#that splatter on the ground was so annoying to draw

[impbites]

oc-tober day 8 - past

this is janie (they/she)... um i'm sure she's fine... this event probably didn't leave her with any lasting psychological harm...

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Bloodlust

Astarion X F! Tav

18+ violence, blood play, blood drinking (duh), sub/dom, (consensual) restraint, safe words, edging, oral (m!), masturbation (f!), p-in-v, voyuerism if you squint, porn w/o plot

my thesis is that Astarion gets extremely turned on watching Tav fight. no more quastion. 👍

-

Tav was always good. Painfully good. It annoyed him to no end, truthfully. Resisted rolling his eyes when she offered her untethered aid to some stranger again. Even refusing their coin! Foolish.

There was no wicked bone in her it seemed. Except..

During battle her body, well. Responded.

Back foot sliding to face out, graceful. Instinctively setting to a deep crouch, itching to pounce. Arm raised, shoulders rippling, the flash of double blades. Hands twitching, eager, the hilts he knew hot with her.

The first time he saw it he was intrigued. Our sweet fearless leader, this excited to draw blood? My, my...

But now it tormented him. The more times they fought together the stronger the hold. Came to him in small hours of the night. Teasing at the corners of his mind as he watched her wipe the blood from her face. Incessant.

When she had invited him to go with her on a mission to take down some cultists stalking near camp he drawled some quip, something flippant but agreeable. Hid the quiver of excitement in his voice.

Now at the precipice of conflict with those unfortunate cultists he saw it again. The flash in her eyes. The mistake that these men didnt even know they had made.

"Step away. Now." She commanded, hand already poised excited over her shoulder. "Before things get real messy."

He heard the almost imperceptible pant in her voice. His throat dry, watching. Waiting on bated breath. Take the bait. Take it, idiot. Walk right into her bloodlust.

The man laughed, pulling his dagger. "Oh sweetheart, we're going to rip you apart."

Her heel dug into the ground, released her singing blades from her back in twin arcs.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

He had never heard her voice her anticipation before, letting her resolve fade in his presence. It made him shiver.

He poised his own weapons, ready to aid her. But knew she wouldn't need it. Just three men? They'd be ribbons in mere moments.

She thrummed with energy, watching her prey. Waiting, coiled to strike.

Knew the fool would come to her easy. A siren call.

Of course he did. Predictably he shot forward, blade seeking to strike. Fast, but not nearly fast enough.

Her eyes lit, a wide smile smearing her face. Too easy. Her blades danced through him and his companions, a vicious pirouette. Hitting an artery, a wave of blood striking against her chest and neck.

The man groaned and gripped surprised at his body, staggered. Looked in shock at the already dead men next to him. Too slow, Astarion thought gleefully, seeing her spin onto her hands. His favorite acrobatics; lethal.

Thighs wrapping around the mans middle her momentum wrenched him to the ground, a cry of victory in her throat. With one smooth motion she rose her blade and plunged it deep into his chest. Her own chest heaving in what untrained eyes would think adrenaline, but he knew. He knew.

His breath was moving strained, eyes dark. The blood splatter poetry on her skin.

She sat back on the dead mans chest, satisfied, slowly pulling her sword out. The gore sliding down the steel.

She looked into Astarion's eyes then, his dead heart phantom racing in his chest. Holding his gaze hostage she licked the blood in one long stroke up her blade.

Gods. A throb in his pelvis. Realized suddenly that he was hard.

She was putting on a show for him.

Grabbing his collar, she so slowly pulled his face down level to hers. She paused, eyes blown wide with lust.

He was enthralled, tingling in anticipation.

She rose onto her knees and slid her feverish mouth against his with a moan. Hand pushing into his hair. Moving so slow against him. Savoring.

There was a heat to her, a building coil. Dizzy with it, he melded into her. The overwhelming scent of the blood splatter making him groan into her mouth. Velvet tongue dancing across his teeth, asking for entrance. Needing no further invitation he obliged.

She pushed all the blood she had been holding in her mouth into his.

A groan deep in his chest he drank it, lapped it from her. The taste of her mingled through.

Gods, the degeneracy of it all.

The fingers tracing his jaw drawing a line of need. Could feel her smiling into him. Her hand grabbing his waist, pulling him flush to her.

Directed his mouth to the carnage trailing down her front. The heat of her skin was divine, sucking and licking at the trail. Leaving hard bites as he went. Her little whimpers a flint striking.

Pulling him in perfect agility she flipped them both to the ground. He dove on top of her, pushing one wrist to the ground. She arched up at him, a growl in her throat. Not going down without a fight.

Oh he was enjoying this too much. Smiled down at her, a feral glint in his eyes. Saw it matched in hers.

"Now darling, use our words." He purred into her ear.

She chuckled low into his, a warning. Of course he fell into her trap. Too easy.

The pythons of her legs wrapped around his waist, snaring down. Hand cradling the back of his head she suckled at his lobe, nipping and teasing.

A loud moan left him, buckling into her. "Fuck," he groaned, despite himself.

"I thought," Bite. "You wanted." Bite. "To use your words."

Evil. Evil woman. Gods he was going mad.

"You wicked thing," He panted, pulling her wrist above her head, his leverage. Unbusy hand pulling the laces of her tunic apart fast as he could. Fingers a blur.

Her breasts springing free he trailed his knuckles light in a circle around her peak. She gasped against him, releasing. There. He grinned wickedly.

Turning her wrist sideways she slipped out of his grasp, hand darting out. Relaxed her strong thighs just enough to let her hand through the gap. Cupping him over his leathers.

An undignified groan left him, his traitorous hips pushing into her. His body always too responsive to her.

Taking her advantage she rose up, thighs still gripping and flipped him onto his back. A gasp pushed out of him as he met the ground, getting even harder if that was possible. He would never admit how much her manhandling turned him on, that only she was trusted enough to treat him this way. Gods it made his knees weak.

Staring up at her now, the curve of her hip, the roundness of her breasts, the ripple of muscle in her lithe shoulders. Hand still softly, tortuously, stroking outside his clothes. A diabolic smile on her sweet face.

Leaned down to him, her face hovering above his. Just far enough away to escape his lips. Planted one hand on his sternum, a gentle hold. Plunged her hand into his small clothes.

He groaned, chest rising against her flat hand. Hand reaching desperate to release himself. Her knees moved, corralling his hand against his thigh, loose enough that he could move free if he liked. The restraint making him pant.

She yanked the front of his leathers open with a few pulls, the force making his hips rise. A soft hiss as he was finally free, the sudden cold night air a shock.

She paused then, hand hovering. Looked in his eyes. "Safety word, Star." Tone soft through the depth of lust.

"Waterdeep."

She laughed, low and steady. "Wet blanket it is," Gods how he adored her.

Hand still planted on his chest she slid down, thighs now around his calves. Pulled his tunic free, pushing it up his chest. Hot breath against the line of his hips. Could feel the muscles there pulling tight in anticipation.

Molten tongue dragging up those lines, a groan deep in her throat. His hips bucked with a whine, free hand tangling in her hair. Her touch lighting him up, supernova.

Wandering fingers trailing up his chest. Tongue darting out to draw hard circles on his tip. Fingers lightly pinching his nipple.

"Oh Gods" He breathed, hips straining to stay down. Taking in a gulping breath of air, the excessive miasma of blood not helping.

"More?" She asked, looking up at him. Not hiding the wicked smile dancing the corner of her lips.

"Yes! Please.." He breathed, the need apparent in his shaky voice.

In one swift motion she took him entirely into her mouth. His eyes screwed shut, head tilted back violently. A loud strangled moan from his throat.

She began her onslaught, her pace dangerously slow. Tongue expertly pressing, pulsing. An inferno of pressure, vibrations of her groaning against him.

Little pants left him in time with her devotion. Speeding up then slowing, pulling him back and forth from the edge. Hips squirming, already feeling the pressure building to no return. The slow pace making it worse.

"Tav," He warned, hand pulling gently against her hair. She nodded against him, her mouth mercifully releasing, hand taking up the mantle. Pulling her leggings down swiftly. The raw need in her eyes making his belly flip.

Her arousal at putting him in these compromising situations never failed to amaze him. That his enjoyment alone caused the slick now dripping between her thighs.

Planting her hand on his belly she lined herself up, chest heaving in anticipation.

"Hands behind your back, lovely." She breathed, pausing at the precipice.

He complied, pinning his hands under his lower back. Already throbbing against her hand.

"Perfect," She smiled, his chest tingling.

Lowering herself onto him her eyes hitched closed, a low moan as he slowly filled her. Already gripping him, drenching his pelvis as her slick pushed out.

His hands intertwined under him, needing the grounding. "Hells below," He groaned.

Her eyes caught his, a wide smile. She paused, straddling him inside her. One hand trailing up to her breast, the other down to her core. "Eyes on me."

As if he could look away, the thirst for her never sated.

Beginning her ride, hips rolling, her eyes held his. A little moan, her hand pinching her nipple. Fingers teasing above her mound.

Enthralled he watched, his building pleasure a heavy mist clouding. Focusing on not letting his eyes roll into the back of his head.

She panted and rolled against him, her body a delicous wave. The line of her hip curving as she came down. The arch of her ribcage as she rose up. The taut in her thighs as she lowered. Hypnotic.

"Beautiful," He whispered, almost to himself.

She bit her lip at his voice, the need in her eyes again. Her pace quickening, her hips coming down harder.

Hand now drawing circles on her clit, eyes closing. The arch of her movement a pulling riptide. She was blissfully close he could tell, his end barrelling towards him.

But she wasn't done with him yet, oh never. Still riding him she pulled the dagger from her side, drug it hard against her two fingertips. His breath quivered as she held them above his lips, right under his nose.

The scent overflowed into the back of his throat, a deep growl. His lips parted eagerly.

She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, the skin singing. One, two drops dripping into his open mouth. His throat already trying to swallow.

As soon as her two fingers slipped inside he was clamped down, tongue pulsing and pulling. Urging. Pleading. Her hot blood muffling his moan.

Her eyes screwed shut, breath a loud pant, face cringing in pleasure. The rolling now a frenzied grind. Could feel the beginning of her clenching.

