. Did he respond?

Xisuma: No, I was just about to go check on him.

Y/n: I’ll do it. I’ll let you know if anything went wrong with his respawn.

Xisuma: Ok

You got up from your temporary bed at your mega base and made sure your elytra was equipped before shooting off to Etho’s base. You searched the entire place, the only sign of Etho was the messy bed and his communicator on the floor. So you took a gamble, instead of flying you ran down the path leading to your starter base. Looking for a mop of white hair along the way. With no sign of him along the way, you looked through your house. Stopping in the doorway of your room to see Etho sitting on the floor next to your bed.

“Etho.” He didn’t seem to hear you. “Etho!” You tried again, nothing. Carefully, you moved towards him, making sure to go slow. When you were close enough, you gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He jerked out of your grip and looked up at you.

“Y/n!” He launched himself at you, pulling you close and holding you tight, relief crawled up his spine as he clung to you. “I thought you were gone.”

“I just respawned at my mega base. I told you I would respawn… Come on, let's lay down for a bit.” You managed to get Etho into your bed and when he relaxed you sent a message to Xisuma.

Y/n: Etho’s ok, just the death part of the death games messing with his head.

Xisuma: Ok, take care of him. Let us know if you need anything.

With that out of the way, you put your communicator away and decided to get some rest. Maybe when you woke up, the two of you could figure out what you were. But for now, you were tired.

Etho x Y/n shippers

Geminitay: I kinda felt bad, Etho was clinging to Y/n when I killed them. I mean CLINGING

Xisuma: Y/n went to help Etho right after his respawn when he wouldn’t respond and then let me know he was ok.

Xisuma: What happened?

Grian: So I might have purposely messed with their secrets so they had to work together. I forgot it might have been a bit traumatic.

ImpulseSV: What were their secrets?

Grian: Ethos was to kill two wardens with Y/n and not die and Y/n’s was to help and guess what it was.

Xisuma: Etho is literally laying on top of Y/n in their sleep

Geminitay: THEY'RE SLEEPING TOGETHER

Grian: THEY’RE CUDDLING???

Xisuma: [Image]

Tangotek: You think they’ll actually talk this through after this or not?

You two did not in fact talk about it afterwards. Both of you just acted like it didn't happen and the group chat with every hermit except the two of you were outraged

[laylaysdelusions]

Waiting room

Paige Bueckers x reader

Plot: the breakup. (Heartbreaking angst)

It’s painful, so fucking painful. 

Paige had left you in the heat of August, to fight for yourself. I mean it wasn’t her fault, it was for the best. You had attachment problems and you were fully aware of that. It was just something you did, you didn’t mean to.

“I’m not good for you honey” she told you as she sat on the end of your floral bed sheets. You knew all six of those words were true but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Days passed and you couldn’t get your bones to move out of their permanent position. It was like time didn’t exist. The wall seemed to the most interesting thing the world had to offer. 

You’d wake up with tears streaming down your face and you’d fall asleep in the same manner. Eventually months began to pass but you still couldn’t function normally. Of course you had to return to work and classes but the world was still black and white. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the pink bear that laid directly in-front of your bed. Paige had gotten you the bear from the Minnesota State Fair and you remembered every painful detail about that day. It was lovely, truly perfect. When did things change? How does time do that? 

It made the light in your eyes die and your heart beat slower. Maybe you were already dead you just weren’t fully conscious of it yet. 

One day in mid October you trembled in the cold as you walked to your psychology class, that’s when you spotted her. 

Paige had her tongue intertwined with a curly headed girl on a campus bench. Right then and there your heart stopped beating. Your mouth went dry and you swear the air stopped circulating through your body. She’s moved on. The sudden realization made you run as fast as you possibly could to class. How you did it? You still have no idea. It was like your existence was nothing but absence. Every noise was just in the background. You couldn’t feel anything but the pounding in your ears. “This is a nightmare you need to wake up.” You told yourself. This can’t be real life, right? Oh but it was. This is something you are going to have to deal with for the rest of your life. 

The next week passes by without a single text message you received being handed a reply. You know your loved ones were very concerned but life had no point without Paige Bueckers. That right there is why Paige left you. Toxic attachment. Everyone that looked at you two could see how the debilitating love was making you worse. Which is more damaging and dangerous, having Paige and being so clingy it would rot away at you or not having her and every step you take being hell?

