#until its just him and the many masks he keeps up to convince everyone that its okay

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Your Favourite Ghost

Five years ago your ex-boyfriend Simon killed his family and then himself. IT was first time you felt safe since the start of your relationship. But if he's dead how do you keep seeing him eveywhere you go?

S/O to @ceilidho for absolutely cooking when she first had Simon call reader "bird"

cw: abusive boyfriend Simon Riley, stalking, paranoid reader, abusive relationship,

You first thought you saw him at the grocery store. Down the ways at the meat counter. Tall, bulky and blonde with a black surgical mask. It felt like dying, some invisible wound bleeding you dry as you abandoned your basket and ran back to your flat. Once you were behind multiple locked doors and the panic subsided you felt embarrassed. It wasn’t him, couldn’t be him. Simon was dead, had been for years now.

You’d been young when you met Simon. First year at University of Manchester, you were so lively then. Filled with all the hopes of youth and new opportunities. He was older, late twenties and he was handsome and charming in his own way. Made you feel special, fucked you well, doted on you when he was around. Military salary that he said was wasted on him. You didn’t have many friends, just a couple classmates you texted now and then. Simon texted you every chance he got. He made you feel wanted.

He let you stay at his flat when the dorms got to be too much. Said he was gone most of the time anyway with work and all. It wasn’t any inconvenience. Convinced you to move in after a couple months even. You felt mature, like you had control over your life. You were grown, you were at university and you had a boyfriend with a good job. And Simon was a good boyfriend. Knew your favourite foods, got you flowers on exam days, took you out every chance he got. When men creeped on you in public, Simon was there to fight them off, make you feel safe. “My girl,” he always said. Those first months were the best of your life. 

Then he was controlling, domineering and soon your whole life revolved around him. He never hit you but sometimes he held you so tightly it bruised, fingertips marked on your wrists and hips. His hand seemingly rested permanently on the back of your neck. At home or out in the city, it didn’t matter. You were Simon’s and he needed everyone to see that. He would have branded you if you would have let him. 

He tried once. Wanted his initials on your hip, a one year anniversary gift. Said he’d do the same for you. He held your jaw tightly, cooing about how nice it would look, kissing your cheeks. He always liked to make you feel small. Always on top or towering over. 

“Need to know you’re mine. That you're not sleeping around when I’m gone. All those stupid boys’ll know your mine.”

“Simon!” You smacked his hand away. Flares of jealousy weren’t uncommon, he was paranoid from all his bunk mates coming home from deployments to find their girlfriends or wives with other men. No matter how often you assured him, he never seemed to trust you. 

“S’ a joke,” He chuckled as he forced you further into the mattress, his hand on the base of your throat. 

You saw the man again on your walk home from work. He was on the other side of the street, hood up and pulled taut despite the rare warm weather. You walked past, pretending not to notice and too scared to turn to see if it was just a feeling or if he was actually staring at you. You sat on the bus for its full route before getting off at your stop. Just to be sure. 

You had wanted to break up for months. It was suffocating. Your only respite were his deployments until you realised he had cameras. You never did find them all. They were everywhere and any time you moved or covered one you’d get a text:

“Put it back, bird.”

What a stupidly cruel nickname from a man who delighted in plucking out your feathers. A bird could fly away. You were left shuddering at the sound of his key in the lock and the feel of his weight in the bed beside you. Acid building up in your stomach, swallowed back down as he kissed the back of your neck and pushed your panties to the side.

“Missed you, bird.” His hands never felt clean. The way he touched you was invasive. His fingers were always digging into some gap between bone and muscle like he was trying to find a way inside. He moved you once by digging his hand into the underside of your rib cage. He shushed your cries with kisses and apologies. You think he did it on purpose just to see if he could. He wanted to touch every bone he could, own every inch of you - inside and out. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a full conversation with someone that wasn’t Simon. He knew your schedule by heart, if you were a couple minutes late home from class there’d be a slurry of calls and texts. You had no friends, you sat at the back of class and outside of classes you never left the flat without him. You grew smaller and smaller until he was so big he was the world. 

The next time was at the pharmacy. Regular prescription pick up, nothing out of the ordinary, except he was in line in front of you. You heard him speak for the first time. 

“Riley. R-I-L-E-Y.” Thick and hoarse mancunian. You walked backwards and disappeared down the allergy aisle. A lamb in the wolf’s den. If you were slow and quiet you could make it out alive. You switched trains three times on the way home. You’d pick up your pills a different day. 

It was humiliating. Running from a ghost. No proof that it was Simon or that anytime you’d seen ‘him’ it was even the same man as before. You chewed on the inside of your mouth, pulling on strips of flesh like candy until all your tongue was red. 

You never found the courage to break up with him. You felt awful at the time but the news that he was MIA was some of the best you’d ever gotten. You kept waiting for it to be a trick. The moment you’d go to leave, he’d reappear. You knew that if he did come back, you’d never leave. You’d never get another chance. You’d end up pregnant or tied up in a basement or dead. Whatever was happening to him, he’d reenact on you. 

A split second decision. You packed up your one bag, shoved whatever you could into it. Any important documents you managed to keep a hold of. You walked out of the flat and nothing happened. You left the building and nothing happened. You got on the first train out of Manchester and you disappeared too. 

A University down South took a majority of your credits. Simon had wanted you to drop out, said he would take care of you, you didn’t need to finish uni. You only had a few terms left, convinced him it would be a waste of money to not complete the damn thing, he’d dropped the subject but you knew it would have come back up again. You scraped together what little you had, slept in hostels and shelters, cut and dyed your hair, deleted all your social media, even changed your last time. 

You heard nothing. For close to a year you heard nothing. You checked the news. You didn’t want him dead. A part of you, a large part, still loved him. If he was dead he deserved a proper burial. Some nights you cried at the thought of his body being burned or tossed in an unmarked grave somewhere. You didn’t even know what country he was supposed to have been in. You had nightmares of him being tortured. That sweet empathetic part of you wanted to just hold his head in your lap, hum some lullaby so he could sleep peacefully. You could take care of him. 

You smacked yourself whenever you felt like that. Forced those thoughts back down to the bottom of your brain. You drug up the horrid memories, the ones that left you crying. You wouldn’t go back. No matter what happened to him out there or what you heard, you wouldn’t go back. 

It was Christmas day.. As a gift to yourself you’d gone down to the pub for a pint and some shitty pub food. 

“Oh how awful,” the woman behind the bar gasped. There was a little TV on the counter, one of the boxy ones where the multicoloured lines ran down it, and on it was Simon’s face. “And on Christmas too.”

CHRISTMAS EVE FAMILY MASSACRE - 5 DEAD

Four murders and one suicide. 

Simon. Simon had killed his family. All of them. His mother, brother, sister in law and nephew. You never met them but you knew that he was only a little boy. Not even five. Simon killed them. Then he lit the house on fire and killed himself. 

You threw up your pint and shitty pub food, on your hands and knees in the disgusting, sticky floored pub bathroom. Whatever string connected you to Simon had snapped, leaving you dry heaving and aching. 

Snot, vomit and tears covered your face in a pathetic salty mess. It could have been you if you hadn’t left. Was it because you left? Did you trade your life for theirs? 

Simon had always seemed to have a hidden rage. One that you quelled with the spread of your legs or the opening of your mouth. Rough sex was better than the alternative especially when he took care of you afterwards. You felt like an enrichment item in a zoo, something to be batted around and played with to simulate whatever animal desire he had. 

You weren’t there when he got back. No one to calm that rage. A tiger escaped from his enclosure.  

Your new life crumbled under the weight of the dead. You couldn’t help but read all the news, the tweets, the blog posts, the comments. There was never a mention of you or any other girlfriend. The case was closed, the family was buried all together - including Simon. No one was alive to prevent that. 

You thought about visiting, leaving flowers, you could hide among the other mourners. That would require going back to Manchester and you vowed you never would. Just the name alone left an uneasy feeling. The whole city was haunted. 

You took the Spring term off (citing a family emergency), got a decent job, got a psychiatrist. You stopped checking over your shoulder and placing a chair under your front door handle. You felt his shadow slide off your shoulders. You graduated two years later - with honours. You moved to Brighton. You always loved the ocean. You could hear it from your flat if the windows were open.  

He couldn’t hurt you anymore. He couldn’t come after you. You’d flown away just in time. 

But here was his ghost back to haunt you.

“Riley isn’t an uncommon name. He probably had extended family you never met. You told me before he didn’t have a relationship with his father,” Anna, your psychiatrist said.  You scheduled an emergency appointment after the pharmacy. You needed a voice of reason and possibly a higher dose of your anti anxiety medication. “Could have been a cousin.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about how in horror movies, they’re not dead unless you see a body. I never saw his body.”

“He killed himself. We know that for a fact. It was headline news for a week. It was five years ago. He’s been dead longer than you even knew him.” 

“I’m so scared,” you broke down. “I hate how scared I am even now.”

“Fear keeps us alive. It kept you alive long enough to get away from him in the first place. You have nothing to run from anymore. Learning that is the hard part. We get so used to running, our body forgets how to walk. You are safe, you just need to re-learn to walk. ”

She challenged you to do something outside your flat. So you went out that night. Decided to be brave, get dinner by yourself at your favourite Italian place, even treat yourself to dessert and a glass of wine or two. You even dared to flirt with the cute waiter a bit. 

Your face felt warm, in a good way. You were always a bit of a lightweight so two glasses had you floating happily back to your flat. You decided on the lift ride up to your floor you’d try dating again. No more one night stands, you’d find a nice man - an actually nice man. Your coworkers always invited you out after work. Maybe you’d finally take them up on it. 

Your flat smelled different yet familiar. A scent you knew from a different time, a different place. You smiled remembering something warm until it clicked. Scent connected to memory. You dropped your bag on the floor and sank to your haunches, huddled against the door, sobbing into your hand. 

It was Simon’s cologne. Smokey and woody, he always wore too much and it would give you a headache. It was so strong and the room was so dark. You always left the kitchen light on when you left and knew you’d be back late. The curtains were drawn shut. Why was it so dark? 

The rational part of your brain was reminding you you were drunk, that you weren’t supposed to drink on most of your medications, that you were imagining it. It was anxiety, nothing more. 

Still on your knees you turned to open the door, just needed to crawl out into the hallway, cry for help. Embarrass yourself in front of your neighbours, have the police called so they could search the flat. It was just an anxiety attack. You’d had them before. 

A black gloved hand slammed over the knob. A scream was halfway out your throat when another hand covered your mouth, fingers pinching your nose closed. That shitty cologne filled what little air you could breathe. 

“Shhh…s’just me,” Simon assured. You could hear the joy in his words, like he’d just made the funniest joke. He moved a finger so you could breathe out of one nostril. You sobbed and struggled against him, kicking against the door to force you both backwards onto the floor. He chuckled and ground his hips against your ass. He laughed harder when you screamed against his hand. He rolled, flipping you underneath him, he felt heavier than before. He levelled his face with yours, stubble rubbing against your face, and licked up your cheek so close you thought he might lick your eye, catching any tears. “I missed you, bird.”

The above head light flipped on. There was another man. He, like Simon, was in all black. They were both wearing balaclavas but Simon’s had been pulled up just over the tip of his nose. 

“She really is as pretty as ya said, Si.”

Simon pinched your nose fully shut.

“Go to sleep, bird. It’ll be okay. I’m here now.”

[icedroppedinparasolcider]

Thoughts on ena? Feel free to yap as much as you did in three shizuku one!

so, fun fact about me! i was an ena oshi from like. On This Blank Canvas, I Paint ensekai release to about Say Goodbye to Masked Me jpsekai release, when kanade took the crown (it's since ended up in airi's hands, if not obvious). so i have an absolute ton of stuff i could say about ena and figuring out where to even begin is always the hardest part of all of this. i won't even give myself a direction here i'm just gonna stream of consciousness this.

shinonome ena was probably the first character i got genuinely attached to among the cast, and while most of my thoughts and attention have strayed to other characters, she still remains someone i get incredibly insane about (frankly the entire cast does this to me, but ena is one of the highlight characters of this). and a lot of it comes from my reading of On This Blank Canvas, I Paint when it released on ensekai, because that event not only changed ena for me, but how i view the entire game and its story. that event changed my brain chemistry and nothing deserves the claim more than it.

prior to that event, i looked at ena like i do most "mean" characters, with a sort of dismissive attitude due to generally not being a fan of the archetype and the way many pieces of media write them (other fandoms i was part of before prsk largely ruined it for me). but that event, and ena herself completely changed my entire perspective on the character archetype as a whole, and while i still wouldn't say it's my favourite, i am far from dismissive of the character type and many of my favourites from other medias exist within it because i'm actually paying attention to why they're like this. On This Blank Canvas, I Paint was my first exposure to the why, and i've never been able to look away since.

while there's arguments to be made of this factor for every person in it, i personally stand at the opinion that ena is the representation of everything the solid heart class stands for. akito is really close, and he's in contention, but i'll get more into akito later on because there's so much i need to say about their relationship, their parallels, the roles they have in each other's lives and the reflection of these roles onto the people around them. but with solid heart in general, i think that ena exists as an epitome of everything they are, and the fact everyone except ena in-world is able to recognise that only further pushes my point. because unlike akito, ena believes herself a coward on top of being inadequate. she doesn't recognise the strength it requires to keep pushing forward through all this pain, she thinks herself weak for even experiencing it at all. while akito believes himself (at least up to BURN MY SOUL) inferior to his peers, there's not really a moment where he looks at himself as weak for struggling. he simply pushes forward, and Find a Way Out and BURN MY SOUL is the recognition that that is what gives him his power. ena doesn't even consider that possibility until Knowing the Unseen, when she learns about what her father went through.

solid heart is defined by its determination and unflinching will to improve and chase their dreams no matter who or what gets in their way. shiho continuing to practice and search for a band after convincing herself she's better off solo; airi's constant drive to be a better idol and reach the heights she set for herself; akito's refusal to back down from the unbreakable wall of rad weekend despite the entire town telling him he can't do it; nene's constant push through her story to be an actress worthy of the dreams she has. ena is just part of this, chasing the dream that is her art and the desire to garner a following from it, make a career out of it like her father has. she doesn't attach her name to the works of 25ji because she doesn't want its popularity to be the reason her artwork succeeds, she wants the effort and beauty she captures on the canvas to speak for itself. everyone in solid heart carries that wish, for their work to speak for itself, to not take shortcuts on the path to their dreams. most of them aren't offered many opportunities for it to happen, it's really just shiho and ena who have that chance; shiho with the entire event of Resonate with You and ena's combination of being the daughter of a famous artist and the illustrator for a growing musical group. but both of them turn down those short-cuts in the end, because it wouldn't be their dream as they wish it. shiho wouldn't be standing by the sides of those they made that promise with, and ena wouldn't feel like the success is actually hers at all, but rather the success of whatever name she's leaning on.

you can actually see this part of ena in a scene unrelated to her artwork, in Someday, This Wish will Transcend the Morning Sky. when mafuyu gets a call from her mother and ena decides to take over the conversation, there's a moment in it where ena thinks how she'd rather not bring him into the equation right before mentioning her father's name. she doesn't want to be associated with him, for any reason; both because of her problems with shin'ei as a person and her reservations with using the benefits she has through nepotism. she's fully aware she has that advantage, and does whatever she can to separate herself from her father to avoid having it. because it wouldn't feel like it's actually her success. it would feel like her father's success rubbing off on her.

yet, to bring this back to solid heart, despite the struggle she's facing to make a name for herself as an artist and the immense pain she faces trying to improve herself as an artist and a person, she doesn't quit. she nearly has, plenty of times; it's mentioned several times in early stories how often akito would have to step in to stop ena from throwing away and/or breaking all her art supplies and tools during her fits of anger, because he understands how important this venture is to her. he's solid heart too, his equivalent is the music he makes and performs in vivid street. he knows, firsthand, how precious the passion she has for art is, because he's been given that same drive and purpose for a different artform. ena didn't let him give up when he quit soccer, so he won't let her give up. however he can manage to do that.