"Oh fuck, oh-," She mewled, the bow breaking. A garbled cry as she threw her head back. He braced himself, knowing the storm that was about to hit him.

Her cunt a creamy pulsing vice grip around him as the waves hit. His hands gripping eachother in desperation, the pleasure merciless. He couldnt come, not yet.

Seeing his plight through her rapture she pulled her fingers from his mouth, positioning her wrist in its place.

As he bit down viciously, a command. "Come."

A strike of lightning against the back of his skull, a mighty pull from his abdomen. The dual hits making him writhe and twist beneath her. His hands gripping the ground, eyes rolling back. His gulping swallows muffling the whimpering scream of pleasure. Her hips still grinding into him, pulling every thread of his orgasm out of him. His back arched, biting down again into her wrist. Reaching the edge of madness.

He tapped her wrist twice, a request. She obliged, stopping her hips. The overstimulation winding down.

His limbs rubber, his body a puddle, he slowly drank. Regaining precious strength.

She leaned forward, resting her arm on his chest, belly to belly. Laying her head in the curve of her arm, watching him tenderly.

"And the cultists didnt even get to watch.."

He snorted a laugh against her wrist, spraying a few blood droplets.

Oh he was terribly infatuated with her.

~

[pursuitseternal]

Tensions break in this NSFW update to “In the Monster’s Shadow:”

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 1.7K

Summary: left to her own devices and freedoms, Shadowheart finds solace alone in the gardens of the Palace… until she realizes that being alone isn’t what will soothe her. But he might…

CW: angst with feelings, vulnerable and inebriated Ascendant, outdoor smut, PiV, regret with true feelings

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 5…

⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️

Sunlight. Warm, pure, unadulterated sunlight. It finally made Shadowheart smile, feeling at peace, and she could forget the walls of the palace where she was… Well, she hesitated to say trapped now.

She had so much freedom now, her room remained in the cellar, as he called it. Not dungeon. And she could explore the grounds freely, the walled garden brimming with flowers and fountains and little tucked-away benches was by far her favorite. Even if she could hear the din of life from the Upper City just on the other side. It was her sanctuary, bathing in the spring sun. Whatever limit he had on her magic extended out here too, since of course she tested it out immediately.

Strangely, it didn’t bother her. Not when he had made such a beautiful place… not when there was so much sun and fragrance and tranquility. And besides, she hadn’t seen him in days. Almost a tenday by now.

She hated that annoying tug in her gut now, his words haunting her still from when last she saw him. The only one… he had called her.

“Ugh,” she grunted at herself, at the way it made her feel… special. That self-loathing tried to gnaw at that ember that just wouldn’t snuff out. That feeling she found in that moment of being… wanted… appreciated… desired…

“No!” She yelled at herself, covering her small, pointed ears as if she could shut out her inner thoughts. “Fuck you, Astarion,” she hissed to herself.

An inane giggle sounded from behind her… from the direction of the palace. “Fuck me? Oh, so now, she’s asking for it to happen, is that it?” That velvety voice was thick with alcohol, his usually exact and dulcet tones sticking on his slurring tongue.

She spun her head around, her tight braid whipping her own body as she faced him. Sure enough, goblet in hand, Astarion slunk near-silently from some double doors in the side of the palace. “How long have you been watching me from your lair?”

“You’re one to accuse me of lurking… given you had to go traipsing around my walls and battlements…” his fingers of his free hand grabbed for her braid and twisted it around his palm, “not the only one curious about the Ascendant, but certainly the only one foolish enough to end up here…” His voice dropped low and he leaned over her seated form, his breath rich with fragrant wine.

“You… reek…” she hissed, pinching her nose and sliding away from his looming presence.

“Like wealth… power…” he rolled his shoulders to flex his muscles and spilled his pricey wine in the process.

“You smell like the Elfsong used to after closing…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, sliding away from the splatters of red wine.

That made him draw up short, his eyes struggling to focus at the mention of… those times. His gaze grew distant, that constant tweak at the corner of his eyes softened.

Shadowheart paused, holding her breath for a moment before she whispered, “Do you remember how those nights were the best… music whining from the tavern below, Halsin whittling animals…”

She watched his jaw clench and release about five times. “Karlach… making up dances for us to all try…” His eyes shut tight, as if he forbade them to show his turmoil, his weakness, or maybe even tears. “Those days seemed so much…”

“Simpler?” Shadowheart offered, not even noticing that her body leaned closer towards him. Her eyes scanned that refined black silk shirt, the way it clung to his muscles and frame, the way it tucked into the band of his stitched scarlet trousers.

“Defenseless,” he suddenly turned his head sharply to meet her soft green eyes. His gaze was that same bloodied shade of crimson, that same piercing intensity. “We did so many foolish things just to bury our fear,” his voice dropped to a snarl, haughty tension in his neck returning stronger than ever. “And now, I never have to be afraid again.” He gave a confident toss of his head, sipping from his chalice as his fingers went white around the stem.

“You seem so sure of that,” Shadowheart couldn't help but tease, that same prickly tone from their days on the road. “I think it’s better to be afraid in good company like we used to than to bury it down deep alone, never…”

His lips silenced her. The clatter of his cup broke the stillness of the garden as he kissed her, hard and fast and possessive. She squirmed at first, noises of surprise muffled under those thick and wine-tasting lips. It felt so good… he was probably too drunk to remember anyway, the thought passed her mind as she decided to kiss him back.

His hands grasped at the back of her head, pulling her inescapably from his working mouth. She tasted blood, though hers or his, she couldn’t tell with all the sucking and nipping they both did. His hands, almost claw-like and strong, pulled her flush against him, the thin silk of his shirt betraying the heat of his own skin, a heat she knew was matched by her own as it blistered through her own light chemise. He swayed roughly, his balance compromised, and all it took was a little shove from her hands on his chest to land them both in the grass at their feet.

He broke from her kiss looking up with hazy, lust-clouded eyes, his hand wrapping around her long braid as he smirked. With yank, he pulled her closer, her body seeking the warmth and pressure of his between her thighs. That one breath was all they took.

Mouths locked again, all fangs and pants and sighs. He tore into her shirt, ripping it open enough for her breasts to catch the sun. A snarl on her lips, her fingers deftly freed his cock from its confines. No thoughts, it was just heat and need in her veins and shared on his breath as she hiked up her skirts and sank onto his cock. Fangs bit her lip, keeping her bent over him even as she rode him. Her pants of pleasure defend her own ears, the loud wet sounds of their bodies joined making her spine tingle with lust as she finally let him claim her this way.

There was no logic, no coherent sensation in her mind. Only heat and desire as the floodgates of their lust and need shattered at last. Tendays of pent up desire finally pulsed and released, coursing through both their bodies.

The world spun around him, Astarion grunted at the force of her bucks, his body unfamiliar with unbridled lust of late. It had been… Well memories escaped him. Thoughts escaped him now that he was buried deep in that warm, wet pressure. Her breath was hot in his mouth, her blood on her tongue delicious… the grass on his back, the weight of her body. His tired eyes stayed shut, lost in the waves of sensation.

For that moment, they were back in the Emerald Grove, their own little piece of nowhere. Two hands gripped at his shoulders… rolling playfully… the skin of her fresh neck pressed against his eager lips and fangs.

Blood poured into his mouth as he clamped down on her neck, starved as he was for her essence, for attention… for touch. He groaned as he took all of her in, through his mouth and his cock. Her mouth hung slack in constant sighs of pleasure, her hips rolling to match his punishing pace. Nails, legs, hair, hands… she was everywhere and all his. Waves built between them, the perfect synchronization of their hips and pants as they fucked in the dirt.

Thighs clenched around his hips, shirt torn asunder, Shadowheart hung on for dear life. Bright sun warmed her flesh, but he was scalding, burning her up with that long-craved friction of his body on her, inside her. Shattering, bursting, she came, unashamedly twitching and writhing and moaning in her too-long-denied ecstacy. It was tantalizing and dangerous… not unlike when she watched these same lustful choices play out so long ago.

But gods, it felt better than it looked.

Especially the part where his hips snapped harder than ever, his lips barely freed from drinking her down as he growled right in her ear. Three more erratic thrusts, and she knew he filled her, his body collapsing and shuddering and grunting. A few pants of air still thickly laced with their desire passed between their lips, a slight smile on his face as he shifted slightly.

“I’ve missed…” he started to whisper before his eyes snapped open. That softness evaporated, cracking over with resolve and anguish and rage in an instant. He scrambled off her, his voice instantly cold and cruel again. “Get inside, Princess,” he growled as he turned his back, stuffing his cock and shirt back inside the band of his trousers. “That was more than enough of a session for you today.” He rounded, merciless in his gaze as she scrambled to close her blouse. “I’ll ignore the fact your twisted words tried to manipulate me into…”

“What?” She spat, scrambling from the dirt. “Me? Manipulate you?” She scoffed with all the ire in her soul. “That’s rich, not to mention a lie.” Hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she longed to cast any of her spells, just to get at him. “You know what’s really sad, Astarion, really pathetic?” She seethed as he glared at her from the doorway to his study. “All this time, you aim to torture me, give me pain and make me submit, and yet, by doing so, aren’t you just pushing yourself deeper into your own torment?”

He said nothing, muscles in his jaw clenched painfully tight. “You’ll pay for such insolence when next I find you.”

“You can try, but you know I’m right, Vampire. You torture yourself far worse than anything you could do to me.”

Her accusation hung like frost in the air, a coil of tension that snapped tight between them. And in that moment, she could have sworn that glimmer of longing shined in his crimson eyes.

And before he could say another word, he rounded on his heel and retreated back inside again.

[your-averagewriter]

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.”

Summary: After trekking through the rainforest the Suicide Squad stumble upon a camp and after a brief massacre they discover Rick Flag, uninjured and not captured.

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, gore, Suicide Squad violence and warnings

-

-

After a day of walking through a rainforest, moisture attaching itself to my skin I try to shrug off the feeling of dirtiness. We reach a makeshift camp and are instantly told to execute anyone and everyone within.

