#[ thank you ] - mirage / musing

[hymns-across-the-stars]

Tagdump

// gets added to sometimes

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

Hiiiii! I read your cozy Starscream comfort fic on Ao3 and have followed you here :3

You mentioned being open to writing prompt requests; if this one strikes your fancy, I have one for you!

Prompt:

Something comforting about a Human!Reader who lately feels overlooked because they are inclined to be quiet in a group, and their shyness means they don't speak up or assert themselves unless something is really, really important. They listen far more than they speak. And even when they do speak up in a group... it's like no one hears them often times, and they get talked over.

Starscream, Soundwave, Optimus, or Mirage, if either of those four 'bots stir your muse?

Ahhh! Thank you for your request, and I’m sorry for the wait. I haven’t had the opportunity to write for Soundwave, OP, or Mirage so I’ll do blurbs for all four, but you mentioned Screamer is one of your favorites, so I made his a little longer! I hope you enjoy!

Soundwave (G1) WC: 608

The Decepticon site of operations is lively in the face of the most recent win against the Autobots, meaning high grade is being passed around like no one’s business. As the resident human, on site to assist the Decepticons with tasks that only small hands can manage- even smaller than the minis and the cassettes can manage. Only problem is- with how tiny and squishy you are, it is important that the cons watch their step- a task they frequently forget to do, even the Leader of the Decepticons himself, who made the declaration. 

With the high grade flowing and inhibitions lowering, the pedes around you hold no caution, making it obvious your… friends(?) have forgotten your existence… again. Having had enough of nearly becoming a smear on the floor, you make your way to the side of the room and press yourself to the wall as you scooch your way to the doorway. As soon as you make your escape from the room, you slam into someone’s shin and fall back on your rear.

“Inquiry: Why are you distressed?”

Looking up, the one and only Soundwave looking down at you with his helm tilted, a reminder that you’re so small and often forgotten surges through you and forces your eyes to well up with tears. It was such an odd feeling, crying at the pedes of one of the high command officers, who you can only imagine is staring blankly at you through his visor. Instead of waiting for any answer, the mech lifts you with his thumb and index digit and carries you away from the scene. It’s hard to keep track of where he’s taking you, your blurred vision keeping you from mapping his walking patterns.

After a few moments, your tears have slowed enough for you to wipe them away, just in time to see Soundwave briefly stop before a door and have him open it with a couple of buttons on the wall. Walking in, you notice Frenzy and Rumble in a halfhearted argument, Lazerbeak perched on the edge of the rather large berth, and Ravage curled up in the middle who, upon hearing Soundwave’s return, lifts his head to regard him. The Commander approaches his berth, Ravage moving temporarily before curling up in his master’s lap, once he made sure you were comfortable. Rumble and Frenzy grinning, their previous conversation dropped at the prospect of a recharge of a new entertainment source, run and climb their way onto the berth on either side of Soundwave, and on his shoulder, Lazerbeak finds his new perch.

“Ooo, is the human going to tell us about human stuff?” Frenzy’s grin doesn’t waver as he leans in toward you. Normally, the cassettes are much too wrapped up in either infighting or Soundwave’s orders, so they don’t really talk to you much, unless you’re needed for something.

“They will speak if they want. Or they can recharge.” Soundwave, as per usual, speaks plainly- it would be easy to misunderstand his tone for uncaring curtness, if you didn’t know him and the care for his cassettes better. 

Rumble and Frenzy both look to you, hopeful, and even Ravage, with his head in your lap, looks up to you in mild interest. It was a nice change of pace in comparison to the giants who would often forget you were even there. It briefly occurred to you to thank Soundwave later for not only helping you get away from the so-called party, but giving you some well-needed attention. You smile gently to the cons looking to you and clear your throat,

“Um… well, what would you like to know?”

Optimus (TFP) Gender-neutral reader WC: 692

“I’m not sure if that’ll work, Ratchet.” Arcee peeks around the medic’s frame, looking at the plans for intercepting a possible shipment of energon the Decepticons were planning on transporting, if their movement patterns indicated anything. You look at the computer from your spot on the raised platform, trying to make sense of the plan Ratchet had input.

“Maybe if-” You spoke up, albeit softly, trying to find a compromise, though you’re promptly cut off by the previously mentioned mech.

“And I’m not sure when I asked for your opinion, Arcee. Shouldn’t you be looking over your ward?” Ratchet snaps back, tired and obviously agitated by the state of the Autobot’s own energon storage. 

“Ratchet, that seems a little-” You try again.

“I’m just saying. It’s not like you’re on the field much- there are better ways to plan an interception of Decepticon forces.” The blue and pink femme argues, tensions rising as her optical ridges furrow and a servo finds its way to her hip. 

“Don’t forget who-”

You don’t stay around long enough to hear whatever snide comment the older bot was going to spit at Arcee, tired of feeling ignored and make your way down the hall, wanting to be anywhere other than the main silo of the base. Passing by Optimus, you don’t say anything, not wanting the feeling of anyone else not acknowledging your existence to sting you yet again today.

“My friend, you seem disheartened.” Optimus’ deep voice reverberates through the hall, less of a question and more of a statement, not giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t hear him. You turn around and grant him a half smile, before it drops and you avert your gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Optimus. You might want to lend Ratchet and Arcee a servo- they’re caught up in a bit of a feud about the next mission.” Tapering off at the end, Optimus briefly glances towards the main part of the Autobot headquarters, where he can faintly hear the aforementioned pair squabbling about details he would hear about and consider later.

“Those two have been fighting this war for many stellar cycles and will come to a solution. For now, I believe I have something much more pressing to focus on.” Taking a knee, the leader of the Autobots holds down a servo for you to step onto. Once you have taken a seat and braced yourself against one of his digits, Optimus stands and holds you close to his chassis for further stability and begins walking back to his habsuite. “You do not have to tell me what is troubling you, but you are free to do so.”

It takes you a moment- you feel silly singing your woes to someone who has been fighting in a civil war for longer than you can conceive, but the feelings simply bubble up, “I feel small… smaller than I am, I mean. I can’t imagine the stress and exhaustion everyone faces from fighting for so long, but it feels like no one sees me. And if they do, they can’t bring themselves to care.” You curl up in Optimus’ hand and take a shaky breath through your welling tears, “I must sound so selfish- you all have so much more important things to do than worry about the feelings of some human.”

“One of our human friends.” Optimus chimes in, drawing your eyes away from boring holes into your knees to his optics, “It is true that we are anxious for the end of this war, but know this, you are our friend, and we care so deeply for you. You matter just as much as any other autobot, Cybertronian or human. I can assure you, I am not the only one who holds this belief.”

Before you say anything, the mech stops in front of his door, punching in his code and sitting you on a desk that must have been built for his size and he sits himself on his berth. He gives you a rare, gentle smile that fills so many with hope.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Mirage (ROTB) Gender-neutral reader    WC: 533

“Woah, woah, woah! What’s got you down in the dumps?” Mirage looks through your apartment window, forcing a yelp from your throat. You leap up from your bed and rush to the window, motioning for him to get down. 

“What are you doing?! Get down before someone sees you!”

It’s pitch black out, wherever the street light doesn’t touch, but you still worry about the possibility of Mirage being seen, like he was when you met him as he was standing outside of Noah’s apartment- which then basically sucked you into this crazy adventure of saving the world from other space robots. You had stayed behind with Bumblebee to watch over him until a sudden surge in the energon brought him back, so you unfortunately missed all of the action of the final battle.

“Nice try, but no avoiding the question. Besides, no one’s walkin’ around at like… 2:50 am.” Despite his counter, Mirage lets go of the fires escape’s railing, his new frame rattling and resulting in a resounding thud and more than a couple of cracks in the pavement below. One of his servos comes into view for you to jump on, “Come on, small fry, I wanna go for a ride while the streets are as empty as they’ll get.”

“Why not get Noah to go with you? He too busy?” Your questioning would lead the bot to believe you wouldn’t be joining him for a spin, if he didn’t feel you carefully climb aboard. He lowers you to his eye level and shoots you one of his contagious smiles.

“Naaah. I felt like a you and me kind of night. I want to hear about what you’re up to, now that I’m not locked up in that garage anymore.” For further emphasis, he stretches his arms out wide and groans in relief. It had been a few months since Peru, and while you had visited Mirage while Noah had been fixing him up, it definitely wasn’t the same as him being out and in his element.