there's a specifc moment in the stories of solid heart where you can see the moment they decided that giving up and backing away simply isn't an option anymore. shiho is a slight exception to this rule; there was never a moment in their story where they felt they should give up on their dream to become a professional bassist in a band, not once did they ever stop chasing that dream, for even a moment. shiho's shifts were always about how they chase that dream, with Resonate with You being the decision to not leave leo/need's side, and Don't lose faith! being the change of heart to stop holding back for the sake of the band, to let them catch up by knowing what to chase. but for airi, this happened in the more more jump main story; the recognition of minori's potential as an idol because of her refusal to simply give up, mixed with the mistake of her lashing out at shizuku when she shares the news that she'll be quitting her idol work, kicks airi back to a point of realisation of just how important to her being an idol is, and that she can't afford to just leave it behind. for akito, this happens during rad weekend; after having abandoned sports due to believing he's not dedicated enough, and ena introducing him to the world of music at the summer festival, his entire body and purpose is lit up by the emotional weight of rad weekend, giving him something to strive for and a reason to endure the constant loss that will come with chasing that dream. for nene, pieces of this occur in the wxs main story, but she's truly pushed into the unrelenting determination of solid heart with On a Holy Night, with This Singing Voice and the recognition of her potential from sakurako managing to grab at her competitive spirit and give her something to fight for; something brought to an extreme with The Canary Sings in a Quagmire as nene pushes herself harder than ever before to break down a barrier in her skill.

for ena, this moment was On This Blank Canvas, I Paint. while she never completely gave up on art before this moment, and Insatiable Pale Colour shows how much she wants to fight for her art and gives us a taste of her willingness to keep going, it pales in comparison to the scene captured in the On This Blank Canvas, I Paint untrained ena card. that moment is the decision that completely pivots the direction of ena's entire story into what she's become in modern project sekai. the decision to not look away—to stop looking away. ena is facing her art in a way she was never willing to before, a way she depicted herself in the art piece being critiqued avoiding. the ena of the past would've run away after hearing the harsh words yukihira had to say. we see, in the event, what happened the last time yukihira was harsh about ena's work: she completely broke down and it was the final straw to the shattering of her fragile self-esteem. but during the return to her art classes, which itself is a monumental step due to the pain attached to them, ena made the decision to stop running away. to take whatever yukihira had to say about her art and make it matter, make it have an impact on her growth as an artist. so she sits there, all the memories of the suffering she's gone through fresh on her mind and burning into her, and takes in the criticism. she doesn't fight back like she always had with 25ji, she doesn't look away like she did the last time. these are her failures, and she needs to take responsibility for them. because that's the only way to fix them.

On This Blank Canvas, I Paint also gives us a lot of insight into ena's relationship with shin'ei. not necessarily as much as Insatiable Pale Colour does, since that's a proper introduction to and exploration of their dynamic as both father and daughter and from artist to artist, but On This Blank Canvas, I Paint gives us the invaluable context around the moment that broke their relationship. how much ena had been going through already, how excited she was to continue chasing art, the way shin'ei completely shot her down from the high of being praised by yukihira—something we learn in that event is exceptionally rare—and the actions the next day of yukihira unintentionally confirming for ena everything shin'ei said. that, as she was then, she would never survive or succeed as an artist.

something i don't see really any recognition or mention of is just how much of a part yukihira had to play in ena's collapsed mental health. he was the one to convince her that she could make it by giving her praise, something that ena has always been attached and attracted to because of the lifelong emotional neglect of shin'ei. her receiving that praise from someone she looked up to as a professional and understood that the praise itself is a rarity from him resulted in a complete overblowing of ena's ego, the instant belief that she has what it takes and would be able to make it into and survive art schools with ease. that bubble is popped by shin'ei's words, the outright disapproval of her dream and doubt in her ability to chase that dream (at least, that's how ena takes it; we learn later on that isn't what shin'ei intended to happen). then, the following day, during a very fragile moment where she's reliant on the approval of a professional, yukihira continues to tear ena down with the statement that she'd never make it as an artist if all she looks for is praise. an echoed, if more specific, sentiment to shin'ei's own words. it breaks her. ena would probably be in a much better mental state, though still fragile, were it just shin'ei that knocked her down. but yukihira kicked her while she was down. and that proved to be too much.

i understand why yukihira gets less attention from the fandom, since ena's own story has a stronger focus on what shin'ei did to her than what yukihira did, and what shin'ei did is ultimately the one ena's mind has attached to as evident by the constant flashes to his words in her earlier stories and the entire nightmare sequence of And Now, This Ribbon is Tied, which i can hardly blame her for finding shin'ei's actions more damaging. despite the evidently bad parenting shin'ei has done for either shinonome, even before The SceneTM (akito had it is in his mind that success is impossible without talent even before finding music, and there's a lot of little details across side-stories that imply shin'ei has never been the most attentive father: my favourite of which being ena pushing him into a lake during a camping trip because he wasn't paying enough attention to her. the shinonomes appear to be really bad at communicating and even processing their own feelings, even before the moment ena and shin'ei's relationship fully collapsed, and i think a lot of it comes down to shin'ei being a neglectful and borderline absent father for both of them), ena clearly trusted and believed in shin'ei opinions as both her father and a professional artist by the way she used to study his work to improve her own, the way she went to him for advice on what art school to pick. shin'ei's action was ultimately a betrayal of all of that trust, and i personally believe their relationship is impossible to mend after that, at least to a degree that the shinonome household will be a safe space for either child again (unfortunately, i'm speaking from experience).

i had more to say and if it comes back to me i might reblog with even more yapping but i've completely lost my train of thought due to being distracted and cannot bring it back for the life of me. so i'm just posting this now. have fun ena fans

[transdimensional-haboob]

Lights And Music Are On My Mind

Word count: 687

David can't sleep, he goes crazy in the diner

⋆⋆⁺₊ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆｡ﾟ｡⋆｡ ﾟ｡⋆゜✧*̣̩⋆゜

It was dark, quiet before the lights strobed. Several bright lights that streamed through the diner at a strange hour. Everyone within it was asleep. Leif on top was soundly snoozing in his hammock, or probably willing the universe to test him to its many storms. Maybe both in his dreams.

The Mucklewains within their radio snooze on, quietly drifting its usual quiet broadcast for whoever was awake. A whirl of mystery loom around them always, a partially solved Rubix cube like the diner itself. Like the flurry of color that David found himself confused with now. It was like the time he and a friend from work decided to spend the day during the pandemic tripping on acid. Gawking at the geometric shapes of mundane existence ticking away at the popcorn ceiling held nothing in comparison to...whatever this shit was.

He wasn't tripping was he? A part of him said no but another part of him still wondered. Caspar, his father, was curled up under the booth Ava slept under with a mask. Ava now absent from the spot she tend to slumber underneath from Gloria's explanation when David asked why he seemed like a depressed, old dog curled on the mat. It still seemed terrible on anyone's back but at least it wasn't the direct floor. No matter how much convincing, David couldn't get his dad to move from that spot. He was only met with a sad, tired smile that said more than either of them could really muster feeling and words for. He really was an old retriever. The topic was quickly changed.

David sighs and flops into a booth further away. This was all real, he reasons, they were traveling wherever and right now he had the pleasure of witnessing the diner's confusing process. The only thing he could do right now was eat some of the leftovers Gloria made for the mental turbulence. Everyone had it now and then. It was something to pick at and keep the mind and body warm and some company while everyone else was asleep. It came in handy and it was better than some of his night time activities before he took to the streets painting and spraying things to help his mind calm.

That wasn't such a bad idea. David thought to himself and chewed as he stared out at the color, the flashes, the lights. It reminded him of an old Doctor Who episode. A long drawn out sound of its transportation played only in his head, whirring, it was something he could grasp onto. Something easy to comprehend as it relentlessly continues. Just like that acid trip that kept his mind rolling. Remolding his mind until he felt like his soul was being rattled through a rock tumbler. He supposes this all isn't much different even if he's not in control of the trip. He wasn't in control of Pasadena going to shit either.

But he can control two things. Color and shapes. Quietly, while others slept, he changed around the tables of the diner that moved. Silent enough to not disturb his slumbering father across the restaurant. The space appearing more open and breathable. Especially for Gloria, who had to truly navigate it, aside from Caspar serving food. And let's face it, he didn't pay much mind to if the table and footwork were here or there. The pieces that weren't bolted down, heavy, and loud got a renovation on the spot. An optic illusion of the mind to match the space he needed in his head.

Stepping away, he let his mind fade with the colors flashing. Red, blue, mint, yellow, a color he couldn't register, lavender, pink, and it goes on. He tries to decide which colors look the best on the diner's interior. A few colors repeating, a few in different hues, a few more unrecognizable. Some even appeared in shades.

Then he made notes, accents attributed to colors he liked on the potential layout of the diner's insides. Next stop with places that had paint, he'd get to exploring and plaster them up. Something fresh to liven up the staff's spirits. A new mess to look at.

[luvissues]

ugh thinking about the 141 with a cat and i don’t know why

it’s an odd situation for sure. everyone’s pretty certain that price still thinks the poor thing is a stray they’ve decided to feed, even though he catches it snoozing around base and weaving through his legs whenever they’re stationed.

ghost was convinced that the mangy thing had fleas from whatever alley the sergeants had scruffed it from, but for once his words fell on deaf ears. the skinny thing just needed some meat on its bones, was all. they were sure of it.

and yeah, okay, so maybe they were a little drunk when they picked the thing up. but it was a poor little tabby; surely they could just feed it for long enough that you didn’t hear the rattle of its bones with its steps?

ghost had the be the one to toss it out, not thinking much of it. he was doing the boys a favor, getting rid of the thing before price could beat it away with a broom (or scare it off with some stray shots from his pistol).

but that doesn’t bring much reprieve, because the lieutenant had called it from the start- the damn thing was outside, sure, but it wouldn’t go away.

“dinnae- don’t shut it out, ghost, the cat jus’ wants some lovin’” soap would scold as he poked his head over to look out the window, catching the tiny head poking right back up at him from behind the glass.

“you keep that damn moggy out of here, johnny.” was all he got in reply. (ghost fails to mention that the only reason he hates the pet is because it’s fur is especially noticeable on the black fabric of his mask.)

but of course they just keep going out to feed it anyway. gaz keeps making off-handed comments about it in front of price on accident and ghost thinks he might just have to strangle him if that means it’ll shut ‘im up.

though, price doesn’t really notice it at all until he leaves the doors cracked open- base was too hot, too stuffy- and the kit just slips in beneath his feet. and no matter how many times he tracks it down, ushers it back outside with a nudge of his boot, it keeps making its way in. so he closes the doors and- wait- who the opened the window? fuckin’ hell, now the cat’s damn near crawling into their ceiling…

so maybe it’s back inside now. and maybe gaz really doesn’t feel like washing it, cleaning off all that grime the pelt’s accumulated since ghost had kicked it out. so maybe he tosses it in the bathroom while his lieutenant’s in the shower, because “he threw it outside, yeah? now he can clean up the mess.”

that’s when the situation finally comes to attention (there are angry red marks hidden under ghost’s clothes; cat was was clean now, but that thing needed a damn pair of nail clippers). ghost carries it out into the hall by its neck, fur still dripping and leaving a trail on the tile behind them.

he’s a little peeved that price couldn’t seem to care less. cap’s a little annoyed that his sergeants have been so distracted, sure, but nowhere near as irritated as ghost would’ve thought he’d be.

“spoiled rotten,” the captain tsked, shaking his head as ghost let it drop. he’d carried it all the way to price, hissing and scratching; the thing’s scurried off to some corner of the office now, and all it did was bring a furrow to his superior’s brow. “the thing’s gonna starve when they’re not here to coddle it.”

“wouldn’t bother me any,” ghost grunted. he kicked around the corners of the room until the cat slunk back out, nothing more than a lazy little shadow that stuck around because of its indulgent caretakers. “should take it out, stupid thing.”

price just rolls his chair back up to the desk, hunching over it as his gaze drops back down to his work. his pen taps against the wood as he fiddles with it, waving ghost off with a hand. “‘s long as it’s not in my way, i don’t care what the hell they do with it. soap’ll forget about it in a week when he gets bored. gaz will let ‘im.”

surprise: they don’t forget. ghost would almost be impressed if not still annoyed (look it up, garrick- CSD. if he gets sick, he��s putting a barrel to the kit’s head).

time heals things, though. johnny still tosses the things his scraps, but he also gets amazon suggestions for cat food now because of his shopping habits. kyle still doesn’t want to take responsibility, but his search history is spotted with questions; random aspects of how to take care of the pet.

simon is still annoyed at the thing, but everyone sees the way he’ll pull of a glove just so he can scratch under its chin with his short nails. price still pretends not to notice that there’s an animal at all, but it’s his room where they cat will end up at night, curled into a discarded pile of blankets or on his chest.

ughh idk something about them with a cat whose not really their cat. but they get offended if you say it’s not theirs because of course it belongs to them. it’s just not their fault it hangs around. or that they have a separate bowl for it. or that the window is always cracked now like some sort of cat door. it really isn’t!

something cute about all of them being on base, but with this lazy little thing that hangs around and gives them company when they crack open a beer or clean their weapons or go to their rooms on those lonely nights. it’s no dog, but it does seem to love like one sometimes, with how unconditional it is with its affection affection.. love it

[mamawasatesttube]

timkon for “Please don’t do this.”?? :))))

It's a scene from Tim's worst nightmares, come to life.

The Time Trapper. Superboy-Prime. Back in their dimension, hell-bent on exacting his revenge on everyone who "scorned him" for being misunderstood. The havoc and destruction he wreaks everywhere he goes are bad enough, but they're not the thing striking true terror, frigid and fierce, into Tim's bones.

"How much time do we have?" Kon asks, watching the red smear in the clouds grow larger. His arms are folded across his chest; his jacket shimmers with starlight, his eyes aglow against the inky black of the night sky.

Dread roots Tim to the spot.

"About three minutes," Cyborg reports, his voice taut even over comms. "We need at least ten."

Kon nods, more to himself than anything. Tim can see the determination in the set of his jaw, knows exactly what he's going to say before he can even open his mouth.

He knows innocent lives are at stake, so very many. He knows it's bigger than just the two of them. He knows, and yet—

His hand moves on its own, grabs a desperate fistful of Kon's jacket. "Please don't do this," he begs, and hates himself for it, because they both already know it's the only way. He needs to be a cape right now, a strategist, a hero, but the terror clawing up the inside of his chest belongs merely to Tim, a man who can't bear the idea of losing his beloved. Not again.

Kon looks down at him so tenderly Tim's heart hurts. He can't do this again, he thinks; it broke him before and it'll shatter him now. But Kon smiles at him—the sky is growing redder and the air already smells of smoke and Cyborg and Oracle need another ten minutes before the motherbox trap can be sprung, and Kon smiles anyway.

"You're not losing me this time, Rob," he says. The leather of his glove is smooth against Tim's cheek as Kon's thumb caresses along the lower edge of his mask. "Promise. It's just ten minutes—this chump won't know what hit him."

He leans in, presses a gentle kiss to Tim's forehead; his lips are warm and soft against Tim's skin. Tim's eyes are wide behind his mask. He has to get a grip, he knows; he's normally so much more levelheaded than this, he needs to keep his head screwed on straight if he's going to be useful at all out here, he... he can't be a distraction, he can't get Kon hurt—

"I'll give you a proper kiss when I get back," Kon tells him, and somehow even flashes a grin. "See? Now I have to come back to you safe 'n' sound."

Distantly, some horrible part of Tim is already packaging and processing that into the grief he doesn't want to drown in again. He can just picture himself falling to his knees by Kon's broken body, again, shaking him and demanding he wake up, that he promised he'd kiss him when they saw each other again—he can already feel the shards of that broken promise cutting into his heart and he hates himself for that, too.

"You'd better," he tells Kon. His voice, at least, comes out steady this time. "I—"

He can't even bring himself to joke. To tease and tell Kon or else I'll find someone else to cosplay Star Trek with next summer, or anything stupid like that. On any other day, in any other battle, with any other opponent, sure.