A brutal but sadly common order in the Suicide Squad. DuBois and Peacemaker have an obvious rivalry not leaving many to the rest of us but I’m not complaining. I’ve never been someone to enjoy killing, only when ordered to or when it’s necessary, that’s not to say I’m bad at it, don’t misunderstand.

I approach the camp, following behind the two in competition, not something I wanna get involved with. Slowly, I pull out a few bullets from my bag, toss one in the air, catch it then throw it, propelling it straight into a man’s head. Sunlight shines through from the other side, illuminating the cascading blood from the wound. I repeat the process with a second bullet, lodging it in someone’s skull before moving on through the camp.

Watching the two ‘vigilantes’ act like children is entertaining for a few minutes but gets old quickly as they fight over the last victim. Quickly, I pull out two bullets from my bag and propel them at the same time towards the last man standing. Falling over, you can see the two holes the bullets paved through his eyes, perfect shot, I think allowing a small smile at the precision and accuracy.

Both of them turn to me, glaring ever so slightly annoyed that I took away their tie breaker but we have a mission to do and competition with each other will only get each other killed.

“Damn it.” I hear both of them say, frustrated, watching as the man falls, flat on the ground, the remains of his eyes splattered nearby.

Staying silent, I follow closely behind the leader and another who has also deemed himself a leader (Peacemaker). His ego seems to have no bounds, from his pretentious name to stupid hat.

Heading towards a tent, DuBois pulls open the entrance to reveal a short woman in some sort of uniform and a patched up Rick Flag. They turn to us in confusion which is mimicked by our faces.

“(y/n)?” He asks and I furrow my brows looking at him, sitting laughing in a tent whilst we were out fighting and trying to protect the island.

I step back, out of the tent slowly as too many emotions flood my system making me not be able to think straight. I just need to get out of here.

I don’t walk far and I don’t know what to do so I walk through the camp following the trails of my murders tracing my bullets. They’re not really that special but I don’t know what to do right now.

Feeling a tear carve a path down my face, my hand flies up immediately to swipe it away and I refuse to cry or to let anyone see me cry. I grab at the bullets, forcing my fingernails into my palms almost drawing blood but the pain stops the tears from falling. Reversed logic but when did emotions ever make sense. Stuffing the bullets back into my bag I walk over to a fallen tree where I perch my head in my hands, not crying, not angry, just overwhelmed. Although, an overwhelmed assassin can be a dangerous thing.

This whole experience only lasts seconds in reality but it feels like it’s going on forever.

Waller convinced me to go on this mission stating that Rick had been captured, that he was being used by the enemy, she didn’t outright say he was being tortured but it was heavily implied.But here he is laughing in a tent with some random people, certainly not looking captured.

I know it’s not his fault that he's unharmed, not captured by the enemy, I’m not mad at him, it’s Waller as usual - manipulating me using my emotions and using the one person I care about to force me on this mission.

Rick emerges from the tent a few moments afterwards, likely done with a short debrief for DuBois and the others. He scans the forest, tracing the treeline, looking for me and eventually he clocks me sitting on the tree.

“(y/n)-” I interrupt.

“Why are you here? I don’t understand.” I say, my hands threaded in my hair.

“Trust me, I’m about to ask you the same thing.”

“Waller called me in, she told me you had been captured and were probably being tortured. That’s why I’m here. Why aren’t you being tortured?” He chuckles quietly. “I know that sounds weird.” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Waller lied to you.” I sigh. What I thought has now been confirmed.

“I can’t believe she would do that… Well, I can.” I frown.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, wrapping his arm around my waist, resting his head on top of mine. “I don’t want you to be here because of me.”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve just gotta make sure we both get out of it now so we can deal with Waller later on.”

“Yeah. Then you can show Waller what you’re made of.” 

“She won’t know what hit her.” I manage a small smile. There’s a comfortable silence that falls over us before I stand up holding onto his hand, cherishing the warmth he provides me with. “We should get back to the others…” I say.

He agrees quietly, following after me. We walk back over to the tent where the others are standing and talking with the people in uniform.

“DuBois?” I say and he turns around upon hearing his name. “Did you know?” I ask.

“Know what?”

“That Flag wasn’t captured, wasn’t tortured.”

“I didn’t know Flag was here.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Peacemaker asks. “Why is he so important?”

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.” I say, the anger of Waller lying being emphasised by Peacemaker’s idiocy. I feel Rick squeeze my hand, an attempt to calm me. I don’t have anger issues but there are some specific things that rile me up.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Robert stands in the middle of us putting his hands up, preventing escalation. “He’s just a dick.” DuBois says quietly.

“Hey, I can hear you!” Peacemaker shouts.

“Fuck off!” I yell back.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

I'm so boring with my title recently, I've just been putting quotes from the fics, I'm sorry haha.

I thought you'd want to be tagged @mandy-eminem-moxley77 (I have a much better Rick Flag fic that I'm gonna post tomorrow or the day after that's 'spicy' so...)

[lavenoon]

Bonnie, the former Agent Jackalope!

The last of the original Glamrocks, with a superficially mellow personality. He’s calm and calculating during missions, and through his polite but approachable attitude fostered a tendency of others underestimating him. 

The only people who know that there’s more to him are his friends - Freddy, Chica, and Foxy. Foxy loves annoying him because it’s the easiest way to get him to snap, and then the petty and snarky Bonnie comes out. Gossips like a house-wife, and pulls no punches. None of those punches are ever serious, he’s petty, not a full on asshole, and Foxy (the most common target due to his habits) laughs at them more than anyone. It’s in good humor, and Bonnie very much enjoys being the entertaining complainer.

He’s still also friendly, it just happens to be the act he has to put on during work most often too. The snark is catharsis, but most of the time he’s happy to sit back and just joke around with his friends. 

When Foxy first started asking questions and directing criticism towards the higher ups, Bonnie didn’t necessarily disagree - but he also did not feel like openly antagonizing his employer. Not when he knows what kind of dirty work he does for said employer, and thus knows that they are not above underhanded techniques to silence threats. So he, like Chica, tried talking Foxy out of his approach, while Freddy was the most vocal in his defense of Fez. 

And then Foxy “died”. 

Bonnie did not believe it - but he questioned himself, too frozen in the realization that his friend is gone. Is he simply stuck in denial, or is there really something fishy going on? He finds no evidence in the building Foxy was last seen in, but he knows Fez cleanup works fast and well. For a long time he doesn’t do much, just running through the same routine trying to make it through every day while doubts gnaw at him. 

But when Roxy comes in, much too soon after Foxy’s death, his suspicions rear their ugly heads again and he starts investigating in earnest. He’s quiet about it, quieter than Foxy. First, he talks to Roxy. Asks her about her age, when she started training, when Fez recruited her - and he does the math. It does not paint a pretty picture. He thanks her, quietly but genuinely, and when he notices how uncomfortable she is about the entire topic, he shoots her just a quick “You did nothing wrong.”

Despite being quiet, his investigation starts drawing management’s attention - and Bonnie sees the writing on the wall. His missions get riskier and more often end in fights and require cleanup. He starts moving his assets out of town. When he gets put in charge of a high stakes mission, teamed up with a newbie (as promising as he is), he’s immediately on edge. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with Monty - but there is tension between them, with Monty’s urge for quick action clashing with his own calculating attitude. Bonnie is the one to suggest a split, and Monty doesn’t disagree - they both feel like they need to cool off.

Bonnie gets ambushed, though he dispatches his assailants with minimal injury. But he realizes this is an opportunity that he won’t get again so quickly, and next time could be too late. There’s already splinters of his outer shell lying about, but he knows Fez will want more evidence of his “demise”. 

His left ear, already damaged, loses its top half, thrown towards the next wall where a few blood splatters already mar the paint. His loose left finger, in the opposite direction. For good measure he rips off the dented plating of his left arm too, where he shielded himself against a heavier blow. Because he knows Monty will be at risk on his own, he sends one last signal through their communicators, before crushing his on the ground, too. 

Now he has to be quick. He carries off the knocked out attackers, only leaving an ambiguous fight scene. 

And then agent Jackalope officially is no more. 

Bonnie keeps tabs on Abra Fez, though he now has to jump through many more hoops. He moves cities, focusing his investigation on his friends. Are they okay, or has Fez hurt them for his insubordination? He doesn’t like hearing about them grieving him, but doesn’t dare reveal himself to them either, remembering Freddy’s vehement protest at the suggestion that Fez does not care for its agents. 

And then Monty joins the Glamrocks, and despite Bonnie not disliking the guy, he hates it. Hates that he was replaced so quickly, hates that his friends will move on without him, hates that he can’t do anything about it until he has solid proof. 

So he stops checking up on the Glamrocks, and digs deeper. Who’s behind the code name “Hare”, leading Abra Fez from the shadows? What really happened to the late head of Fez, the one who recruited Freddy and built the agency from the ground up? When did animatronics become tools, and when did those tools become expendable? 

The answers aren’t pretty. 

And despite everything, he still doesn’t know what happened to Foxy. 

When his savings start running out, Bonnie takes a job at a local bowling alley, and has to relearn how to be social. He’s fumbling a bit more in the casual environment, but finds that the one or other snarky comment isn’t actually considered a faux pas, and then he starts enjoying it. It’s not the same, it’s not his friends who are all living without him, but it’s something, and beggars can’t be choosers. 

He’s boisterous and happy for everyone to see, but he never talks about his past and refuses to actually give out any information about himself. His coworkers appreciate him for his humor and ability to handle even the roughest customers while staying calm himself. When they ask where he learned that, he only ever declares he’s had practice, and nothing else. And then he goes home as soon as his shift is over, with no one knowing his address or even phone number, and never joins in on any after-work hangouts or the like. 

When Bonnie’s off work, and not charging, he continues investigating Fez. He deals with many shady individuals, still getting into the occasional fight when someone has second thoughts about sharing information with him, though he has managed to stay low enough to not draw Fez’ attention again. He makes a name for himself as a private investigator, and while not entirely accurate, it’s not wrong enough for him to tell anyone otherwise. Those gigs are much rarer, but he can be convinced to investigate other people’s matters, too. 

For a few years, that’s his life, and he figures it’s the best he’ll get. 

