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gay-dorito-dust · 1 month

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Hi!!, I wanted to request Damian Wayne reacting to finding out that the reader has an entire notebook dedicated just to his drawings, and also reacting to the reader being extremely embarrassed and shy when Damian discovers his secret.

Damian didn’t know what to expect when he had opened your notebook there you’ve been so secretive about, but seeing page after page filled with draft drawings he’s made and discarded when they didn’t exactly go to plan.

It didn’t matter if if was be sketches of his pets, siblings, his father, Alfred or even some of your doing your own thing, they were all there regardless of any deeper reasoning.

It was got obvious that the deeper Damian went he was greeted with older and older drawings back when he was just starting to get good at drawing and what style he was or wasn’t comfortable with. It was almost as though the notebook was a testament to his development as a growing artist.

So as he sat on your bed, making his way through the notebook and found more and more drawings he thought he discarded ages ago. He was flattered to say the least but didn’t understand why you’d dedicate an entire notebook to him and his artwork. Damian was certain that you had your own reasons for doing so, but until then he would indulge the feelings of nostalgia build within him as he recognised his growth in each piece he’s ever made.

It wasn’t long before you came back into the room from a quick trip to the kitchen for a drink, your breath had caught in your throat upon seeing Damian with your notebook in hand, looking as though he was at an interesting plot point in a book.

‘Damian?’ You asked. ‘Why do you have my notebook? Where did you find it? Give it back.’

Damian shuts the book and sets it aside as he then looks you in the eye. ‘I should be asking you why you’re the one with an entire notebook dedicated to my drawings?hmmm?’ He threw back at you with a calmness that had you a little unnerved.

‘Drawings? Yours? Are you sure they’re not mi-‘

‘They’ve all got my signature at the bottom of the left hand corner.’ Damian interrupted you as you worry about his reaction. Did he think you were weird, a creep, a freak? You didn’t know as Damian had a great grasp at keeping his true feelings hidden.

You sighed, burrowing your burning face into your hands in embarrassment, not wanting to look him in the eyes as you admit your secret. ‘Fine. They are your drawings in that notebook but I only kept them because I really, really like your drawings and didn’t want them going to waste.’ You told him as you awaited for the worst, only to hear a bit a shuffling coming from him before a hand was placed on your shoulder.

‘I assumed that was the case.’ Damian said softly as he gently peeled your hands away from your face and held them. You blinked at him, not expect in this kind of reaction from Damian. ‘Your not creeped out? Embarrassed? Nothing?’ You asked meekly, still feeling a little embarrassed about the whole thing.

Damian sighs as a small smile tugs on his lips. ‘No, if anything it’s kind of…endearing come to think of it as it acts as a time capsule showcasing my development in skill, style and technique.’ He says before adding. ‘It’s an honour knowing that you admire my drawings so much to make a notebooks about them but I’ve got just one request.’

‘What is it?’ You replied, anxiety spiking back up once more.

‘Just ask me to draw something for your notebook rather than settle with half finished draft sketches.’ Damian said as he grabbed the notebook from behind him and found a blank page and dedicated the next hour or so sketching an utter masterpiece.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #dc fluff

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captaindeadpoet · 2 months

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Isami is the one that proposes.

He’s lost Lewis twice, and he’ll be damned if it happens again with his feeling still left unsaid. For a few days after their triumphant return, Isami scours the base for supplies. Thin strands of metal. Shiny things. Paper. String. While Lewis is stuck in the med bay being poked and prodded and worried over, Isami is building. Tinkering. Until he has something that resembles a ring.

A simple stand in for when he can get Lewis something real and pretty. Assuming that big sap even wants a different one later.

Isami doesn’t waste anymore time after it’s finished. He pulls Lewis away from everyone and takes him to the beach.

It seemed like everything happened on the beach.

And he just walks with Lewis. Lewis is still clumsy, not quite used to being back in his human body, but he’s all smiles nonetheless. It warms Isami to his core when Lewis smiles like that. He takes Lewis’ hand to help steady him as they walk. He feels Lewis’ fingers struggle to intertwine with his own, so he meets him halfway, finding the spaces and squeezing the man’s hand until he sees red cheeks and a soft smile.

They find a nice spot to look over the sea they’ve spent so long on at war, and find comfort in cashing waves and cold foam lapping at their feet.

Isami doesn’t think as he kneels in wet sand and digs into his pocket and pulls out his clumsily crafted ring, all mismatched metal and a shiny piece of sea glass he’d managed to find by a miracle. He looks up at Lewis and holds it out.

“Marry me.”

Not so much a question as a statement.

Marry me.

Because Isami isn’t asking. He knows the answer. He’s just confirming. There need not be a question mark at the end, because there’s no uncertainty anymore. They’re Lewis and Isami. Partners. Two halves of a whole.

Tears well in Lewis’ eyes, and Isami’s heart drops for a moment, but his mind is quick to remind him that Lewis is sensitive. His other half is overwhelmed with emotion.

Which makes it so much sweeter when Lewis’ knees buckle and his arms wrap around Isami in a tight hug.

“Yes.”

And it’s music to Isami’s ears.

Yes.

And Isami feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, because he won’t lose Lewis again. Because Lewis is his.

#bang brave bang bravern #sumiisa #ao isami #lewis smith #isami x lewis #listen I’m emotional I’m exhausted and I want Isami to propose to Lewis

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imjustagirl22 · 2 months

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~ Steddie x reader imagine 🌞

Steddie x reader is the definition of sunlight and honey. Everything soft, sweet and gentle.

Especially Steddie x reader who have moved in together and are basking in the happiness they bring one another.

My headcannon is Eddie and the reader were together first, dating shortly after Eddie graduated and the events of season 4 calmed down and everything finds some sort of normality.

Because of Eddie’s trailer being destroyed, he proposes the reader and him find an apartment and move in together. Life’s short and he doesn’t want to waste anytime with the love of his life.

So after looking around they come to the conclusion they may need some more help and consider finding a roommate. And that’s when they have the brilliant idea of asking Steve.

Steve’s wanted to live his own life away from his parents for a long time, but he’s been scared of taking the final leap.

So when Eddie and the reader, two people he cares for greatly, ask him to be their roommate it’s a no brainier.

Eventually the perfect apartment is found and the longing begins. Eddie and the reader are so in love it’s disgusting, and they aren’t wasting any more time. They make sure their love for each other is known, because the events of season 4 showed them what it was like to almost loose one of your favourite people.

And of course with so much love in air, Steve feels left out. Gone are the days where King Steve bats his eyelashes and the ladies come rushing. While he is still charming, cute and wonderful, no one seems to stick around.

That’s when he lets his mind drift to the two idiots in love that live with him. He would describe their love as pure and authentic. No pretences, just the utmost admiration for another person. Your person.

He wants what they have. And as time goes on he realises he wants them as well. Their love, their freedom and unapologetic personalities. Everything he’s dreamed of and searched for.

And naturally Eddie and the reader’s unconditional love spills over and latches onto Steve. At first they thought it was friendly and a natural part of loving someone platonically.

But then they realised that you don’t love your friends this way. And they should have known, they went through the same process. Loving your friend so much it hurts and you never want them to leave your side. Feeling you might die if they don’t give you attention all day every day.

After this realisation, Eddie and the reader step around the subject, trying to gauge the other’s reaction. Starting with small jokes about them being a throuple.

These gradually turn into showing Steve small acts of affection, like hugs and hand holding. Just to make sure he feels included. And because they’re both idiots in love it takes them a while to bravely bring up the topic of liking Steve in a way they shouldn’t like Steve.

Once they’ve shared all the feelings, they agree to bring it up to Steve. Because why not, if he says no they’ll go back to being best friends and no harm is done. Well that’s what they hope happens.

When Steve agrees Eddie and the reader are truly shocked to their core! They didn’t expect baby girl Steve to say yes, that he’s been having the same feelings.

Of course the 80s bring challenges for people who don’t fit the picture perfect mold, so Steddie and the reader agree to keep this to themselves and close friends. Their love for each other is too important and they won’t accept the judgement of close minded people.

So their apartment becomes a safe haven of exploring new relationship dynamics and pushing the boundaries of what they thought love was.

It’s sugar, spice and everything nice. Their souls blend together and the outside world disappears.

The new journey they’re embarking on is truly exciting and magnificent. Now they’re three idiots in love and they wouldn’t want it any other way.

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apple-orchards-writings · 4 months

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TW: yandere behavior, gets a bit suggestive at the end, dubcon

Kylar who bases their entire school performance off of your own grades. You’re doing badly ? Here, they’ve only gotten A’s this semester, let them help you ! Doing amazing? Won’t you please lend them a hand, their grades have plummeted ! They do all they can to schedule private study sessions with you. They put on some “soothing” music (music they found by searching “hypnotic suggestion” on youtube) and make you tea or hot chocolate. No coffee, not when they want you to be as relaxed as possible!