The consistent cycle of waking up, not caring, crying, putting your AirPods in, going back to sleep, and doing it all over again was the definition of your life. You were merely a shell of the girl you used to be. Nothing more than a zombie trying to hold it together. 

The winter comes faster than you can imagine. Snow falls down at UConn and you have an even stronger reason to cry. It’s down right freezing. 

You have started incorporating your friends back into your life however it’s a tedious process. You still have what feels like an inhalable heartbreak. At least your friends know why now. 

One day you’re sitting in the library with your friend Ariana when you look up to someone clearing their throat. Oh no. 

Paige bueckers stands infront of you.

It all rushes back intensely and you feel your legs go weak. No matter what she’s about to say you’re still gonna love her like a sick puppy loves its owner.

:(

[ive-been-timebombed]

CHAPTER SIX

They talk and Danny has a brain blast.

“I’m sorry..” The voice broke the silence with a startling start. That was Jason’s dad. He was here in his old room. The voice that was smooth. Less echoey than before. He had questions about so much. His father was right there to answer them.

Jason couldn’t speak so he just stared. He felt the thoughts that used to rush through his mind stop. The air felt still and cold. His dad looked so comforting to him. He didn’t know why. But he felt he could speak everything he knew Bruce would get mad at him for. Like how sometimes he takes comfort in the green but still doesn’t want to give in because of how out of control he feels.

“I didn’t want to leave you. But the coronation was getting closer and I knew I wouldn’t be able to give you a normal life in the infinite realms.” His Dad started to say. Jason wasn’t listening, could barely listen. His dad looked different yet so much like the picture. The same scar the same hair. But his teeth were sharper, his ears more pointed. He looked more animalistic. Was Jason not human.?

“You’re.. really him?” Jason interrupted staring at the man. He started to clench his fist feeling the familiar pain of his nails digging into his palms. The questions flooded his mind. What are the Infinite Realms? Coronation? What was he? Was Jason also that?

The other frowned and looked at him the sadness in his eyes seemed to multiply. “I.. yes I am Danny Fenton. Your father.”

_________

Danny watched as his son went through all the stages of grief. He was so much bigger than him, clearly taken after Danny’s own father. He has the white tuff of hair eyes that sometimes green flowed through. More scars than before. But he also still had the curls, and the overall demeanor of his son.

His core also felt bad. Like it was sick laying down reaching out for its parental core. Now that Danny was so close and Jason was distracted. Danny could reach out and grab the hand reaching out for him. He felt his ectoplasm leave him and rush to Jason, it quickly replenished just as soon as it left.

Jason looked at him like he betrayed him. As his eyes turned green and started to sway on his feet. Danny didn’t want to do it like this but Jason’s core felt so bad. On the verge of cracking bad. He had to. He floated forward and caught Jason as he fell to the ground. He easily moved him to lay on the now way to small bed. Jason’s legs were hanging off the edge.

He curled into himself floated up next to the bed. Jason was sick. The consequences of him being sick and trying to reach out to Danny’s core for support was getting angrier every time he failed to find Danny. He was a horrible father. He let his kid be sick all alone and go through ecto deficiency without him. It was a mistake to come. He should just go back to the realms but. He couldn’t. Not when Jason’s core is still growing and needs him. He couldn’t leave the bab-

…

Baby core? People only gain cores when they die. Or when they’re born with them. And Jason wasn’t. Danny would’ve noticed. So. Jason died.? It wasn’t natural his core wouldn’t be this sick if it was. His core is only 4 years old. Danny heard Lady Gotham crying about losing a knight a few years ago.?

Jason was clearly a protector like his father. So. Oh.. what did Lady Gotham say?

Her favorite knight killed by some parasite..

He needs to find Lady Gotham.

__________

“Ugh..” Jason groaned bringing his hand up to hold his head. He pushed himself up in the bed and looked around. He was in his old room.? His father! He betrayed him. He brought the green. He.. laid him down in his old bed.? And he’s gone?

He stood up a hand rubbing his chest as the faint weird feeling in his chest where he felt something different inside. Where was his dad?

Jason tried to fix the bed to the way it was before he sat on it. Not wanting to ruin the old memories that the room held. He walked out the room and his attention was immediately caught by his helmet blinking. An emergency call?