Though, then… Then Fez makes moves to settle in another city, and Bonnie hears about it. He hears about them being beaten back, and he starts wondering if perhaps he’s gone about things the wrong way, not seeking out allies. 

He prepares for another move. When he quits his job many are devastated, and he acts like it’s a regretful development. But for the first time in all those years, he’s buzzing with anticipation and something more - maybe hope. 

Hope of finally making headway against Fez, hope to finally find a new safety net, hope to perhaps even see his old friends again, and maybe his continued existence together with everything he has already collected on Fez will be enough to convince them to quiet, or at the very least believe him. 

But for once he’s also filled with a lot of anxiety restless energy, knowing that he’s just as likely to be found by Fez as by any agency opposing them, but it’s a risk he willingly takes. Turns out he’s done hiding, and done only playing pretend at being happy and social - he wants friends, his friends, and he wants all those things Fez originally took from him. 

And, well, once he does move, and gets to investigate in town… There are some very unexpected revelations to be had <3

[einsamerhund]

Question for Mr. Werewolf when you have time to get around to it: why the long guns? Is your shot as bad as the Major's?

Oh, these things…

hans thought back to the day he even got these guns, looking down and inspecting them as the machinery clicked and settled with the twist of his wrists. Herr Major once saw Hans firing many a set of arms from the stock in their barracks. As expected, the werewolf wore the same demure expression as each shot rang in beautifully deafening symphony at the target. All perfect shots.

“Oooohohoh! Absolutely splendid show, mein dear Captain~!” Max ushered his entrance with a sing-song praise of his brilliant new specimen. He always liked to imagine the scene around his precious toys as they demonstrated their capabilities. Oh, the bodies that filled the mind of that portly madman were ones very few could sleep to; it happened to be the only suitable lullaby for someone as twisted as the Major…

“Zhough I notice… you seem… bored.”

Ja. Exceptionally so. Captain realized as his body grew stronger by the day with such rigorous training emboldening the already impressive lycan physique he had, modern weaponry felt hollow. Why bother with a bullet what a pair of claws can do just as well? Child’s play.

“Perhaps zhere is a vay ve can remedy zhis. I see you’ve an eye for zhe mauser. Quite a fun one! Compact, fast, zhe vorks! But… simple.” In that same breath, an almost disgustingly long rectangular lockbox was placed upon the table that housed many of the ammunition Hans had run through that day. It was a fine oak polished to an egregious shine, decorated with a fine filigree border that resembled leaves encroaching upon the center. The delicate click of the latches echoed in the range that undeniably brought intrigue to Günsche. “Zhey say zhis kind of artistry is a vaste. But vhen I see a veapon such a zhis, judged by it’s supposed “impracticality”? I zhink of an ancient proverb passed down to many of my generation…”

It was then that Hans glimpsed them. A bulkier set of mausers, definitely meant for a higher caliber. But mein got, those barrels. Almost embarrassingly long as the red velvet interior nested them finely in the case. It took a lot to bring any sort of expression to Hans’ face; this was one of those moments. And it was one of bewilderment. That very moment was when a finger snapped, and a door opened with shambling footsteps. A man, a fellow soldier, tied up behind his back and blindfolded. He was in too much smoldering fear to speak up at this point, and chose to simple scramble through to find some form of exit as his moans of desperation bounced off the rocky brick walls. And major got close, speaking the very phrase that lingered in the moment.

“Unter Blinden ist der Einäugige König…”

Without much hesitation, fearing to consequences of rejection, Hans lifted the unwieldy firearm in his firm grip and aimed. The man was an annoying target— his futile shambling only amplifying the unexpected difficulty of steadying such an awkward gun. Every second that passed, he knew a fire was mustering in Herr Major; it disgusted him, as if Captain was feeding some shameless and carnal fetish for Montana’s bloodlust until the shot finally rang.

And soon it did. The man lay lifeless on the floor, and Major calmly smiled with raised brows and a gesturing hand, inviting the Captain to observe his handiwork.

“Ooof. Armes ding… scraped zhe side of his head. Sure, his brains are finely splattered on zhe ground. But sloppy. Zhe art must be perfected. Keep at it, one-eyed king. You may understand zhat pistol’s beauty just yet!” As he left, Hans had to admit something to himself that bore some truth. Major was right: This gun is an art form. Sure, he missed the mark by a few inches, but it challenged him. Finally, a human instrument that met the standard of his skill and need to refine. And of course, the intimidation factor alone made the many years of weilding these dual Mausers a small victory to draw. So yes, in the beginning, Hans was a terrible shot.

At first.

[leaves-and-inks]

Foraging Crow

Here’s (finally!) my first Artober piece!! I’ve been wanting to draw a crow for a while now, so I drew this little fella! He found a berry, I’m proud of him. I love any type of bird, but crows are definitely one of my favorites. I remember learning several years back about how this animal, who I previously only been told is loud and annoying, is incredibly smart, resourceful, has a complex family structure, and can even mimic speech! You can’t help but admire them a little. This is one of few times I’ve done anything with liquid ink (despite my username lol), and this piece is certain;y the most complex I’ve ever gotten with it. It was pretty fun to work with, and branch out with materials! I hope y’all like this, and keep a lookout for a collab piece the end of the week!

[ID: Ink illustration of a crow with a berry in its beak and with an iridescent, gold circle behind its head. The sketchbook it’s in is visible, and is surrounded by newly fallen leaves, and sits on mossy ground. The crow’s head is in side view and faces left, its body cropped roughly at the shoulder, showing the beginning on its folded wing, and fades out at the crop in a gradient with some small ink splatters. The crow is in greyscale, but the dime sized berry in its beak is bright red. The crow’s tongue tip touches the berry. The crow and gold circle are on a white background.

Image 2: A cropped zoom of the crow illustration. The crop ends at the edge of the pages, so only the illustration is visible, and not the sketchbook nor the mossy ground and leaves.

Image 3: Zoom on the crow’s face and beak to capture details. The crop ends at the top of the neck and crops the tip of the beak off. The background is only gold.

Image 4: Another angle on the crow, this time highlighting the detail in the neck and wing. The shot is cropped at the fade out and halfway on the eye. /end ID]

[enola-vailyo]

I am currently concentrating on my own projects again. So there will be no more Fizz and Ozzie drawings at the moment.

But I want to share some of my headcanons with you. (Warning: terrible english ahead)

- As mentioned in my previous posts, Fizz is a big fan of electro swing music. Not only because he likes the music in general but also because his first big appearance outside the circus (already working for Mammon) was a TV-Spot for investment fonds where he had to do a dance performance to Electro Swing. (This is inspired by a Deka Spot you can find on youtube)

- Because of this, there is a big Electro Swing Night every once in a while at Ozzies. Instead of just acting as a host, Fizz will actively perform at those nights. Sometimes together with Ozzie.

- despite his seemingly lewd behavior in public, he is actually demisexual.

- Fizz has still some of his child character traits. He is still a very caring person and can actually be really soft around his loved ones (Ozzie xD). He still thinks blood is disgusting and is sensitive to splatter horror movies. (Not only because of the „accident“)

- As for the accident itself: Fizz, Blitzo and Barbie Wire worked for the same circus (which belonged to Mammon) aside from the average circus acts, they also did Musical acts. Fizz grew to be Mammons favourite performer and always got the biggest roles (often alongside Barbie wire) while Blitzø only got simple and short side acts. After watching one of the musical perfomances, Ozzie wanted to meet Fizz personal, so Mammon introduced them and they became friends very quickly. Fizz‘ fame grew bigger and bigger and someday Blitzø was so annoyed that he thought of a prank. He altered the text of a new musical act for there to be insults directed at a group of higher up demons who would watch the performance. Fizz, thinking the text came from Mammons orders, played that part. Not realising that he angered the higher ups. They where furious and began to attack the circus staff and burn the whole place down. Of course, Fizz was at the center of their attention for insulting them. So they ripped him apart and left him to die in the fire. Blitzø was badly hurt by the fire too and Barbie Wire could never really process what had happened that day. Ozzie arrived at the circus because he and Fizz had wanted to meet that day. Only to find the whole place leveled to the ground with Fizz on the edge of death beneath all that Chaos. Of course he nursed Fizz back to health and let him stay at lust.

- Fizz suffers from PTSD. Sometimes he would be in so much pain that he restlessly walks through the house at night only to pass out at some weird places. Sometimes Ozzie has to search him the whole morning.

- Yes, he and Ozzie live together

That’s it for now. Sorry if you don‘t understand anything or if the grammar is off. English is not my first language and I often struggle with it 😅 I would love to Write a fanfiction but that’s propably Never gonna happen.

Maybe I have some more headcanons to Share with you in the Future 🤗

[dragondemonessreposted]

Nightmare (Komahina Oneshot)

Nagito Komeada x Hajime Hinata

Reposted from @dragondemoness

I just remembered that this existed-

Seeing it again for the first time in almost a year, it actually kinda sucks

Warnings: Blood and death

Hajime ran out of the restaurant, trying to find the others. After receiving a worrying message from Nagito, he quickly bolted to the restaurant, to find no one. He didn’t see anyone on his way to the beach either.

But right when he turned to enter the beach, he froze.

Fuyuhiko. Sonia. Akane. Kazuichi.

Their bloody bodies lay motionless on the beach. But before he could do anything, he heard small wimpers of pain. Then, he noticed Nagito standing there.

He was gripping Mikan by the back of her neck, and held a knife in his other hand. His once warm gray-green eyes were now swirling, and wide with insanity. Nagito always had a strong obsession with hope, but these were not eyes of hope. They were eyes of despair.

Nagito plunged the knife into Mikan’s neck, blood splattering all over the sand, dyeing it red. Mikan’s watering eyes, filled with fear, turned dull and lifeless. Nagito let her body drop to the ground. He held a twisted grin on his face. He was clearly proud of himself for his… accomplishments.

He turned his body to face Mikan.

“I am very sorry, Mikan. Will you please… Forgive me?”

The tone of his voice made Hajime flinch, and Nagito let out a twisted, maniacal laugh. All of Hajime’s uneasiness suddenly transformed into fear.

Forcing himself to move, Hajime took three small steps forward. Taking a better look at his boyfriend, his hoodie was covered in blood, and had bloody smears on his face. From the looks of the bodies and the bloodstains, they were recent.