They inch closer and closer to you, waiting for the sleeping agent they put in your drink to take effect. When you start yawning and dozing off, your eyelids drooping, they have to hold in their excitement, telling you that if you’re tired, you can sleep in their bed, really it’s fine, they’d hate to see you exhausted because you insisted on staying awake.

Once you’re out cold (they’ve checked), Kylar wastes no time climbing in next to you, never taking their eyes off of you for even a second. You look so gorgeous, they don’t usually see your cute sleeping face in the daylight, they’re so lucky you trust them so much. They comb their fingers through your hair and caress your skin, amazed at the softness of it all. They should do this more often, really, when do they usually get to hold you this close?

Feeling you stir, they stop completely in their tracks, their mind running a mile a second, trying to come up with a suitable excuse for the position they’re in, nose buried in your hair and hands on your chest. Fortunately, you remain asleep, and Kylar lets out the breath they were holding. You really shouldn’t scare them like that, it’s bad for their fragile little heart. They should have about an hour left with you so pliable anyway.

They know they can’t go too far, after all, they’re sure you’d want to be awake for your first time together, they know it should be special, but that doesn’t mean they’re out of possibilities. After all, they can still use your hands and mouth, so lie back and stay in dreamland, darling, they’ll take care of you.

#kylar the loner #dol kylar #apple's writing

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wingdingery · 1 month

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ohhhh i always have requests! quite fond of lil drabble ideas: bruce teaching dick to dance and (years later when they’re together) they recreating some of their first dances, slade being the one to gift dick his first leather jacket that he still regularly wears, An Event Occurs and in the aftermath dick realizes how irreplaceable he is to bruce and just how much bruce both loves him and needs him, bruce and dick’s undercover aliases that keep getting more and more romantic over the years

In Dick’s experience, returning to his apartment after a week away and finding a mysterious box on the coffee table that was definitely not there when he left is, usually, not actually a big deal.

He’s still careful—the little Batman that lives in the back of his head would never give him a moment of peace if he wasn’t—but he’s just very aware of the fact that, nine times out of ten, the not-so-little Batman is the one breaking in and leaving little treats for him to find later, because Bruce is deathly allergic to seeing people’s reactions to his gifts in real-time.

Dick runs through the standard checks, but nothing sounds or smells off, and nothing pings as suspicious on infrared or the particulate detector. He steps closer to inspect the box. It’s rectangular, all white, and generally unremarkable except for the fact that he didn’t put it there.

Carefully, he lifts the lid. He’s expecting some kind of gear—it wouldn’t be the first time a new suit or toys showed up unannounced.

What he finds is a leather moto jacket.

He gently lifts it out of the box and stares at it, bemused. It’s very nice—genuine Italian leather by the feel of it, black with silver hardware and diagonal pockets in the shape of a V, and just his size. There’s no note of any kind, but when he sniffs the leather, he also gets a whiff of maple and gun oil—and that feels like a signature in and of itself.

Dick pulls out his phone, dials in the number from memory, and sinks into the couch as it rings.

“Happy birthday,” Slade says when he picks up, voice low and rumbling.

Dick suppresses a smile. “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You really wanna know the answer to that?”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek and fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. They’ve been getting along all right ever since they’d been forced to team up on the cruise ship from hell, but still, a little plausible deniability goes a long way, between them. “How long ‘til I find out on my own?”

“Now that depends,” Slade says, drawing out the words. “You still talking to Rose?”

Dick blinks. “You were visiting Rose?”

“Something like that.”

“She shut the door in your face,” Dick guesses.

Slade grunts. “We can meet not at her apartment.”

“And she’s moving?”

“And she’s moving.” Slade doesn’t sound particularly annoyed about it, but then again, finding people who don’t want to be found is basically his job. Dick makes a mental note to see if Rose wants a hand making her dad’s life harder.

“So why the jacket?” Dick says, running his hand over the leather. It really is nice. He wonders where Slade got it, and whether it was paid for in money or blood. He probably doesn’t want to know.

“You complained I made you ruin yours,” Slade says. “Reckon we’re square now.”

Dick raises his eyebrows, even though Slade can’t see it. “I don’t remember doing that, but if I did, it had to have been, what… seven years ago? At least?”

“I’ve got a long memory.” It sounds vaguely like a threat, in Slade’s voice, but the jacket itself seems far from one, so Dick lets it pass.

“If you’re trying to make up for that,” Dick says, “then you’re really late.”

“You’d’ve thrown it straight in the trash if I ever tried before.”

“I could still do that.”

“You won’t.”

“Well, now I have to.”

Slade scoffs. “Go ahead. Would be a waste of perfectly good leather, though.”

The desire for knowledge wins out. “Where’d you get it?”

“Made it.”

Dick pauses, uncertain he’d heard correctly. When Slade doesn’t elaborate, though, Dick echoes, uncertainly, “Made it?”

“Wintergreen helped some.”

Dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Made it?

“Who exactly did you think made my first few costumes?” Slade says, sounding amused. “Not all of us have your daddy’s resources.”

It’s one thing for Slade to have bought him something; Dick can explain that away as just a whim—an act of opportunity, as it were. But Slade spending the time and energy to make it himself?

That’s premeditation.

“This isn’t a birthday gift.”

“I said happy birthday, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t just a birthday gift,” Dick presses.

Slade doesn’t respond, and Dick lets the silence stretch far past the point of discomfort. Still, neither of them hangs up. Slade may be a stubborn asshole, but Dick has been trained in the art of silence-offs by the most frustratingly stoic of them all.

Dick smooths out the collar of the jacket and straightens out the arms while he waits. Now that he’s looking closer, he can tell the seams aren’t the tidy stitches of a lifelong craftsman, but it’s impressive work, all the same. Work that must have taken a hell of a lot of effort.

Finally, Slade breaks the rhythm of quiet breathing. “Whatever it is,” he says, “it’s yours now. Throw it in the trash if you want. Or don’t. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

It has everything to do with Slade, but the fact that Slade is insisting so hard that it doesn’t is both a little funny and extremely sad. Dick can recognize a fear of rejection when he hears it.

Dick puts a hand on top of the jacket. “It doesn’t really make sense to give me this,” he says, “if you’re never going to see me wear it.”

Slade is silent for a moment, but not as long as before. “I’ve got time,” he says, slowly, like he’s leaving space for Dick to cut him off between one word and the next. “Two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks,” Dick agrees. “I assume you don’t need the address.”

“Think I’ve got it.” Slade’s voice is dry, but lacking its usual knife-sharp edge. “See you soon, kid.”

He hangs up before Dick can respond.

Dick smiles anyway. “See you soon.”

----

Footnote: RIP Dick's expensive jacket (this is $300 in 80s money)

#sladick #prompt fics #had to stop fiddling with this and set it free since it was just meant to be the equivalent of a warmup sketch #my perfectionist instincts will be the end of me

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soopersara · 6 months

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Zutara Week 2023: Day 1

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

A journey across the Earth Kingdom to find Zuko's mother comes to an end.

She can’t sleep.

It isn’t that she’s not tired. After several weeks of near-constant travel, this is the first night that they’ve had the luxury of leaving their tent packed away, the first night when she and Zuko have been able to rest without first scraping together a meal for themselves and all their friends. By all rights, they should both be exhausted, and this night of stillness and solitude should be a relief.

But she can sense Zuko lying awake beside her, staring up into the darkened rafters of the barn. Though he is quiet, though he is careful not to move too much, the tension alone is enough to keep her awake.

Her fingertips brush against his arm. “Zuko, you should try to sleep.”

He gives a start and turns to meet her eyes. “Oh! I—” There is a pause, and even in the dark, she can see him swallow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

Katara almost wants to laugh. His restlessness has made it difficult to sleep, that much is true. But it isn’t so much that he’s been keeping her awake as it is that the stillness feels unnatural. Ordinarily, he is a quiet sleeper, but ordinarily, lying beside him doesn’t feel like lying next to a statue. If he weren’t trying so hard to keep from disturbing her, she might have drifted off a long time ago.

She nestles in against his shoulder and loops her hand idly around his. “I would have sworn that you were more tired than me.”

His head tilts in her direction. “Why would I be?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” she counters. “Today was—a lot.”

He grunts by way of acknowledgement. “I guess.” A small sigh, and though he seems to deflate a bit, the tension doesn’t leave. “I just have a lot on my mind. Don’t worry about it. You should sleep.”

She ignores that last part. She knows Zuko well enough to realize that despite what he might say, he’s never really expected their search to succeed. That after a few weeks of chasing fruitless leads around the Earth Kingdom, he’d practically resigned himself to returning home empty-handed. That splitting off from the others to follow their last few leads was less a matter of making their search more efficient than it was an effort to draw the journey to a close before he could succumb to guilt over wasting the others’ time.