But today?

He cups Kon's face in his hands, draws him in, presses their foreheads together. Tries to convince himself he isn't saying goodbye. "Be careful, clone boy."

"I will." Kon gives his shoulders a quick squeeze, still smiling at him. Tim doesn't know how he does it. It's one of the many things he'll never be able to stop admiring about him; the thought makes his heart lurch.

And then Kon is tapping a finger to his comm again, as that blood-red streak in the sky draws nearer, and Tim desperately tries to find his usual levelheadedness somewhere deep beneath all the panic, all the instincts clamoring at him to keep Kon safe. He has to make himself useful.

"I can buy you that time," Kon tells Cyborg. "I'll hold him off until you're ready."

The comm crackles again as Vic answers, but Tim hardly registers it. He's too busy watching Kon shoot up into the night sky, his silhouette dark against the stars.

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Was thinking about Dennis coming home after North Dakota, and thinking about what if Mandy knows, what if Mandy is the only one who knows? I mean really knows like not just deeply suspects from all the skirting around, but what if Mandy is the only one Dennis was able to open up with/admit his real feelings about Mac to or even less specifically about anything to, because she’s not entrenched in everything the gang is, she’s from such a different world that on some level she’s got this sense of unrealness about her to Dennis, one that lets him feel like in contrast he can be more real himself to make up for that, because who else is gonna know?

Then was thinking about how each time when Dennis is away from the gang, as this unrealness seems to persist, he tends to let his guard down, be more vulnerable, more unsure, he slips into different roles, as if trying to figure himself out for the first time, figure out who he is outside the gang and everything its history entails, but what if when in ND, after everything with Mac, he did figure himself out, and maybe being with Mandy helps him see that and it’s hard for her not to see it too, see how he doesn’t belong there/can’t belong there, so she lets him go, but he was already too deep in the role, like a method actor gone too far, and now that he’s back, now that he’s not in that particular role but can’t exactly just happily return to his old role in the gang either, he’s trying to reconcile every role he’s ever had/created for himself within him throughout the years and cycle through them, trying desperately to see if any still fit, peeling away all the layers and masks he’s tried to get other people to see him as, (cold/emotionless, killer, womanizer, god, etc.)—all roles he’s also tried to see himself as so as to reason away and not face his traumas head on—until finally laid bare underneath is the real Dennis, the one he’s been keeping hidden for so long except in little glimpses when his grip on control slipped, the one that is sensitive and terrified and feels too much and too little, and doesn’t always understand why, the one who loves his friends, loves Mac, and just wants that in return, the one who’s been playing so many different roles for so long he’s almost forgotten what it’s like not to play one.

Like, the Dennis we start to see as the seasons go on is not Dennis the person, it’s Dennis the character, the one he’s created for himself and others have inadvertently created for him, the “I just wanted to live up to everyone’s expectations of me” result of his mother instilling this burning necessity to be this perfect golden boy in him, his father never letting him be emotionally open/trying to toughen him up by making sure he always expects the worst and just has to suck it up, Mrs. Klinksy forcing him to recontextualize his assault as more of a conquest of something he wanted on his part rather than what it was, etc, etc, so he becomes a golden god, he becomes a hardened shell that doesn’t let his feelings get to him, he becomes the guy who controls the women and never lets them control him because they’ve convinced him this is who he is, who he’s always been, right? *wavering* Right? And he tries so hard to convince everyone else, digging himself deeper and deeper into this persona no matter how ill fitting, (going further into the wall), letting this flanderization of anger and rage and emptiness and a scary, almost dangerous edge overtake him until even the one person who’s supposed to see the real him (because I know you, man) starts to fall for the mask, too. And he realizes he doesn’t want to play this role anymore, he never did, but the mask is stuck... the mask is stuck and no one even knows he’s wearing it.

[mk-oc-imagines]

This post is heavily inspired by @criminalmutantsins and their Johnny Cage song post. If the original creator feels like I'm copying feel free to DM to delete my post.

Bi-Han and Songs - Character Analysis - Post under read more

TW: D*eath, Child A'use and more

Sleep Token - Take me back to Eden

| I dream in phosphorescence

Bleed trough spaces

See you drifting past the fog

But no one told you where to go |

- This part of the song could very well be representation of death, more importantly the death of Bi-Han's mother, her presence nothing more but a fading memory and dreams. Bi-Han sees her eveeywhere he looks but her presence does not bring warmth anymore.

| We dive trough crystal waters, perfect oceans

But no one told me not to breathe

And now the weightlessness recedes |

- The start of Bi-Han's training, it seemed picture perfect but the high expectations of his father and the responsibilities of a future Grandmaster weighed heavy on his shoulders and there was no one Bi-Han could confide in, since no one would he sharing his responsibilities.

| My, my those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Come now, bite trough these wires |

- Bi-Han says in one of his clash intros, that his father was a man of many secrets. Bi-Han knows who he truly was, before Kuai Liang was born and Tomas was brought into the clan. He knows how ruthless he can be towards his own and how he changed when his brothers came into the picture. Bi-Han knows that the man puts on a mask in front of other people to be seen as something he's not.

The last line represents Bi-Han plotting his own father's demise.

| I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher

Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire |

- This could represent Bi-Han and Liu Kang not seeing eye to eye, Liu Kang underutilizing the Lin Kuei and telling them to hold back, always hold back.

Perhaps people knew about his desire to grow the Lin Kuei, evolve with the ever changing world but unless he could convince his brothers, he could not move forward.

| Well yeah, I spit blood when I wake up

Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and makeup

Just two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed up

Room feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in it like cold cuts

Missed calls, answered phones from people I just don't trust

Mirror talk, fake love

But I'll take a pound of your flesh

Before you take a piece of my paystub

White roses, black doves, Godmother, rise up

I need you to see me for what I have become |

- Bi-Han's struggle in becoming Grandmaster and the guilt he felt for his father's demise. With his ascension to Grandmaster, there was a certain paranoia that his father's followers would come for him, that they would find out about his plot so he surrounds himself with loyal members, while he tries to convince his brothers to evolve, they grow further and further apart.

| I guess it goes to show, does it not?

That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it

And no amount of love will keep it around

If we don't choose it

And I don't know what's got its teeth in me

But I'm about to bite back in anger

No amount of self-sought fury

Will bring back the glory of innocence |

- The Lin Kuei brothers drifting apart as time goes on, their bond withering. Bi-Han pushes Tomas away when his adopted brother tries to get close, because everyone he knew and loved either died or abandoned him, so Bi-Han isolates himself, lashes out at anyone who tries to get close. He's done making compromises and he'll do whatever it takes to push the Lin Kuei forward.

Nothing More - This is the time

| When did we become these sinking stones?

When did we build this broken home?

Holding each other like ransom notes

Dropping our hearts to grip our brother's throat |

- This focuses on the crumbling relationship of the Lin Kuei brothers, Bi-Han actively trying to convince his brothers to follow him and his vision but since Kuai Liang nor Tomas saw what Bi-Han saw, he's isolating himself from them, lashing out at his own brothers.

| You can't see because you don't know

You're caught below, beneath your own shadow

Stuck inside, half alive

Do you ever stop to ask yourself why?

Close your mind, identify

Do you feel, do you feel?

Do you call this a life?

All you waited for

Drowning just to keep score |

- This could represent perhaps Bi-Han hiding what his own father was doing to him.

Bi-Han didn't understand why his father was so hard on him but lenient on his brothers, later on he would chalk it up to him being future Grandmaster but that wasn't enough.

| We always start with good intentions

But lose ourselves along the way |

- Pretty self explanatory

I'm sorry that I can't write out the rest of the text since I want to work on Jericho, but feel free to add your own and listen to the rest of the second song or look up the lyrics.

-Nell

[cryptidinspace]

Dangerous Waters, chapter seven

Note: Hi! It's been a while! I wasn't feeling comfy here for a while for personal reasons, and then this semester of college hit like a truck-so this took much longer than i originally planned. But anyway, enjoy! Theres some cute g/t in here too Warning: Mentions of fatal vore and death, mentions of fictional drugs

As Carcharias left the nurse’s office, his eyes wandered to Bleaker. The headmaster, a mystery of a man…but he didn’t look very important. The boy was too busy mourning his brief friendship to think about him. 

So many feelings battled in his mind…guilt, for no particular reason. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet, his usual aura of shame was heavier than ever. Sadness, of course, and regret. Regret that he couldn’t have gotten to know Atlantic better. And anger. He seldom felt anger, and when he did, he would push it away. But now, if there was any time to be angry, this was surely it. 

But it won’t change anything. They already caught the guy. 

His gloom was interrupted by a much smaller body suddenly colliding with his tail. He looked down, to see a smaller sea monster with tentacles, looking up at him. “Ah. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.” She sounded frustrated, and Carcharias wrung his hands nervously. 

“No, no, I’m sorry.” He scooted out of the way.

She swam upward until they were eye to eye. She wore a mask, and had a set of teeth on her stomach. Does she have two mouths? “Hey, you’re Lacey and Rosia’s roommate, aren’t you?” 

“Oh! Yeah, uh, do you know them?” The inclusion of Lacey was surprising. As far as he could tell, there weren’t any interspecies friendships here. Everyone was keeping far away from each other, and he could see why. 

“Yeah, kind of. I’m Magna.” She looked him up and down, silently impressed with his size. Sea Monsters were an odd species, one that was rarely studied by her own kind…Magna had never considered herself especially smart, but she was curious as to how they all looked so unique. Also, how is he vegetarian? We all know it doesn’t work like that. Literally not possible. “By the way, did you happen to hear what just happened? I wasn’t in there.” But they suddenly stopped the searches…did they find him? 

She didn’t know Atlantic at all, really…as far as Magna could tell, he was just a cowardly priss. But she liked Irridesse, and Iridesse cared. Besides, she did feel bad. The mers back home had convinced her to go on their behalf…so far, it was nothing like home. Every rule had been flipped on its head, and she had no idea how to act. But hey, I’m figuring it out! 

The bigger sea monster looked rather bashful, pulling away from her and refusing to meet her eyes. “Yeah, they said that they found the killer…and Atlantic’s dead.” His voice wobbled, and he swallowed hard. “They didn’t say who did it though.”

Manga paused, blinking slowly. She shouldn’t be surprised, nor disappointed, really. And yet she was. It was optimistic to hope that no one had eaten him…what she told Irridesse about the halls was still true, but if someone were really determined, they could certainly manage it. I sort of expected it to be like home, I guess. 

She had grown up with a handful of Mers and Sirens, after all. Intrepid explorers, looking to study sea monster culture. And as a show of friendship, the sea monsters of Silverfang had stopped preying on Mers entirely. Instead, they ate humans. She could still recall her first hunt with her mother. Her tentacles wrapping around a thrashing human, dragging them under. She could remember their eyes too, so like her own, so full of primal terror, before they were crammed into her stomach-mouth. It had felt so satisfying, the weight of it, and the way it begged for help. The thrill of the hunt, and the pride of the feast. Simulated so often with her friends, but of course, never ending in death. It was a fine line to walk, but one that she had gotten comfortable with. 

But this, this was uncharted territory. She was friends with Mers, that had always been the case, but now her other friends were trying to kill them. And who am I to judge? If the situation was different, if it were humans…

And yet, despite all her rationalizing, she couldn’t stop the wave of despair that hit her. She had barely known Atlantic, but he wasn’t just a meal to her. He was Irridesse’s friend, after all. Her tentacles drooped, her head bowing. “Ah. I see.” She would have to tell the others. But what then? Would their moment of teamwork be over? She had kind of liked the way the three worked together, even if Lacey looked like they wanted to die the whole time. 

A moment of gloomy silence passed between them, before Magna turned away with a sigh. “...I had better get going.” Carcharias nodded to her, before drifting away as well. 

—-----------------------------------------

His mind still churned with dread, and his limbs felt numb. But what else was there to do but go to class? When he arrived, a mermaid hovered near the front of the room, just behind a stone desk. The room was big, but not quite big enough, and Carcharias had to tuck himself awkwardly into the corner. There were already a handful of others there, mostly mers, who shot him horrified looks as he entered. Do they know what happened? Despite his innocence, he couldn’t meet any of their gazes. 

Rosia darted in shortly afterward, looking rather frazzled. Just like before, she swam up quite close to his face. “Mornin, big guy.” Seemingly unknowing of Atlantic’s confirmed death, she reached down to grab a handful of Carcharias’s scarf. It was a crude thing, made of tattered old sails and bleached kelp roughly knitted together. But his mother had made it for him, just before he left. “Ooh, this looks cozy.” She suddenly vanished beneath his collar, and Carcharias yelped, turning slightly red. 

“What’s the big deal?” She popped her head out of the scarf, before taking a seat in the dip of his collarbone. Her back leaned against his throat, and he swallowed nervously out of habit. She only chuckled, as his adam’s apple rolled behind her, nearly shoving her away. “Right…I forget you aren’t used to this sort of thing…we sea monster’s are usually pretty touchy. It’s kind of a given, considering eating eachother, and being all different sizes and whatnot. But I can move if you insist…” Carcharias couldn’t see her very well, tucked against his neck as she was, and he couldn’t move his head down without risking crushing her. And yet, he could sense a pout on her lips. 

“I…suppose it’s fine.” Rosia hummed sleepily, leaning into the deep rumble of his vocal cords. Slowly, he adjusted the scarf, so that she could just peek out at the class. It was kind of nice, in a way, now that he was getting used to it. Getting used as a vehicle, or a soft place to sit…it made him feel solid, dependable. Like maybe, being so big wasn’t all that bad. 

The teacher cleared her throat, catching his attention, along with the rest of the room. She had a bright pink tail, bright red nails, and curly red hair. “Good morning, class!” An echoing silence greeted her, and blank faces, with varying levels of low morale. Her eyes were sympathetic, as she looked over them all. “All of you are here for psychology 101. Lets define, first of all, what psychology is-” 

Carcharias was trying to pay attention to her, really, but kept getting distracted by Rosia’s restless shifting. She reached up, poking his jaw, and he glanced down to see her staring up at him. “Hm?”

She darted up to his ear, leaning forward to whisper. “Hey, what major are you again? I think I forgot to ask.” 

“Art-” He was interrupted by the teacher clearing her throat again, this time looking right at him. The other students had all turned in their seats as well, and his face turned red. He was trying to be quiet, did he really sound that loud to them? “S-sorry.”

“Right, sorry buddy. You’ve got like, bigger lungs or something, so I guess you can’t whisper?” Rosia’s continued muttering in his ear, partially hidden by his hair, was apparently unnoticed. “I’m undeclared, for now. Not really sure what I want to do yet. But this class is gonna be a massive snoozefest, I can already tell!” 

Then why even come to this school? Carcharias just kept looking ahead, knowing he couldn’t answer her anyway. 

“Both nature and nurture affect a creature’s mind, in different ways. One is not necessarily stronger than the other. As someone who has studied all three humanoid aquatic species, I can attest, we are not governed by nature alone.” 

Carcharias listened, thinking. When someone killed Atlantic, was it purely because of nature? Does nature always win? Is that all of our nature? He recalled the man’s sweet, enticing smell, and his stomach clenched, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in a while. You don’t feel like eating anyone here, do you? No, he didn’t. He really just wanted a mouthful of seaweed. 

But even if that is my nature, then how’ve I managed to avoid it this long? Everyone else acts like they need it to live, except Rosia, but only because she’s mutated. But I’m fine. Maybe all of them…of us…could change? It wouldn’t bring Atlantic back. Or any of the other millions of innocents that had been killed. But it would be something, wouldn’t it? 

The class was over all too soon. Rosia meandered off, bidding a still somewhat sleepy farewell to Carcharias, who was taking just a bit longer to gather his books. He was about to leave the quickly emptying classroom, when a hand touched his arm. He whipped around, surprised to find Spike there. The young man who usually looked so laid back now had a sort of tension in his face. “Hi…?”