Nagito immediately turned his body to face him.

“How nice of you to join us, Hajime! Everyone was waiting for you…”

“You-You did this, didn’t you?” Hajime struggled to speak. Nagito smirked.

“What a smart man you are. Of course it was me. They were getting in my way, so I had them removed…”

Hajime looked at Mikan’s lifeless body.

“But-But why Mikan?! What did she ever do to you?? Don’t you know that she did her best to help you when you had Liar’s Disease?!” Nagito chuckled.

“Of course. But that was before Mikan was getting close to you. A little…”

Nagito stepped towards Hajime until his face was level with his.

“…too close for my liking.”

Nagito pointed a knife at Hajime’s neck when he spoke.

“Are… Are you going to kill me…?”

Nagito was grinning again, as he traced a line from Hajime’s neck down his neck to his shoulder with his finger. With his left hand, he gently ran the side of the knife’s blade down Hajime’s side, his grin widening when he felt Hajime shiver. The blood from the knife made a trail down Hajime’s side.

“Now, now Hajime… I could never do that. You’re my hope, after all. I did all of this for us.”

Nagito cackled again, causing Hajime to flinch once more. Nagito was gone. This wasn’t his friend. His boyfriend. Nagito wouldn’t do anything so obscene. So… despairing.

But he did. And Hajime was trapped with him.

…Forever.

——————————————

Hajime woke with a start. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. After taking a few moments to collect himself, Hajime took a moment to check his surroundings.

He was in his cottage, laying flat on his back in bed. He checked the clock on the bedside table. 2:30 AM.

He let out a sigh, simultaneously relieved that the nightmare wasn’t real, and annoyed that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

He jumped when he heard movement next to him. He turned his head to see Nagito stirring as he turned his body to face Hajime.

That’s right. Nagito.

His boyfriend.

Hajime swiftly rolled onto his side to face away from him.

Even though he knew it was just a nightmare, he couldn’t help but flinch when Nagito placed his hand on his arm.

He felt Nagito draw his hand back as if he had touched something hot. When he gently grazed his fingers on Hajime’s arm, he tensed, but didn’t reject the touch.

Nagito fully placed his hand on Hajime’s hand again, and felt the boy’s muscles relax, though his body was stiff.

“What’s wrong, love?” Nagito asked with a sleepy tone. Hajime gulped. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Nagito would react if Hajime told him about the nightmare.

What if he really thought Hajime thought he was a murderer? He would be so offended.

“Nothing,” Hajime forced out. Nagito began to gently rub his arm.

“I can see that something’s wrong. I felt you tossing and turning in your sleep, and you flinched when I tried to touch you. Please tell me what’s wrong,” Nagito pleaded.

“It was a nightmare,” Hajime finally admitted. “But I can’t explain it. I don’t want to offend you.”

Hajime couldn’t see, but he could guess that Nagito raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“Why would I be offended by a nightmare? You can’t control your dreams.”

Hajime supposed that was true.

He took a deep breath in, and started to explain.

“I received a message from you, saying that I wouldn’t have to worry about death or despair anymore. I headed to the restaurant, but it was empty. Then I headed to the beach, and everyone was dead. And there you were in the middle, with blood on your clothes and an expression of complete despair.”

Hajime felt Nagito stiffen in surprise, but the white haired boy continued to rub his arm as he waited for Hajime to continue.

“After you killed Mikan, you turned to me. You said that the others got in your way, so you removed them. You didn’t kill me, though. You only killed the others so we would be alone together. Forever.”

Nagito was silent for a moment. Hajime was worried that he was offended before he felt his boyfriend wrap his arm around Hajime’s torso and pulled him close. Nagito pressed his stomach into Hajime’s back and rested his chin on his head.

“That does sound frightening. But I can assure you that I would never kill anyone. As much as I relish the thought of being with you forever, I would never harm or kill anyone to achieve that. That would be far too despairing for me to do.”

Hajime managed a smile. Of course Nagito wouldn’t harm anyone. He was just too hopeful.

Nagito let out a chuckle. “Is that a smile I see?” He lightly teased. Hajime let out a chuckle of his own. “Maybe.”

Nagito smiled and pressed a kiss to his head.

“Are you feeling better, love?” Nagito asked. Hajime held his hand that was wrapped around his waist. “Yeah. Thank you, Nagi.”

Nagito held him tighter. “Of course. Now, what do you say we go back to sleep?”

Hajime nodded and tried to turn his body to face his boyfriend, but Nagito wouldn’t budge.

Hajime chuckled and pressed his back against Nagito’s stomach. He supposed he would let Nagito be the big spoon. The nightmare way in the back of his mind, Nagito’s warmth and his breathing, along with his heartbeat relaxed Hajime, and he could feel his eyelids growing heavier.

Nagito kissed his head once more before whispering, “Goodnight, my hope. Sweet dreams.”

[rodivi]

Forgotten Curse: Sukuna x Curse! Reader: Chapter 5

"Stop talking. It's annoying." Y/n rushes in with featherlike footsteps doing a leg sweep but it doesn't connect. Above her is Mahito, his face is covered by the sunlight but his legs are what catches her attention

Deer legs. He's doing it again. Like with...

She shakes her head violently to get rid of thought.

"Don't get distracted now." Mahito slides one of his experiments across the floor.

She stops it with the ball of her foot. It groans in pain and wails out a cry. "Is this really that fun for you?" Her eyes are grim, she clenches her hands into fists and reaches down to the distorted human. "Cause' this is getting really boring for me." The eyes of it bulge out while a tongue hangs languidly. She squeezes it until it pops like a balloon of blood.

Mahito frowns, "Aren't humans fun to kill?" He taps his hoof on the ground and the skin melds and wriggles back to its original shape. He instead focuses his energy on his hands making them comically large. It snakes around following y/n crushing into the floors, the walls, and other small stores in the mall.

"Not..." She scrabbles to a different landing point barely avoiding his hands. "Really." She tucks and rolls heaving a deep breath of air. But the hands are not far behind. Turning behind herself the only thing in her view is a palm.

Silence echoes in the shopping center, stone tumbles under Mahito's palm whilst he removes it from the tiled and cement floor. A smile draws on his face but he freezes in place when he ganders at his enemy. She has the same scars on her face as him. Frost encroaches from his attack point creeping onto his hand. He quickly shrinks it down the frost breaks over and over but it keeps coming back. Layer after layer making it ice. "Your face why?" Shock is etched on his face. He slowly moves back until a wall stops him from going further.

"Are you afraid of losing?" She huffs out a long icy breath keeping her eyes on the target.

Wouldn't you rather be a part of bringing the world into the next golden age?" Mahito's smile widens to an unnatural extent to the point where even his eyes smile.

"I know what Kenjaku's planning, and I mean from the beginning. So don't try that bullshit with me." Lashing out in a frenzy she charges at Mahito grappling him to the floor. She yanks his wrists back scooping bits of his flesh with her claws. And decides to bite his neck tearing off the flesh with an icy finish.

He chokes out a few words, "This won't end here." Mahito shifts into a human like puddle and skitters away into an air vent.

"Mahito. Mahito, get back here and fight me!" Y/n growls out tearing the vent opening up but he is already long gone.

***

"Itadori! Itadori~ Hmm, it doesn't seem like he's here." Gojo ponders and jumps between the hallway and the room searching for where he could have gone. A set of scratches across the wall catches his eye and he sighs. "I wonder what's happening now." Whistling a sweet tune, he follows the trail of destruction strolling through Jujutsu High.

Looks like someone is awake.

Gojo grazes his fingers across the cracked and battered shingles going from rooftop to rooftop. At the end of the trail is a giant hole in a roof and on the inside of the building the floor took a beating. "Hup." Hopping down Gojo grabs some of the wood on the floor that used to be part of the wall. "Things are getting more intense here." He throws the broken piece of wood over his shoulder and picks up his pace.

"Now where did they end up?" Gojo finds himself in an open area with someone on the ground. "Fushiguro?"

"Gojo? Itadori he..." Megumi dusts off his pants and manages to pull himself to his feet with panting breaths.

Splatters of blood decorate the ground along with a pool of blood near Megumi. While Megumi himself is in tatters; clothing torn, scratches, bruises beginning to form, and some cuts.

"Was it Sukuna?" Gojo says tilting his head in Megumi's general direction.

Megumi hangs his head down, not able to utter a word.

"What about Itadori?"

"He...he's gone." Megumi uttered with his voice cracking near the end.

"Then, where's his body?"

"I don't know. She...she took him, she said she was taking him where he needed to go." He lifted his head back up and held in his sadness.

"Alright, I'll be on my way then."

"That's it? You're not going to look for him?" Megumi searches Gojo's face for an answer.

"Of course, I'm going to look for him. But tracing where she went through her remnant is the problem."

"What are you talking about it's right...here?" Megumi whips his head around trying to find the traces he saw earlier but they are no longer there.

"That's the issue."

"How is that even possible? All curses leave remnant it should still be here." Megumi says frustrated.

"Still trying to figure that one out." Gojo says shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What are you going to do then?"

"I'm going to meet a friend." Gojo says heartily.

"Who?" By the time Megumi finishes his sentence Gojo is out of sight.

***

"Let me get this straight. A curse who you found out was human not too long ago has amnesia. And was able to do an enormous amount of damage to the talisman room. Not to mention take away your student's dead body. Now you're saying you can't even trace its remnant to find said student. So, you decided to come to me. Did I get that right?" Nanami states sitting across from Gojo on a couch.

"Yep." Gojo nods taking a sip of green tea.

"And you didn't exorcise them to stop this from happening in the first place because...?" Nanami taps his fingers against his knee.

"Itadori wanted to help her. Save her." Gojo states placing his teacup down to take a slice of strawberry shortcake.

"That's not the real reason, is it?" Nanami probed.

Gojo put his fork down letting it clatter on the plate. "Something is strange about her. She...How do I put it...She knew about you before even meeting you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It was something she remembered, your name that is." Gojo said going back to eat another bite of cake.

"Perhaps it is part of her cursed technique. Then did you come here to ask me if I met this curse before?" Nanami said adjusting his goggles.