But they’ve been away from the others less than a day, and already it feels like all of that has changed. Like maybe, just maybe, they’ve found his mother purely by accident.

“Do you really think we found her?”

“I know we did.” His voice, though soft, grows more intense. “Noriko is my mother. I would know her anywhere. I just—I didn’t think that she would have a new family.”

Katara raises her head just far enough to see his jaw tightening and traces her thumb softly along his jawline. “She has a new daughter, not a new family. No one is replacing you.”

They’ve both done the calculations by now. Kiyi is nearly eight years old, and Ursa has been gone for eight and a half years. If they’re right about Noriko and she really is Zuko’s mother in disguise, then Ursa was almost certainly pregnant before she left the palace behind. If they’re right, then Kiyi is almost certainly every bit as royal as he is.

If they’re right, then Ursa has almost certainly stayed in hiding for fear of what the world might do to another little Fire Nation princess.

“Even if Kiyi is my sister, I don’t know if that means much,” he says. “Noriko didn’t remember me. How could my own mother forget if she still cared about her old family?”

Slowly, Katara rolls onto her back to stare into the rafters along with him. “What if she didn’t forget?”

“She didn’t recognize me. She would have said something if she did.”

A frown finds its way across Katara’s lips. She remembers the brief flashes of confused uncertainty on Noriko’s face when they arrived, guiding Kiyi back from where she’d gotten lost in the forest. Katara remembers the surprised delight in Kiyi’s eyes and voice when Noriko invited them to spend the night as repayment for guiding Kiyi back unharmed. And Katara remembers all the pauses after that when Noriko would watch Zuko, brows furrowed like she could almost recognize him.

It's hard to know whether Zuko missed all of those moments, or if he’s just too afraid to hope.

“I’m not so sure about that.” She clasps Zuko’s hand again and traces a thumb across his knuckles. “It’s been a long time, Zuko. Even if she remembers you, she might not know how to say it. And I’m sure you look—different now than you used to.”

“She’s never seen my scar before,” he concedes after a pause. “Maybe she doesn’t want anything to do with me because of that.”

Frowning, Katara pokes him in the ribs. “That’s not what I meant. You know that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

She takes a moment to find the proper words. “You’ve always told me that your mother did everything she could to protect you. That she took care of you when no one else would. So now—maybe she’s ashamed. She thought leaving would keep you safe, but it didn’t work out that way.”

Zuko is quiet for a while. Then, “I guess you could be right.”

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

He sighs. “How can I be sure? I haven’t seen her in years. And since then—so much as changed.” For a few long seconds, he goes quiet again. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if it turns out that my own mother doesn’t want me anymore.”

All Katara can really do is snuggle closer against his side. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think she’ll see how easy it is to love you just the way you are.” Her hand rests softly on his chest, just near enough to the scar at the base of his sternum to feel the ridges at its edge. “But no matter what happens, you’re not going to be alone. I’ll still be here. You’ll always have a family, I promise.”

Zuko’s chest shudders ever so slightly as he exhales, and he wraps an arm around her. Though he can’t seem to find any more words, his embrace speaks volumes all on its own.

⁂

It’s still early, just past sunrise, when the barn door creaks below them. Katara tenses, and Zuko edges toward the ladder, but before either of them can do more, a small head pokes up into the loft.

“I knew it. Mom told me not to wake you up too early, but I knew you’d already be awake.” Kiyi clambers up the last few rungs into the loft, then grins at them both. “I brought some tea.”

The pot in her hand isn’t steaming, and the cups balanced upside down on its lid are battered and chipped, but she settles in the middle of the floor, looking pleased with herself just the same.

“It might be a little old.” Kiyi bends over far enough to squint down the teapot’s spout. “But I think Mom just made it last night. That’s not so bad, right?”

Zuko cracks a smile and sits an arm’s length away from her. “I don’t think so. But I have an uncle who really likes tea, and he might try to disown me if he ever heard me say that.”

Kiyi cocks her head to the side, then thumps a cup in front of Zuko. “He sounds silly.” She thumps a second cup down next to Zuko’s and motions for Katara to sit as well. “This one is for you.”

There is something in her frankness that makes Katara smile. Though she still can’t be as certain as Zuko that Ursa and Noriko are one and the same, it’s impossible to deny the fact that Kiyi looks a great deal like Zuko. If she isn’t his little sister, then the universe has done an uncannily good job at replicating both his features and his mannerisms.

Though the tea that Kiyi pours them is cold, Zuko shows no hesitation in drinking it. Katara takes a more hesitant sip—the tea is slightly bitter, but not so much as to be especially unpleasant. Kiyi looks pleased with herself when they’ve both tasted the tea, and she settles back against a crate, happily cradling her own cup between her hands.

“Where is Noriko?” Katara asks. “If she told you not to wake us—”

“Oh, I think she’s still sleeping.” Kiyi takes a sip from her cup. “But last night, she told me a lot of stuff about good manners around guests. I think Mom thought I was going to make a lot of noise because we’ve never had guests before, but it’s not like I was going to say anything if you were still asleep.”

At that, Zuko looks a bit surprised. “You’ve never had guests before?”

“Nope. Ever since I was a baby, Mom said that our house was just for family. The garden is for friends, but it would be impolite to make people sleep in the garden.”

“I see.”

Katara feels Zuko glancing her way, and she allows her hand to brush against his. That sort of paranoia would certainly make sense coming from Ursa. Keeping both friends and strangers from the house makes perfect sense if she’s on the run from the Fire Nation. And since Zuko and Katara have been allowed to stay—albeit in the barn instead of the house—maybe Ursa really does recognize Zuko after all this time.

Kiyi leans forward conspiratorially. “Do you want to know a secret, though? Me and Mom don’t have any other family. I don’t think so anyway. When I was really little, I think she told me that I had a big brother and sister, but I never met them.” Briefly, she frowns, cocking her head to the side. “I wonder if Mom thinks you’re my brother.”

It isn’t a question, and judging by the look on Zuko’s face, he probably wouldn’t be able to answer if it were. Katara squeezes his hand, and after a few seconds’ pause, he regains his composure.

“I guess I don’t know what she thinks. It was nice of her to let us stay either way.”

If she notices his hesitance, Kiyi seems unbothered by it. So unbothered, in fact, that rather than continuing the topic, she launches into a series of cheerful stories about her life with her mother—about journeys that take the two of them on crisscrossing paths across the northern Earth Kingdom every year. About riding from town to town on a cart drawn by their ostrich horse, meeting people from far-flung places, and exploring distant mountains and forests for new plants to bring back home.

Noriko, it seems, has carved out a life for herself where travel is both normal and expected. Where her work as an herbalist and chemist takes her on regular journeys for new ingredients and seeds, for customers and colleagues. Where, if her old life ever reemerges to endanger herself and her daughter, their escape will draw no notice whatsoever.

“I thought I was really good at directions,” Kiyi says, sounding a little sheepish. “Me and Mom go lots of places together, and I’ve never been lost before. But I guess I don’t play in the woods here at home very much, otherwise I wouldn’t have got lost yesterday. I still feel kinda silly.”

Zuko shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel silly about that. Everybody gets a little lost sometimes.”

“Even if they travel a lot?”

“Even then. For a few years, I lived on a ship, and it’s still hard to find my way sometimes.” There is a steadiness to his voice, and judging by the way that Kiyi beams at him, the reassurance is welcome.

“Maybe I’ll learn how to draw maps someday,” she says. “Then I won’t get lost ever again. And maybe I can give you some of my maps too.”

Zuko seems ready to reply, but before any words make it out of his mouth, the door below them creaks again.

“Kiyi? Are you in here, sweetheart?”

“Up here, Mama!”

There is a relieved-sounding sigh, and Noriko emerges at the top of the ladder a few moments later. “I thought I told you to give our guests their privacy. Come on. We’ll go back to the house, and they can join us for breakfast when they’re ready.” She gives them both an apologetic nod, but it’s painfully obvious that Noriko is trying not to stare at Zuko.

“But they’re already awake, Mama. We’re having tea.”

Katara shoots a glance at Zuko, and as he inhales, his shoulders tense. Gently, she loops her hand through his and gives a reassuring squeeze.

Noriko climbs the last few steps into the loft. “I understand that. I’m glad you didn’t wake them, but it’s impolite to—”

After another slow breath, Zuko squeezes back and pushes carefully to his feet.

“Wait.” His voice is soft and hesitant, but Noriko freezes stone-still, eyes alight with nervous hope. “This might sound strange, but I’ve been meaning to ask you—was there ever a time when you went by the name Ursa?”

Noriko’s eyes widen, and for a moment, it looks like she might faint. But then, just as quickly, she steps forward. “It is you. Oh, my sweet boy.” Though Zuko stands a full head taller than his mother, she sweeps him up in an embrace like he’s still a little boy. “My little Zuko.”