“Hey. Carcharias, right? We talked just a little earlier?” Spike dropped his hand, and Carcharias noticed the glimmer of expensive-looking gold on his wrist. He’s rich? 

“Oh, right.” The room was properly empty now, and he suddenly felt a little sweaty. There was no doubt that Spike was handsome. But Carcharias didn’t have a clue what to do with that realization. He could barely talk at the best of times, speaking with someone so attractive and charismatic was even worse. “Did…you need something? Uh, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m…well, I’m sad to hear the news about that merperson. Shame.” He didn’t seem all that upset, perhaps mildly disappointed, if anything. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by this attitude anymore. It’s normal, for them. “But I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh? Shoot.” Carcharias did his best to smile, though his tail still twitched anxiously from side to side. 

Spike gave him a smile back, albeit somewhat strained. “So…word gets around, you know how it is. We like to talk. And I’ve heard that you’re quite the specimen. In more ways than one-” He snickered to himself, and Carcharias stared in confusion. What did he mean by that?? “I heard, you don’t eat humans, or sirens, or mers. And you never have, your whole life. I figured it must just be a rumor…right?” A tone of something like worry entered Spike’s voice, and he titled his head, gazing up at the larger sea monster. 

“Not just a rumor.” He felt an odd mix of pride and embarrassment. “I don’t eat…any of them, yeah. I just stick with plants.” 

“Plants! Wow. I’m sorry, that’s just a lot to process. That’s awful.” Carcharias gaped for a moment at his words, and found that his expression was one of pity. “I can’t imagine living like that. Being so…restricted, your entire life. Never satisfying yourself.” He reached out, placing one hand on the other’s shoulder, patting gently. “Does it hurt you?”

“It…” Carcharias was dumbfounded. So far, the people he told about this simply didn’t believe it. But not only did Spike seem to believe it, he thought it was sad? “It’s not like anyone forced me to. It’s just, um, what I want to do.” Though, the thought did cross his mind. If he had been born in a different circumstance, something more like the others, would he be the same? Or would he be scarfing down terrified Mermaids without a care in the world? There it was again, a flicker of longing, right beside a heavy feeling of disgust. “I’m perfectly happy.”

“Of course. But does the blind man wish for the light? Or the anemone wish for a tail? How could he, as he’s never gotten to know them?” Spike’s voice grew distant, and his eyes seemed to be far off, as if remembering something. “You’re missing out, more than you know. Hell, it doesn’t even need to be deadly, if that’s what bothers you.” 

He didn’t know what to say. Why was Spike telling him this? Out of a sense of duty, as the unofficial leader of the Sea Monsters on campus? Maybe he really was just trying to look out for him. In a somewhat misguided fashion, for sure, but the sentiment was nice. “I guess, yeah, that’s what bothers me about it. I know…I mean, I’ve heard from Rosia, that Sea Monsters swallow eachother all the time, and it’s not dangerous. But I just couldn’t…”

“Sure you could.” Spike’s eyes flitted over his form, before scooting closer, until their shoulders were brushing. “You could probably even eat me, though it’d be a tight squeeze. I’m practically the size of your torso.” He laughed, though there was just a hint of nervousness in it. Carcharias glanced at him, puzzled. Was he afraid of getting eaten? Because that was certainly not going to happen. 

And yet, as he began to edge away, his ever traitorous stomach snarled with hunger. Spike laughed again, slightly more high pitched this time. “You sound like you’re starving. Maybe you should get that figured out. But! Seriously.” His expression grew serious once again. “You should really consider it. It’s in our nature, and it’s not healthy to deny nature.” 

Spike swam off, leaving Carcharias alone in the classroom. He stared in silence at the wall, as his brain slowly turned over everything that had just happened. Had Spike just offered to be eaten? Albeit in a much more awkward way than Rosia. But he’d be a lot more filling than her-oh, gross, no! Don’t even think about it! Another groan from his stomach made him sigh wearily. Time to see if the school cooks had any vegetables to spare. 

—-------------------------------------------------

“Irridesse…” Lacey sat propped up against a window, looking out the swirly glass into the coral gardens outside. Tiny fish darted through them, shining in the distant sunlight. They watched, with sleepless eyes. “What if Atlantic is already dead?”

The question floated through the room, turning the water icey. Lying on her bed, rifling through Atlantic’s belongings, Irridesse paused. She had found little of use. Other than the letters, explaining he was to be picked up by his sister. “Maybe he left with her as planned. Without telling anyone.” And yet, it was far from a satisfactory conclusion. They both knew it. 

“Sure, but what if he’s dead? What’s your plan then?” Lacey’s voice pitched up, the stress of the past few days seeping out. “Whose to say it wouldn’t be us next??”

Irridesse stared stonily at the mess of papers in front of her, drifting in the currents. What if? It wasn’t like she came into this thinking it would go perfectly. Mers had to learn to stand up for themselves. Her town needed to stand up. They’d never change, if she backed down because of one death. 

“We hold them accountable. Bring them to justice, like we would for any other murderer.” Lacey stared at her in disbelief, as the words echoed in their head.

They had held their tongue long enough. They were bursting at the seams with terror, and Irridesse seemed intent on dragging them into the belly of the beast. Maybe even literally. “I can’t do this anymore!” Their voice came out a strangled squawk. Irridesse looked sharply, eyes wide. “I care about you! You’ve been my friend for as long as I can remember. You make me feel like someone worth being around.”

“Lace-“

“I’m not done! I know you want to help everyone, that’s awesome, but you can’t risk your own life in the process! Whatever ate Atlantic, it could do the same to you.” They could feel their eyelid twitching, while their tail whipped up a storm of angry bubbles. 

Irridesse listened, her face impassive. “I know. I know it’s dangerous. But this is what I want to do. What I’ve wanted to do for a long time. If I give up now, I’d live, but at what cost?” Her eyes grew soft and sorrowful, just for a moment, as her voice turned raspy. “I know I’m not the best companion. I worry people. But I cannot lay down my convictions for anyone. Not even you.” Another lengthy silence passed between them, before their eyes met again. “You can leave if you want. I wouldn’t blame you, but I would miss you.”

Lacey looked away, back to the window. She thought of Shelligon, with its intertwining maze of coral, keeping the Mers as safe as they could hope to be. Never in danger, but never reaching any farther. Lacey had never felt especially curious about the world outside; and now that they were here, they couldn’t stand it. I wish I could see it the way Irridesse does. She knows exactly what she wants in life, isn’t afraid of pursuing it…maybe I’m just slowing her down. They sank lower, until they were nearly touching the ground. “I’m not like you.” Their voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m not brave, I’m not smart. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. But…I care about you. You’re…” Just the coolest. Incredible. Everything I wish I was. “I don’t think I’m angry at you after all. I’m just angry at myself, for being so scared. But I want to stay with you. I can’t do much, but if I can keep you safe…I’ll try.” Finally, they met Irridesse’s eyes, and were surprised to find deep affection there. 

Irridesse wasn’t much for touching moments, or heart-to-hearts. But just this once, she could feel Lacey’s sincerity prick at her heart. She leaned forward, taking her friend’s hand in hers. “I will try as well. You…mean a lot to me.” Their fingers laced together, a spark of warmth burning between their palms. 

A moment later, the door to Irridesse’s room burst open. Lacey yanked their hand away, just as Magna swam in. Even with the mask on, there was a dejected look in her eyes. “They found the culprit, but…it’s too late. One of the other sea monsters ate him, a-and he’s already dead.” She sank to the ground, tentacles sprawling across the tiled floor. 

Lacey’s breath froze in their chest. Irridesse had managed to convince them to stay…they couldn’t really bring themself to leave her. But someone was already dead. “Who…who was it?” They asked, in a horrified whisper. Irridesse stayed silent, bowing her head. 

“I don’t know…your roommate, Carcharias, told me. He didn’t say who it was.” Magna sighed heavily, leaning against Atlantic’s dresser. “But there’s only about twenty of us. Wasn’t me, obviously, not Rosia, and Carcharias is a vegetarian, apparently. So that rules out three.” 

Does it really rule out Carcharias? He was gone all night…Had they been right all along in their distrust of him? Was the huge sea monster really a voracious killer? 

“We can’t rule him out that easily. It could be a lie.” Irridesse echoed Lacey’s unspoken thoughts, now lifting her head with a grim scowl. “We need to do some searching. Figure out the situation for sure. But assuming he’s telling the truth…who else is there?” She did her best to recall the other sea monster students. None of them were especially suspect… 

Magna sighed, twirling a coil of indigo hair around her finger. “Well, there’s Spike, Grouper, Ashante, Cilla…I only know a few of their names yet. Grouper’s a bit awkward, Cilla’s a little spacey, but none of them seem especially suspect.” She squinted, staring into the distance for a moment. “Hey…what if…there was something more going on?” 

“More than what?” Lacey looked especially exhausted now as they asked, with dark circles forming under their eyes. 

“More than meets the eye. It could have been a random attack. But they chose someone who was supposed to bring about the school’s downfall. He was supposed to make a fool of Coral, which resulted in him running off-”

“And at the same moment that the sea monsters realized they had no counselor. Who suggested that you all leave the classroom?” Irridesse leaned forward, once again intent, while Lacey glanced between the two hopelessly. 

With a thoughtful hum, Magna squinted. “It was…Spike, I believe. Though I’m sure it would have been suggested sooner or later by anyone.” 

“Still. That’s something. Do we know anything about him?” Irridesse looked to the both of them. Lacey shrugged, feeling more and more useless. 

“Only that he’s popular. A real natural leader. One of the larger sea monsters, and one of the most humanoid-looking too. Everyone listens to him…he seems like a good guy, but-” Magna paused for a moment, her gaze flicking away from the two mers. “...All things considered, that doesn’t exclude him.” 

“Certainly not.” Irridesse frowned, lashing her tail in a single frustrated woosh. At the movement, a stack of Atlantic’s papers began drifting away from the bed. She stared at them for a moment, before tilting her head, and snatching one of them up. “Eidrich Bleaker. Did we ever figure out who that was? He was certainly involved in Atlantic’s plan…maybe he’s connected to Spike as well.” 

“You almost make it sound like merpeople killed Atlantic.” Lacey looked up at the other two from the ground, eyes shadowed with doubt. “But they wouldn’t do that, right? We’re…a peaceable people.” 

“That’s what we’ve always been led to believe.” Irridesse fell silent, lost in thought for a long moment, before clearing her throat. “Even if he is dead-” She still wasn’t admitting it to herself, Lacey silently noted. “-There may be something more at play here. We owe it to him to get to the bottom of this.” 

Magna nodded, and the mermaid continued. “So, two things. We need to figure out who the culprit was. And, we need to figure out who Eidrich Bleaker is. To do that, we need to start questioning people. Magna, I’ll put you in charge of talking to Spike. I’ll speak with Coral. And Lacey, you talk to Rosia and Carcharias.” 

Lacey blinked, surprised they were actually being included. They almost protested, before the words died on their tongue. I said I’d help her. “O-ok.” Before they could ask Irridesse to give more specific orders, she shot upright. That mad gleam in her eyes was back, as she reached out to grab Magna’s shoulder. Lacey stiffened, eyes widening, and Magna seemed to notice too, cocking her head to the side. She would touch a sea monster so casually? Since when?

“There’s not any more time to wait around. My math class is in five minutes though-I’ll find Coral after.” She darted off, and Magna wasted no time jetting after her. Lacey stayed drifting in the faint current, alone in their friend’s room…they bowed their head for a moment, swallowing down the panic that threatened to drown them. 

[helianskies]

👀👀👀 that's three AUs but just will also suffice

three au's? hm. let me just check to see if we've got any out back— ah, yep, yes, three au's. let me just... wrangle them out for you... hmm...

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🪐 ꒱

Transient as the Stars

premise: on the humble planet of K'tose Paradi, a young inventor and scientist finds himself at the centre of an intergalactic bounty hunt. luckily for him, the first bounty hunter that manages to find him may just be convinced to pass on the payday in favour of saving their home.

details: Gilbert lives on K'tose Paradi, a small and quiet planet known for its rather arid landscapes and four suns. He spends his time mostly scavenging through scrapyards in search of materials he can use for work, or pocket for use on his inventions and projects. one day, he stumbles upon a relatively new crash site. not knowing immediately who it may have belonged to, he boards the vessel and goes about his business. only, something he pockets has such a great value that it comes to put a greater price on his head.

Antonio is a bounty hunter. he is in the middle of a spring clean when notification of a new bounty arrives, and it sends him flying into action - and flying not all that far, as the job is on the same planet he's currently calling home. it isn't so hard to find his target, and even though there is a short run-around, he is able to aprehend the small time inventor and wrangle him onto his ship. before he knows it, Gilbert is out in space, and his host and captor decides to let him in on why he's suddenly wanted.

however, just as Gilbert thinks he's done for, Antonio discovers exactly what it is he found on that ship and pieces together who is looking for Gilbert. and with that knowledge, he decides to risk his life and turn his back on his trade in order to help the other get to safety—to the people who can help. what results is an intergalactic journey, in which Gilbert sees planets he has only ever been able to dream of seeing, in which Antonio finds that loneliness is a fate worse than death, and in which the pair of them form a bond unlike one they will ever know again.

i had a lot of the world-building plans sorted for this one - it was the highlight of planning a fic. there's a fair bit of inspiration from star wars, i admit, but really this came from my brain in my big pruspa phase and ugGhhh the drama this au has in it. the betrayals, the friends, the action... so good!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💡 ꒱

Virtue's Mask

premise: some are born with powers, where others are bestowed them. not everyone uses these powers for good, however—or, perhaps, that is a matter of perspective.

details: Antonio works as an investigative journalist until... he doesn't. one night and one lead come to change his life forever, and a man who used to seek out secrets in order to better the lives of others has come to hold many secrets himself. even his brother, the only person he trusts, does not know the full extent of his nightly ventures. but Toni will do anything to keep it that way, just to keep him safe. it's for the best—as is his work.

meanwhile, as crime rises in the city, Arthur takes it upon himself to do what local law enforcement won't. vigilante work is tiring and endless, but he wouldn't give it up for the world—not even when a nameless figure appears on his territory and threatens the peace he is trying to restore. encounter after encounter, Arthur finds himself a nemesis, an equal, a challenge... even if his best friend worries for his safety, life has become far too exciting for him to walk away from.

by day, the pair of them are model citizens. they cross paths and their lives begin to tangle in ways more complicated than they could have imagined. what will happen, then, when they discover each other's dirty little secrets?

i have written a lil' chunk of this one, and in particular Antonio's backstory. i'm a fan of the 'they're totally the villain but well actually if you look at it this way—' and it suits nicely. i was more indecisive with Arthur's abilities, but for Antonio, i settled firmly on shadow manipulation as a contrast to his bright personality. i also had it in my head that Antonio works in a bookshop (having left his journalist profession) which is where he meets Arthur. and it grows from there!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍞 ꒱

Slice of Life

details: Arthur branches away from the family business in order to establish his own small bakery. as rocky as it is for the first few months of trying to stand out and make his business thrive, he gets through it, and finds that the dough has finally given him a new purpose. that is, until about a year into his stint, a new café opens directly across from his bakery, and threatens to steal not only his customers, but his sanity, too.

over at The Warren, our charming new café, lifelong friends and owners Antonio and Francis are greeted with overwhelming support on their opening day and beyond. it's like a dream come true. organic food and coffee combined with great service is truly a winning combination!

and then, one day, Arthur braves the no man's land between the two businesses and checks out the competition. the pastries? they're okay. their teabags might as well be old dishcloths. but even he may have to admit that a certain someone's smile may just turn out to be a positive in his life. and a positive that he keeps coming back for.

i have literally no plans for this one, it lives only in my brain. but i love the potential for three different relationship dynamics. Toni and Fran have been friends since forever - nothing should come between them, in theory. but as Toni and Arthur start to get close and maybe even closer, the threat it may pose to Francis, who finds Arthur to be a thorn in his side, grows. maybe that in turn affects Toni and Arthur's relationship. but, in the end, Francis may just realise that he does miss how Arthur comes over to exchange words, to complain, to be their best critic. he misses the saltiness and how it compliments Antonio's sweetness. and so, he may just have to do his best to fix what he ruined. doesn't that sound like a fun plot?

well, that's all from me, anon. i hope you were mildly intrigued by one of these :')

[ 👀 ask game here! ]

[aves-arts]

Persons of Interests Document

Heres something I've written based of the Zombie AU

//CW for some links to artwork with some blood in them

The last helicopter left the city at exactly 12:49 AM on the 10th of September. I don't know why she decided to stay. I asked her, I BEGGED her to go. Yet she stayed. Once she puts her foot down, she doesn't back down. She would remain with me even if it meant saying goodbye to her family. 