Gojo slides a piece of folded paper across the coffee table, "This is the best I could do with the time I had."

"..." Nanami grabs the paper and unfolds it.

A prank.

Gojo stifles a laugh but can't hold it in. Nanami moves to get up and leave but Gojo stops him.

"Wait, wait don't go. Here is the actual drawing I promise." Gojo hands over another piece of paper this time not folded and Nanami snatches it out of his hand.

"I've never seen her before. If that's all you can leave."

"Wait Nanami, I need help finding Itadori." Gojo calls out but his words are lost on the door Nanami makes sure to slam behind him.

"Guess I'm on my own then." Gojo packages the rest of the strawberry shortcake up and goes on his way.

The door reopens for a brief, "There's nothing else I can do to help." Nanami finishes closing the door again.

"Nice talking to you too Nanami." Gojo shouts hoping he heard that.

***

*Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap*

"Yuji it's time to wake up. God this is taking forever..." The curse taps her fingers against the metal table and using her other hand to hold her head.

"Maybe I should...but then she would...ugh, this is so troublesome." She removes her hand from her chin and stops tapping to grip the table.

"Fuck it, I'm not waiting for a shitty contract to happen." She walks over to another metal table near Yuji and lays down on it.

"Sukuna, wait for me." She inhales slowly relaxing her body. Mahito's scars on her face disappear, her claws return to nails and she drifts off.

***

“Itadori? Why are you fighting Sukuna?” Y/n snaps her gaze between the two of them not knowing what to do.

“You. Leave now.” Sukuna comes within a hairsbreadth of ripping her throat out but the shield of cursed energy stops him.

“Leave her alone Sukuna, your fight is with me.” Yuji makes Sukuna face him and manages to land an uppercut. Sukuna slides back switching his attention between them.

“Itadori, don’t make any rash decisions.” Y/n’s face is obscured by darkness but her words are clear-cut. Red eyes glisten leaving a glow of red on her face.

“You mean the contract? I was going to fight—” Itadori says.

“Heh, I knew it. But you’re interrupting me.” Sukuna sideswipes at the cursed energy shield but instead of breaking the cursed energy spreads wider. “What the hell.”

“Y/n what did you mean by what you said?” Itadori says while dodging punches from Sukuna.

“I…don’t…wait. I remember. Sukuna, let me negotiate!” The curse begs. “Even if it's a little.”

“Why should I let you interfere?” Sukuna slips past Yuji effortlessly and strikes claw first. The shield manages to hold the attack further boosting its power. He clicks his tongue and turns his back to her.

“Abraxas. That word is important to you right?”

Sukuna stops in his tracks and slowly turns around. His face is that of someone who is about to go berserk. “How did you know? Tell me!” Sukuna lashes out in full force; clawing, punching, and kicking. An endless barrage of attacks that keep coming and Itadori can only stand and watch.

****A/N I hope you enjoyed reading the fighting sequences! Make sure to like and add to your library! You can find me on Tumblr, Wattpad, and AO3. Jujutsu Kaisen and its characters belong to Gege Akutami.

[unknownjpegs]

capture

They’d usually leave these ones alone. SAS soldiers aren’t to be fucked with, and it’s more trouble than it’s worth to get information out of them. One, because they’re trained well and  nobody’s got the fucking patience to bother, and two because they’re a bit more protected than other groups. Just as expendable as everyone else, of course, but a special forces trooper is more likely to draw attention than some no-name, nondescript merc kid gone missing.

But sometimes, exceptions are made. When a group of KorTac guys, bloodied and limping with busted-lips, bring in the kicking and.curse-spitting SAS medic, Bunny asks König what that particular exception had been.

In his careful, precise accent: “Knocked a few teeth. Being fucking annoying. Does not shut up.” 

Mouse will relate to her later that he’d gone up against three operators, broken a tibia with a nasty, sneering stomp and crimson-streaked grin. That it had taken König’s hulking strength to get him in any sort of subdued state to bring in. 

Seem way too into that leg crush, Bunny tells her, pointing with her smoldering cigarette. 

It was, Mouse offers, fingers clasped under her chin and eyes bright with recollection, so disgustingly cool. He also broke four of Smith’s ribs!

He gets roughed up a bit for the attitude, for the damage he’s done, for some pointed, filthy comments made towards certain familial members. 

Then they bring Bunny in.

Not because she’s any good as an interrogator. Most of the time, KorTac’s got her cozy in an office on base, pouring over documents and using her experience with certain government entities and the British Army to glean info. Bunny gets paid real handsomely for it. Enough that she only feels a bit guilty for the fight she’d had with a particular lieutenant when he discovered her sneaking away one night. 

Mercenaries, Buns? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re setting yourself up to be a domestic terrorist. You’re gonna be on wanted lists, and we’ll have to — Jesus. Have you absolutely lost your goddamn mind? Have you gone full mental? Yeah, you have. You have gone full fuckin’ mental. 

Call me, Bunny had said with her finger and thumb to her ear, and was gone. 

He’d let her go. 

So they bring her in because he’d been found with a paper in his pockets. And Bunny is good with mysterious papers.

“Could be coordinates,” König told her as she entered, handing her the paper. “Could be orders. See if he will tell you which one. Or see if you can figure it out, yourself.”

“And if he doesn’t tell me?” She quirks an eyebrow, looking from the scrawled symbols and letters up at him. “What if he gets out of those zipties and bludgeons me half to death like he did Smith?” She bats her eyes at him.

König huffs in a way that tells her he’s grinning beneath the hood, and claps a hand to her shoulder. “Then Mouse and I will be right outside with a gun and a big knife, and we’ll avenge you.”

Bunny rolls her eyes at him. “Thanks, big guy. Very comforting.”

He’s knelt on the the ground when she goes in. There is blood splattered on the floor in a circle surrounding him, a split in his lip and another across one thick eyebrow. It’s quirked, but his eyes are steely and cold as they follow her around the room. 

“You’re not a soldier.” 

Bunny glances down at herself; button-up shirt and suspenders, dark khakis, sensible loafers. “Fuck, they are training a perceptive new generation, aren’t they?”

His eyes narrow, but his mouth twitches as if he wants to grin. Gotcha, Bunny thinks. Mouthy kid. Of course you respect a little bit of shit talk. 

“Wouldn’t know. Don’t keep up with the training, nowadays.”

“Uninvolved, huh?” Bunny slips her arms over her chest. She tries to slip another needle past the ill-tempered, fast-mouthed medic’s armor: “Feeling disillusioned in the military industrial complex?”

She’s not fully expecting it to work. She is certainly not expecting the wild, sudden chuckle she earns for it. 

“Honestly, ma’am? You nailed it. If m’honest, kinda wanna get home at this point,” the medic says. His monotone is nearly bored, tinged with a snide clip of indignant, grumpy annoyance. As if he’s not trussed up and sporting a nasty, reddening bruise on his swelling cheek. As if his capture is simply a tiny, pesty snag in an otherwise pleasant day.

Bunny likes that. What she doesn’t like is —

“No ma’ams please, thanks.” She leans back against the table, head tilted. A tingle of recognition zips across her vision. 

“Wait. Hold on.”

“Bit of déjà vu?” The soldier offers, lips quirking. “Yeah, same. You —”

“You look familiar.” Her eyes narrow, and then widen on a laugh. “Oh Jesus Christ, you know Simon.” She grimaces, remembering the circumstances of their first encounter and her swirl of annoyed dismay at Simon’s persistently immoral letching. “Ew. You know Simon.”

His eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into the sweaty, dark curls. “Simon. M’gonna guess from that, y’know him too.” He is literally tongue-in-cheek, mouth in a full, knowing smirk. I know why you know him, and you know why I know him.

“What a small fucking world.”

Bunny snorts. “Not really. He’s just been through the entirety of it.” Her arms unconsciously drop, heels on the table either side of her hips. “What’s at home?” 

The soldier laughs again; a barking, loud sort of thing that seems yanked from him. He settles back on his heels, the tense posture dropping to mirror her relaxed form. He shoots Bunny another one of those grins, edged just so with filth, and she could roll her eyes — probably this exact expression that had caught Ghost’s attention in the first place.

“Tall redhead.” He intones, somehow severely serious and suggestive at the same time. “Screen addiction and got a sense of humor that’s pure shite. But nice eyes.” His crooked grin twists. “Big fuckin’ —”

“All right,” Bunny interrupts, both palms up. She finds it very hard to control her own smile. “Okay. Fair.”

And it’s funny, because that’s exactly the type of information they’d need for torture. He’s offering up a hand of cards for them to play. Somebody at home, point of vulnerability to stretch and mold like clay? That’s a weak spot, right there. Usable. If she wanted to, she could call König back in and have him knock a few of the guy’s teeth out. Threaten to do the same to his vulnerability.

Except something tells Bunny that won’t be necessary. So she nods her head and offers a hand signal. Outside the tent, König’s hulking six-something shadow shifts, relaxes. Steps away, rifle dropping from the position it had undoubtedly been in, aiming dead-center on the medic’s chest.

“What’s on the paper?” She pats over the table for the yellow lined notebook page, waves it in the air. 

His cheeks color a bit, ruddy wash over brown skin. Those engaged, disciplined dark eyes go suddenly loose, bouncing away into every corner of the room except the one she occupies.

“It’s not intel.” He sounds sheepish.

“Usually that’s what people with intel say.” 

“It’s not.” He insists. “It’s — fuckin’ hell.” Shake of his head again, curls bouncing. “Embarrassing.” 

She lifts a brow. Go on. Embarrass yourself. It’ll entertain me.

He sighs, steady gaze on the ceiling. “We’re bingein’ some YouTube stuff about Cold War codebreakers, and it’s real dull,” he inclines his head at her little glare, “Hey, sorry. No offense, if that’s what you do, but it is. So he gets bored, yeah? Starts fixatin’ on doing a code for himself, right, and so that paper’s this dumb little note for me and it —”

“God,” Bunny says, “They were right. You don’t shut up, and also I do not fucking care.”

She gets his wrists and ankles untied with her pocketknife — gift from Mouse — because she wants to get rid of him. Not because she’s immediately fond or anything. 