It’s enough to make Katara’s eyes burn, and as she blinks away the prickling, Kiyi scoots sideways until their shoulders nearly brush.

“Was I right before?” Kiyi asks in a whisper after a few moments watching the reunion. “Do I have a big brother for real?”

Smiling, Katara wipes her eyes and nods. “Yes. Are you okay with that?”

For a few seconds, Kiyi frowns, apparently deep in thought. Then, “If he’s my brother, are you gonna be my sister someday?”

“I think there’s a pretty good chance of that.”

A grin breaks across Kiyi’s face. “Then this is the best day ever!”

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zutara week #zutaraweek #zutara week 2023 #zutaraweek2023 #Home #soopersara's scribbles

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stargirlfics · 10 months

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Imagine Carmy finally goes on vacation and with his girlfriend (black!reader). The vacation is a complete fuckfest. They’re fucking in the bed, in the shower, against the sliding glass doors, on the balcony. They are like rabbits.

Oh my god mood! Also Carmy with a black gf just makes so much sense in my brain like iykyk!

Especially with Carmy who I feel like would be just a little stressed in the back of his mind because this is a real vacation and that man has never had a day off, he’s always on but he’s left The Bear in capable hands and they’ve all assured him it’ll be fine and he should definitely go on that vacation he’s been talking about for months now, Richie and you practically kidnapped him to go to the airport lmfao, so it takes Carm some time to adjust and really just relax and enjoy himself

But it’s all good cause when that moment does come, yeah he is all over you! Every second he can get because he knows back home this much alone time with you can be hard to come by and he’s not wasting a single second

God he would be insatiable like you’ve never seen him like this and you really like the side of Carmy that’s affectionate and handsy and eager to see you be pleased and to be the one to give that pleasure to you, plus he’s feeling grateful that you’re with him, here in this time and place where you can do whatever and can relax and you’re the one that pushed him to actually take time off from the restaurant

Please like I know he can give it so good, has your back arching, toes curling type of good and he’s so fucking passionate you’re left seeing stars after each time! 🥵

#N E E D #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #the bear blurbs #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x black reader #carmen berzatto x black reader #carmen berzatto headcanons

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cebwrites · 1 year

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Could I ask for headcanons on how sanji, doflamingo or law would react to a very level headed S/O falling into an emotional rage? Not at them, but at an unfair situation? The only one the s/o can hear is them?

hello again, this prompt definitely piqued my interest~

reacting to their S/O raging (Law, Sanji)

gn reader, he/they law word count: 0.5k

Law

They weren’t expecting it, but Law knows exactly what it feels like to bottle everything up under a tight lid, desperate to keep any of it from leaking and exposing his fears, his fury, vulnerabilities

Law would let you air it out, if it’s an enemy that you have to defeat, he’ll do it with you together - if it’s a situation you have to overcome, you’re free to scream and cry to your heart’s content and Law will be here after to help pick up the pieces

They’re well aware of their limitations in the moment, but Law’s more than ready to catch you when the emotional crash hits before you burn - they’ve been there, they’ve gotten out of those pits alive and so will you

Law’s patient, they’re willing to wait if you aren’t ready to bare your fragile underbelly to him, but if it’s getting to a point where it’s actively hurting you, they’ll have to intervene

When the anger burns away and all that’s left is a deep, unrelenting sadness or an apathy that hollows you through your very bones, they’re there to hold you through it, reassure you that you were angry for a reason, however unfair the situation was, they’ll help you find a way out

Sanji

He’s shocked, to say the least

None of this is in any way uncharted territory for him, emotionally speaking, but to find out that someone so close to him was suffering this much in silence - to feel like they couldn’t reach out to him when he was supposed to be someone his partner could rely on through hell or high water - would break Sanji a little

No part of this is your fault, of course, Sanji only blames himself for not noticing the signs sooner, signs that were so obvious within himself that other crew members picked up on them immediately and wasted no time in offering their own versions of help

When you ask for some space afterwards to gather your thoughts Sanji gives you a wide berth, it allows him some time to clear his head, too, and comfort in the way he knows best; food

Sanji picks a dish that takes a while, something he knows will keep him out of your hair while you recoup and other Strawhats have a chance to check in on you, and by the time you peek your head into the kitchen after long hours of solitude - he graces you with the softest smile, asking how you feel and tucking loose stands of your hair behind your ear

Once you lean into his touch, the unspoken permission he’s been waiting for, Sanji swoops you into a big hug, apologizing for his negligence and that he’ll do a better job of paying attention to your needs in the future

You’d sigh and cup his cheek, telling him that it’s not his job as your partner to monitor your feelings, but that his concern is always appreciated and that you promise to speak to him with things earlier, before they can get to that point, in the future

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #law x you #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x gn reader #gn reader #black leg sanji #kuroashi no sanji #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji #sanji x reader

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wonder-mei · 3 months

Text

Together Forever (MK1 Havik)

PS; Not lore accurate to the Mortal Kombat universe, I write because they’re hot.

The foods she made already went cold as they’ve been sitting there for hours. The lady waits for the arrival of her lover,Havik who promised he will be back today in his letter but there is still not a sight of him until dawn. She still sits there since morning believing he will be at their doorstep any minute now, the expectation she’s been having since she awoke at dusk.

She re-reads his letter again ‘I will be back in 3 days, this is a promise. No less or more than those days. The battle is almost over and I can only write this letter for the last time before I go home back to you,my love. I am fine and not hurt at all, do not worry about me. See you in 3 days. I have missed you every second without you by my side. I love you always.

Havik

Today is the third day. She has been excited since yesterday. Cleaning their house,washing every clothes needed and cooking his favorite foods. But where is he? She started to get tired in the chair in the living room. Her eyes haven’t left the front door. Minutes later her eyes closed from exhaustion.

The birds’ chirps awoke her. It’s morning. The 4th day, a day after he promised to be here back home. She walks outside thinking he’ll be in the farm doing the corps. No one is there. She walks to the bathroom. Just cold there. She looks at the foods she made, not a single bit of them were eaten. ‘Maybe the place he is at has heavy rain or even something bad making him no chance to stay there for awhile’ she thinks for her own emotion.

She gave the food to their farm animals not wanting to waste them. Then something caught her eyes, there’s a letter in a basket beside the front door. Did she not see it before? The lady takes it and reads; ‘My love, you have taken well of our house and farm. I am very lucky to have you as my wife. Strong and independent woman. The new dress you are wearing fits you so well complimenting your beauty. I love you’

“Havik?!” she calls out his name looking around their house searching for his sight. He’s not to be seen “Come home,Havik!”

No replies. Just the wind. With a heavy heart she storms back to the house laying down in the bed crying. “Why didn't he come home when he was right here? Did I do something?”,Negative thoughts swam in her mind, making her cry much more. In tears she went to sleep once again with sadness in her heart.

She wakes up hours later feeling hungry. She looks around and no one is in the house beside herself. She went to eat alone and attend their farm. Until night comes, Havik is still not home. She sleeps in sorrow this time.

The next day, the house is still in the same atmosphere; cold and lonely. She walks out from the front door. There’s a letter again in the same basket. She opens it,reading; ‘My love, please don’t cry. It breaks my heart seeing you like this. I am sorry I haven't come home as I promised. I just don’t know how to face you…. I have changed. You won't love me after you see me. I am afraid of losing you. I love you’

What does he mean he changed? Did something go wrong in the mission? That can’t be, he is capable of taking care of himself and heal. So what is he so afraid about?

“Havik,are you hurt?!” She shouts out loud eyes wandering every place around the house “Come home,Havik! I can help you with your wounds!”

Not a single reply.

With the same sorrowful heart, she storms back into the house and sleeps in tears. After she woke up, she didn’t go outside to tend the farm. She isolates herself in the room. She came out the next day, went straight to the front door. A letter again in the basket, ‘Love, I am sorry I hurt you. You didn’t feed the animals yesterday. You must be so hurt by this…. I am sorry. I will apologise to you a million times just for you to feel comfort. I still don’t have the courage for you to see me. I am sorry. I love you’

“Havik come home!” she cries out “Come back to me…”

Again,just silence.

Today, she isolates herself just like before. Eating little food and laying in the bed thinking about Havik wondering why he is still afraid to be seen by her. She’s his wife. Nothing can change her love towards him no matter what. By then, she has an idea.