He doesn’t wait for any further response and transforms, quickly making his way down the road, no particular destination in mind, knowing him. The city passes you by quickly, Mirage not giving a second thought to any speed limit signs he sees, remembering he considers them suggestions, not law. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Mirage clears his throat, “Well? The tread on my tires isn’t getting any thicker- what’s my favorite human been up to?”

“Your favorite, huh?” Whether or not he really meant it, the thought brings a smile to your face. 

“Well, duh. I got out of that garage, and the first thing I did was come see you, so spill the oil- gimme drama.”

“...You won’t believe what Elena told me happened at the museum the other day-”

The rest of the evening was spent driving the backroads outside of the city, telling Mirage anything and everything. Mirage listens aptly, responding when needed, and takes pleasure in knowing he’s distracted you from whatever was dragging you down. You’re part of his home team, and he’s not just going to stand by while you fall victim to your thoughts.

Starscream (TFP) Gender-neutral   WC:1431

“Starscream! I have something to-” Running towards the seeker, his back plate remains facing you as he keeps his focus on Megatron. He normally turns to you, happy to see what his little human has to tell him. Your smile faltering after recognizing he has no plans to turn toward you, “Starscream? Are you ok?”

Megatron glances briefly towards you, but doesn’t say anything to neither you nor his second in command, likely due to the fact that they were waiting for Soundwave to return with more information before choosing any action, so your presence isn’t much of an interruption. Trying to hold onto the hope he just has yet to hear or notice you, you give his heel strut a tap, remembering how he had once told you he keeps special attention to that area for you. You furrow your brow at the confirmation of him ignoring you, your voice lowering in volume, “Starscream, what’s going on?”

“Starscream, I suggest you see to your… pet, before it becomes too much of a distraction.” Megatron growls at him, not bothering to glance back down at you.

“Of course, Lord Megatron. It was just leaving.” He still didn’t look down to you, keeping his optics glued to his leader.

It?

Without further ado, you quickly leave the room, not having any desire to stay where you are not wanted. Storming down the hall, you aren’t sure where you’re heading, but the plan was getting out, even if just for a few hours. There was no leaving the Decepticons- especially not with everything you’ve overheard, been told, and seen- you’d be hunted down in less than a day. 

“Woah-ho-ho! Where are you headed off to?” Breakdown, despite standing to the side to allow you to pass without the possibility of disaster occurring. The blue mech and his partner have been a nice comfort and support system ever since Starscream first brought you onto The Nemesis, often shielding you from Megatron’s ire when Starscream wasn’t around. 

“I’m finding a way off this ship, since I’ve obviously worn out my novelty.” You sniffle, refusing to shed a tear over someone you thought cared about you. 

“...How about I take you to the lab, so you can tell Knockout and me about what happened.” Breakdown smiled down at you, letting it grow when you nod and allow him to lift you up and onto his shoulder. And before long, you were sitting in front of Knockout and Breakdown explaining what happened on the bridge. 

“-and then he goes, ‘it was just leaving’. He called me an it.” Whispering, you were sitting on one of the medical tables while both mechs lean against a parallel table. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, finally looking up to gauge their reactions. There stood Knockout with his mouth slightly agape, and Breakdown’s frown was deeply set in his faceplate.

“That slimy, scrawny-”

“Now now, Breakdown. I think there’s a lesson we can teach our superior.” Knockout, being broken out of his aghast stupor, rested a servo on his partner’s shoulder and smirks. He returns his attention to you and raises an optical ridge, “How does that sound?”

“Depends on what you mean, I guess.”

“Well, I deduced that you likely ran from the room after you were disrespected, am I right?” As you nod, he continues, “Right, so the last time Starscream saw you, you were in quite the distressed state. My idea is to let him believe that you left and let the slagger squirm in a panic.”

“He won’t. He didn’t even look at me earlier. Why would he care now?” The hem that you’ve been playing with during this conversation now scrunched in your fingers, hating the thought you’ve been discarded with so little thought.

A digit lifts your chin, forcing you to face the medic and his assistant, who smile down at you, “Trust me, dear. Starscream will care, he’s just an aft.

*        *        *        *        *        *

“Starscream, sir.” Breakdown hastily walks onto the bridge, mentally noting the lack of Megatron. 

“Breakdown… what is it?” Starscream turns to face the destructive warrior, face obviously in no mood for foolishness.

“The human-”

“What’s happened?” Starscream’s optics widen, panic already setting in.

“They’re gone, sir.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone?! They are to remain on this ship at all times, unless they are accompanied by myself!” Starscream grabs Breakdown by the edge of his chassis plating and pulls him forward to better snarl in his face. 

“They said something about being done with their stay here and made their way to one of the storage bays with the airlocks.” Breakdown shrugs, not showing any care for the mech who is beginning to dig his talons into his frame. Knockout wouldn’t be happy about his partner’s scratched paint and plating, but that would be a problem to deal with later. 

“Why would you not stop them, you incompetent-” Starscream pauses, unlatching himself from the larger mech. His optics narrow and he sneers, “They haven’t left this ship, and I’m willing to bet my next share of energon that they’re in that lab. Get out of my way!”

Shoving his way past Breakdown, he passes through the doorway and changes to his alt mode to faster get to the doctor’s lab, Breakdown quickly following behind him. Reaching the lab in record time, Starscream slams his fisted servo into the doorframe as the metal door swishes open, revealing Knockout gently speaking with you about how everything is going to get worked out one way or the other.

“What is the meaning behind trying to fool me into believing my star has left this ship?!” 

“I don’t know, screamer. Why do you make your star feel ignored and unwelcome?” Knockout stands to his full height and crosses his arms.

“Know your place, doctor.” His voice is low and holds promise for consequences, if your friend continues to display disrespect.

“I know my place, Starscream. Do you?”

“Why you-”

“Would you both stop it?!” You yell, startling everyone in the room. It isn’t common for you to raise your voice, always preferring to stand down, listen, and stay calm. But this was just all too much. 

The room was quiet, everyone not knowing what quite to do next, all mechs looking between themselves, then turning their optics to you. Another moment passes and Starscream turns to Knockout, much more calmly than before, “Knockout, I would like some time alone with them… please.”

The flashy Decepticon makes sure you’re ok before taking his leave, with Breakdown close behind.

“My star-”

“I’m not your anything. I am not some object or a pet, as Megatron so quaintly put it.” You snip, putting on the show of having no desire to hear what he has to say, despite wanting nothing more for him to give you a good reason for his behavior earlier and for him to apologize. “And you didn’t- … you - do I really matter so little to you?”

“Of course not. My star, you are the most important being in my life. But it is becoming increasingly difficult as Megatron’s fury and impatience grows. He anticipates my betrayal at every turn and has, on more than one occasion, threatened your life because of this.” Starscream gently scoops your figure up and presses his derma to the crown of your head, “I am sorry I have hurt you in my attempts to protect you, but I cannot fathom surviving this torturous world without you. Please… forgive me, my brightest star.”

“You’re such an idiot, Starlight.” You bring your arms up to cling to his face plate and lightly cry into his chin. You didn’t expect the weight that was lifted off your shoulders at his confession, but you were so grateful for the fact that it was just Starscream making a foolish decision.

“I would have to agree with you in this instance.” Starscream’s small, airy chuckle blows past your hair, and he presses yet another kiss to your forehead. “Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“I’ll forgive you just this once, but don’t ever make such a decision without telling me again.”

“You have my word. Now, why were you so excited earlier?”

“Well I…”

You spent the next few cycles regaling him about what the vehicons were up to and how silly Steve was behaving, knowing their idea wasn’t going to work. You love being able to talk to Starscream, knowing you were one of the only people he would give his full attention to. You love your mech. Your silly, silly mech.

[taemcains]

your love is sunlight — cainlane

lane helps cain wash the blood off his wings and gets a thank you in return. ao3

cw: blood mentions

🎧 julia shortreed - broken wings

Pale golden light streams into Lane's shared room, falling on the soft carpet in a mosaic mirroring the elegant swirls on the balcony door. The picture of coziness it creates, along with the spread of reference books spilled like a domino of cards around her, brings her back to high school and days spent cramming for exams with the spring sunshine in North Carolina watching over her like a guardian.

The tremors of a door slamming shut on the ground floor dispel the mirage. Lane blinks hard, bringing herself back to Rotkov's eternal winter and her task, which is considerably more crucial and much more demanding than memorizing chemistry equations.