First class tickets out of the city and into the safety of the military seemed like the best I could do for them. I figured they’d be safer outside than in the bunker right in the center of the city. That decision keeps me up at night. I wish I could tell myself that she doesnt know, but Jennifer is a lot smarter and observant than I ever gave her credit for. My only hope is the potential that they could’ve escaped and somehow made something for themselves out there. That's the only thing keeping their status as missing, and not deceased.

Jennifer’s ability to inspire people in desperate times shouldnt surprise me. People loved her, and they looked up to her for guidance and advice. When we started sending scavengers out, she shined as a leader. Amongst ex-soldiers, mercinaries, and former emergency services members, she won the pick for Chief of Security by a landslide. I know she is more than capable of handling herself, but I worry about her constantly. I guess I know what it was like to be in her shoes in the times before. Her status is alive. Should that change, I don't know if I'll be capable of documenting it.

Lucas’ fall into delusion was some of the hardest hitting of when we were still secluded from the outside. He had convinced himself that I had been too lenient, and that executing certain individuals who posed a threat would be beneficial to our isolated community. The fact that me killing him caused such a stir sent that theory to the grave along with him. Lucas’ status is deceased. It was the first life I had taken since the outbreak. I’ve killed many more people since, but it doesn't progress the community further. It just means less people that disagree with us and more blood on my hands.

Frances has been a great asset to the community as her pinpoint accuracy has saved many lives. The people and I owe her a great debt, but she shrugs it off as nothing. All she asks for in return is more ammunition. Oftentimes she acts as a scout in the city. Going in alone into the concrete jungle and bringing back important intel. In fact, she was the first one to encounter the Marshals. Current status is alive. One day I’ll find a way to repay her. Maybe I’ll look for her hat she lost a long time ago.

Some of our outer city manufacturers managed to find their way back. Whittaker kept his metalworkers alive long enough to make it to us from the radio signal we had sent out to our facilities. Not everyone made it back to us though. Cindy is currently missing at this time, but truth be told I don't think she couldn't have made it out there on her own.

 As for Hawthorne? Its hard to say for certain but… 

For a long time I was greatly concerned about Peyton or her gang managing to survive the outbreak, and launching an attack on us. As time passed the concern lessened, but I was always afraid that she would come to our gates and proceed to make this new life of mine a special kind of hell. That day never came, and Frances had become curious. Their compound was on the other side of the city, but that didn't seem to dissuade her. Frances’ report goes as follows:

“The place was abandoned, seemed like nobody had inhabited the place since the outbreak. Some kind of massacre took place. A bunch of skeletons were strewn about still wearing those stupid colored clothes Pb’s freaks liked to wear. I skulked around until I found her. A skeleton with its head detached lying in some command room. That faded purple jacket was unmistakable. No sign of Cat mask or that twitchy little shovel creep neither. Well, besides all the headless skeletons anyway.”

Pb, Peyton Beck, is deceased. I can sleep a little easier knowing that. Especially since I had nothing to do with it. Though, that still leaves Nelly and that big guy Jules uncertain. What are the odds they’re still out there? I don't like that uncertainty, but maybe without Peyton messing with their heads they can actually be reasoned with. Whatever the case may be…

[redrobin-detective]

*crawls through you bedroom window* actually sorry I’m not done talking about the tragic, complicated clusterfuck which is Ben and Rook’s friendship/partnership. Because of how it was set up and their own personalities at the time, it was doomed to fail. I mentioned previously how neither got to know/understand the other and I retract that because it’s not entirely true. They did get to bond in a way that you almost have to when you’re in life or death situations together but they never talked about it and so each went on thinking they weren’t important to the other.

The whole nature of their partnership reeks of impermanence. Max obviously knew ahead of time that Gwen and Kevin were leaving for college and had time to prepare. Ben being on his own, reckless and stupid, was not an option. I wonder how many candidates they went through before they got to Rook. They chose someone who excelled at Plumber training, who knew the rules Ben never bothered to learn backwards and forwards. Someone who would balance out Ben and keep him reigned in. Someone who was obviously destined for higher management so why not give him the best field training possible? Rook, if not Ben, was certainly aware that it was a temporary thing. Ben was 16 going on 17, soon he wouldn’t need a partner anymore; this was the last attempt at training wheels. I imagine the partnership dissolved not long after Omniverse ends, when Rook becomes Magister and probably has new training and responsibilities. Ben, almost an adult by human standards and hopefully positively molded by Rook’s influence, is deemed ready to be on his own. 

So imagine you’re Rook, you’re a newly graduated Plumber who was ready to take on the universe. You’re informed you’re heading to Earth and you will be working one on one with your idol, the Ben 10, the one who inspired you to leave your traditional, isolated homeworld. You meet your hero and while he’s got the watch and the quips, he’s also a child in a culture you don’t understand. You’re disappointed that your hero isn’t as perfect as rumor and propaganda told you. You’re angry and frustrated and you don’t bother to hide it, Ben almost seems to retaliate by being more obnoxious. The more time you spend with Ben, you realize there’s a method to his madness. He wins more battles than he loses, what Rook at first took to be Ben’s flaws turn out to also be his strengths. Seeing Ben in action snarling and laughing in the face of certain destruction, he realizes that Ben is, at the same time, a stupid, idiot kid who barely has an idea of what he’s doing but also twice the hero Rook thought he was. Suddenly Ben 10 isn’t just a poster in his room or a radio show to listen to in the dark, he is a real person and that makes him even more worthy of admiration.

And Rook does admire him, quietly. Ben keeps up his walls and Rook lets him because who is he to try and really befriend Ben 10? Rook is just one of billions of Plumbers in the universe, Ben is the universe’s savior. I bet before Rook ever stepped foot on Earth it was drilled into him that Ben Tennyson was to be protected at all costs, that Rook’s life was nothing compared to Ben’s. Rook already comes from a very restrained and private culture, he won’t initiate anything beyond what is needed for to the mission and to save his partner. It is enough for him to be able to work alongside his hero (even if said hero is thoughtless and ridiculous and has no sense of self preservation and he drives Rook insane but by gum does he respect the hell out of Ben when he isn’t contemplating murdering him). When the time ultimately comes for Rook to depart, he will be sad but not mention it. Because he imagines he is only a blip on Ben’s radar, a temporary partner before Ben goes onto bigger and better things. He never tells Ben that his loyalty wasn’t to the Plumbers, to Ben 10 but to the scrawny, sleep deprived kid who always remembered Rook’s favorite smoothie flavor. 

Now imagine you’re Ben. You’ve saved the universe at the cost of your privacy, chance for a normal life, general sense of safety and sanity. You’re quickly losing track of what part is you and what part is the myth about you. Two of your three major support systems abandon you without notice. Over the years of AF/UAF, Gwen and Kevin saw all your brokenness, fears, vulnerabilities, watched you go from dumb kid to hero. You didn’t have to tell them these things, they saw them happen and just knew. And now they’re gone and you only have your grandpa who you love but is also sorta of your boss now. He tells you you’re being assigned a new partner, someone chosen without your consent, someone you’re expected to trust your life and secrets with. Fine, this Rook fellow will do. He can watch your back but he’s not having any pieces of your broken heart. 

You fight, both bad guys and each other. The two of you have such opposite styles that you clash. He may have training and discipline but you have experience and incredible power. You fumble and bicker and somewhere through it all find an understanding. Suddenly the rumble of his voice is familiar as Kevin’s once was, his logical approaches and teasing barbs slot in where Gwen’s used to be. It’s not bad, you tell yourself. You know this isn’t forever, that it’s not real, but it’s not bad. Because you know first and foremost that Rook is a Plumber and you are not. You also know he is a fan and you are acutely aware how short you fall from the perfect hero ideal. Ben laughs, clinging harder to the arrogant hero façade and pretends Rook’s disappointment doesn’t crush him. If someone who’s forced to work with him doesn’t like Ben, then how can he be the beloved savior everyone tells him he is even though he doesn’t quite know how he got there? He’s just a kid doing his best and soon buries himself in his perceived role.

Time passes, Ben and Rook have been through so much. Against your will, he’s seen some of your broken parts. He sees past your cracks, sees your guilt and grief and bone deep fear. But he doesn’t seem upset, even more disappointed by the failure hero. He is kind, friendly, understanding. Not enough that Ben feels comfortable to open up but he relaxes, just a bit. Rook isn’t just a forced upon partner, he’s now a friend. But he knows Rook is only here because he was ordered, he feels Rook’s annoyance with him and believes his kindness is only out of duty. It’s fine, he’s used to everyone around him bleeding him dry of everything he has and then some. Just another part of being a hero. He’s not Kevin or Gwen but he is Rook and he is grown on you because Ben is always an open soul, one who wants to receive some love he gives so freely. You finally feel steady, like you can stop pretending so much and try and find some peace and happiness in your dangerous, chaotic life.

Suddenly so fast, you’ve saved the universe once more and Rook is moving on. It’s like Gwen and Kevin leaving all over again. Rook himself seems excited to move up the ranks, to get more tassles on his uniform. He is a soldier at heart, you are not even if you play the part of one. You are a child only you’re not anymore, while you were busy saving everyone again and again your childhood was stolen from you. Now on the edge of adulthood, you’re told it’s time to take responsibility. You want to scream you’ve been doing that since you were 10 years old, that someone else can do  it for a change. You want to beg Rook to stay, to drag Gwen and Kevin home, to hide your loved ones away with you and not have to confront the big, bad universe alone. Instead, you do what you always do. You swallow all your fears, your wishes and hopes and shake his hand goodbye and wish him well. You don’t tell him you’ll miss him, neither does he. 

Rook and Ben part as the strangers they never stopped being even if both of them aches at the loss of the close proximity, of the friendship. Both are very much aware that the relationship was weak, transient, that it might have been something more if they gave it more attention. However, too many things were between them and both of them genuinely believed the other didn’t care as much. The rest of their lives they remain friendly, distant but polite. It’s not much different from when they fought side by side even if they wish it different.

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

[kirishimas-manly-eyeliner]

➶ WHAT MAKES THE MHA BOYS BREAK (PT. 1)

pairings: mezo shoji, tokoyami fumikage, hanta sero, izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hitoshi shinsou

warnings: reverse comfort, may or may not have cried a lil’ while writing this. this one hurt a lot but it’s so sweet and fluffy, enjoy luvs!! also lol you could see my favoritism for kirishima

part two with bakugo, iida, ojiro, tamaki, mirio, hawks, dabi, shigaraki, and aizawa is here!

WHEN YOU CALL THEM BEAUTIFUL: MEZO SHOJI, TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE, HANTA SERO

MEZO SHOJI 

(HE’S SO UNDERRATED LIKE PLS Y’ALL 😩)

he starts panicking as soon as you ask him to take off his mask

at first, he declines right away before turning his face around so you couldn’t touch the fabric

“mezo, i promise. i won’t hurt you, or judge you i just- i want you to trust me, is that alright with you?” you said gently. “but if you don’t want to, don’t worry about it, ‘kay?”

could he really trust you? or would you leave when he found out he wasn’t a normal person with a normal smile, that he was a monster, that was someone who looked different, what would you do?

but if you didn’t love him for who he really was, then... what was the point, right?

shoji let out a trembled sighed in defeat as his dupli-arms took the mask off. he looked down in shame, eyes shut so he couldn’t see your reaction

but your reaction was... completely unexpected

"You're beautiful!!! Why didn't you tell me that you looked so lovely all this time baby??" 

did he just hear you correctly?

did you just-- call him beautiful?

and in that moment, in those small moments, you can see his geniune smile.

his real smile beneath the mask, as his eyes shine for the first time with sincere, and earnest love and thanks

pls keep him 🥺

TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE

the moment he hear the words "you're beautiful" come out of your mouth, he couldn't stop thinking about it for days. 

and i mean days as in multiple days, so probably weeks

and he’ll probably think about it for the rest of his life

because when he looked at himself, he thought: what about him was beautiful? 

he didn't have human-like features like everyone else, he didn't have those big muscles and a nice body, because-- well, he had a bird head!

A LITERAL BIRD HEAD, so why on earth did you: you who had human features, you who was so nice to everyone, and you who could have gone for so many other people call him beautiful?

he didn’t have that charisma and extroverted personality like some others did, and he kept to himself 

why did you think he was beautiful? how?

but you were the one who said it. you were the one who reminded him, you were the one who gave him hope

and he knew that you were always straightforward with the truth-- and this was a truth, too

and to him, that was the most beautiful thing.

HANTA SERO

this amazing bby doesn’t get enough recognition

but for a good part of his life, he’d been surrounded by people with amazing quirks, levels of strength, and amazing appearances.

he was literally friends with bakugo fricking katsuki, and he was in the same class as shoto todoroki

when he first met you, he had to convince himself for days that there was no way that he could ever catch your eye,

until he did.

when you two met after a long day of training and you told him a joke, his eyes sparkled and he laughed, genuinely

before you knew it, you blurted out the words, “you’re beautiful” before realizing what you’d said and flushing

lol sero chokes on his water

“...did you really mean that?” 

“i- yeah, sorry, i didn’t-”

“no, uh, thank you. thank you so much.”

for the next few days, he stays up at night and keeps on training because he thinks of the time you called him, who constantly felt like he wasn’t enough, beautiful

and that was more than enough to make him smile. 🥺💕

WHEN YOU KISS THEIR SCARS: IZUKU MIDORIYA, SHOTO TODOROKI

IZUKU MIDORIYA

he immediately starts tearing up when you kiss them

most people probably expect him to get flushed with something so intimate, but it’s the opposite

his scars are just something that’s so meaningful to him because it’s evidence of what he’s been through

but at the same time, he’s also insecure about them because he feels like he disappointed his mom by getting hurt so often 🥺

when you kiss his scars and tell them that they’re beautiful, he starts tearing up because-- wow

this is the moment that he’ll remember until the day he dies, because it’s when he feels free to finally open up to you

it’s when he feels free to open up to anyone, for that matter, and a huge weight just gets lifted off his chest

you took his hands and kissed his knuckles before pressing your forehead to his

izuku begins to cry, just a little bit as you gingerly kiss his scars again

“you see? you’re safe. you’re safe with me, okay?”

he nods slowly. “th-thank you.”

SHOTO TODOROKI

you two were walking back to the dorms after training out on the field together

it wasn’t too late a night, just a few minutes before curfew

your hands were buried in your pockets as you two talked about your day and what you could improve on in training

“shoto, can i ask you a question?”

he thought you were mad at him for a moment 😳

“sure.”

you swallowed, as you took a breath, “can i touch your scar?”

he whips his head around, out of shock and confusion

you wanted to touch his scar?

shoto had never planned on anything like that happening to him, and especially not from someone who meant so much to him

“...i suppose so,”

you hid your anxiousness and swallowed, cupping his face in your hands as your hand brushed across his scar

a jolt went through your fingers at that moment, and it was the first time you’d ever felt so connected to someone

shoto todoroki, the prodigy and son of endeavor was letting you touch his scar

to your surprise, shoto melted into it as he closed his eyes, placing his hand gently on top of yours 

you could feel his hands shaking though his expressions were so relaxed

you kissed the side of his scar, running a hand through his hair

“i’m so lucky to have you.”