It was dusk, she lay there quiet under the covers pretending to sleep. The window by the bed creaks open a little. Someone is peeking inside the room and then closes it back. Heavy footsteps walk to the front door stopping there. She slowly walks to the front door and opens the door with a swift. And there he is. Her husband. His back facing her like he was about to leave. She saw him flinch hearing the door open after he laid the letter in the basket again “Havik!” she calls out his name. Tears starts to water down her eyes “Havik, don’t go”

Her heart was heavy looking at his appearance. Havik is a little thinner than before he left for the war. His body becomes more tense as she walks towards him. Her soft hand touches his shoulder “Havik?”, he stand still not turning around “Havik, please i want to see you” she softly asks

Havik slowly turns around. His eyes avoid hers. He covered half of his face with a scarf “Are you hurt?” she reaches the scarf but he stops her “Let me see” her eyes begs him. Havik lets her to uncover his face

He finally looks at her to see her reaction. No sigh of disgust or fear, not the reaction he expected her seeing his new scarred face “Who did this to you?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to avoid the accident”

“Are you in pain?”

She sighs in relief and hugs him tightly “That’s all matter,Havik. I don’t want you to be in pain”

Havik stood there still not knowing what to do. She loves him even though his face is half of his flesh? The thoughts of her leaving him and being scared of him because of new looks was not true. “Are you not scared?”

She looks into his eyes “Never will”

Havik finally returns her embrace. Hugging her tightly, he slowly cries. All those fears of losing her will never happen. Their love for each other is forever even after one of them changed. But love will never change, not a single bit.

“Let’s go home” she holds his hand with the smile he adores so much

“Yes”

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #havik x reader #mortal kombat havik #havik x you

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arealphrooblem · 1 year

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Okay so if you’re doing requests and this looks enjoyable enough to do ( no pressure if you don’t want to I get it) a villain x hero where they’re fighting and hero gets pushed into the water and villian is about to leave but hero can’t swim. So villain is like there’s no way I’m gonna let them die as stupidly as drowning I need to kill them properly and saves them but with a lot of romantic? tension (I’m such a pathetic loser for hero x villian) hope this makes sense lmfao (perhaps hero has a fear of water and is shaking really badly and villian is like hugging and petting them because they feel bad cause they’ve never seen hero so distressed)

Not sure if this is exactly what you pictured but I had fun!

warnings: drowning, near death experience

"Well well well, if it isn't a little mouse caught in my trap."

He had waited before making his entrance, watching the hero struggle to stay upright, clinging to his own feet until his strength left him and he fell back upside down.

His footsteps echoed in the chamber as he stepped further inside. The hero dangled on a rope over a deep pool of water, hands tied behind his back. Villain crouched down and sloshed the water a bit, as if rinsing something from his gloves.

"Or perhaps a worm wriggling on a hook would be a more apt comparison."

The hero glared, though the feathery hair hanging over his face like a sheepdog rather killed the intimidation factor.

"What do you want this time?" he said. "Are you planning some kind of heist? Is there some kind of council of evil-doers you don't want me to mess up?"

The Villain laughed. "You know I don't play well with others. No, I was excavating the cave system here and found, to my delight, an underground lake. It's very deep and very inspiring for a new trap. Which, naturally, you walked right into."

"So you're just using me as a guinea pig?" the hero asked flatly.

Villain dipped another finger back in the water, swirling it around to watch the ripples skitter across the murky depths. "I was thinking of putting in piranhas. An anaconda perhaps? Catfish big enough to swallow you whole."

"You know that kind of thing only works in the movies, right?"

"I could make it work," said the Villain absently, mind already racing turning the logistics of it.

He faintly registered the sound of creaking rope as the Hero struggled, but was too lost in his own thoughts to pay it much attention. He only registered the scraping sound of boots against stone before the fist of the hero came swinging into view.

Villain dodged just in time, the hero's woozy balance from his time spent upside down the only advantage Villain had.

"Next time keep a better eye on your prisoner," the Hero said, cocky grin on his face.

Villain rolled back up to his feet and kicked the hero square in the chest.

The hero fell back into the water, the splash washing up against the Villain's boots.

And then he disappeared. Villain waited for a few seconds.

"There's no point in trying to find an exit," he cried down to the water. "You'll drown before you find your way out."

Nothing. Then, abruptly, the Hero's face broke through the surface long enough to take a strangled gasp of air before sinking back down again.

That was when it finally clicked for Villain -- the Hero was drowning. Right now. He wasted a few more precious seconds, gripped by horrified paralysis, before shucking off his cape and diving into the pool.

For a horrible moment Villain became disoriented -- the same murky darkness was both above and below, the surface incomprehensible. This was a horrible idea -- this was a horrible, stupid idea and now Villain was going to drown right along side Hero and for what? For this irritating need for his attention? For the way he --

A flailing limb caught Villain in the ribs, knocking some much needed sense into him. He wrapped his arms around the Hero's body and began to kick his way upward. (Or what he would pray was upward -- if he was the praying type).

Just as his lungs burned with the desperate need for air, they broke the surface. Villain coughed and spluttered as he dragged the two of them further up the ground. Hero stayed dangerously silent.

"Hero?"

Villain shook him, but the Hero remained unresponsive. He slapped the hero's cheek a few times and then leaned down close his mouth.

No breathing.

Icy dread coiled in the Villain's gut. The past kicked in, training that he hadn't used in years taking over his body. Villain started CPR, the steps carried out on autopilot.

Like riding a bicycle.

Eventually the hero gasped, deep and desperate. Water splattered on the stone as he turned and coughed. Relief made Villain dizzy, like a drug, like a hit of oxygen after asphyxiation.

And then the anger set in.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

The hero didn't answer. He leaned his forehead against the solid ground, breathing shakily.

"Can you not swim?"

How long had Villain left him suspended over that pool? And yet the hero had never flinched, never lost his cool, despite death only a few feet away. It only fueled Villain's anger. What if the rope had been faulty? What if the Hero had lost his balance when he escaped his bonds?

Villain shoved the hero on his back and straddled him, his fingers digging into the other man's soaked shirt.

"How the fuck do you not know how to swim?!" he snarled

The Hero shook his head, one hand clutching at the Villain's. Not to tear away, not to struggle out of the Villain's hold. Just clinging to it. His fingers shook.

In fact, the Villain could feel the Hero's entire body tremble beneath him. Of course -- the cave was cold, the underground lake even more so. But that didn't explain the labored breathing, the eyes squeezed tight, the fingers holding tightly to Villain's hand.

Villain knew fear when he saw it. He dealt in it, his favorite currency. Whatever bravado the Hero had earlier had left him entirely. All that remained was the pit deep terror that only a near-death experience or severe phobia could bring.

It looked wrong on Hero.

"Hey." Villain cleared his throat. "Look at me." He shook the Hero, more gently, until the other man cracked open his eyes. "You're alright. You're on solid ground again. You're safe --"

The hero snorted.

"Well -- safe for now," the Villain amended. He had so much more experience with creating fear than abolishing it.

"Until you find some other way to try to murder me," the hero said.

"You can't pin this one on me," the Villain argued. "I didn't know you were an idiot who couldn't swim."

The Hero's brow furrowed. "Why did you save me? You had the perfect opportunity to finally get rid of me."

"I don't want to get rid of you," Villain hissed before he could filter it.

He froze at the unexpected confession and the Hero cocked his head to the side, eyes alight, fear forgotten.

"Oh?" he said.

"I want to -- destroy you," the Villain amended. "Publicly. So that no one could ever doubt my prowess over yours. There are no witnesses here."

The Hero had the audacity to smirk. "Is that why you kissed me?"

The Villain threw the Hero back down in disgust. "I didn't kiss you -- I performed CPR you absolute buffoon."

"To save my life. Like a Hero."

The triumph in Hero's face was unbearable. Villain stood up, brushing dirt from his clothes, trying to ignore the strange fluttering in his stomach.

"Go home," he said. "We're done here. I trust you can find your own way out. You've done so enough times."

He headed towards the secret elevator, not daring to turn around and look at the Hero still laying on the ground for fear of revealing his red-tipped ears, the flush on his cheeks.

Ridiculous.

He only heard the hero call out once, just before the elevator doors closed.

"Maybe next time you should kiss me." Part 2 here

#My writing #Prompt/idea fills #hero x villain #Male hero x male villain #Enemies to lovers

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stainedglassthreads · 1 year

Text

Thinking about it. People have discussed to death and debated over whether Chara was ‘good’ or ‘evil’, and talked about their feelings on fandom’s early tendency to cast them as a villain. But now I’m wondering why a lot of fanworks cast them as a hyperactive little shit who swears a lot, gets mad easily, argues with everyone, and is sassy as hell.

Sassy and sarcastic I can see if you’re going by Narra Chara. But rude, hyperactive, yandere-esque, and especially the swear words... not so much?

And yeah, I could make arguments about how hiding their face paints a very shy and quiet image. But I’m not going to grasp at straws from still images. I’m going to use dialogue very few ‘Chara is evil’ believers are willing to argue DIDN’T come from them.