The Book and her notebook are each balanced precariously on her knees. Reference books lay further down from her, tossed away in rising frustration. Her wrist aches and her back has been steadily cramping from her abysmal posture, but she remains hunched over, picking up her trail of thought and leaving behind unnecessary memories to continue scrawling in her notebook.

Shadows pool on the floor, chasing away the imitation of home and warmth. Lane's head whips up to face the balcony, hair lashing against her back.

White obscures gold. It flashes once, painting the room cold before swerving to the back of the estate.

Real warmth bubbles up in her chest. Cain is back from his night patrol.

Lane spent all of ten minutes in the morning trying to inconspicuously grill the squad about his whereabouts before her mind grew disgusted by her pathetic state. Cain is an immortal. Whatever stalks the forest and whoever hides in the town should be, are, terrified of him. Worrying about someone who can handle himself, when she has a plethora of problems is fatuous. She resolved to put it out of her mind and surrender to the Book instead.

An hour later, huddled under every blanket and comforter looted from her room, the upholstered chair doing little to battle the cold, she muses. Why do you become so irrational when you… have someone? Her hand is unsteady, fingers trembling from the cold, but she makes a valiant effort to jot something down.

Anna shoots her the most judgmental glance she's received in her life. ‘Why are you freezing to death near the balcony when the bed is right there?’

Lane tries to shrug but she doubts the slight movement would be visible under ten layers of wool. ‘The cold will keep my mind awake. I could get a new perspective on the Book.’

Anna almost looks offended at how little thought Lane put into lying to her. She scoffs. ‘Is that what they're calling it now?’ She scowls at a distant spot in the sky, willing the extent of her disdainful glare to reach that angel wherever he is, before turning on her heel and leaving, muttering about ‘beautiful women falling for idiot men’ and ‘why do you never learn, Anna?’

Her mind doesn't linger too long on Anna, but circles him, as always, a whirlpool of memories and longings. She tried to choke down her worry along with mouthfuls of tea earlier, but it spews up with a redoubled vengeance. No matter how many times her exasperated mind reassures her of the angel's strength and safety, her heart refuses to quiet, pacing anxiously with a thump-thump-thump echoing through her very bones.

Are you satisfied? Everyone wants to know whether I even have a heart anymore but you keep it, toss it, and catch it with the dizzying speed of your changing whims. I don't miss that. But I miss you.

Admitting that she missed him was apparently the last straw for her mind, who was jeering at this display of yearning. Lane leapt to her feet, yanked around by the strings of her rational mind that was hard at work to erase this maudlin moment from her day. She climbed into bed, pulled the required materials to herself like a shield and lost herself in the arcane, her mind alight and awake, ready to beat her heart into submission.

Now she allows herself to exhale a shameful ‘I missed you’ to the knowing shadows of her room and let relief unfurl through her bloodstream like a ribbon.

All the romance novels and movies she'd gorged herself on in her teenage years with the relished humiliation of crawling back to an unfaithful lover, had painted love in pink, soft and bloodless. But for Lane, love is a violent intrusion, spinning her mind and heart out of control. If she'd known she would feel so foolish, she would've accumulated more experience, to chart cumulative data and predict the best response in any situation. But Cain's not like anyone she's ever met. He's not like anyone at all.

Plotting Cain would be an impossible task as he shifts a little every time she sees him, a kaleidoscope that never shows the same pattern twice. But won't he let her try? To map his impossibilities across a lifetime like counting stars in the night sky, the only futile task she wants to squander away her time on with the languidness of summer days slipping away.

Contrary to his own impossibility, he seems to have her entirely mapped out, tracing the rivers of her veins with his fingertips and the ridges of her spine with his eyes. She didn't have to ask. Cain understood her, like he once promised, and her working style which he condensed aptly as ‘You wouldn't look up from the Book unless there's a second apocalypse.’ So his wings blinked at her, sending her a sign.

Was he counting on her being able to glimpse the maelstrom of riddles behind every guileless movement of his? Delivered with a susurration of his wings, an order, a request, or the gentle luring of a lover: Come find me.

His wishes are clear, but Lane hesitates, out of her own warring desires. Her heart is almost halfway out the door, straining to settle sleepily against his voice, but her feet remain planted to the floor, roots extending through wood, bypassing time and space, sprouting out of her father's office.

Wood polish. Expensive leather. An angular man leaning over her seven-year-old self. ‘Please do not bother me when I'm working, Lane. Go see to your mother.’ Which was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all, her own father who could not see her mother's umbilical cord strangling her lovingly around her neck, a tie she could never rid of even two decades later.

The memory fractures. Warmth beckons her from the fissure and she follows as if ensorcelled. The press of a thigh to her own. The specter of fingers through her hair. The fracture widens. The tickling of feathers against the small of her back. Her father's office and her younger self preserved in contrition are swallowed into the dark.

The last fragments of the memory are brushed away by an ambrette voice that lifts her and carries her back to the body of her present self, gently setting her down in reality. Tendrils of him and his essence are already curled around her, sweetpea flowers budding around her neck, watching over her when he can't.

Glimpses of him in her memories don't appease her. Lately, even his fleeting touches, light enough to absolve him of intention, do nothing to sate the hunger roiling in her. Come find me.

Guided, or rather, misguided, by the reckless abandon that entangles with desire, Lane crosses the room and doesn't let herself hesitate to wrench the door open. Her eyes hone in on the ornate door at the far end of the hallway, quiet and anodyne.

The estate is still, the history of those hallowed halls, almost a physical presence draped heavy over her shoulders, watching as Lane's hushed footsteps ghost over the floor. She knows her efforts are in vain; he must've heard the click of her door opening, but it felt sacrilegious to stomp over in an estate teeming with revenants.

She comes to a standstill outside his door, heart awake and thrashing. He could probably hear it through the wood, no barrier fortified to the aching of her heart to be a plaything in his hands again. But he waits, lets her settle on going to him or turning away.

She knocks lightly.

‘Come in.’ His voice, smooth and even, with the barest drops of an emotion she couldn't identify, sends a trickle of reassurance down her chest.

Ominous that the creaking of the door is, when Lane peers inside, gingerly stepping past the threshold like an inexperienced thief, Cain is whole and unhurt, lips curving up as salve to her twinging unease. Her heart finally rests.

As relief streams through her blood, her eyes cascade down his figure intently. Silvery fabric molds to his skin, translucent where pearls of water trickle from the damp ends of his hair. Black slacks cling enticingly to his thighs, every slight shift flaunting the statuesque lines of his body. His wings flare, serrated edges silhouetted by daylight, a personal sunset.

Her eyes widen. Cain, who was watching her riveted gaze with a touch of satisfaction pulling up the corner of his mouth, interjected smoothly. ‘It's not mine. A spawn was found close to city lines.’

‘Is that what you were busy with all morning?’ She asks, alarm fading into distraction. Blood lashed against white wings, macabre and ethereal. Offsetting, Lane thinks, no, enhancing temptation, disoriented by her own strange desires.

‘Yes.’ His voice dips, softness melting it. ‘Were you alone for long?’

‘No,’ she answers absentmindedly, eyes transfixed to the startlingly intimate sight of his bare feet. Unarmoured like this, without the chainmail of his condescending sneer and paradoxical words, he seems closer than ever. Like she would only need to reach out for her fingertips to graze soft skin and sculpted muscle, obscured to the rest by shadows and secrets.

Appeased, he turns to the side, pushing back his drenched sleeves around his elbow. Only then does the room start to come together in snatches. Clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, his jacket a bloodied heap by the balcony, transponder thrown on the bedside table. A basin with murky water seated on the dresser, a rag dangling haphazardly from it. Precise to him, messy to others. Not unlike the owner himself, she thinks.

Satisfied with her appraisal, she peeks over at him. Leaning over the basin, rag coiled loosely around his hand, he looks half sunken in a dream. Only the rustling of his wings betray his restlessness.

Her spine is yanked straight by a part of her, a phantom cerebrum spawned to gauge and dissect every shift in his body and every quirk of his mouth. Cain would never allow himself to be so absent. Her heart screeches with alarm, and her mind reluctantly allows the theatrics, admitting the oddness of his behavior.

‘Cain?’ she calls quietly.

Regret follows almost immediately. At the most inopportune moment, she realizes she has no idea how to proceed when he responds. Cain has always taken care of her in his own absurd way, the experience irksome even as the memory fills her empty soul with sunlight. But Lane could hardly care for herself, much less an immortal.