Jason hurried and put on his helmet, “Barbie? What’s happening? Why the emergency call?” Jason was checking his supplies. His guns check. His knifes check. Check. Check. Check.

“Jason! Where were you?! We need you in down town. There’s two giant glowing beings. One has the Joker. We think your all blades might be able to touch them.”

@georgiefreddie0829

[traversety]

mona getting sick of waiting on gala to actually do anything (this is going to take multiple posts)

hi @gala-xyzz isnt writing so im gonna slowly work my way through my favorite bit of her sky au which i am totally normal and not sick in the head about. its almost 1am someone stop me.

this is the first bit bc i cant keep going rn ;-;

They found Mayhem standing at Eden's gate. He was staring deep into the rich red light the inner depths of the gate cast outwards, so still and motionless that he seemed dead or frozen.

Zumi tugged on his cape. "Mayhem? Why are you standing and staring into that big creepy light?"

Like a freshly wound music-box, Mayhem snapped to life, jolting and stepping back so quickly that he crashed into Zumi and knocked her over. "Oh, shit, sorry, uh. Wow. Fuck, didn't realize you guys were here already."

"Well," Vega snapped, "it's one in the morning, and you said you wanted to talk. So talk. If Lyra somehow wakes up and realizes I've left the house after I just got back—"

"—She's going to lock you up in your room like a damsel in distress, I know." Mayhem let out a spiteful chuckle and rolled his eyes before continuing. "Look, Ringer and I didn't tell you guys about this, we really, really didn't want to, but I've been thinking about it since we came back home. And Ringer thinks we should tell you."

The girls turned around to look at Ringer, who was hovering shyly near Sesha. Even beneath his mask, there was a visible flush on his face. "Um… Mayhem and I… we… oh, how do I-"

"JUST TELL US!" Zumi screeched.

A sigh. "Once Mayhem and I were done making our report to the Elders about Ismyth, we were about to head home and… well, Ismyth came. Physically."

A heavy mist of silence graced the air in the moments after that announcement. Zumi started to scream again, but Sesha quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Zumi, shut it, you're going to wake the entire village-"

"He WHAT." Vega's tone was furious. "I thought he said he couldn't get into the Vault physically! I thought he could only present himself physically in the Wasteland!"

Ringer sighed again. "It only gets worse from there. He congratulated us for completing a pilgrimage, and then said that if wanted to make the final push, make it a real pilgrimage, he'd…" Ringer seemed to be choking on his words like they were poisoned.

Mayhem cut in and finished for him. "He said if we went to the Storm he'd tell us every fucking secret he's held back from us. Who he is, what's his deal, all the shit. Everything."

Sesha, still keeping a tight rein on Zumi, said, "We're not going. Absolutely not. Not a single one of us is going there. We just can't! Are you crazy?! No! Vega's core is too fragile, Zumi's too young, and besides, we're all still on official lockdown! Even if I wanted to go, we couldn't because of these two!"

Zumi looked ready to have Mister Cuddles chop Sesha's hand off at a single kick. Although, there was already a fair amount of kicking, so the crab probably wouldn't get the signal. Hopefully. Maybe.

"Look," Mayhem said, grabbing his staff off his back and gesturing towards Eden, "I don't like going in there anymore since my accident, you all know that, but I am ready to march in there all by myself for no other reason besides finding that fucking prick and beating the light from his core for my own enjoyment, lockdown or no lockdown. We might as well get some answers out of it, okay? And Ringer can get his first pilgrimage properly finished! It's a win on every side! I get to claw Ismyth to bits, we finally get the answers we've wanted, and Ringer gets to finish the pilgrimage! I saw we go, and we go now."

Vega gripped Mayhem's shoulder. "You're crazy. I'm going to die if I go in there. That's what the physicians all told me. We can't go in there."

Zumi finally broke free of Sesha's grasp. "I agree with Mayhem!"

Ringer's face broke out into a panic. "Zumi, we're under orders from the Elders to stay here and you can't-"

"I DON'T CARE! I AM SICK OF BEING TOLD NO AND I WANT ANSWERS!"

Before anyone could even try to stop her, Zumi dashed through Eden's gate.

"I change my mind," Vega said. "We can't just let her go by herself."