In No Mercy, which is the one route basically everyone agrees they narrate, they’re direct and to the point and usually distant and unemotional. They’re not yelling that you’re a fucking donkey for believing you’re above consequences and can take back control, or heartlessly ripping into the monsters for being so foolishly naive and weak, or gloating over their victory. They calmly explain who and what they are, and what they want. The few times they do insult you, they use sophisticated words like ‘perverse sentimentality’. When they dismiss the monsters they’ve met until now, they don’t go out of their way to be really cruel and insulting. They remain direct and to the point, and are usually cold and harsh statements of fact.

Toriel’s check in No Mercy is ‘Not worth talking to.’ They’re not wrong. In every other route, talking does nothing, only persistently sparing her lets you make progress.

Papyrus gets ‘Forgettable’. Again, they’re not wrong. Very few monsters really take notice of him, most only remembering him in relation to other people. As ‘Sans’ brother’ or ‘Undyne’s trainee’.

Monster Kid is just ‘in my way’. Cruel, but objectively not wrong. It’s less of a ponted insult, and more how little they think of them.

For Undyne, the narrator isn’t even particularly cold or disrespectful. In two out of three possible flavor texts, they refer to Undyne as ‘the heroine’. Quite a compliment, and one that isn’t wrong, considering how she’s standing up to a mass murderer and protects Monster Kid.

Mettaton, in No Mercy, gets similarly positive or neutral remarks. ‘Dr Alphys’ greatest invention’ and ‘Mettaton NEO blocks your way’. He sure is blocking your way. And most of the Underground sure does know him as Dr Alphys’ greatest invention. I guess it could be read as sarcastic, but with the tone of all these other bits of flavor text, it feels more like a neutral statement...?

And of course. Sans. He probably has the absolute biggest variety of No Mercy flavor text. ‘The easiest enemy’ could be read as insulting, but this is corrected to a more objective statement of encouragement. ‘He can’t keep dodging forever. Just keep attacking.’ Other bits of flavor text are objective assessments of how tired Sans is, how YOU feel, and how dwelling on the flavor text isn’t a great use of time. At no point do they call him smiley trashbag, that comedian, or...anything really insulting.

At no point do they call ANYONE anything especially insulting. They’re not like Flowey, calling everyone idiots. If anything, a villainous and murderous Chara comes off as more cold and distant. Even the Save Points don’t tell you ‘5 more idiot babies to slaughter’ or specifically demand that you finish everyone off before moving on. Until you reach Sans, Chara makes no effort to discourage or persuade you. They just state objectively ‘x left’ or ‘but nobody came’.

They just... don’t care. They don’t care about any of these people anymore, not even enough to waste energy on insulting them. All they care about is reaching ‘the end’. (Or one could argue they’re at least trying to act like they don’t care.)

Chara states that they were confused upon awakening and chose to follow your lead. Personally I’m inclined to believe that they’re not lying. They choose to follow our orders to the utmost, even when they do not understand those orders, even when those orders lead them to the edge of annihilation.

On a final note. It’s kinda sad how Chara’s systematic completionist mentality is cold and horrifying in No Mercy... but in the Winter Alarm Clock dialogue, it’s a funny anecdote of a more lighthearted time which both Asgore and Toriel remember fondly, and a behavior Asriel still continues to emulate even after he stops idolizing Chara.

Any trait, when taken to the extreme, can become nightmarish.

#undertale #undertale meta #undertale analysis #chara #chara dreemurr #undertale no mercy #no mercy

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yanphobia · 1 year

Text

Cleithrophobia - Chapter 11

Cleithrophobia: The fear of being trapped.

Pairing: Yandere Male Drider OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, Spiders, NonCon Touching, Possible NonCon (depending on reader's interpretation), Implied Female Reader (although it doesn't really factor too heavily into the plot), Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 10 Index

Author's Note: Aaaand that's a wrap! I was going to wait until next week to post this, but you've all been so good waiting for updates that I thought you deserved to get it early. It's been so much fun starting this blog and seeing your reactions to the new chapters, and I can't wait to get started on my next story. I have a few ideas bouncing around, so stay tuned! But in the meantime, enjoy the final installment of our angry spider man!

This story was inspired by cobalt-sphinx's Drider x Reader from Quotev.

You didn't die that night; no. Death would’ve been kinder.

Every waking moment, the events of that night haunted you. Every time you fell asleep, it was as though you were reliving it all again.

Mars hadn’t let up the second you fell into his den. You tumbled down the tunnel that would be too steep to ever climb out of and slammed against the cold ground of the hollowed-out nest below, dimly lit with the lantern you had left in your meeting spot earlier in the night. The impact caused you to lose your breath, but almost immediately he was lifting you up again, roughly shoving his tongue down your throat as you weakly attempted to push him away.

Then he carried you to the newly laid webs in the corner... you shut your eyes. You didn’t want to remember what happened next.

But even now, you could still feel his hands ripping through your clothes, shredding them and leaving you in your most vulnerable state. You could feel his fangs tearing through the soft, delicate flesh of your body, the wet sound of his mouth slurping up your blood in between his loud proclamations of hate. Your voice was gone from all of the screaming, and crying, and begging for mercy, and you weren’t sure how often you passed out only to wake up again in the throes of your torture.

He had left no part of you untouched, unviolated, and you haven’t seen him since.

At some point, you had woken up to find him gone, and although it was impossible to tell how long you’d been here, it had to have been at least a few days. You were forced to lie there, starving and weak in a pool of your own blood and waste, as you fought with yourself to maintain your sanity. There was something inside of you, some weak desire to escape from the hell you’ve been subjected to, that was keeping you alive.

It was quiet, but eventually you heard the scratching of his legs against the dirt walls of the tunnel. He stopped when he reached the bottom, no doubt confused by the darkness of the den. You couldn’t bear to look at your injuries anymore, and over the course of a few excruciating hours you were able to roll over and turn the lantern off.

“This,” he said, as you heard him approach, “was supposed to stay on!”

The lights flickered on and you saw your captor’s irritated face, which quickly turned to surprise. It would’ve been almost comical, if you had the heart to laugh. The two of you looked each other over, him, holding the corpse of a goat by its broken neck, and you, looking like a prey animal that had met a much slower end. As he took you in, his confusion turned to an obvious disgust, and the embarrassment and shame you felt at your current state overtook you.

“...”

“They’re infected.” You were quick to explain. “The wounds, they’ve, uh... they’re festering. They need to be treated.”

It was awful and seeing them again was nothing short of nightmarish. There had been nothing here to clean them when they were fresh, and you wouldn’t have had the strength to do so anyway. In your solitude, you slowly watched as the area around the lacerations swelled and reddened, while a thick, foul-smelling pus leaked out of them. They burned and the redness spread around your body, along with the fever that’s been plaguing you ever since. Your skin glistened with sweat as you watched your skin begin to yellow, and then blacken, shriveling away to reveal the deep-seated fascia and layers of fat underneath. You laid there in agony as your condition worsened, all the while remembering your readings about the necrotizing properties of spider venom.

You were rotting away, from the outside in.

“Please...” you begged, your voice so weak and pathetic sounding that it only embarrassed you further. “Please, let me go. I just have to... have to treat it. I have to go to a hospital.”

He remained unimpressed. “Do you really think that will work on me?”

“I’m serious!” You begged. “I’ll do anything... I’ll come back the second that I can. But I can’t put it off any longer...!” He eyed your injuries again, observing old blood stains on the webs underneath you. The smell was nauseating, and perhaps that was what made him compromise.

“I’ll get you water-”

“No! Water would not do anything at this point, not this far along.“ The only thing that could save you now was a clean environment, with plenty of antibiotics, steroids, skin grafts.

“Please,” you tried again, “I swear to you that I will come back. I’ll die if I don’t!”

“You’ll die?!” He scoffed. “What do you think I do every day? How do you think I feel, knowing that you’re here, wanting to be close to you, but then remembering all of the shit that you did to me?! What I suffer, [Y/N], is a fate worse than death, and all of it is because of you.”

He leaned closer and held up the dead goat.

“This-” he said, shaking it in front of your eyes, “is what I’m supposed to be. An apex predator, one that listens to no one, especially not a useless human like yourself!”

And with that, he tore into its flesh. He maintained eye contact with you as you watched the meat of its body break down and liquify. You imagined yourself in the later stages of your necrosis, with your internal organs falling apart the same exact way.

You didn’t have it in you to be sick anymore. You were too numb. As you watched Mars devour his meal, you realized that this was the exact fate that you deserved. For all of the things that you’ve done to the people you claimed to care about. For Laura, Stan, and Shadow, whose deaths you had caused. You could never be allowed to make a full recovery, physically or mentally, because you have not earned it.

You sighed, closed your eyes, and waited for nature to take its course.

---

Mars stared down at your unconscious form. You hadn’t been responsive for a few days, and he had lost the last of his patience. He knew, in his heart, that you were being dramatic, that your injuries THAT HE INFLICTED UPON YOU were not nearly as bad as you claimed. He even cleaned your wounds for you, scrubbing them down using water from a nearby pond YOU’D TOLD HIM WATER WAS NOT ENOUGH TO HEAL YOU and the scraps of your old shirt.