His lashes flutter, moth wings skimming his skin as he blinks out of his daze. ‘Sorry, I was lost in thought.’ His eyes clear, latches clicking shut inside him. ‘I should clean my wings.’ They flick, avouching his words. ‘Not exactly the amorous activity you were envisioning, I'm sure.’

Her eyes narrow but they cannot lance metal. He meets her scouring gaze with calculated repose. His shoulders sink, memories imploding within, then return to their usual assured set, dust settling in the span of a blink.

Only a second, but it's enough for Lane to pry at the chips in his marmoreal mask. She sighs softly as slivers of his bare face come into view. He's… tired. So, so tired. Abandoned by heaven, shunned by earth, untouchable on his altar of divinity. Angel, priest, soldier. Beautiful as a statue, but who dares to touch him? Who can he hold?

Sensing the weight of her thoughts, he straightens imperceptibly, shuttering off any weakness.

Even now, after hurting and helping and licking their wounds, they still hesitate, circling each other like sharks scenting blood, the instinct to hurt before getting hurt honed and layered like second skin, excruciating to rip off. But they can't keep holding onto an infected limb that devours the rest of the body. Years of violent instinct wars with a fragile, blossoming ache.

The words spill out of her lips, noxious blood evanescing, her first breath without her own violence pressing down on her sweet and fresh. ‘Let me help.’

His eyes snap back to hers and lock their gazes. Narrowed, assessing, wary, they're as entrancing as ever. He sighs, the same side emerging victorious in him. ‘I'll give you a chance to back out. I'm warning you now that your arms will ache for the next week.’

‘I won't come complaining to you,’ she says dryly, the secret curve of his mouth sending a flurry of warmth through her.

He follows her lead, effortlessly carrying the basin to an empty spot in the center of the room, sunlight casting the illusion of warmth on the rug. He sets it down and folds himself into a cross-legged posture, somehow elegant even while sitting on the floor.

Lane follows suit, kneeling behind him on the plush carpet. She ties her hair back into a loose knot and pulls back her sleeves, goosebumps arising on her exposed skin immediately. She shivers, body noting the frigidity of his room while she herself is enraptured by the angel.

This close to him, the diaphanous material of his shirt coyly divulges flashes of his body. The slope of his shoulder blade. A channel down his lower back. The sylphlike curve of his waist. Lane exhales slowly, expelling the need to touch him and trace his skin. The intoxicating heat radiating off him doesn't abate the desire to drape herself over his back and see what he'd do.

‘Having second thoughts? Maybe your delicate arms hurt already?’

She rolls her eyes, abruptly breaking through for air. The same person who tenderly drowns her in the thick, languid ocean of desire also hauls her out of it with his infuriating quips.

He slides the basin over to her in reparation.

Experimentally dipping her fingers into the basin, she sighs with relief at the lukewarm water. She dunks the rag in, drenches it, and pauses, water dripping rhythmically onto the floor, lapped up by the carpet. How sensitive are his wings? She remembers the library incident with a quivering in her stomach, the idea of her touch making him still heady more than any wine or pomegranate juice. How hard can she use the rag on them?

His voice is glazed with amusement. ‘This feels familiar. Now is the time to ask me if I'm gloating.’

That settles it. ‘Why should I when I know the answer?’ she replies as she presses the rag to the base of his wing agonizingly gently. He jerks, the beginnings of a low gasp escaping past his teeth before he quiets, wings flaring.

Lane bites her lip to rein in a smirk, throat going dry at the noise and where else she'd like to hear it, again and again.

‘Have it your way, then. Is this payback for that time in the library?’ he retorts, shoulders unnaturally tense.

‘What do you mean?’ she says lightly, carefully moving the rag from the base to the top. His wings rustle and flick, but settle quietly.

A light laugh floats through the air, melding seamlessly with this impossible afternoon.

Cain stays quiet as she works her way through the large expanse, occasionally trembling as she grazes certain spots. She makes mental notes of them, for future reference. Or for leverage.

Her nose wrinkles as she nears the tip of his wing. Spawn gore clumps to the feathers, a sickly sweet smell emanating from the blood.

Cain almost whirls around at her first cough. ‘I'll deal with the rest. You've done enough.’

She waves him off. Before she could think it over again, her hand cups his shoulder, turning him away. A tremor goes through her at her boldness, the heat of his muscle and bone against her fingers warming her entire arm.

‘You reek,’ she says airily, only to douse the incalescence of his gaze, burning her more than his skin as she touched him like she had the right to.

‘Who came to whose room?’

A gradual undoing, Lane watches as her own hands cast magic, turning back time, water swilling blood from his wings, leaching them pure and white.

She retraces her path, returning to the base of his wings where stubborn flecks of blood linger on the feathers. Faltering for just a second, she discards the rag. Her fingers, a gentler heir, glide over the plumage, outsing sanguine settlers.

Cain arches like a cat, allowing himself a muffled moan before rebounding, curving into her. A shuddering breath is the only movement she shows. His back barely brushes her front, the faint contact sparking a riot in her head, one side chanting lean in close, closer, the other pull away I can't breathe anymore.

As the sun drops lower into the sky, in tandem he sinks lower onto her, the silky strands of his hair chilling her chin, the weight of his body warm and comforting. His initial wariness washed away with the blood, he's as cozy and relaxed as a housecat dozing in a patch of sunlight.

Disappointment unfurls petals inside her chest as the last of the blood is wiped away, wings gleaming in the sunlight. Enveloped by him, his body, his scent; sweet and faintly musky, entirely him with the effect it had of wanting to fall headlong into his lies, time has no meaning. The world waiting with ravenous jaws holds no importance when he's quiet and boneless in her arms.

‘Cain?’ she whispers, unsure if he's awake.

‘Hmm?’

Her toes curl into the carpet. His usual liquid smooth voice has been rendered low and thick, drowsiness dipping his tone.

She hesitates. Is it worth jolting him from his place against her—as it should be, her heart croons— for her selfish desire of wanting to look at him?

Ironically, it's her indecision that awakens him, alertness seeping back in. He slips out of her hold, a gentle thief escaping into the night, and turns to face her. ‘What is it?’ he asks, traces of worry playing in his voice.

I wish I could look at you when I want to without searching for an excuse. I wish you would keep being near to me. I want you to keep seeing me.

‘Nothing,’ she bites out, frustrated with herself, eyes catching on an anomaly in the blinding purity of snow. ‘There's dried blood crusted in your hair.’

He sighs, mindlessly patting his hair, completely missing the spot.

‘Let me,’ she interrupts quietly, pieces falling into place, desire breathing her wishes to life.

He eyes her curiously. Whatever he finds makes his mouth twitch and obediently lower his head, submitting to the ministrations of her fingers. A thrill fires through her like an arrow. She quite likes the idea of him bowed and hazy-eyed in front of her.

Her fingers ease into silken strands, white and gold playing on her skin. They trail unwillingly, longing to linger and straighten the wisps hanging over his eyes for him. She flicks the rusty flakes off, careful to not tug at the strands.

Hyperaware of every steady inhale and exhale of his, her own breathing wavers, growing shallow. She attempts to veer her attention back to his hair, instead of the proximity of her chest to his face, when his arm curves around her waist, long fingers splaying out, burning her from rib to hip.

Before she could steady herself to this, him, his thumb traces the jut of her rib. All coherent thought dissipates. Heat whirls up her insides. His fingers trail teasingly over the curve of her waist before stilling on her hip, and she wishes with sudden, fervent clarity that he would play on her skin. Be so familiar to him that he would reach for her to ease his restlessness, her hipbone echoing his music, instead of an undeserving slab of wood.

‘Your knees must hurt. Sit.’ He sounds from below her, words almost breathed into her throat. His voice lowers, a surrender just between them. ‘I can bow down for you.’

She lowers her eyes to his. A misstep. Hazy from sleep, sharp in the corners, sunlight sands down his usual jagged gaze and wicked smirk, turning him into a visage of heaven. Angelic, she thinks for the first time since she awoke to him, both at the rift and at the estate.

Cain has always been inhumanely beautiful from the moment she saw him glowing like an impossible mirage amidst blood and snow, but his beauty is almost unbearable now that she's seen the planes of that same untouchable face contort in anger, slacken in tiredness, soften in fondness. Every feature has been slashed into her mind since their first meeting, but he's a mystery she'll never tire of. She studies each detail with the same fascination as the first time.