“You should probably,” she says, stepping back to give him space to stand, “be more careful not to get captured anymore. Especially if you want to get home safe so bad. Kinda the wrong career if that’s the case. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yep,” he chirps as he gets to his feet. She’s surprised to see he’s much smaller vertical. “Last hurrah I’m on the hook for, this time’ round.” Pats his side. “Last bit before I get my med discharge cleared. Then I’m out, and, y’know.” He shrugs, dazzles her with a full grin. “Home.”

“Home.” Bunny says, head tilted, and then offers a sneering snort. “Christ. That is embarrassing, you know that?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he responds, rolling a stiff shoulder and extending his arms out. The shakes his hands, cracks a few knuckles, and stretches his fingers in a series of movements that seems more habitual than helpful. “Benji, by the way. Didn’t get a chance, last time.” 

Benji sticks his hand out. Sage green SAS gloves, muddy and blood-stained from being thrown around in the dirt and fighting. His brown fingers are warm when Bunny takes them in hers, pumps once.

“Dr. Bunny Sullivan,” she offers, and gives him a warning look when something cheeky slips across his face. “No comments on it, please.”

“Boss,” he says. “Want me to say hi for ya, Dr. Sullivan?” 

“To Simon?”

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck no,” Bunny barks out a laugh and pats him on the cheek. “Fuck no. See you around.”

König, confused but acquiescing to Bunny’s request, gets him an escort out of their territory. And then Bunny’s new favorite empty-headed SAS soldier is loosed unto the world once more. 

“He have info?” König stands beside her, offering a light for the cigarette she tucks into her mouth.

“Nah,” Bunny says, glancing up at him and blowing smoke. “Just really fucking annoying.”

[smileygoth]

17. Object of Desire (WODtober 2023)

Part 17 of my WODtober story. Taking the daily prompts and trying to weave a vampire story from them! In this chapter, Imogen goes home and faces up to her situation.

Word Count: 1030 words.

CW:  Blood, a corpse.

Image from Ancient Origins.

Find the previous chapters here!

Imogen pushed the numbers into the keypad and let herself into her apartment building. She was cold, dirty and heartbroken. She had ‘woken up’ on the outskirts of the city, naked in a copse of trees, her clothes bundled up on the ground at her feet, her body streaked with dirt and blood. She’d dressed and, not knowing where else to go, headed back to her old haven. She remembered with horror being helpless in the back of her own mind as she - no, as Eliza - had slaughtered her girlfriend, and she knew that Emma’s body would still be in the apartment. But she couldn’t get back into Miro’s hiding place, and she really needed a shower.

She hesitated at the door to the apartment. Even out here she could pick up the scent of stale blood from inside. The door was closed, but she knew how flimsy it was. She checked that the hall was empty, and then placed her hand over the keyhole and pushed experimentally. A few hard shoves and she started to feel the lock giving way, tearing through the cheap wood of the doorframe. Surprised at her own strength, she shoved a little harder and the door popped open with a low splintering sound. She caught the door so it wouldn’t swing wide open … and then stopped.

Across the wooden floor just inside the door, she could see splatters of blood, the pattern of heavy arterial spray, dried and blackening. Beyond that was an empty sneaker - Emma’s - blood stippling the white canvas. Grief and misery rose in a bubble in her throat, and she stifled a sob with her hand. Blood tears threatened to spill from her eyes, so she squeezed her eyes closed, slipped inside and pushed the door closed. It thumped gently against the doorframe. The broken lock would no longer latch. Gradually, she forced herself to open her eyes.

Emma’s crumpled body lay on the floor behind the door where she had been discarded, her head resting against the wall at a grotesque angle. Her skin was grey and dessicated, shrunken over her bones in the manner of a corpse that had been left to decay for years. Imogen recoiled, a choked sob escaping her lips. Her vision misted red as the tears started to fall. Cautiously, as if the body might rise up and attack her, she crouched down and reached out to touch one shrivelled hand.The dry skin flaked away under her finger. 

‘Oh, Emma,’ she muttered. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Those lovely hands that had created such beautiful paintings, ruined forever. Her lovely smile, her lovely hair … all gone now. A shrunken corpse, lost to the passage of time. ‘This is what I’m supposed to be, too.’

A grim horror seized her then, clutching at her heart with dreadful claws. Standing up, she backed away from the body, rubbing her hand on her jeans as if to scrub away a stain. On numb legs she turned away, and her eyes fell on the door to their shared study. The door was open, and she could see Emma’s easel and her last project, now forever unfinished. Wiping the blood from her eyes, she went in to look at it.

It was a portrait of herself, Imogen saw. Emma had painted her portrait many times, always from memory and always flawlessly. This one appeared to be of her sleeping, though it was still only lines on the canvas. Imogen raised her hand to trace her own lips and eyes, following the charcoal lines, imagining Emma’s hands drawing them, shading, smudging with her fingertips. She imagined the way Emma would lose herself in her work, becoming deaf to everything around her - which had been annoying at times, but endearing at others. Tears threatened to come again, pricing at the back of her eyes, and she dropped her hand and turned away.

She found herself looking at the shelves that housed her collection of artifacts. Each one was a story in itself, much more than the little cards in front of them suggested. She could remember exactly when and where she had found each one, knew the history behind it and what it meant. A smile came to her face as she looked at them. Without thinking about it she plucked a soft rag from her desk and wiped her hands, then went to the shelves and picked up a small urn, turning it over in her hands, tracing the patterns carved into it with her fingers. Her misery and guilt faded, replaced with a sense of peace. Putting the urn back, she went to the next item on the shelf, an old bone comb. It fit snugly into her palm, its surface worn with centuries of handling. She closed her eyes and let the images come, of women in thatched and mud huts, combing their hair in warm firelight or outside in the reflection of a river or lake. She didn’t know which of these were real and which she’d made up; the images came to her sometimes when she touched these things and she didn’t question them. Now that she was here with her treasures again, she could remember losing hours to this, escaping into other people’s lives, their memories, their pasts. Just like Emma lost herself in her painting, Imogen would lose herself in this - and Emma had found it just as annoying and endearing.

This was why she delved into old tombs and forgotten vaults; this was why she stole and trespassed and broke the law. This was why she’d used Miro’s affection for her - and Emma’s, let’s be honest - to help her find and break into these places. So she could bring back these beautiful pieces and lose herself in them.

Wouldn’t it be nice, she thought, To just fall into one of these memories and live there forever. To never have to come back to here, where my girlfriend is dead and I’m being hunted for something I still don’t remember doing. A few minutes later, Eliza’s voice came from deep inside her mind. I might be able to help you with that, she said.

[michu-writes]

🐉 Finished The Cuphead Show so I came right away to request Cuphead and Mugman (separate) general romantic headcanons! Love you! <3

Cuphead

PROTECTIVE BOYFRIEND™️

He'd literally protect you from anything that encounters you. A falling furniture? He's there to catch it. An enemy approaching? He'll be there to fight it. Mugman trying to lay his hands on you? Expect a whole tantrum. HE JUST LOVES YOU OKAY??? He's so stubborn but hhh. And also if you encounter the devil, he would NOT remove his eyes off of you. He doesn't want you to get hurt, especially when we're talking about the devil. Also now that the devil is literally hunting down Cuphead and his brother, he'd advice you to stay inside instead of going out with him just incase. Like I said, he wouldn't take any chances in getting you hurt. He knows you're strong, but he's still worried.

Also he gets jealous a lot. He just doesn't want you to like replace him with someone better than him. So with that, he'd literally eye anyone who checks you out or even cuss at them. It's a problem, but he tries to get better but HE CANT HELP BUT FOLLOW HIS INSTINCTS

Cuphead enjoys going out with you a lot. That would be just going around town, exploring the woods or just going for a walk!! He's an out going person and pretty much an airhead and an extrovert. Of course, he only does it if you want to, but sometimes he'd basically just force you to go out.

He's also a very flirty person in general. Like a dumb flirty person if you know what I mean. Like he'd say the most dumbest and cheesiest pick up lines, tease you sometimes in the worst timings and all that shiz. It's so cute, but it's very funny. Cuphead is also a guy BIG on PDA. He just loves letting everyone know your his. But if you don't like it or feel uncomfortable, he'll stop immediately.

Mugman

He's also protective, like similar to his brother. But he can't always be there all the time to save you. Like that I mean he'd actually the chores elder Kettle tell him to do. Once he hears a loud thud or like a scream from you, he'd rush over to you only to see like a broken plate splattered all around the floor with you on the ground. He doesn't even notice the broken plate, he's more worried about you. "OH GOD!! (Y/N) ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU HURT? DO YOU NEED A BANDAID? WHAT HAPPENED?" He's just <333 a loving boyfriend who cares a lot about his s/o <3

Mugman would sometimes accidentally baby you, which can get a little annoying sometimes unless you're into that shit. He'd do almost everything to please you. Like getting you gifts, doing whatever you tell him to do, just giving you affections, etc. So I headcanon his love language being acts of service. Just anything that wouldn't draw too much attention on him. He's also kinda shy with romance, so he'd kinda prefer you initiate anything. He also doesn't mind PDA, but definitely not the type to initiate it. He really likes holding hands though <333

Also Cuphead is very protective for Mugman, so I headcanon him being very suspicious of you and spying on you just I case you do something wrong. It'll make you a bit creeped out of course but Mugman would literally yell at him to go away. Cuphead grows to get into a liking of you sooner either way.

Also, malewife.

[crystalcow]

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒?//𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑

Masterlist // part one // part two

Dream team x reader // dreams child !p !child reader

Warnings: death, swearing, loneliness, blood

Pronouns: they/them

┍━━━━━♥︎♥︎♥︎━━━━━┑

𝐇𝗼𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝗼 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐥𝗼𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝗼𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

┕━━━━━♡︎♡︎♡︎━━━━━┙

“Tough crowed today I guess..” I continued to look at him right in the eye before drawing my attention to the floor. “Your the reason why Tommy’s dead.” I looked up confused.

𝐘/𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐮𝐛𝐛𝗼_

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢

The prison felt cold, dark, disgusting. The constant pouring of the putrid lava, constantly mocking me now driving me insane. The little to no warmth the orange-red liquid brought to me, the obsidian floors were always colder.