He’s done everything he could NO HE HASN’T but you still refused to wake up.

“Hey.” He barked out. Silence.

“HEY.” This time he kicked you. Again, silence.

He knelt, taking one of your hands in his. He briefly glanced over the withered, blackened fingertips and yellowed, peeling nails, before biting into your cold palm. Blood gushed from the puncture, and he waited intently for you to wake up screaming, but he was still met with silence.

He stood and dropped your hand, which fell listlessly to the ground, and licked your blood from his lips. It was off, somehow, extremely sour and not at all as warm and sweet as it used to be.

His hands raked through his hair as he thought to himself. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what a rotten carcass looked like, he had seen them many times out in the woods. But you weren’t dead. You couldn’t be.

Slowly, he approached you again, and even slower, he lowered his ear to the marred flesh above your heart, ignoring the bit of yellow puss that rubbed off onto his cheek.

A heartbeat. He could barely feel it, much less hear it, but it was still there. He looked again at your disfigured face, at the deep cuts in the muscles that so closely resembled the raw meat that you used to bring to him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what a creature in its final moments looked like.

---

You had no way of feeling your naked body being wrapped in a dirty threadbare blanket, or the night’s cool air on your face. You couldn’t feel the way it rocked back and forth as it was carried through the forest. You couldn’t feel it being propped up against the wooden balusters of a front porch, either.

You could, however, hear a voice pulling you back from the darkness that you had been lost in.

“Alright, you’ve won.” It said. It kept tugging on the fabric around you. Adjusting it.

“I’ll take your previous deal.”

When a star is about to die, it receives one final burst of energy before it diminishes completely. Why that was the first thought you had as you mustered up the strength to open your eyes... you could not tell.

Your vision was blurry, and in your left eye it was almost entirely gone. You didn’t have a way to see how milky and deteriorated it had become. But somehow, you were able to make out a few pairs of red eyes staring at you, and a wide, thin mouth which revealed black fangs when it spoke next.

“Go, then, to your little human hospital and sort all of this out. And then afterwards – immediately afterwards – you'll come home again. Don’t... don’t you di-”

His voice caught in his throat, then he huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t you try to screw me over, okay? I’ll know if you try to get out of this one...!”

He stood up then, seemingly miles above you, and gave one final warning:

“Go there and come right back, [Y/N]. Just like you promised.”

Your eyes began to defocus as you heard him bang loudly on the front door and run away, into the pitch-black forest behind you. The door opened, and you heard the woman’s voice change as she processed the macabre scene before her.

“Hello? What is...? Oh... oh my God! Kids! Brandon, Kayla, get in your rooms! Get in them, right now! Charlie, I – Charlie, call 911! You- hey... are you alive? ...Listen, we’re going to get you help! We’re calling an ambulance! Just... just stay awake, alright? Just don’t fall asleep...!”

You held on to her words as much as you could. Deep down, you still felt the animalistic urge to continue living. No, a part of you still wanted to believe that you could get through to the other side of this, as little as you may deserve it. But as your eyelids pulled themselves closed, and as you felt your conciousness begin to slip, you weren’t so sure that you had the strength to hold on anymore...

THE END.

#yandere x reader #yandere fiction #tw yandere #drider #drider oc x reader #terato #terato x reader #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere male #yandere drider #drider x reader #yandere writing #yandere oc x reader #cleithrophobia

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serickswrites · 10 months

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Aaaa may I please ask this for the sole reason that you write the best comatose scene in the site? 😭 A wakeup scene of whumpee who had been in the coma for months. They feel awful, they’re breathing through a tube sown on their throat, and they’ve yet to look at any mirror but can see their hand is significantly wasting. Worst of all is of course, the sight of caretaker. Tired, thinner, near-irrecognizable caretaker who had been by their side the entire time, the wait took a toll on them.

Oh my gosh, thank you! So glad you like what I put out there!

And yes! I can definitely write this! Please feel to make a request any time!

Warnings: hospital, coma, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee clawed their way out of the darkness. The world had been dark for so long. So dark. So silent. So empty. It had gone dark.....so long ago, Whumpee couldn't remember the last time they had seen light.

Whumpee blinked against the dark as light started to filter through. Just a bit further. They blinked once more. Blinked and realized their was something in their mouth. Something down their throat. Something forcing air through their lungs.

No. NO. NONONONONO.

Panic gripped Whumpee as they tried to move to rip whatever was in their mouth out. "You need that, Whumpee. Don't touch it," Caretaker's raspy voice came from their right side. "Just let it be."

Whumpee blinked again. Caretaker? Had Caretaker been in the dark with them? Why wasn't Caretaker helping them? Whumpee tried to lift their head, tried to get up, but couldn't. Their body felt impossibly heavy. They couldn't even lift their hands. Why won't you help me, Caretaker. Please. Help.

Whumpee tried to turn to look at their hand, but couldn't. Their head weighed too much. They tried to look out of the corner of their eye at their hand and their mouth went dry. Their hand was so pale, so thin, bony even. When did that happen? What happened?

They looked further up out of the corner of their eye to where they thought Caretaker would be. If Whumpee could have gasped, they would have. Caretaker was a shell of who they once were. Their once full face was now nothing but bones. They were pale. Empty looking. Caretaker! What happened? Caretaker!

"It's ok, Whumpee," Caretaker said as they cleared their throat once more. "You're ok. You're in a hospital."

Whumpee blinked at Caretaker. I figured as much.

"You had a terrible accident. You've been in a coma." Caretaker's eyes were filling with tears as they spoke.

Coma? That explains the breathing tube. Accident? I don't remember. How long ago was that? How long have I been like this?

"You've...you've...you've," Caretaker's voice broke, "you've been here a while, Whumpee. But I never left you alone. I'm not going to leave you alone. And you're still here," Caretaker reached out to touch Whumpee's cheek. If Whumpee could have jerked away, they would have, Caretaker's bony hand was icy cold. "You're still here."

I'm here. I'm here. I didn't leave. I'm not going anywhere, Caretaker. I promise.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw hospital #tw coma #hurt/aftermath #hurt/recovery #hurt/comfort #caretaker and whumpee #requests #queue

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dottiechan · 5 months

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TWC Secret Santa @wayhavensecretsanta ❄ - Happy holidays, @ejunkiet!

It was an absolute pleasure to create for you, I love Lizzie and Ava so much!!! 🩵 I couldn't decide whether to draw or write, so enjoy a bit of both. (BTW I seriously recommend @ejunkiet's fics of their detective OC Lizzie Quail, they're so good.) Happy holidays again! xx P.s. If you saw me accidentally post a draft of my gift to you a few days before... Shhh no you didn't. 🥲

Summary: After Unit Bravo's holiday dinner with Detective Lizzie Quail, Felix realises all the photos he took with his polaroid camera are botched.

Wordcount: 835

Warnings: smoking, Fuzzy Holidays Feels™

Too blurry. Too crowded. Mason is holding up his middle finger. Not focused on the subject. Ava appears to be sneering?

The polaroids scatter on the floor as they’re being dropped, Felix’s frustration seemingly travelling through his fingertips and into the botched pictures as they skitter across the parquet. He had such high hopes for this holiday dinner they’ve panned - he even volunteered, much to Nat’s suspicion, to help decorate the warehouse to prepare the background for his perfect winter photos. There doesn’t seem to be a single wall or piece of furniture without strings of fairy lights or garlands hanging off them - and yet somehow, he managed to mess up all the pictures he took.

“I should have just used my phone, not this stupid polaroid Nat gave me,” he grumbles, as he sinks to the floor dramatically from the sofa. He turns his head to the left, expecting a response from Mason, but aside from the shrug of a shoulder, and a puff of smoke, he’s as disinterested as always. Felix allows his head to loll right now, and peeks through the open doors into the dining room, but his other team members are too far to share in his misery. Lizzie is in the middle of a story, which has Nat’s full attention, and Ava’s full, well, everything? Attention, adoration, respect, senses, everything. They’re cute, the way they hold hands over the table, how Ava squeezes Lizzie's hand encouragingly when she trails off or gets embarrassed by her own rambling. Felix hoped he would capture a moment between them, something candid, something like right now, but he’s missed his windows of opportunity - like for instance when Ava finally allowed herself to be dragged under the mistletoe with Lizzie, but their picture was ruined by the detective spilling her drink all over herself.

“Felix?”

“Leave me alone,” he replies, but he also cracks one eye open to make sure Nat, who’s just entered the room, doesn’t lose interest in his pity party on the floor. But she’s already retreating, so he starts flailing his limbs as if he were making a snow angel in the sea of polaroids. “Please don’t leave me alone. Mason won’t talk to me and I’m embarrassed. I messed up all the pictures. I tried taking them like you showed me but I messed up.”