Gold clings to every lash with the devotion of the sea returning to sand. Dawn rises in his eyes, the only place where she looks forward to sunrise. Cheekbones like cliffs, sweetpea pink lips. Twin moles wink at her from below his eye and cheek, a taunt mirrored in his eyes: What will you do now?

He tilts his head up, her hand that lay forgotten in his hair sliding down like rain. Brow bone, cheekbone, till the base of her palm curves against his jaw.

She's holding his face in her hand. What will you do now?

Her eyes hesitatingly find his again. The same eyes that speared into her being, trying to unravel her before she could undo him, that held and kept all his secrets, now betray him and look at her with undisguised tenderness. His gaze is the only mirror she can stand to look at herself anymore, her callousness and apathy smoothed over by his affection.

She loops her free arm around his neck, feeling his shoulders tense in surprise. In no reality will she come out of this unscathed. But would it be worth being hurt by these same hands that hold so gently?

Her eyes flit to his lips. Oh, but it would be worth being condemned to hell by this mouth. His lips part, luring her in before the din of doors slamming and a chorus of intermingling voices shatters their retreat.

Lane is off the floor and three feet away from him before he could even blink. His tenderness ripples into a scowl. His eyes glint a lurid red as he rises to his feet.

‘I should go,’ she says hastily, impatient to curse every member of the squad and then pore over every second of this afternoon before it dissipates like a dream.

‘And where are you rushing off to?’ he asks, notes of ire lurking in his voice.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘My room. I don't think the General will be pleased about me spending quality time with you instead of working.’

His mouth curls in derision. ‘If Dmitry's concern is incompetence, you're the least of his problems.’

His tone gives her pause. The second she tilts her head, his cool nonchalance snaps back into place, clicking shut with the finality of a lock.

‘I'll get going,’ she echoes before her heart could rope her into some foolish scheme. ‘Will you go to sleep now?’

‘Yes.’ He pauses, eyes sliding to her, lingering on her exposed collarbone. His voice lowers, softens, a snake coiling around flesh and she feels his words like he whispered them onto her skin. ‘Will you miss this opening?’

Her heart jolts. He can't possibly be…?

‘To watch me sleep again.’ He tilts his head innocuously, the effect offset by his growing smirk. ‘What were you thinking?’

Entirely unhelpfully, her mind bestows her with a visual. She thinks of him asleep, cheek pillowed by his arm, lashes casting needle-thin shadows, his ever-furrowed brows relaxed and a physical burn flares to life under her ribs.

She knits her brow in irritation, saving face too late, hastening to leave. The Cain who curved into her like the moon, who she'd christened angelic had fallen asleep, dreaming in some crevice of his mind. The one who stands in front of her, challenge highlighted in every plane of his face, is familiar, familiar and dangerous, familiar in a sense that she could hardly guess his next thought.

Just as her hand wraps around the door handle, she senses his searing presence behind her. Her body reacts instinctively, gearing up. Cain sends all of her emergency responses into overdrive, fight, flight, and fight speeding and crashing at the junction of her mind. All thoughts come to a screeching halt, leaving only expectant silence, air thrumming with possibilities. A discordant note or a lilting melody?

His fingers curl around her wrist, a gossamer touch. He lowers his head while raising her wrist, night falling as the moon rises to meet as a sunset, as a kiss. His cool breath snakes across her skin, travelling the course set by her veins, the faint brushes of his lips blissful torture.

A marionette in his hands, he angles her wrist to his mouth, setting the stage. The first act: the bite of his teeth against her pulse.

Her shoulders seize and she bites her lip, the blooming pain-pleasure shoving a gasp back inside her mouth. He presses, so gently, an invisible divot to savor and linger over at night, an ephemeral mark of him on her skin.

Can he feel her hand trembling? Her knees will give out if he continues.

In answer, in tender defiance, he scrapes his teeth across her pulse point, shrapnel and velvet, mouth feverishly hot, teeth deliciously sharp. Her spine jerks, pulled by his strings, aching to lean against his body. A low noise escapes her before she could haul it inside.

He halts, knowing when to coax with hardly a look, pulling her along to freefall into desire, another line they can never uncross, and when to let her be. He presses a full kiss to soothe her skin, before the curtain falls with a delicate graze of his lips over the faded cut on her palm.

He pulls back and she blinks as the world rushes in, both the celebrated principal actress and the dazed, breathless audience. He lowers her wrist gently, fingers falling away like the night. ‘Thank you,’ he says quietly with no trace of the smugness she was expecting.

She could hardly remember what she replied or how she stole away into the hallway. Half her mind still trembling in that room with him, the other half lazily waking up from a pleasant dream, she muses as she stumbles to her room.

The weight of the emptiness in her soul is always lurking, always ready to drag her into nothingness. Being around others only seems to chip away the remnants of her soul clinging to her insides; their strained laughter, easy anger and human hope shattered mirror shards reflecting the humanity long gouged out of her. You are not like us. Each irregular mosaic amplified till the message was deafening. You are not like us!

But as she stood in the hallway, vision golden with dust motes swirling around in a lazy waltz in the ballroom of sunlight, her soul is… silent. Not clamoring in its depleted state, begging to find its stolen half and fill it up. Cain's mere presence lifts this particular veil of half death, making her heart pumping in lazy disinterest startle awake, having to work overtime to make up for her lungs slacking.

Though she was the one who wished to lighten his burden today, it seemed he was imbuing her with his own life force with every touch. A thirst for life, and just not survival, gasped for air within her, only to see him again, to touch him again and make him tremble.

The corner of her mouth twitches as she turns the handle.

She has to find a way to get him back for that kiss.

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎAngel Eyes꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: innocent reader pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy comes across you in the woods author’s note: thank you @a-romantics-guide-to-life for letting me write for this! it's just the sweetest idea- I love Sleeping Beauty so much <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The west had a myriad of secrets hidden beneath its tanned, roughened skin. Its' bones were cacti, sharp and unforgiving, and when split open, there was not blood, but mysteries pouring forth.

Billy was well aware of the presence of what was untold when he was one with nature, but he dared not seek it out. He, a mere mortal, wouldn't dare try to even guess what lay beyond his understanding. Maybe the fact served him well after it led him to you.

The sun had been beating at his back for hours, the spindly leaves of the trees providing little relief. He and his horse were venturing out in search of a source of water, any source of water. He would have settled for a puddle at this point. But so far, the only hope of moisture was beading on his upper lip.

It had been an exhausting day out riding, in search of civilization. Or more accurately, civilization that didn't scrawl his face on a wanted poster. It was hard thing to come by these days. His reputation was muddied beyond belief, and he wished for simpler times when it had even seemed possible to clear his name. Now it was rare for a person he came across not to have read of his wrongdoings.

Billy peeled his eyes, half shut from the heat. Only green greeted them, and he sighed in frustration. The canteen on the saddle was long ago empty, and he knew the creature upon whose back he sat was growing weary from lack of fluid as well. The day was ending, the sun's rays rosily waving goodbye as it sunk over the hills.

Swallowing dryly, Billy was about to turn in the other direction when he heard a peculiar sound in the middle of the woods. Singing. Not the birds...no, this was definitely a person.

He decided to head in that direction. Maybe the source of the song knew where he could look for water. He guided his horse steadily through the trees, the melodic sound growing closer. He couldn't help but admire it. The echo of the woods enhanced the quality, a delightful vibrato rippling the previous quiet.

Like a moth to a flame, the voice trailed him to a river. Maybe it had been his imagination, some muse from tales of old taking pity on a poor outlaw in need of liquid. Billy leapt from the horse, who had already dipped its head to begin drinking. He unstrapped the canteen and lowered it to the gently flowing water, filling it to the brim.

Lifting it to his lips, he drank nearly half of it before lowering the can, chest heaving for air. He bowed his head in relief, silently thanking the heavens above. The voice had stopped. It must have been a mirage, he figured.

And then it started up again, even lovelier and closer than before. Billy lifted his head, looking around for the source. His eyes brightened when he saw you kneeling at the riverbank on the other side, dipping your hand into the water and humming to yourself.

Instantly he was drawn in by the vision of you. Wonderfully beautiful with the happiest expression he'd ever seen on a person, Billy felt himself melt in the sunshine. Now he really knew he was imagining things. How often did a man come across such a fantasy by his much needed water; a dream come true?