*****

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

The Beacon Witch - Pt.5

-Y/n moves to Beacon Hills to stay with her Guardian Deaton and finds love in the shape of a wolf- Reader x Derek Hale-

“Look, we have to go, she’s already showing signs of power imbalance. It’s time to unlock her gift so she can at least have a chance at being what she was born to be. It would be in your best interest to come. There are a lot of things in the world that want to hurt her kind, once people figure out just how powerful she will be, it will only get worse. She will hate me for a few days, but as her mate, you need to be there.” 

Lydia threw her stuff into the back of your uncles truck with a thump. Turns out she wouldn’t be letting you go this road trip alone. You don’t know how or when it had happened, the new girl.. you, becoming best friends with one Lydia Martin, but you couldn’t be more grateful. After you had poured your heart out to her, she realised she had to be there for you. So yup, there you both were, standing in the scorching heat waiting for Deats to close up shop and get on the road. 

After explaining what had happened with your magic while Deaton helped patch Scott up, he decided it was getting too risky not to teach you about your powers. Beacon Hills wasn’t the safest place to learn, especially with Gerard and his goons around, apparently you needed to go to a few sacred places anyway. 

You weren’t sure what you were truly going to endure in the next few days, you didn’t feel overly confident when Deaton stumbled out of the clinic with arms full of all sorts of papers, books and weird looking viles filled with… you didn’t want to know. He was slowly loading everything into his jeep, every now and again looking over his shoulder for god knows what. 

“If I stand out in this heat any longer you’ll have to learn a witchy spell just to bring me back to life.” You chuckled but agreed with your drama queen of a bestie, fanning yourself as beads of sweat trickled down your cleavage. You were about to usher Deaton along when you heard a familiar roar of an engine. In slow motion you turned to watch the sleek black car come down the street right for you. You had to be fucking kidding me. You looked at you uncle incredulously. Lydia shook her head and pulled her sunglasses down slightly, noting another car that followed.

“Turns out, there’s something I need to get on the way to our destination, it’s going to be a long trip and its too dangerous for you to come with me to get what I need. I know you’re pissed right now, but it’s in your best interest.” With that, Deaton placed your luggage on the floor and hopped in his car like nothing was wrong. Had he hit his bloody head? Was he deluded. “I promise kids, you’ll be in safe hands.” You glared after the jeep as he reversed and sped off before you could protest. 

Your stomach was tied in knots, you weren’t ready to see Derek, it had only been a few days since the ice rink incident. Not to mention, the car behind him was packed full of well… his guard dogs. Even from a distance you could see Ericas smug grin. You felt sick. The girl had no reason to dislike you, for one your hardly knew her.

“Okay, I don’t care what happens, promise me you will not leave me in a car alone with Derek fucking Hale.” You had grabbed Lydias hand, shaking slightly. Lydia crossed her heart with her neatly manicured finger. 

“Hope to die Y/N/N.” You sighed, pulling your sunglasses down over your worried eyes. 

“I wouldn’t hope for that Lyd, not in our case.” You folded your arms across your chest in a huff. Who cares if now was the time you wanted to act like a stroppy teen, the whole situation was a joke. 

The cars rolled up, dry earth in clouds of smoke hovered around your bare legs. Shorts and t-shirt was normally a no go for you but today was an exception, exceptionally fucking hot. You noticed Derek was alone in his car, which surprised you, you half expected to see a newly barbied Erica clinging to his arm like a lost puppy. Your inner most thoughts made you giggle which didn’t go unnoticed by Lydia. 

Derek gracefully got out of his car, honestly, what a beauty. The car you mean.. well okay, Derek too. Even in the heat he still donned his usual jeans but no leather jacket, instead tight fitting black henley that truly showed off his godly physique, you weren’t complaining really, if anything you were trying not to drool. But then images of the other night flashed back and you cringed.

“Y/N, get in the car, Lydia.. I didn’t know you were coming, you’ll ride with Erica and Boyd, Issac will come with us.” You were about to protest but you were cut off by a slight growl. You raised an eyebrow. It was too hot to argue. You were just grateful Erica wouldn’t be with you. 

“Lydia I told you not to say hope to die” you chewed your lip in worry.

“Charming.” Lydia popped her gum and grabbed her bag, not before hugging you and quietly reassuring you everything would be okay. Your bag had already been thrown in the boot by Issac who had swiftly made his way over to you. 

“Hey Y/N, your tattoos are cool..”Issac was trying to make small talk and gestured to the large tattoo that ran from your thigh up your shorts and stopped at your hip. 