“They’re not so bad,” Nat says kindly as she sits with her friend, plucking the odd semi-decent pictures from the ground. “See? This is lovely.”

“Yeah, but Lizard has hot chocolate spilt on her sweater in that one.”

“Don’t call her that,” Mason grumbles, as he sweeps some polaroids off his lap - the by-product of Felix’s snow angel performance - and flicks his cigarette into the flames of the fireplace. Nat pretends not to see, but the pain flashing across her features has already made Felix feel a little better. They spend the better of the next hour going through the pictures and sorting them out, while Mason sits close-by, smoking, lost in his thoughts. All that breaks their peace is Frank Sinatra’s drawling voice coming from the record player, and the occasional laughter from the lovebirds still camped in the dining room. By the end of it, they’re left with a handful of decent-ish photographs, and Felix wastes no time sticking them into the photo album he got from Lizzie for Christmas.

There was a moment today, a moment worth capturing, one that was befitting of the old silver screen movies Nat made him and Lizzie watch, between Ava and their beloved detective. Naturally, Felix - a rotten romantic at heart - is pissed that he wasn’t able to capture it. It was a moment far better than the forced kiss under the mistletoe, a moment of intimacy, when the pair thought they were away from prying eyes. A hand under Lizzie’s jaw, Ava’s eyes fixed on the prize, wanting to kiss but being unable to take their eyes off of each other… Obviously the shutter of the camera ruined it, causing the pair step away from each other, and Lizzie to hide her blushing cheeks behind the curtain of her frizzy hair, but that’s beside the point. They were happy. Maybe happier than he’s ever seen them. Things are often so fucked up, with the odds always stacked against them, that Felix sometimes lives in the comfort of these moments. He lives in his family’s happiness, in his friends’ laughter, in Lizzie’s tight hugs, in Ava’s pats on the shoulder… If he could, he’d capture all these moments in a jar and keep them very close always. Photographs are the next best thing - which is why he’s bummed out the picture he took of this moment must be so unrecognisable that it was swallowed by his sea of botched photographs.

He’s lost in thought when Mason nudges his shoulder, a polaroid of Lizzie and Ava in his hand stretched towards him.

“Found this under the sofa. Not too bad, if you’re into this lovey-dovey shit.”

#twc secret santa #ava du mortain #twc detective #twc fanart #twc fanfic #dottiechanart #dottiechan writes #digital art #other people's ocs

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elmundodeflor · 7 months

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The Tale Of The Butterflies - Now Out on AO3

CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL FIC

"This goes out to my grandma

Who fell with the April breeze

And just like the autumn leaves

I hope she grows back to me

When butterflies migrate on to spring."

Grass creaks under their boots as they walk. It’s their one day-off, and Hanji had insisted on them going out the walls to explore.

“C´mon! It’ll be fun!”, they’d said. And Levi, though reluctant, had accepted in the end. He had thought about using the spare time to clean around headquarters. But the weather was too nice to waste. Besides, they had already fixed a cleaning-day a few weeks prior. A little sun wouldn’t hurt him much.

He sighs, stares at the clearing before him. It’s early spring, and the first-born sprouts begin to poke from the trees; branches dotted by shy specs of green. It’s a wonderful sight, he has to admit. Light seeps through the leaves, paints the fields of cellophane gold. And he thinks, he’s quite glad Hanji had dragged him out for a walk, after all. Even when, by walk, he means listening to their rambles or getting his clothes dirty.

“Look!”, he hears them call. They are pointing at a rare flower, lost somewhere in a midst of wood and brown. A butterfly floats around its petals; its wings fragile, fluttering in see-through yellow. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

Levi hums. Hanji had taken him discover the pretty to the world. The sparkle that laid in common-detail, so often invisible to the eye. He had a much more different stance at life before he met them, he tells himself. The Underground was harsh, and cold, and ruthless. And so, he thought he could only seek survival, then.

“It’s still a bug.”, he huffs. His voice is rather soft, despite the rough tone.

Hanji laughs at him, as if their fingers had caught the sweet within his words.

“I've never told you about butterflies, haven’t I?”, they ask; arms crossed over their chest. The afternoon light splatters over brown hair. Has turned their glasses into a stained kaleidoscope. “Come, quick! Get over here!”

Levi shakes his head, but does so, anyways. Truth is, they had shown him the colors of the wild, helped him understand rain and stars. It made him feel like he belonged, somehow. Like he could always find rainbows hidden in a universe that had unraveled to black and white.

"What is it?"

Hanji extends a finger. The butterfly has perched upon it, foolishly mistaken it for a flower petal. It makes them giggle; how its tiny legs trickle their skin. How Levi gives them a knowing stare, wide-eyed and curious.

“These babies”, they tell him, as they lift their hand up. “Only live for a single day.”

Levi frowns. His mouth parts open: an expression of sheer innocence. It’s almost as if he’s just starting to grow, like leaves that crawl from the mud. He doesn’t quite understand, yet, the way some things work. And he takes a guess, even if just to entertain the idea, that it’s nice to be a little bit naive, still.

“I call bullshit.”, he grunts. The butterfly sits in quiet; its wings shimmering under the timid rays of dusk. How could something so complex fade away so quickly?

Hanji laughs, louder this time.

“It’s true!”, they try to defend themselves. Their smile is warm and kind, wider than the open fields. “They start as caterpillars, first.”, they explain, though rather careful. “Then, they go through a transition process known as metamorphosis.”

Levi says nothing for a while, drinks in every trace of sunlight. He can’t help but think that they sound like an expert, indeed. That it’s just like they’ve spent their whole lives searching for answers to the mysteries of nature.

He looks at the butterfly first, and at Hanji, after. They’re holding their finger up to their nose, so near they’ve turned crossed-eyed and dizzy. He figures, probably, there’s tenderness about the ways they have for exploring. That his soul is left exposed at the sight of them: skewed glasses, clothes speckled.

“Ah, well…!”, he hears them speak again. “I just find it so incredible! A few months in and ta-da! They completely change forms.”

He scoffs. It seemed gross, in all honesty. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.

“All that and just to die within a day, huh...?”, he sighs, disappointed.

Hanji nods, and takes his hand into theirs for a moment. There’s a thin layer of dust that’s collected underneath their nails. A warm splotch of sweat that peppers over their palms, too.

Still, Levi doesn’t care.

"Super unfair, if you ask me.", he watches them shrug, ever so carefree. The butterfly's fumbled from their finger onto his, made a home out of his embrace. And he feels as though time has stopped, right there and then. Like he's cradling a daydream too good to be true. "So, pay attention, alright? We're probably never gonna see this again!"

He catches his breath. The butterfly spreads its wings, shows them every hue of golden and yellow. It's fascinating, he thinks, as he brings it up close to his face. He'd been told, the world was supposed to be one filled with despair. An irregular battlefield, where love could only come at the cost of loss.

Yet, he notices, there's a beauty that remains precious, even in the simple. Some kind of wonder that stays in moments of quiet: the fading sunsets, the blink of an eye. Hanji goes on adventures, smiles with their heart light. And he finds that it's contagious, really. That passion of theirs. That they can let joy bloom in places others had planted with sorrow.

How do they do it?

“I don’t get it.”, he complains. And they let out a giggle: a sound that drifts away with the breeze.

“You don’t have to, Levi.”, they tell him. The traces of their voice hang loose around the edges; his name a soft whisper on their lips. “To be frank, I don’t quite get it myself, either…”

He remains quiet for a minute, takes in the perfume that lingers in the air. A smile of his own has blossomed on his mouth, shy as wildflowers that push above-ground. He's aware of how stubborn he can be. How he can seem cool and unfazed, at times. Still, he decides that, maybe, Hanji can be right, if only just for now. That there’s some kind of comfort in sharing himself with someone who simply understands.

He exhales, and looks up at the butterfly: the way it floats off to the afternoon. It appears to him, somehow, the meadows feel emptier now that it’s gone. Yet, he’s certain, there’s not much he can do about what’s finite, after all.

Some things are meant to slip beyond one’s line of comprehension, anyways.

"I think we should start heading back.", he offers, as he gets up to sweep the mud that’s on his pants. The sun’s about to set, and all he really wishes for is a long, hot shower before dinner.

Hanji grazes him another smile, and helps themselves off the floor, as well.

“Then admit that you had fun, at least!”, they tease. And Levi figures, perhaps, to them happiness can be only but a butterfly, in the end. The brittle that's in beauty. The fleeting one yearns to keep from the sweet betrayals of time.

He huffs and turns around to stare at them, still walking a few steps behind. He did have a wonderful day, indeed. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.

"Don’t be stupid.", he goes, instead. And they laugh in response, loud, and wild, and clear. “We’re gonna be late for tea.”

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