He stared at you, convinced of this until you lifted your head, singing coming to a stop. A bright smile split your cheeks, and you lifted a hand in a graceful wave. "Hello!"

Hesitantly, still unsure that you were real, he waved back. You got to your feet and brushed off your skirt, revealing that you were barefoot. Delicately, you hopped over three prim little stones to his side of the river, coming close to him. Billy was taken aback. He was used to folks being scared to come close to him. But here you were.

"Are you from around here?" you questioned in honeyed tones, and he could have overdosed on sugar right then and there.

"No," he found himself saying. "'m just ridin' by."

"Oh!" You seemed to perk up at that. "I never met anybody from far away before. My aunts wouldn't allow it."

He couldn't help a smile at that. You had an innocent quality to you that he found downright adorable. "Dunno if they'd like you meetin' me then. 'specially since I'm...y'know."

"What?" you tilted your head and then he felt a little silly by expecting you to know who he was. Of course, this paragon of lovability sheltered by her guardians wouldn't know.

Shaking it off, he shrugged. "Nothin'. Just a strange man in the woods."

"You're right, they probably wouldn't like it," you shrank back a little, but then seemed to lighten again. "They aren't here right now though. Every month they go into town for a week and trade what they grow in our garden." With an enthusiastic smile, you said, "So that means I can talk to you!"

Billy wanted to sink into the ground and become the earth that grew flowers for you to wear in your hair. He wanted to wrap you in a cloud and protect you from any semblance of bad that dared poke its head your way. Instead he smiled back. "'s good news, then."

"Yes!" you sat on the riverbank, patting the spot beside you.

He was helpless to resist. Kneeling beside you, he commented, "I heard your singin'."

"Did you?" A rosy blush decorated your cheeks. "I don't usually sing for anybody."

"It was pretty," he assured you, sitting back on his hands. "Led me right to the water when I was dyin' of thirst."

"Did it really?" When he nodded in confirmation you clasped your hands delightedly. "I'm very glad I was singing, then."

If his eyes could have turned into hearts they would have. You were gold and jewels and flowers and sunlight and rainbows and everything beautiful and good in the world. Finding you was like finding hidden treasure, one of the desert's beautiful secrets revealed to him.

Billy sat with you beside the water for what felt like minutes but really stretched hours, just listening to your voice like music. He was thoroughly captivated by you in every possible way. You were a collage of every wonderful thing all encapsulated in the body of a beautiful woman.

He could have listened to you for hours more still, but you looked up at the newly sprouted moon, eyes wide like the centers of daisies. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realized how late it's gotten."

"It's no problem," he promised, reaching out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. You smiled softly- not that you'd stopped in the first place, but the quality seemed to ebb and flow in positive directions like the river. "I'm just gonna set up camp any old place. Ain't like I'm in a hurry."

Lips parting, you blinked at him. "You won't ride into town?"

"Sounds like it's a while away," he smiled, getting to his feet. "Ain't no problem- I'll just find a nice tree t' sleep under."

You bounced on the heels of your feet, seeming to contemplate this. Then your face brightened with an idea. "Why don't you come stay at my house?"

He chuckled at your enthusiasm. "I'm a stranger, sweetheart. Dunno if your aunts would like it all that much."

You gave him a fond look. "We aren't strangers anymore, Billy." His name on your tongue was a wondrous sound, and he hoped nobody would ever say his name again as not to sully the memory. "And besides, if you wanted to hurt me you would have already."

Your innocent assessment made him glad it was him who discovered you and not a different outlaw. The thought made him want to keep you safe, and he decided to accept your offer if only to do that. Besides, it would be nice to sleep under a roof even just for one night.

He shouldn't have been able to keep being surprised by you, but he was. You took his rough hand in yours as if you'd been doing it all his life and led him through the trees, his horse's reins bunched in the fingers of his other.

As he followed you through the trees, he had but one thought.

The sweetest girl in town doesn't even know she is.

[steviewashere]

This may be a bit out there request (also feel free to ignore) for a small oneshot, but can I request some pure steve angst? him and hop sharing a drink, no ships, just two dudes talking about shitty things that have happened to them over the past few years. My boy desperately needs a father figure.

Okay, I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I literally started writing it, forgot about it, and then came back and couldn't think of anything. And I also didn't have Hopper share too much, but I hope this suffices some. This was a fun challenge. <3

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper CW: Discussion of Canon Traumatic Events, Brief Mention of Canon Violence Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🫂—————🫂 He’d been sitting outside with his head between his knees for the better part of half an hour when the door creaked open behind him. Even as the footfalls, heavy and slow, made their way towards him, Steve didn’t dare drag his eyes up. Kept them securely at his feet. To the wooden step underneath him. On the off chance that whatever world existed around him was a mirage.

The person sits down next to him with an unceremonious grunt. Their breaths are as heavy as their steps. A swallow clicking in their throat, probably dry and overused. Something chilled is pressed against his denim clad thigh. And that’s when Steve finally draws enough effort to look up.

Hopper sits hunched, head pointed at the trees beyond his cabin, eyes darting between them. In his right hand is an offered, cold bottle of beer. A firm outstretched bridge. And Steve tentatively takes it. He’s not quite old enough to be partaking in this, Hopper should know that, but also—he’s not the chief anymore, is he? So, why should he care?

His beer is already uncapped when he raises it to his face. Knocking it back and taking it in with a deep swallow. The foam churning on his tongue, sugary between his teeth, and moist on his lips. He heaves a sigh. Mutters, “Thanks.”

Another bottle is drank from. The slosh against the sides of the glass an easy sound. Hopper smacks his lips together. “Looked like you needed one,” he states gruffly. A swig. “God knows I did with all that damn commotion in there.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, “it’s too loud for me.” He takes a small sip at his drink. Shifts the bottle back and forth between his palms, relishing in the crisp condensation on his skin. Begins to pick at the label where it looks like it’ll peel away easily, if he just gave it his full effort. “I don’t even know why I came over. I can’t stand noisy shit.”

“Feel like the old Steve Harrington that I’ve met would say otherwise,” Hopper muses. Instead of dignifying it with a response, Steve just nods his head in silent agreement. Because yeah, pre-November, 1983 Steve would be doing keg stands and chanting at the top of his lungs. Not moping around on the front porch of the ex-chief of police. Sharing beer of all things.

The noise inside the house floats out from under the crooked front door. A mixture of birdsong and laughter. The subtle soft chirps of crickets beginning to wake up. It’s good outside, the air cold on Steve’s face and the sun nearly set. He takes a deep breath and just absorbs.

“Sometimes,” Hop starts softly when their shared silence stretches too long, “sometimes I look at you and see myself.”

Steve swallows around nothing. “That a good thing?” He asks just as quiet.

“No,” Hopper answers honestly. “You look like you’d rather be under the dirt than be anywhere. There’s…you’re a lonely lookin’ nineteen year old.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well—“ Steve sighs. “—maybe I’d rather that. All things considered, Hopper.” There are eyes on him, he can sense them through the aching joint of his left shoulder. They burn him. It hurts to have attention like this on him, after so much time alone. And he knows that he’s got Robin and the party members—he’ll maybe have Eddie if he pulls through in the hospital. But that doesn’t make his house any less silent, or his parents’ room any less dusty, or his bed any less cold.

“You got anybody you can talk to, kid? Outside of Robin?”

Steve sniffs. Picks at the label on his beer bottle. Tries not to notice his shaking hands. “Who ‘m I gonna talk to?” He asks lowly. “A shrink is gonna think I’m crazy, put me away. And y’know how my parents are. They aren’t going to believe me, let alone listen.”

Hopper’s leg bumps his. Beer bottle clinking against the porch as he sets it down. He ducks down, enough to make direct eye contact with Steve. His eyes are fierce, yet inviting and soft. Steve’s stomach churns. “Talk to me, then. You need an adult who will understand you? I’m right here.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. Something, Steve.” A hand lands gently on his shoulder. The warmth a lull, a sweet thing. And something inside of him begins to melt. But he doesn’t say anything, still. Hopper sighs long and winded. And the touch dissipates, leaving Steve drifted and yearning.

Behind them, Hopper’s cabin swells with noise. That raspy laugh of Robin’s. And Mike’s honk snorting. Even Jonathan is adding something, a few loud comments here and there. “I can’t believe we won!” Dustin crows and the others join in intense agreement. And Steve wonders why he can’t celebrate like they can. What happened to him. Where his joy lays in all this.