Derek stood with his arms folded across his chest, his knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his fists and a dark eyebrow raised toward the brown curly-haired boy.

“Lahey, do yourself a favour, if you want to keep your eyes in your head, don’t look at her legs again.” Issacs neck turned red and it crept up to his cheeks, he stuttered an apology and quickly made his way into the backseat of the car. 

“Wow Derek Hale the jealous type, learn something new everyday.” You ignored him and brushed passed him, your skin brushing against his which sent almost a visible shock between your bodies. God, it was going to be a long drive. 

You weren’t wrong, only a couple of hours in and you were getting bored, restless, turned on? Sitting next to your mate proved to be harder than you thought. You couldn’t deny there was a huge connection between the two of you. It radiated of the both of you, so much so you could see it affecting Issacs aura, even though he was in the back seats. You decided to break the silence. 

“So, where are we going?” Issac sat forward. Derek relaxed a little in his seat. 

“New Orleans.” You almost choked. New Orleans was at least a two day drive… “Were stopping at a motel half way, don’t panic.” It was as if he could sense your worry. 

“Oh i’m not worried, I have you and Issac for company, yippee.” You rolled your eyes and kicked your converse clad feet up onto the dash of the car. Derek looked at you out of the corner of his eye, you shrugged and Issac snickered in the back. Yup.. a long drive. 

-hours later- 

“Eye spy with my little eye, something beginning withhhhhh G.” Issac wasn’t actually as bad as you thought, you’d had to give the guy credit, he was pretty funny. 

Derek didn’t seem to mind the interaction as much now the journey had gotten on a bit, he did however keep trying to cover your legs with your abandoned hoodie that lay strewn on the back seats and glanced every so often at Issac to make sure he wasn’t looking, which was completely ridiculous. 

“Grass.” 

“Gate.”

“Oh oh.. Gas station!” You cheered when he got it right. You’d seen the sign for it a way back. You looked at Derek who had his attention dead set on the road, however, the tilt of his lip in the shape of a smile didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Hey, Der, can we stop, i’m hungry and I need to pee.” Initially you hadn’t realised the accidental nick name, it just came out naturally. Issac was looking between you both now, a smirk on his face, you flicked his head. Something about Issac led you to believe you’d become good friends. Derek cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, we need gas anyway.” You could tell it had rattled him a little bit, hell, it’s not like you were expecting it either. 

The car pulled to a stop, the black jeep behind you following in closely. Issac was out of the car in a flash. Then there were two. You don’t know what came over you. 

“You know, i’m sorry I’m your mate. A couple of months ago, I didn’t even know I was a Witch let alone the supernatural existed, I know you asked Stiles and Scott not to tell me.. I’m sorry you didn’t get someone better suited to. whatever this life is…” You were used to being pretty down on yourself, but you couldn’t comprehend how the universe had paired you, someone so damaged with a tough background and no sense of confidence with someone like Derek Hale, an Alpha for christ sakes. He’d got a pretty rough deal. 

You were about to get out, the silence in the air becoming increasingly awkward. The door on your side was pulled shut again as Derek reached over you. You were hyper aware of the fact that Dereks face was inches away from yours, moving would surely cause your lips to touch, the thought crossed your mind for a nano second. 

“I’m not, i’m not sorry, I told you, I get what I want Y/N and you’re exactly what I want. So don’t ever think that. I knew from the moment I saw you that day in the parking lot that you were my mate, I just never thought I’d find mine, I was scared, i’ve seen what can happen to people when they loose their mate, my biggest worry is you getting hurt.” 

Derek Hale had a soft side? Apparently he did when it came to you. You grabbed his hand and smiled, grateful for his insight. 

“Thank you, for telling me how you feel…” You were interrupted when Lydia knocked on the car window, making you jump out of your skin and Dereks hold on your hand tighten. 

“Come on Y/N, I’m not peeing in this shithole alone.” You chuckled, Derek grinned. You didn’t realise how cold it had gotten on your travels. You shivered when the frigid air hit your skin, it definitely wasn’t Beacon Hills anymore and your shorts and t-shirt didn’t cut it. You were heading to the back to grab your jumper when a wad of something was thrown at you. You caught it instinctively, just in front of your face. You couldn’t help but breath it in, the smell, it was incredible. Derek smirked from a few steps away, watching you sniff his jumper. 