WHEN YOU COMPLIMENT HIS QUIRK: EIJIRO KIRISHIMA, DENKI KAMINARI, HITOSHI SHINSOU 

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

eijiro cursed as he slammed his head against the wall for the hundredth time that day

he hated to admit it, but ever since the sports festival, everything had just been falling apart

for starters, he was already insecure enough on his own about his quirk

it seemed like everyone had something flashy and made them look invincible, while he was stuck with something that could only follow around his body and cracked if he used it too much

and that... that made him upset

but when the sports festival came around, not only did he see everyone with amazing quirks and using them to their full potential, tetsutetsu had nearly the same quirk as him

and to make matters worse, they had tied and had to settle it with a fist fight

“why?” he asked to himself, looking down at the floor. “why couldn’t i- why couldn’t i have been born with a flashier quirk?”

great, now he was crying.

at least no one else was around to see him this weak-

“kirishima?”

oh shit.

he turned around, his bloodshot eyes locking with yours. “h-hey,” eijiro said weakly 

“what are you- what are you doing here-?” you noticed the way his body trembled when he took a breath and blood trickling from his forehead. “hey, are you okay?” you said.

eijiro sincerely had no idea what to say. “my quirk,” he looked down at his hands. 

you cocked your head. “what about it? i think it’s pretty neat!”

kirishima looked up. “really?”

“mhm!” you nodded enthusiastically. “it can be the strongest barrier, or the most powerful weapon! i think it’s cool that your body can just become a shield out of nowhere, it’s like-- it’s like you’re a shield, ya know? sure, todoroki might have his ice, but that makes damage and takes time to clean up, like midoriya’s punches or bakugo’s explosions. but your quirk is its own little thing! and i think that’s pretty neat.”

kirishima beamed. huh, maybe so. 

DENKI KAMINARI

“good job, bakugo!” 

“haha, nice job on that one, kirishima.”

“your quirk is so cool, todoroki! i love how the ice just went striaght through the roof!”

“nice jumping, deku! your punches are amazing.”

but i...

i was the one who helped the power come back, i was the one who literally fried my brain, i was the one who did all of that, and i-

i’m so weak.

denki inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, trying to stop the trembling in his breath as he closed his eyes

he had done so much, and what did he get in return?

all he wanted was to be someone, to be someone that made people smile, to be someone that people genuinely wanted to see

did anyone even want to see him?

“i’m a failure, i’m a failure, what am i doing, why am i so weakwhat’swrongwithmewhycan’tidoanythingright-”

“good job, kaminari!”

he turned his head, finding you running up to him and waving your hands up in the air

“hey! pikachu!” you exclaimed, trying to catch your breath once you stopped. “great job up there! you left before anyone else could notice, i can’t believe you managed to do all that. your quirk is so cool!”

denki’s heart swelled with pride, his eyes saying nothing but thanks.

your quirk is so cool!

“thanks, y/n! so, how do you feel about going to the arcade after school?”

HITOSHI SHINSOU

hitoshi stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes blood-shot and head fuzzy

“i’m not a villain.” hitoshi said slowly. “i can’t be a villain. i want to be a hero.” 

he splashed the sink water onto his face. “get yourself together, are you really going to let a few words hurt you?”

but hitoshi couldn’t help but feel that way-- what could he even use his quirk for- no, no, he could use it for so much. but...

“ha! a quirk such as yours should be only used for villains, you monster! you might as well get out of here before anyone else tries to kick you out.”

hitoshi screamed in anger, splashing the water across his face and pressing hard into his eyes, before slapping himself across the face

“get yourself together..”

“hey, shinsou!! i was wondering if-”

your eyes locked with his frustrated expression. “shinsou? is... something wrong?”

normally, he’d push you away, but-- but now, he really needed someone

your breath hitched when you saw his eyes land onto yours, but for some reason, there was something so lonely and upsetting behind them, before you remembered what a few students at ua had said.

you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were on a rush to get to school that morning and had to run ahead and pass through that area. 

“if it’s about what some of those idiots said this morning, just... know that i think, for the record, that your quirk is so cool.”

shinsou’s eyes furrowed in confusion. you? you thought his quirk was cool?

“i’m not lying,” you said, as if reading through his thoughts. “i really think its amazing. you can help so many people with it, you can change the entire world with a quirk as special as that, so act like it! because it’s true, your quirk is really amazing, and i’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t see it, you knucklehead.”

he doesn’t tell you this, but-

ever since that day, he’s never stopped thinking about it. 

🕭 reblog | comment | follow 🕭

hey bbys! reminder to go drink water if you’re reading this! water nourshies your sexc body and can make you feel a heck ton better ‘bout yourself-- and remember, whatever you did today was more than enough. ily very much, but if it’s past your bedtime, GO TO SLEEP KIDDO, ily!

qotd, what’s your favorite drink 👀

join my family! 

list of family members: @kirishimuhhhhh​​, @xuxisushi-1​​, @kirishima-my-beloved​, @msminsuga​, @farfetchedparanoia​, @satis-mangata​, @moonhere​​, @renegadedeca​​, @viridevi​​ <3

☂ requests are open for mha + hq!! ☂

[mercurygguk]

winter soldier | jjk

genre; winter soldier/avengers au, angst/smut/fluff

pairing; winter soldier!jungkook x avenger!female reader

summary; the love of your life died during ww2, they honored his death. you had never imagined you’d ever see him again until you’d join him in death, but here he is and he’s trying to kill you. he’s not himself at all. you, however, insist that the man you used to know is still in there somewhere.

word count; 6,764

warnings; descriptions of war/battle/fight scenes, descriptions of scars, the rest of the avengers joins the party, reader is like Cap A but not like Cap A, you know??, jungkook looking hella hot with his long hair and steel arm, inspiration from ‘captain america: winter soldier’, swearing, SMUT; explicit sexual activities, oral (f. receiving), love making at its highest- nothing kinky, just plain ol’ sex

a/n; okay so um, i’m binge-watching the avengers movies atm and i was watching Captain America: Winter Soldier. i kid you not, throughout the entire movie i was imagining what jungkook would look like as the winter soldier- jungkook combined with superheroes is like the perfect story, amirite?? ;)) enjoy!

ps. once again, i didn’t proof read so ignore my possible mistakes lol

(for reference, this is what jungkook’s hair looks like in this fic)

War.

Terrorizing. Horrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

There are several words to use when talking about it, describing it, reliving it. Once you’ve experienced it, it will haunt you till the day you die and even beyond that. There isn’t much positive to take from it, not many positive memories come to you as you think back to the time during war. Only one positive memory returns to you from those dark times...

Him.

Him who did not fit in with the military services due to his lack of strength and speed. Him who never let anyone step upon him and evolved with the job. Him who never backed down from a challenge or an order given from the highest ranks. Him who had braveness unlike anyone, loyalty like no other, a will to fight for what’s worth it and to win. Him who made you fall for him without meaning to. Him who promised he would always come back to you, no matter what happened.

And then one day he didn’t. They had told you he went down in the fight, died for his country, for his team. He hadn’t hesitated to sacrifice himself, thrown himself towards the threat in the hopes of ending it for everyone once and for all. That he did. He killed himself in the process of saving everyone else.

A hero is what they had called him. Honored his name, saluting as they all stood facing his military photograph, serious faces and emotionless eyes all over. Tears had filled your eyes that day, but they didn't fall. You refused to let them. There was no way you would cry because of a liar. A coward, really. Anger kept you going, anger aimed at him. A rage so intense that you would convince yourself that you hated him. Some people would call you selfish, selfish for hating a man who sacrificed himself for everyone else. They were right. You were selfish. But love makes you selfish, and you loved him. So ridiculously much.

Years later, decades into the new century he remains as a positive yet heartbreaking and frustrating memory in your mind and heart. You haven’t aged a day thanks to the advanced technology and the project you offered to be the experiment of, in the end of the war. After his death and the war seeming more out of control than ever, you thought there wasn’t much more to live for, so you volunteered. A successful masterpiece, professor Kim had said as you regained consciousness on the lab table. You were his greatest, most succeeded experiment. You still are, except for the fact that Kim Namjoon is no longer walking among people on earth.

Now you’re living as the successful masterpiece he has created. Stronger, faster – young too even though your real age is something near 98. It doesn’t show. You look like any other 23-year-old but with extraordinary strength and speed. Being a part of a team as the Avengers truly has given you a meaning of life, a purpose that you didn’t feel you had before joining this outstanding team of superheroes as some would call you.

But as you stand here, in the middle of a battlefield that is scarily similar to those back in the 1940’s, you feel small. Gunshots fire around you, flying past your head and ringing in your ears. Explosions going off from the shots fired by Stark, Iron Man as he’s known as. The grounds breaking from the power of Thor’s hammer, the bad guys falling like flies in the hands of Widow. You’re watching it all unfold, breathing for a split second as robots are charging at you with red, glowing eyes.

For God’s sake, just how many of these are there?

Keeping yourself from rolling your eyes in pure annoyance, you set off running towards them with an unmatched speed, fists up and ready to take them out. One goes down after another, surrendering to your very angry, very powerful fists. Your patience is running thin as the robots keep appearing from left and right, setting their focus on you as demanded by whoever’s controlling them. A person you haven’t managed to find yet, but determined to hunt down and put a bullet through their head.

“Hey, Thor!” You call out to the nordic God flying around you, punching fists through robots and throwing his hammer at them. He glances your way, finding you surrounded by robots, too many for you to fight by yourself. “A lil hand here?”

He nods in response, immediately dropping to the ground and plunging his hammer into the asphalt on the ground, lightning seeping through the ground and into the robots, taking them down and splitting them in half. Thor throws a smug smirk at you before turning back around to fight another round of robots. You roll your eyes, about to run off when shots are being fired at you.

“Shit!” You hiss, running to hide behind a tipped-over truck while fishing out a gun from the strap around your thigh. You lean out, aiming in the direction of the shots. There is a man with long, dark hair, a black mask covering half his face and a silver arm that does not look familiar at all. The mysterious man steps onto the railing of the bridge he fired shots from, hard glare focused on you as he steps out and lets himself fall to the ground beneath the bridge. He lands on his feet, supporting himself with the silver fist into the asphalt. He stands to his height, walking straight towards you and leaving a mark in the asphalt where he had landed. Your eyes widen as he holds up a machine gun, opening fire at you as you scramble to run off while loading more shots into your gun.

Peeking around the corner of the brick building you’re hiding behind, you hold your gun up to aim at him. You fire a bullet, hitting his silver arm. He doesn’t budge, the bullet not even leaving a bump in the silver.

“What the-” you gape, firing shots again. He holds his silver hand up, the bullets bouncing off like they’re made of cotton, still walking towards you with eyes focused on you. There’s something about him that seems familiar – maybe his build? Or the way he walks? Or was it the slightly curly hair on top of his head? You can’t quite pin it as you watch him get closer, fists clenched tightly at his sides as if he’s ready to throw punches at you. You contemplate running to him, throwing the first punch at him before he gets to you. There is a slight hesitancy in your body as you can’t shake off how awfully familiar he seems the closer he gets to you. Knowing what the right thing to do is, you step out from your hiding spot, collecting all strength as you charge at him. A yell of anger and confusion rumbles from your chest as you jump on the last step, fist pulled back only for it to be forced forward and into the center of the mysterious man’s chest.

He stumbles back slightly, gaining his balance quickly before he steps closer, throwing a punch at you as well. You dodge, throwing your leg into his side in a strong kick. He grunts as he catches your leg, pulling on it to force you towards him. You ram into him, his clenched fist connecting with your jaw. You groan in pain as you fall to the ground, landing before his feet. Squinting at him, you watch as he kneels down over you, holding you down against the ground. As he stares at you, raising his hand to deliver a punch to your face again, you realize it as your eyes meet his. You gasp softly, not believing the sight in front of you. It’s a known fact that you would recognize those deep, brown eyes anywhere in any given moment.

“J-Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice, the sound of his name falling from your lips has him freezing for a split second. His eyes shift between yours as he slowly begins to sink his fist. But not even seconds later he’s raising his fist again and that’s when you can tell that he does not recognize you. He is looking at you as if you’re a complete stranger, like he didn’t spend the last year of his life telling you that he loved you more than life itself.

His gaze fills with the only feeling he feels, hatred. He moves to force his silver fist down and into your face, a face he used to call beautiful as he traced his finger tips along the edges. You barely dodge it, trying your very best to meet his eyes again as you call his name.

“Jungkook!” You fight the tears that are brimming your eyes as you continue to dodge his hits the best you can, “Hey! It’s me!”

He’s not holding off, continuing to throw punches at you and hitting the asphalt as you squirm in between his thighs. He’s impeccably strong, the asphalt cracking under the jabs of his fists. His thighs are keeping you in place as he pins you to the ground, your arms locked along your sides. You know he’ll punch you to death if you don’t get inside his head. It seems nearly impossible as his eyes are trained on you, emotionless and angry, only a small glimt of the man you used to know in them.

“____! Might wanna duck down a bit,” Tony shouts as he flies in your direction, his glowing hand aimed at Jungkook.

Your eyes widen in horror as you scramble together all the strength you have, throwing Jungkook off you and away from the deathly ray of light coming from Tony’s palm.

“No!”

The shot hits the asphalt a few meters away from you, nearly grazing Jungkook but it doesn’t, thankfully. Tony is shocked as he comes to a halt in the air, staring between Jungkook and you. You wave a hand at him. “I got him,” you assure him as you pant out breaths of air, nodding towards Widow and Thor, “go help the others.”

The man in the iron suit in front of you seems to hesitate for a second as he looks at you. He catches the pleading look on your face, glancing back at Jungkook for a moment before nodding at you once and flying in the direction of Widow and Thor, aiming his shots at the robots that are still coming from all sides. You turn your attention back to Jungkook, the body of the love of your life but not the eyes or mind of him.

“Jungkook,” you try again, slowly stepping closer as he stays still, slightly shocked that you had saved him from Iron Man’s deadly shot, “it’s me, ____.”

You’re begging, tone pleading him and hands up in surrender as you slowly step closer to him. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. His eyes are dark, cold and distant as you get even closer. He’s frozen in his spot. He seems confused behind that hard expression, confused because you look less terrified than you did before realizing who he is. He doesn’t flinch or move away from your hand as it inches closer to his face, reaching for the black mask on his face.

“Hey,” you softly say, hesitating to touch him as you let a single tear escape and roll down your cheek. Something flashes in his eyes as he looks into your wet eyes, a small hint of recognition, familiarity too. Maybe he remembers. You hope he does. He lets you pull the black mask off completely, the strong line of his jaw appearing in front of you as well as his pink lips you used to kiss so often in that hidden place you liked to meet almost every night. “It’s me,” you whisper, “it’s ____.”

You’re afraid you’re imagining things as tears build up in the corner of his eyes, his jaw tightening. It’s too much for him. The memories returning with full force, the emotions filling his chest and warming it for the first time in 70 years. He wants to cry. He doesn’t know whether it's happiness because you’re right here in front of him, after he thought he would never get to see you again as he took his last breath back in 1944, or sadness because he’s well aware that he almost killed you if you hadn’t pushed him off you.

“____?” His voice betrays him as it cracks, your name coming out in a croaked voice. More tears escape as you hear your name falling from his lips for the first time since that morning in the military camp where he said ‘see you soon’ and then never returned. He freezes as you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped around him as you pull him closer in a tight hug. The sniffles and muffled cries you let out breaks his emotionless, cold heart and filling it with a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye as he lets his own arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you just as tight as you hug him.

Relief.

That’s what he’s feeling.

Jungkook wanders around inside Stark’s office, eyes exploring things as he calmly runs his silver hand over them. You watch him from a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest. Worry is filling your entire body as his back is turned to you. He still doesn’t seem like himself. There is something about him that makes you anxious, something about him makes you wonder if he’ll turn at any moment, falling back into whatever sort of amnesia he has been experiencing for the past decades.

You jump in surprise when the door opens beside you, revealing Tony. He notices your jumbled state, giving you a small, half smile. You turn your eyes back to Jungkook who’s picking at an ancient-looking sculpture on Tony’s desk causing Tony to take a step closer.

“Hey! Buddy!” He calls out, catching Jungkook’s attention. “Don’t touch that, please. It’s antique.”