Hopper sips his beer again, looking out at the trees once more. Smacks his lips together. “I don’t know how to celebrate this shit,” he admits quietly. “I’m…Part of me is excited to not see my girl use those powers of hers again. To hopefully see her hair grow out. But another part of me is—I just remember all the bad shit that happened before we got to this point.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He gulps a good third of his beer in one go. The sour bitterness of the drink burning his throat alive. When he pulls the bottle away, he absentmindedly rubs at the dark red demobat scar on his neck. “Especially when my body remembers and is covered in my failures,” he mutters.

Beside him, Hopper makes a noise of agreement. A hum. A grunt sort of thing. “I used to be a fat guy.” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Now I’m just this skinny dude with real short hair and the eyes of a World War Two soldier.”

Steve snorts. “And I used to have plain, blemish free skin. Now look at me, Hop.” He gestures loosely at his own face and neck when Hopper does turn and look over. “No amount of coconut oil—or whatever—is going to get rid of this shit. Like my mom keeps insisting on. I mean…She doesn’t know all the shit I’ve been through. The—The plate I took to the crown of my head or the needle to my neck or those Russian shitheads that knocked me senseless.”

Hopper’s breath hitches. Steve curses at himself internally. Remembers the haunted body that pulled him in close when they reconvened. Remembers the frantic calls from Jonathan, of all people, asking what to do when it comes to nightmares—“Not mine,” Jonathan had said, “Hop’s. He just…He just yells.” And even remembers the faint hints Hop gave: the relief in finding a jar of peanut butter, the biting cold, the labor, and the cells. The separation from who he used to be. The loneliness within what he’d gone through, which Steve knows all too well. “Russians?” Hopper softly implores anyway.

And part of Steve knows what he’s doing. The crack to his shell deepening, stretching. But he answers despite it all. Keeps his voice leveled, careful as to not be heard from inside the cabin. “Yeah,” he whispers, the syllables cracking. “Robs and Dustin and I, we all decoded this tape, right? There was Russian speech on it or whatever and I ended up finding the source of the intermission. It was coming from underneath Starcourt. So, y’know how stupid we all are, we went ahead and found these assholes and…Well I—“ He rubs the lip of his beer bottle to his own bottom lip. Eyes glossing over, remembering. “They were going to hurt Robin,” he states, his own voice like gravel, “and Dustin. And little Erica. So I did the stupid thing. Answered their interrogation. They didn’t like the answers; I earned a few punches. Went unconscious. Got hit with some truth serum drug bullshit. Threw up my guts, ended up with a concussion, saw a guy die in front of me, went home and threw up again in the shower, and then I went to bed.”

All at once, the world narrows to just them. Hopper’s completely silent though and Steve doesn’t want to glance over. See the pity written on his sullen, aged face. So he shrugs, takes another swig of his beer, and burps lightly when the carbonation comes up. Nonchalance. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Right, Hop?” Steve pokes quietly. “Throw myself in danger for the people around me. Try to keep them on my good side. Show them I’m worth giving a shit about. Save ‘em. Love ‘em for a bit. Wait until they turn on me or whatever.

“I know you do it, too. So don’t try to lecture me,” Steve mutters, “At least we don’t have to do it again.”

He’s not sure what to really expect to any of that. But he doesn’t think he’d ever expect a firm, heavy arm to wrap around his shoulders. To tug him in close and warm. To hold him gently.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper murmurs.

Steve tries to pull away, but the hand on his opposite bicep squeezes him back. “It’s not your fault, Hop. It’s—“

“You’re a kid, Steve,” he emphasizes. “A kid with a long fucking life ahead of you. And you’ve already seen enough for, well, for lifetimes. You should’a never been in any of this shit, none of you teens should’a. Not just those Russians, Steve. But for everything.”

He doesn’t feel like a kid. Doesn’t really feel like anything, but Hopper doesn’t need to know that right now. Sure, he’d understand. That liminal space after losing his daughter, right after war, before his world quite literally turned upside down—Hopper lived that nothingness for a long while. Maybe he lives it again, Steve isn’t sure.

But he just sighs. “You shouldn’t have been there, either,” Steve murmurs. His face is warm and his eyes sting. And before he really knows what’s happening, he’s crying. Hot tears that sear all the way down to the underside of his jaw. That don’t really produce much noise from him, but he supposes the terrible stuttering in and out is something.

“C’mere, kid,” Hopper mutters.

His beer gets set aside somewhere. Pulled even further in. Head nestled on Hopper’s shoulder, the fresh shave of his beard burning on Steve’s forehead. A hand between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his head. Steve’s arms sit limp at his sides. But within Hop’s warmth, the musk of aftershave and Irish Spring soap, and his firm and careful hold—Steve finally breaks.

It’s not a catastrophic thing, like he had expected. It’s not all that quiet either.

Shoulders shaking, eyes heavy, and nose burning—Steve cries. Cries with the force of a sudden summer downpour. Heaves giant breaths as if he’s just come up from drowning. And he sobs against the bare skin of Hopper’s neck. Open mouthed. Wet exhales. Big globs of spit sticky between his lips.

When he can finally catch his breath, feel the exhaustion into his bones, he pulls back.

Hopper lays his hands on either side of Steve’s face. His own cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling. “I know, okay? I know, kid,” he says quietly. “You need a home to run to? A shoulder to cry on? You just need a good dad hug? Come over, okay? Steve, you just gotta come over.”

And with that, all Steve can do, is give in.

He cries again into Hopper’s shoulder.

Later, he’ll listen to Hopper in turn. Hug him just as fiercely. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this is nice. Just this for a little while longer.

For the first time in his life, though, he feels like he’s got a home to return to. An ear to hear him. And a heart to care about him.

🫂—————🫂 Thank you for the ask, this was an interesting one!

[kirric-the-fan]

All stars movie idea:

Big gathering of precure, big enemy. Enemy turns all the cures that were reformed villains or brainwashed back into those villains, or if the cure had defeated dark cures or dark cure equivalents, it turns them into them. A whole lot of cures are now in enemy mode and now the rest of the cures gotta deal.

Which leaves a stunning total of three teams unaffected (Grace went down bc Dariuzen was reformed- "he always was a parasite", and Dokidoki have to deal with Regina. Heartcatch aren't in mirage forms, but Dark Precure is back and that's their problem): Maho girls, Tropical Rouge, and Star Twinkle.

Maho is on damage control. La Mer is busy kicking ass, and Summer is trying to melt two frozen hearts and one angry dessert lion, and the other three are just as busy.

And the Star Twinkle girls come up with an terrible idea. As Cosmo wasn't transformed as she was never really a bad guy, they come up with the idea of making a fake villian cure in order to sneak into the villian's base and try and rescue some of the other transformed cures. With the help of Aiwan, and the reappearance of Bakenyan, Madoka becomes Luness, a moon princess with the power to turn people to stone. Ofc no-one can refute what she's saying, and they manage to hold the bit long enough to retrieve some of the cures, like Grace and Amour.

Other snippets:

Twilight back on her "You're not a princess," bullshit, and promptly getting her ass kicked by three princesses (Muse, Princess, and Majesty), before getting fish-slapped by future Queen mermaid Laura La Mer who is annoyed that Twilight is tormenting Cure Mermaid. (Twilight makes a comment about Laura not being a proper princess or queen too.)

Unlovely is back and is causing havoc, along with dark Cure Tender and Queen Mirage.

Michiru and Kaoru are back and bad

Preme is also back but doesn't seem to be inclined to fight

Heart, Peach, and Prism take their reverted Cures on one-on-one because they know they can get through to them.

Milky Rose actually gets to fight the yes5 dark cures in her cure form. She defeats dark Dream easily, but wavers at Dark Aqua

Berry and Sword vs Aqua and Beauty

"Hooray hooray everyone!", Some random dark cure: "thank you!" :) Yell: "I'm not cheering you on!"

Cure Chocolate nearly gets taken out by weird chocolate kingdom Coco

Marine loses rock-paper-scissors-water to Bad End Peace. Gets zapped.

Black and White have had their hearts frozen again, and this time their sights are set on the rest of the precure. Who don't realise what happened at first. Heartcatch and Healin Good find out what's going on.

A whole lot of team ups, working out who they need to get through to, and who they can just fight

Need Gelato and Amour to help get through to Siren (music)

Fortune flips Eas' fortune telling bit on her by telling her fortune instead.