“Are you gonna stand there and sniff it, or are you going to put it on.” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

“He’s tagged me again Lydia, is he normally this weird, what do we actually know about this guy?” You switched the tap off and grabbed some paper towels. Your phone had dinged again with another notification. Matt.. he’d tagged you in another photo on his so called ‘year book’ page, you hadn’t even seen him take it. 

Walking outside you pocketed your phone, you needed some snacks before you could get back into the car. You could see everyone in the gas station, laughing at something Isacc had said. In that moment Derek looked pretty care free, it was a nice change. 

“I don’t know Y/N/N, all I know is that guy has a weird obsession with you, me and Allison noticed it as soon as you moved here, stay away from Matt, he seems.. off.” 

Two bags of skittles, a red bull and some potato chips later and you were off, Dereks hoodie still wrapped around you. He was quiet, but then you put it down to him being Derek, until he turned around. 

“So who’s Matt?” 

[cxndiedvi0lets]

Looking for help

TW: Verbal and Physical Abuse, Suicide, Self-Harm, Eating Disorder, Sexual Harrassment, Mental Health, Animal Abuse

For anyone who's reading this, I just want to say thank you, and even if I'm desperately seeking for help. I'm not tagging anyone. You may know me as Violet or CxndiedVi0lets on Tumblr, and I've been blogging a lot in a while.

I've had severe episodes in the past where I may have been acting too extremely or even at this rate suicide. I've already had the mindset at the age of 5, and honestly, I'm really tired of pulling this act.

I honestly just don't want to be in this household anymore.

Over the years, my mental health has become progressively worse, and I've tried to seek help from a psychiatrist and a psychologist and have been diagnosed with severe depression along with psychotic episodes which well knownly for my anxiety and impulsive nature of BPD which of course, my impulse is no excuse but I'm not saying its not hard to control.

I stopped seeing a clinic because of my brilliant and intelligent father, who simply seemed to know everything. Then, continues to mock me for my condition.

So, I stopped on medications and everything else even if I was progressively getting worse, not only mentally but as well as physically.

I begin to fail a lot of my subjects and further have been neglecting my health but, Its not what im going through details.

The part where I've really finally snapped is when he threatened to kill my cats, and I've stopped telling them everything because they always use my past against me or remind it as a "safety precaution." I was sexually assaulted at the age of 7, which lasted until I was 12 before my grandfather was kicked out. To say the least things weren't going smoothly, I thought to myself it never affected me but didn't realized it had affected me in ways of self-destruction thinking it was just a normal cycle of a hormonal teenager which I won't elaborate my acts on which you can decide on.

I've had a lot going on in school. I've been sexually assaulted by a classmate recently, but I never elaborated on it, and his acts on me because I didn't wanna make a biggee deal of what I'm going through, even if it is over. I still see his face every day in school, passing by, he was just changed courses and I tried my best to make myself unrecognisable by changing how I dress and my looks which also kind of resulted me getting bullied lol and having my name written on those ridiculous smash or pass books degrading me and objectifying me. It didn't bother me... or at least I think it didn't. I've had a lot of rumours spread around me, and I have been oversexualising myself and making up stories to sound like im a whore. Stereotypical american netflix high school stuff huh?

And yet, I go back home to be used as my father's punching bag (literally) even when it's my mom's fault. It's always the case, and he always justifies it that me being beaten up despised getting bruised was for lecturing me or whatever, lol.

I also hate the fact that they'd even keep more pets like dogs just to have as a toy then neglect them once they begin to have health conditions and continue to get more than complain about them. They don't even have any remorse if they're dying or sick.

Same way of how my father used to lock me up and forced me not to eat cause I dropped a plate accidentally once lol.

I rarely eat, especially when they're around, and they like to complain about why I don't eat with them. I just like to say im not hungry, and now I dont actually feel any hunger at all, and some point that stress led me to gaining weight and overeating which of course led into other health complications. Like bleeding. Anyways skipping on that.

I honestly don't know what to do trying to hide a façade like this anymore, I just want to die or run away im never happy with literally anything. I can't feel anything, I've gotten used to so much pain, I just don't even react to it even when they start swearing at me or calling me names or anything. I don't feel human at all.

I just wish someone could help me maybe leave me advise or maybe send me something on my paypal just so I can earn to get out of this place. I honestly don't care if they think im selfish, I've had enough of this life.