Jungkook steps away from the desk, hands up in mock surrender, emptiness in his eyes as if he couldn’t care less about Tony’s antique sculpture. No one really cared about that sculpture. It’s doomed to break at some point when it’s placed in his office, in the Avengers building.

“Tony,” you catch the attention of the older man, looking straight at him with hopeful, desperate eyes, “can you help him?”

He turns to face Jungkook, looking him over from head to toe. “Friday, give me a scan of whatever’s controlling Jungkook.”

Anticipated, you wait while biting a nail. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch as Friday scans him for anything to help Tony figure out a way to help. He’s glancing from Tony to you, his eyes meeting yours. Seconds. It takes seconds from his stare meeting yours to something flicking behind his dark brown irises, something inside of him snapping like the tips of someone’s fingers. Your eyes widen in panic as you move to stand between Tony and Jungkook.

“Tony!” You shout, moving fast as you try to get in between the two men. Tony has already activated his iron hand, catching Jungkook’s silver fist right before it hits him square in the face. You come to a halt, staring in surprise as Tony tightens his hold on Jungkook’s fist, forcing him to the ground. “Tony, please, don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind!”

“Oh, really?” Tony scoffs, sarcasm dripping from each word. A small yelp leaves your mouth as Tony kicks his knee up under Jungkook’s jaw, knocking him out. Jungkook falls limp to the floor, eyes closed as he’s kicked unconscious by Tony. You kneel down beside him, brushing his long strands of hair out of his face. He looks peaceful as he lays there, completely unconscious, and yet there’s a furrowed look on his face, like he’s never free from whatever that is controlling him. You sigh deeply, head dropping as you cradle Jungkook’s hand in your own. Tony’s palm rests on your shoulder. You glance up at him. He gives you a small, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help him,” he tells you. You nod, knowing he spoke the truth.

“Thank you.”

The frustrated look and furrowed eyebrows are gone. He looks genuinely peaceful this time, long lashes resting on the top of his cheeks as he rests beneath the sheets on your bed. You can’t help yourself as you reach out, palm cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a soft caress. Hopefully you’ll have the love of your life back once he wakes up from the deep sleep Tony put him in.

You’re about to move away, retrieving your hand from his cheek just as you hear him whimper softly. Turning back to him, you watch as his lower lip begins to quiver, eyebrows furrowed tightly together. “No,” he whimpers again, head shaking in his sleep. “Please, no! Don’t!”

Worry fills you once again as you sit on the edge of the bed beside him, hands cupping his face between them. “Jungkook,” you softly call, trying your best to wake him without startling him. “Jungkook, my love, please wake up. Please!”

Startled, you gasp as his eyes shoot open, his lips parting as he gasps for air. He’s looking right into your startled, widened eyes. It takes a minute for him to realize who you are and where he is, the surroundings not seeming familiar at all, but it feels nice. The aura, the warmth and the dimmed lighting in the bedroom where he’s tucked under the sheets.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you smile, not sure what to say to him. Tony had made sure to help him, get whatever that was controlling him out of him, his head to himself now and slowly filling with memories, both good and bad ones. “How are you feeling?”

He groans as he moves to sit up. You help him straighten up, making sure he has a pillow for his back as he leans back against the head of the bed. He closes his eyes tightly together as he drops his head back, still trying to calm his erratic breathing. You sit back in the chair you had pulled to the bedside when you got here.

“I feel…” he begins, words feeling foreign on his tongue as he speaks with a croaking voice. He sighs deeply. This is a lot for his head to take in in just one day. “I feel like my head is about to explode.”

Your smile is careful as you look at him. “Makes sense,” you softly say, watching him glance at his arm only to notice the silver is still there, like he had hoped it would be gone. It’s easy to tell the arm itself is a symbol of a very dark time as he looks at it and then looks away from it. He isn’t fond of the silver arm, obviously having a love-hate relationship with it as it has given him power and strength he never had to begin with and problems he never voluntarily wanted in the first place. There’s pain in his eyes as he glances at you, shame as he cowers under your gaze.

You frown deeply. “What happened to you?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. He closes his eyes, not really wishing to go back to those dark times where his life was saved and changed for the worse. The dark times where he became a shadow of himself and a manipulated soldier, brainwashed to take orders from others.

“I, uh, I don’t think-“ he stumbles over his words.

You place your hand over his actual hand, your thumb brushing the skin there. He glances at where you’re touching him before looking up at you. You’re hurting, it’s easy to see. It’s not your own pain though, it’s his. You’re feeling pain for him, hurting because he went through things he never should have, things where death would’ve been much less painful. You want to kiss him, kiss it all better if that was possible.

“You can tell me,” you whisper, pleading him to confide in you, to tell you what happened to him all those years ago.

He sighs deeply, turning his hand over to wrap it around yours. A rush runs through your stomach as he grips onto your hand with a hold so tight that you find yourself promising him silently that you’ll never let go again by giving his hand a small squeeze.

“They found me a few days later,” he starts, gaze focusing on the way yours and his fingers intertwine with each other like they’re meant to do it, “in the ruins of buildings. I-I wasn’t fully awake when they did, only just coming to my senses again after the explosion that was meant to kill me.”

You’re focusing on his hand in yours now, not able to look into his eyes as he tells the story of how he ended up here, 70 years later, and still looking like himself but with longer hair and impeccable strength.

“I didn’t recognize them. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They took me to this place, a bunker or something like that. There was this huge laboratory inside with equipment way ahead of its time,” he looks confused as he relives the horrifying moments, “I was placed in a chair and the next thing I know they’re sawing my arm off-“

You whimper. “Oh, god,” tears dwell in your eyes as you grip his hand tightly.

“____, I have never felt as much pain as I did that day,” he looks you straight in the eye, the pain from that day flashing over his face as he recalls it, the feeling of it. “And all I could think about while they turned me into this- this monster… was that I lied to you.”

You shake your head in denial. “No, Jungkook,” you whisper, “you couldn’t know. You couldn’t.”

He offers you a small half-smile, remorse covering his features as he reaches up with his silver hand, careful as he lets the fingertips of it brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry I gave you an empty promise,” he whispers, silver fingertips brushing against the side of your face. You cover it with your own hand, letting him cup your face in the cold silver. He leans closer, hissing lightly as pain shoots up the side of his torso. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come back to you like I promised.”

“You did though,” you sigh deeply, resting your forehead against his. “You’re right here.”

He nods softly, his eyes shifting between yours.. “and I won’t leave again,” he assures you before hesitating, shrugging as he adds; “unless you want me to.”

You chuckle through the tears that had built up in your eyes. He’s smiling at you as you reach up to cup his face in your palms, brushing your thumb across his cheeks. He’s watching you, still not quite believing that you’re here with him. After so long. 70 years of wondering if you’re still alive. 70 long years of wondering where you were in the world. 70 unbearable years of longing for your touch, your soft, plump lips that made his heart stop beating for a few seconds each time they would touch his in a kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispers into the small gap of air space between you and him. “Each time I’d return from a mission and become myself again after being under mind-control, you were the first thing on my mind. To be honest, I don’t think you ever left it. You’ve always been there with me, in the deepest parts of my consciousness. You kept me sane during the missions, kept me from forgetting myself completely.”

Listening intently, you close your eyes as your thumbs continue to brush over the skin on his cheeks. He continues, a deep sigh falling from his lips and clashing against yours causing goosebumps to rise upon your body. You’re shocked that you have gone this far without smothering him in kisses. You don’t want to risk anything, waiting patiently for him to make the first move in the direction of more physical affection, whether it’s a touch of his hand, a hug or more.

“And when I realized it was you earlier today...” his voice cracks, “when I realized I almost killed you- I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”

“You can and you will,” you softly tell him, the undertone of your voice stern, “you didn’t kill me. You wouldn’t. You were gonna recognize me sooner or later.”

He exhales shakily. “You don’t know that,” he almost snaps, eyes closed tightly as he drops his silver hand from your face. He pulls away from your touch, the warmth of him disappearing the further he moves away. He’s not looking at you. Tears are threatening to spill as you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as you want to speak up. You want to tell him he’s wrong, but you already know that he will not take your words for what they are. He, and you, know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pushed him off when you did.

“You’re right,” you say, catching his attention again. He barely glances at you, noticing the small remnants of tears in your eyes before looking back at his silver hand, clenching and unclenching it. A tear rolls down your cheek. “You’re so right, Jungkook. I don’t know if you would or not.”

You get up from the chair you’ve been sitting in since you brought him back to your apartment. Jungkook still refuses to look at you as you move onto the bed, crawling closer to him. You don’t hesitate as you lay a hand on his shoulder and throw a leg over his to straddle his lap. He finally looks at you, eyes slightly widened at your actions. His eyes meet teary ones again, his silver arm moving out of an old habit as he reaches up to wipe your tears away.

“But I like to think you would.”

Your lips press against his before he can reply to your words. Jungkook gasps and then grunts in response as you press your mouth to his, desperately and needy. His body freezes beneath you as you kiss him, tasting his lips for the first time in an unbearably long time. It takes him a while to realize that you’re kissing him, finally kissing you back as he cradles you in his arms, pulling you closer to his chest. The silver arm keeps a tight grip around your waist, holding you in place as the other runs up your thigh.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, letting your forehead rest against his. Jungkook is breathing heavily, his breath once again clashing against yours as you both catch your breath. Your eyes meet, seconds after he’s kissing you again, your tank top riding up as the silver arm keeps you tight against him. The silver touching your skin causes goosebumps to cover your skin, a chill running up your spine as you cup his face. His tongue licks against your bottom lip, you let him in. A moan escapes your lips as his tongue touches yours.

“I’ve been holding myself back ever since you woke up,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile as his hands slide under your top, pushing it up before pulling it over your head completely. You return to his lips, catching them with your own as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He helps you pull it off, your mind elsewhere as you throw it onto the floor. Your hands rake down his body, over the tensing muscles of his abdomen as he moves his kisses down your cheek and further under your jaw. Your breathing is ragged as you pull away, only a few inches so you can glance down at his torso. The sight horrifies you, your fingertips brushing over scars and healed wounds.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you glance up at Jungkook, his eyes meeting yours for a few seconds before you look back at his chest. Your eyes wander, over his both small and larger scars to his silver arm. You feel your heart tightening as you take in the way the silver arm is sewed onto his body. You hesitate to reach up, Jungkook’s eyes on you as you let your shaking fingertips brush over the burned, scarred skin that keeps the silver arm attached. “I- This…”

His human hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. “I know,” he agrees without hearing the rest of the sentence. You look back at him, finding relief in his eyes as you rest your palms against his chest. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he then says.

“They literally cut off your arm,” you point out, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine how much pain he must’ve been in when they did this to him. “I wish I could have spared you this pain, spared you the torture you went through.”

He smiles softly. “I know, ____. But there's no way you possibly could’ve.”

You're carefully running your pointer finger along one of his scars when you look up at him, eyelashes framing your eyes so perfectly. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, even more so than the last time he saw you. You can’t do anything to stop the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I love you so much, Jungkook.”

His breathing stops for a second, his heart skipping a beat. He hasn’t heard those words since 1944. He didn’t even hear those words that morning you had sent him off, he hadn’t said those words when he promised to return. He should have. That way you’d never be in doubt of his love. He wonders if you’ve loved him since or if there has been anyone else in the meantime to love you the way he should’ve.

Silently, you watch him as his thoughts run one hundred miles per hour. Your palms are sliding from his chest to his shoulders and further up his neck to cup his face again. The love he feels is evident in his eyes as he focuses on you.

“I love you,” he whispers, carefully turning you over onto your back only for him to hover over you. You’re watching him, tingling in your stomach as you hear the words fall from his lips. He returns to kissing you, kissing the skin on your cheek, your neck and further down to the very top of your chest, right beneath the collarbones. He glances up at you as he kisses his way down the valley of your bra-covered chest. “I didn’t say it enough back then,” he mouths against your skin, another round of goosebumps rising beneath his lips, “I should have said it more. I’m sorry.”

You exhale deeply, arching your back into his touch as he reaches your navel and moves even further down to the waistband of your pants, your spandex pants that you so elegantly wear whenever you have a mission with the Avengers.

“Stop apologizing,” you breathe out, eyes closed as you succumb to his touch. The silver hand brushes over your stomach as it runs up to your chest, unclasping your bra on the front. It falls to the sides, revealing your perky nipples to the crisp air. You gasp softly as a silver hand brushes over both, the cold steel doing nothing but erecting them even more. “I've always hated it when you apologize.”

He smirks softly against your lower stomach, pressing one last kiss to the skin there before pulling the silver hand down to pull off your pants, and panties too. The pants are barely on the floor before he returns to your lower abdomen, kisses being spread across your hip bones and pubic bone. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his long hair as he runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. He spreads your legs, revealing your throbbing core to him.

“God, I missed this,” he breathed out, the air of his words hitting your wet folds. “Having you like this, all to myself.”

You whine from above him. “Jungkook,” you whimper, “please.”

It doesn’t take more for him to lean closer, tongue licking a stripe up between your folds and to your clit, his silver arm sliding across your abdomen to keep you down as he eats you out for the first time in decades. One would think he had lost his touch and knowledge of a woman’s body, but you can say that he certainly didn’t as he roots himself between your legs, tongue licking your wetness and prodding at the entrance.

“Oh god,” you moan, softly gasping for air as his human hand rests on top of your one thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there. You’re in heaven, on the ninth cloud as he slurps your arousal, licking your folds and clit as if his life depended on it. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

The sound of your name toppling from your lips as he hits a certain nerve makes his body flush with a warmth he almost forgot what feels like. You’re writhing in the tight hold of his silver arm, squirming as he licks you to your release. The orgasm is approaching fast and hard, Jungkook being the sole reason for it. No one could ever get you there as fast as him.

“I’m s-so close- oh!,” you pant, your walls clenching as Jungkook’s actual fingers slide into you. He pumps his hand in and out of you in a pace that is perfectly building up your orgasm. He takes nothing but a glance into his eyes as he leans down to softly kiss your clit that you’re toppling over, hitting the wall of your orgasm. “J-jungkook, my god!”

You jerk away as he leans forward, tongue licking up your release, tasting it on his taste buds. He hums with a small smile as he glances up at you, loving the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your head at the sight of him between your thighs. It takes nothing more than a few seconds before you shitting up, Jungkook meeting you halfway in a kiss. Tongues clash against each other, the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply, needingly.

“Please fuck me,” you mumble in between kisses, a desperate whining tone attached to your words. “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

He seals your words with a kiss, giving you a silent promise of doing just that. As if he’d lick you out and that would be it. No way.

You watch, teeth biting into your bottom lip, as he gets off the bed to remove the sweatpants you had dressed him in when you got back, getting him out of those military pants with belts and buckles all over them. His cock springs free, slaps against his abdomen as it stands proud into the air. A rush runs through your stomach at the sight, mouth slightly watering. Once the sweatpants and his boxers lie on the floor by his feet, he crawls back onto the bed. He moves closer, pushing you back onto your back as he hovers over you. You’re glancing at his silver arm for a mere split second, your hair reaching up to run along the hard edges of it. Jungkook can’t feel your touch but he’d like to imagine that he can as he watches your palm brushing over and further up to the nape of his neck. His eyes move back to lock with yours. You’re looking at him just like you did that last night of intimacy you had back in 1944, the night before he was sent off on a deathly mission. A huge wave of emotions hits him as he glances from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“I love you,” he softly says, eyebrows furrowed together as he looks at you, “so much, ____.”

You smile, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss. The kisses are soft, tender even as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. You gasp into his mouth as the tip of his cock prods at your folds. A hand of yours tangles back into his locks as he pushes inside, the tightness overwhelming for the both of you. He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths clashing together between you as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing down at your connecting hips. “Can i move?”

You nod your head, whispering, “yes.”