Whistling with the rest of my weak strength, little noises bouncing off the dead walls. Tommy’s body laying cold in-front of me, little puddles of blood splattered around.

There would be no possible way sam would let me out now, until I bring Tommy back to life. Waiting for the rest of the server to crumple at my feet, begging me to bring back their passed peers.

I kicked the lifeless blonde so I could see his pale face. Pathetic really, didn’t even fight back. Always annoying and pestering me instead of shutting the fuck up and just listening to what I had to say.

I smiled as the lava slowly lifted, the sight of Sam in the distance in full netherite. Just like me all those months ago.. “Dream I have a message for you.” The platform carefully inclined to where I was, stopping outside of the barrier.

“Are they asking me to play god yet, I told you my price sam.” I leaned against the wall slumping back. The creeper hybrid stared at Tommy, barely able to take his eyes off him. I smiled at the guilt, letting him slip under his fingers. Even prison cant hold me back

“This is about Y/n dream.” My head perked up at the mentions of my child. I haven’t been able to see them for ages, the last sight of them I had was when I was being carried away to this hell hole.

“They’re dead dream, they were killed by Tubbo this morning to my knowlage using an axe.”

The words hit the me like a train. The dinging of the little stop lights as the tracks rumbled when the train kept getting closer and closer. “Leave.” Sam stayed looking at the boy who’s blood stained the walls.

“Sam I said leave!” I shouted as he nodded stepping onto the platform. I punched the hard wall as hair fell onto my face, already bruised hands now severed with cuts.

“I’m sorry for leaving you.”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚

I looked at the blossoming mushrooms, strange happenings since my visit with XD. The smp never looked gloomier, the once tree filled lands now destroyed and deforested.

I stood outside the prison, staring at its sealed doors. Something draws me here every evening, leaving me staring begging to go inside. But I never do. I never go farther then the outside ground. I’ve contemplated going to the portal, but I never do.

I saw in the distance others building statutes of Tommy, or placing flowers outside his house. Guessing he paid them to do that, sounds like him for sure.

I walked further out towards the smp land, somewhere where I haven’t been for a long time. A little ping of regret of what I’ve left behind all those years ago. I’ll admit, crowns were never my true style.

The closer I got the more memories washed through me, the long days we spent building and farming. Running around the land and climbing all the trees.

The feeling of those netherite chest plates making me sick to my stomach. When I was crowned king, I felt like nothing but a monarch kept captive inside those walls.

I looked and saw a familiar face, all grown up. They were speaking with Tubbo outside of a hotel, the one I helped raise now being on their own.

The only thing that I regret most about leaving for El Rapids was not taking them with. The terrors of dream now running through their veins, tnt and war..

I gasped, my goggles falling to the ground as Tubbos axe slashed through them. The feeling of soft tears dripping down my face. Watching as the one I considerd as a child of my own, dying right infront of my eyes.

“I shouldn’t have left you”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

𝙎𝙖𝙥𝙣𝙖𝙥

Kinoko my little paradise! I have all I need in life, my best friend and my fiancé who I hope to marry and call my husband one day. The blossoming sakura trees and the homey library.

I sighed as Karl left on one of his expeditions, ive noticed every single time he left he forgets a little more. Early onset dementia I suppose, but he’s still fairly young..

I found myself sitting with Beckerson for ages. The small fish swimming around with such simple joy. “The day I got you, one of the best days of my life.” I chuckled smiling at the old memory.

The past is a touchy subject ofcourse, but I can’t tell if I miss it. I’ll admit I miss dream, not the one stuck in prison I mean my friend. The one who gave the world for his kid, the person I was proud to love like a brother.

Shit, Y/n. I have foolish who occasionally gives me updates around the smp whenever he comes around the place. Since that day they’ve been starting to act up around the smp. Sam having to lock them in the small cells for a couple hours.

I can remember their cries of protest as their father was being taken away from them. Being forced to watch Tommy slash dreams axe, killing him twice. Being restrained and not being able to do anything..

I don’t feel any remorse for Dream, all I care about is that damn kid. I fucking raised them for fucks sake.

I looked over at my beeping communicator, probably someone spamming me. When I saw the message displayed on the screen I dropped it, hearing the little sizzle of a noise as it hits the ground.

“Why didn’t I protect you”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

@creatorofstars @georgenctfound @samistheidiot @ghostlysenses

:) death reactions. Read part one and part two and I might actually make this a mini series!

Request or ask anything! And ask if you want to be on a taglist :)

[roger-that-cap]

wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader 

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park. 

yet another au by me... 

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened. 

  “S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand. 

  “What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.” 

 “Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

  “Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see. 

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife. 

  Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously  irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms. 

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them. 

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it. 

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings. 

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea. 

 You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream. 

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch. 

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you. 

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom. 

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose. 

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.” 

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world. 

 But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt. 

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut. 

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime. 

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once.  He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.” 

  His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?” 

  “Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.” 

 Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand. 

“‘I’m Bucky.” 

  For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.” 

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back? 

 “She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her. 

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.” 

  Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.” 

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.” 

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-” 

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”  

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see. 

 “She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.” 

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.” 

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth. 

  “I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

  She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention. 

  “Wanda.” 

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face. 

  “You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.” 

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic,  and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock. 

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.” 

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand. 

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.” 

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie? 

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power. 

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.” 

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?” 

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.” 

 Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.” 

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different. 

 It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather. 

  It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand. 

 Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

  “That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.” 

  “I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?” 

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look. 

“Are you into herbal healing?” 

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?” 

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.” 

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

  With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

 He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”  

You frowned. “What girl?” 

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.” 

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup. 

  There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes. 

  If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you. 

  You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck. 

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger. 

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was. 

She was silent. 

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?” 

 That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-” 

 “Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember. 

  “I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-” 

 She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin. 

  For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours. 

  You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it. 

   You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all. 

Wanda. 

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace. 

  “I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.” 

  The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you. 

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” 

  Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.” 

  “Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

   “A new life will do that to you.” 

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were. 

  She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves. 

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.” 

[deafsignifcantother]

defending the sinclair brothers

♥ slashers: bo sinclair, vincent sinclair

♥ warnings: violence

♥ author’s note: @glitched-out-arcade hi here's the rest

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Bo Sinclair

♥ His intention was to keep you away from everybody else. Though, this quickly went to shame because he had underestimated (and forgot) how much the victims are fighters. They come into the house more times than they don't. Where you mostly stay upstairs (the first couple of times you were locked in his bedroom), you have escaped through the window at the first sign of trouble.

♥ You are incredibly bold, and he likes this about you, except for when you go against him. Then he hates it.

♥ There was a time where you jumped off the roof, into the bushes. Your hands were sore from the fall, and your left hand had white knuckles from clenching onto the hammer. Scratches wad up your arms from thorns, but you didn't care. You needed to leave.

♥ It was the sound of Bo's screaming from downstairs that had made you crazed.

♥ Before you could even walk up the stairs to the porch, a body came running out, and bullets followed them. The victim rushed down the stairs, but before they could even touch the gravel, you swung your hammer, sending them backward and onto the ground.

♥ Bo comes out, thinking the bullets hit, until he sees you, splattered blood on your face, panting and covered in cuts.

♥ He points an accusing finger.

♥ "You-"

♥ But you cut him off, swinging again at the downed person, not trying to pull the hammer from their face, leaving it there, sticking out.

♥ "You're welcome."

♥ "I didn't need your help."

♥ In his hand is his gun, and he reloads it as if he has somewhere to aim. He is chewing something, shaking his head in your direction, not too sure as to where to point his anger. When he signs one-handed you can understand him. But when you sign like that, he always leans forward in confusion.

♥ He looks up at you. "Did you jump off the roof?"

♥ If he knew how to curse while signing, he would. His face reads: did you fucking jump the fuck off that fucking roof.

♥ You give him a tight smile, nodding, trying not to smirk. "And I would do it again."

.

Vincent Sinclair

♥ Vincent doesn't look down on you. He is deaf, and he is blind, and he's fully capable of murdering everyone, so why should he shield you?

♥ Yet, even though he believes this, he still finds himself pushing you behind him as he takes care of the intruders.

♥ You don't mind this.

♥ What you do mind is when he keeps the live, unmedicated specimen down in the basement with you. You're left there with them while they thrash around and make unnecessary vibrations all around. The situation annoys you - and he always takes forever.

♥ And once, a moment that replays in your nightmares, one had managed to get loose. You hadn't even noticed at first. You were sitting on his bed, trying to ignore the mess of a situation, and suddenly, all the struggling stopped.

♥ The air was still. You raised your head, and when you saw the empty table, you bolted up. Your hands tried to grab onto whatever you could find, which happened to be a paintbrush, to which you rolled your eyes and threw it across the room. The sound of the clatter alerted the subject, and you noticed as they peaked their head up. In their hand was a candle, and once the fire started growing, you realized they were taking a flame to his pieces of scattered art.

♥ This room is flammable, terribly so, but you knew that you would suffocate before it even had the chance to ignite.

♥ You grabbed a pale of paint, carrying the heavy thing and chasing the subject around the floor.

♥ But the flames got a bit too big for your comfort, and you had to stop, putting a towel on the damage, smothering it immediately.

♥ It was his drawings, and the closer you look, you realize it was the ones he did of you.

♥ Your cheeks heated up, even with the muffled flames still lingering in the aura. You didn't want to be here when Vincent found out - would he get mad at you? For not defending his work?

♥ Your brain turned, twisting, and you came to a quick conclusion. Vincent wouldn't be mad if he came back, and they were dead.

♥ The subject watches you turn your head, looking at them slowly, blinking as a million thoughts compile in your skull. They beg, holding the candle out as if it is a weapon, but you don't even care to try and read their lips.

♥ When they turn to run, you put their neck into the pit of your elbow, squeezing your shoulder with that hand, locking them in place. Their nails scratch your cheek, but your heart is beating so fast that you can hardly feel it.

♥ This is the high he must get with every visitor - this is the drive, this is the motivation to be a killer. You understand it now.