Jungkook watches the way your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pulls out and pushes back in, the sight causing him to do it again and again, wanting to see you lose yourself and succumb to the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp as he gives you a particularly hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin as he hits that exact spot that makes you whimper out a soft, whiny moan. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his neck and chest as he sets a rhythm, keeping it steady as he grinds into you. He grabs your leg with his silver hand, helping you to wrap it around his waist. The other follows suit, locking with your other behind his back. He hits deep inside of you, his veiny cock sliding against your walls so deliciously.

It’s like that last night you had with him all over again just with more longing and more desperate kisses. Your stomach tingles with the overwhelming amount of emotions you’re feeling in this exact moment as you look up at him – his long hair slightly damp at the roots, his toned chest glistening in sweat as he works you both to a release, to a high you’re both so desperately in the need of.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you unawarely clench around his length, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Don’t do that or I’ll cum right now.”

“Sorry!” You squeak, chuckling as he eyes you with a small smirk. God, you wanna ride him so badly. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan breathily as he hits your spot again. He’s watching you, eyes running over your face as it contorts in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts, leaning up on his hands to get a better angle. He rams his hips into you, his strength coming to show as he thrusts into you harder than ever before. The power of his thrusts have you seeing stars as your second orgasm nears you. Jungkook can feel it as you clinch repeatedly around him. He won’t last much longer if you continue to do that.

High pitched moans tumble from your parted lips as he speeds up his movements, desperately trying to get you over the edge before he topples over himself. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as you reach your high, the orgasm hitting you like a bullet.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, breathing ragged as he continues to fuck you to get himself to cum. His breathing is uneven, not matching his thrusts as all as he moves in and out a few more times before stilling inside of you, spilling his load and painting your walls inside.

“Fuck, I love you,” he breathes out as he drops his forehead to your collarbone. You’re smiling widely as you run your fingers from his shoulders and up into his hair. He lifts his head to look at you as you push his long, brown hair out of his face. You know him too well when he gives you a look, a small smirk on his lips. A joke is coming. You can just feel it. And you can’t help but grin at him as everything feels exactly like 1944 again. Also, you want to punch him for his next words:

“Not too bad for a 98-year-old, huh?”

all rights reserved © mercurygguk (with help from marvel studios *wink* )

[hintofcolor]

More batfamily headcanons because I have so so many:

Duke has a lisp

He also has deadpan humor which his siblings love especially when their in masks and civilians can’t tell whether he’s joking or not

Duke has managed to hide exactly how chaotic he is from Bruce

Nobody told the league what dukes power is

It took them 2 years to figure it out

All they were told is that he was a meta and the all the bat kids had the time of their lives messing with them

He managed to convince a chunk of them that he could communicate with bats

He and tim together are a nightmare

Duke and Tim are the same age

Therefore they really love playing around with the twin stereotypes (twin telepathy, sharing all the same things so forth so on)

(“Oh you two are related” “yeah we’re identical twins”) (“I mean obviously I was born first” “were not” “yes I was I remember kicking you out of the way”) (“yeah Bruce couldn’t tell us apart so we were color coded” “I was red he was yellow” “I’m still not sure he didn’t get us mixed up”)

Tim gets all of his bad habits from dick

The not sleeping, not taking care of himself ,becoming obsessive over cases, holding himself to an impossible standard then hating himself when he fumbles along the way. blaming himself for things he can’t control so on and so on

No one has pointed it out because no one thinks either of them would handle the news well

Tim shattered the knee cap of Gotham academy’s quarter back in school when he overheard him call Damian a slur promptly ending his very promising football career

Dick has a playlist for each original titan member full of songs that remind him of them

Kori proposed to Dick

He cried

When angry, and I mean really angry, there are very very very few people who aren’t afraid of Dick

The people include: Alfred, Wally, kori, Roy, Barbara Tim and WonderWoman

Superman has backed away from Dick before

Dick has also made the justice league stop and take a step back because they didn’t want to get in his way

The bats are the only heroes who tend to get immediate respect because of their symbol

They hate it and tend to go out of their way to prove that they can earn the respect

Tim is one of the few people who can trick kryptonians, telepaths, and bats

There’s no special reason he just got really good at lying trying to get out of schoolwork when he was a kid

Nobody can maneuver and manipulate Bruce like Tim can and it frightens a lot of the hero community

His siblings however think it’s hilarious

If all in a good mood the Wayne kids are nightmares at galas

One time Bruce was accidentally shoved into a food table by one of his goblins

Which started a food fight

It was all over the front pages and everyone thought it was adorable, him humoring his children

The contact photos for all of them on Stephanies phone are strawberry shortcake characters she thinks each are

There’s a gold star chart in the bat cave no one knows how it got there or who started it

They also have no idea how they get a star added to their names each one has spent more time then willing to admit trying to figure it

Also trying to figure out if Bruce is doing it or Alfred

It’s Bruce

And he just randomly puts them on

He finds it entertaining how competitive they get over it

Dick gets cold really easily so in Gotham he’s practically always cold

So there are giant incredibly soft blankets on every single couch or chair in the manor

Mainly because the manor stays fairly cold because Jason runs hot

Bruce always keeps it cold even after Jason died

Since coming back Jason stays cold and nothing helps

He doesn’t mention it to Bruce

Jason’s blood glows

Not neon like a glow stick but it has a shine to it

It’s also jet black

When he gets really bad flashbacks he feels all of the injuries that caused his death which leaves him on the ground writhing until he passes out from the pain

He also tends to bleed when he gets to worked up.

He will bleed from his eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and fingernails

Its mainly his eyes tho

Pride doesn’t happen in Gotham. At least not parades because while you have all of the bats and even certain rogues protecting it the city ‘doesn’t want to take that chance’

While Gotham is a lot of things homophobic is not one of them (there are homophobes but they are are few and far between and it’s extremely risky for them to say anything hateful out loud)

So during pride month a lot and I mean a lot of people hang pride flags. Typically never the same one twice. It’s the most color Gotham sees during the year

And the big event is a gala at the manor open to everyone

Harley, ivy and Selina are the guards for it.

It’s free admission but has donation stations and all proceeds go to multiple LGBT+ charities and organizations

It’s a huge event and has been going on since Dick suggested it when he was 12

They have held it every year since and never once has it gone poorly

Barbara has punched Bruce after he told her one night when she was batgirl that she couldn’t have any more coffee

Cassandra is a very tactile person and will cling on to whichever family member is closest to her

Her and Harper are really close and it terrifies the rest of her siblings

Stephanie and Harper started a club called the ‘honoraries’ for the kids that aren’t legally Bruce’s but still live in the manor

Stephs mom travels a lot for work so when her mom is out of town she lives at the manor

She’s there often enough that she has her own room

However she is always out of the house before the sun even rises on the days her mom comes home because of how excited she is to see her mom

Cassandra is scared of dogs

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request an imagine where a victim “escapes” from the slashers and hurts s/o in the process. What would the slashers do during and after? Thank you!!

Hi! I wasn't sure which slashers you wanted for this, so I put my list into a randomizer and went with the first 5!

Walter Sullivan

Thomas Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Erik ("The Phantom")

SLASHERS WHOSE VICTIM HURTS THEIR S/O

cw: mentions of suicide, reader being injured/in mortal peril, mentions of torture and killing etc etc

--

Walter Sullivan

Oh no. Oh dear.

You are possibly the only good, pure thing in this world or the Otherworld and someone hurt you? Walter is ... not happy, to put it lightly. The only person who should ever hurt you is him, and he won't do that unless it's for your own good.

This only enforces his belief that the world and everyone in it are monstrous. It drives home the truth he's already convinced of - this existence in terrible and torturous and needs to be destroyed if anything holy is ever going to be allowed to blossom again.

Whether The Victim is pre- or post- Walter's suicide, he's already stopping at nothing to go after them. He doesn't view it as personal, he doesn't hold any particular hatred for most (most) of his victims; they're simply links in a chain. But this person, the one who hurt you ... it's personal. They'll die in absolute agony.

If the victim in question is pre-suicide, Walter will bring them down and find somewhere to keep them for later. This will not be a quick death.

While they're bound/gagged or knocked out, he'll check on you. You're special, possibly even the Mother Reborn, and he can't let you die until the time is right. If you're seriously injured, he'll see to it that you're taken to the hospital, and pray to a dead God if he has to that you'll be alright. If you're not seriously injured, he'll do his best to patch you up - he lived on the streets for many years and had to take care of himself, so he knows basic first aid.

Once he's certain you're safe, he will put you somewhere where you won't witness what he's about to do. Even if you want to see it, he'll insist you stay hidden, saying the sinner doesn't deserve to be in your presence. You'll have to really convince him if for some reason you want to watch.

Their torture will depend on what they did to you. If it was just a few scrapes and cuts, he'll let them feel every ounce of pain before they die. If they really hurt you, their torture will be prolonged. In his mind, and according to his religion, death is a sacred sacrament, and this evil being doesn't deserve its release. If they did something to seriously traumatize and/or sully you ... the crime scene he leaves behind is going to be grisly, to put it lightly.

If the victim in question is post-suicide, the results will be similar, but he has absolute control over the Otherworld - and he will utilize that. He will have his creations take care of you and keep you somewhere safe ... they may be terrifying, but they won't hurt you unless he wills it. As for the victim, he can twist them into their worst nightmares over and over again before killing them. He will make them see their wrongdoings and pay for their evil. They will beg for mercy and there will be none.

After it all, he will simply move onto the next one, with you somewhere safe ... until it's time. Until it's time. You are so perfect.

Thomas Hewitt

Dammit. If he'd just been quicker or smarter, he could have caught them before they escaped and hurt you. He immediately blames himself.

There's no time to beat himself up over it, though. He briefly checks to make sure you're not bleeding from anywhere vital and sends you (or locks you up) somewhere safe before going after the victim. You're on your own for first aid for now - unless you're literally dying, he can't let them leave the property.

If you are literally dying, he's staying and doing all he can to help you. But if Hoyt yells, he may have to pawn you off on someone else and hope they do a good job taking care of you. He'll hold your face and give you tender kisses goodbye - whether you want them or not - because this might be the last time he ever sees you.

He chases the victim in a fever, much more erratic than you would expect from him. He's faster, less careful, more inclined to put himself at risk just to get a swing in at them. It's not generally anything personal when he kills someone - it's something he does for the good of his family, and because he was told to. This one he's not interested in saving for meat. They hurt you. You, his special person. He's going to grind them into the mud, and he's not even going to let Hoyt have a go at them.

Sometimes, sometimes, he struggles to see the animals in his victims. But this one ... he doesn't even feel the urge to twist them into an animal. That's a whole human, an evil one, one he wants to kill. It's a different feeling for him.

Once it's all over and everything's calmed down, he's rushing directly to your side. People don't come around all too often, so he's comfortable putting down the chainsaw for now. He neglects any skin projects he planned and lets someone else do the butchering, focusing on taking care of you, especially if you're seriously injured and put up in bed.

If you're not as seriously injured and tell him you're fine, he's still keeping an eye on you ... and making sure you're well-fed. You've been through a lot and it was all his fault. He doesn't want you to be exposed like that again. Next time someone comes around, he'll insist you hide somewhere.

Jason Voorhees

It's a toss up whether or not he'll actually notice you're hurt. Not because he doesn't care or anything, but because Camp Crystal Lake is a lot of ground to cover and there's a low chance he'll be in the same area as you at any given time.

For this imagine, though, let's assume you've found your way to him or he's sensed you're in trouble and has rushed to you.

You were supposed to be safe in the cabin, so he's a little irritated that you wandered out, but that's completely overshadowed when he realizes you're hurt. He stops everything he's doing and clinically and thoroughly pats you down, identifying every solitary injury.

Just like his mother before him, he is a vengeful soul, so he is not letting this go even if you're just scraped or bruised. If you are critically injured, he'll at least get you to the cabin and get a tourniquet on you.

Otherwise, he leaves you behind. Not very mindful, but you should know that he wants you to get back to the cabin or at least stay out of the way. He is no longer thinking of you - he has established his target and knows what he has to do. He's laser focused and decisive as he stalks after them, using anything at his disposal to get to them.

Their death is quick - he doesn't play around - but he has a lingering sense of irony and playfulness. If there's a particularly interesting weapon nearby, he'll take them out with that; or perhaps he'll hurt them in the way they hurt you, just, you know ... more fatal. And a lot gorier.

After that, he'll move onto their friends, until every last one is dead. Once his objective is completed, he is returning to you directly and finishing the job of patching you up.

He can't help but feel a little guilty that you were hurt. You shouldn't have left the cabin, true, but perhaps he should have been watching for you. He should have locked you up. Pamela might say rude things in his head. Then again, she might comfort him. If she doesn't like you, maybe she'll even wish he'd left you to die.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Well ... you usually keep him around to scare off other Ghostfaces - something he's very handy at - but you don't usually run into trouble with his victims.

He doesn't really tell you to go anywhere in particular when he's killing. He knows you can take care of yourself. But now he feels stupid for not having a backup plan. Of course some asshole was gonna eventually identify you as his loved one and try to get cute. He should've had something prepared for that.

But, if he's good at anything, it's improvising. He skids into whatever room you're in, drops his weapon, and pulls his mask off right away to check you over. If you're only mildly injured, he's visibly relieved, and tells you to stay put while he deals with whomever hurt you. If you're more seriously injured, he'll grab your phone and shove it in your hand. "Get in the car, get the fuck out of here. Drive to the emergency room if you have to, just leave."

If you're unable to drive, he'll make you call emergency services - or call them for you, if he has to. The game is over, he's done playing; this isn't fun if he's not winning. Everyone in this place is gonna be dead and he'll be long gone by the time the ambulance shows up for you.

The one who hurt you is going to get an extra special surprise. A particularly grisly death, and a bunch of selfies/short videos of Ghostface with the corpse - taken with the victim's own phone, posted to their instagram, tiktok, facebook, sent to any discord groups, and any other social media they have. If he has the time, he'll even make them in meme formats (definitely posting with meme captions, the fucking troll). He'll probably send a copy to you as a "hey, look what I did!"

If there are survivors, especially if that survivor is the one who hurt you, you better believe he is immediately doxxing them. Since he's had a little time to cool down, he might even play the long game, maybe catfishing and blackmailing them. Ruining their pathetic little life even further would be pretty fun. In the end, though, they'll die like all the others.

When all is said and done, he's going to be there for you, helping you recover any way he can. He'd suggest rest (for an amount of time relative to your injury), some movies and candy, maybe some video games. And time spent with your favorite Ghostface, of course, right?

He'll never forget what happened, though. Even though the person is dead, he'll be stewing and pissed off about it for a long, long time. And he won't let something like that happen again, or at least, not without a contingency plan in place.

The hash mark/tally mark he stitches into his costume to symbolize this kill is gonna be twice as long and large as the others, maybe in the place you got hurt as a reminder.

Erik

You already know what's about to happen.

If anyone so much as hurts your feelings they're getting menaced and receiving a strongly worded letter - actually physically harming you? That's suicide.

If he can't immediately kill this person, or if you're seriously injured, his primary objective is helping/comforting you. He has to push down a lot of wrath to do it ... every instinct tells him to immediately dispatch the fiend responsible ... but you are more important to him than anything in this world, even revenge. He will administer any first aid you need and may even drug you with ether to ensure you rest.

Don't think that means your attacker is off the hook, though. As soon as he decides you're well enough, he will put you somewhere safe - lock you away if he has to - and kill them. His preferred method is the Punjab lasso, but if they did something particularly egregious, he'll knock them out and take them to his torture chamber. They have a lesson to learn before they go to Hades.

Another option is, like Deacon, playing the long game ... playing with his food, stalking them, making them live in fear before they die. But he has a lot of wrath in that skinny little body, so it's a toss up as to whether or not he'll actually be able to follow through with that for very long. It depends on his mood, really!

He will keep the killing and torture hidden from you, of course ... unless you express an interest in seeing the vengeance being carried out. He would be worried for you, however, and advise against it. Those sights are not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for someone as beautiful and good as you.

Once all is said and done, it's as if it never happened. As if that person never existed! What a happy thought! Sometimes you even think Erik has completely forgotten the incident ... until he's stalking another victim and he locks you away again, and you remember you are always on his mind. He will never, never let that happen to you again.