Prism kinda realises that dark Cure Sky is kinda harmless, so long as no-one is trying to hurt her.

Michiru and Kaoru probably cause the biggest end game sort of problems out of all of them (them and Black and White), and everyone needs to pitch in to fight them at the end, and get through to the real enemy, some reformed form of darkness

Power of friendship, true hearts and precure to save the world

Preme doesn't really do anything but points out to the bbeg that this is kinda what the precure do, so there wasn't ever any point in fighting in the first place

[practically-an-x-man]

You get a professional animator to do one (1) animatic for each of your OCs. What song are you chosing, and what vibes are you going for with each OC?

Ooooooh thank you!!! I've thought about hypothetical animatics for some of my OCs before, but... not ALL of them, so this will be interesting!

Rae: Free by Mother Mother. I'm imagining every "Love let my love inside go... free" being a bloom of her abilities, all this bright silver light as she puts shields around what she loves, and all the other parts of the song being some gentler moments from her life.

Robin: I think it would be fun to play into her musical theatre/opera side - Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams (from Footloose). The animatic would jump between her onstage, playing out the song as an actor in the musical, and some little soft scenes of her and Peter being all cute together.

Madison: I know when you recommended it first I said that Belladonna by Ava Max was more of a Nikoletta song (and it is, but I have a different animatic idea for her here), but it could work for Madison too I think. It would focus on her mutation, maybe a few fight scenes with her blinking in and out of sight with her glass knives. Then we see her knives get shattered, and the fins and spines breaking through her skin (sort of a stylized version of what happens in her story), and then the final chorus is her with her enhanced mutation (really driving home the "poison/venom" themes there)

Ophelia: Heartbreaker by Pat Benatar. I'd definitely go with a stylized fight scene for her, probably the fight against Charybdis since that's her biggest fight scene. I'm sure there are other songs that would fit her, but... idk man, Heartbreaker is just permanently linked to Ophelia in my mind, I really need a fight scene set to that for her.

Gia: Absolute Lithops Effect by the Mountain Goats. I'm imagining it starting with Gia fresh out of HYDRA, limping on an old and unfitting prosthetic and opening up this rundown and boarded-up shop in Hell's Kitchen. Gradually we see the green come into her life again: she cleans up her shop and paints it in bright colors, flowers bloom, her clover thrives across the back wall of her shop, she gets a new prosthetic and bright tattoos slowly gather on her skin as she rebuilds her life.

Jasper: Falling Away With You by Muse. I already used it for a Heartstrings chapter, but it could also work as this quieter, emotional piece for an animatic. With the lyrics, and the way it switches between these softer verses and a more intense chorus, I could see a series of flashbacks between the soft, lighthearted start to their relationship with Kyle, and then the angsty journey to recovery and readjustment after he dies and is brought back.

Kestrel: This is another one you recommended, but Daffodil by Florence + The Machine. I could see a lot of nature imagery, and a lot of Kestrel's transformations into various different animals. I don't have a particular story in mind, just a cool showcase of Kestrel as a character.

Katherine: The Lion's Roar by First Aid Kit! I can see Katherine wandering through the desert, with golden magic twining around her hands like ribbons, until this mirage appears ahead of her: at first it wavers, then solidifies into a silhouette of a lion, then splits again into two figures walking towards her - Bastet and Sekhmet. They greet her like family members, maybe pull her into a hug or something, then disappear back into the desert.

Quinn: Breakdown by Icon for Hire. I could see this as a past/present thing, where the first half of the video is her before the accident, running and parkouring with her first crew - and then the music cuts off, utter silence, black and white as she falls and hits the ground. The silence lingers for a few long moments.... and then we're back to the song, full color and vibrancy again, with her post-accident still slipping through the crowds and picking pockets.

Eris: Guillotine Dreams by KiNG MALA for sure!! I want to see Eris fighting like an animal, covered in blood but laughing through the whole way, just causing absolute havoc. I just... I want to see them being an utter riot!!

Nikoletta: I still love Whispers by Halsey for her (thanks again for the rec!) and I think that the tone of it really suits her. I think it would be a very stark animatic, a lot of Nikoletta sitting alone in these dark rooms, a lot of black and white with very few details around her (as an echo of her feeling isolated both internally and externally). Either it could just stay there and be an angst piece, or there could be the gradual addition of colors as she bonds with the Squad - yellow for Rick, red for Harley, eventually a whole myriad of colors for Abner.

Jimmy: Hemorrhage (in my Hands) by Fuel. I'm imagining it starting out pretty angsty... Jimmy's lost kiss, him getting shot in the chest and watching the blood spray out into his hands, him waking up as a ghost and wandering Coney Island, and then... right at the end of the song, while he's on his knees and trying desperately to catch the blood spilling out... we see a figure step in and offer him a hand up, and the blood flow begins to slow.

Prometheus: I know I don't usually include them in the lineup, but... I wrote a whole fic about their transformation from a nightmare into a dream, and it's based on The Calling by the Amazing Devil. I would kill to see that whole transformation sequence set to the song.

[beansidhebumbling]

Snippet from This Shared Hunger- Chapter 1

Her interest in learning to hunt was met with wariness by Feyre, like it might be some trick designed to shred the fragile bond between them, but a cautious acceptance was offered all the same. A tender that would have been rescinded if Feyre had the slightest notion that Nesta had slightly larger, more magical targets than rabbits and deer.  

Flint eyes looking at her, like she might be a mirage still, weeks into her tutelage, in the shadows before dawn as they trekked through the thicket. She had to admit, in the bracing air, with the cloak of peace a mutual silence brought, that she was rather enjoying learning to hunt although the her lack of skill was eating at her. She could not afford to be a slow learner. She had always sat by in the desperate, though less dire times, in hopes their thrice-cursed father would do something, say something, attempt to provide maybe, or chastise her for barely tending the home as Feyre brought home meat she was never thanked for.  

A mistake she now knew. One that lived, like a tapeworm inside her, its presence constantly felt, fattened on shame ever-present. In trying to bait her father, she had ruined what lived between herself and Feyre until their connection was a mere whisp, water of the womb and little else. No action came free. Hurting a man, who was somehow less than even that, had cost her a sister. The regret that formed a tumour in her lungs, made it hard to breathe around Feyre. She did not offer apologies that would be surely unwelcome and unwanted. Words cost nothing after all. She would show Feyre. She would save her, maybe then all her regrets, letters bundled into words, speeches well-rehearsed in the liminal hours of night, sitting like a stone within, would be worth more. 

Feyre was a good teacher she mused, not for the first time, as her sibling showed her how to read a story from treads left in grass and mud. Hunched together, examining, what to Nesta looked like nothing at all but Feyre insisted was definitive proof a stag had passed through, she allowed herself to hope this could be built upon, seeing her sister gesticulate earnestly, eyes eager and bright, glancing at Nesta a little too often to be casual.  

'See that bend there Nes, see the angle of these broken branches. See how deep the tracks are. He passed through here recently. We could catch him today!' 

Feyre's voice was low and enthusiastic. A pang again in Nesta's stomach at how young her sister sounded.  

'I believe you…hundreds wouldn't'  

The dry retort is all she could muster. But her sister still huffed a soft laugh, air pushed from her lungs condensing into a foggy puff.  

'Well as long as you believe me Nes, that's enough.' 

The tone was cheeky, the words sincere, they were chiselled into her ribs as her breath caught in surprise. A love unearned. Feyre had always been the best of them. 

[lostywrites]

Summary:

The Hidden Ones encounter a mysterious traveller from Azeroth. Recognising an opportunity to expand their influence and forge new alliances, they appoint Basim Ibn Ishaq, a devoted disciple, as their representative.

In a realm where ancient lore and magic are as tangible as the air he breathes, Basim must rely on his wits, skills, and newfound connections to fulfill his mission and unlock secrets that could change the fate of both worlds.

A Warcraft/Assassin's Creed Mirage crossover fic. Set before the events of Dragonflight and Valhalla.

Playlist

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8

A/N: I'll be honest. This was probably the toughest chapter to write - the political tension, the dialogue, the fight scenes - nearly killed me. But I hope this chapter was worth the wait. To those who have been reading, thank you. <3

Chapter 9 - Messengers of Justice

"Do we have an agreement then? I've fulfilled my part of the deal -- ensuring your safe return -- and now, I'm ready to help transport the scroll back to Azeroth."

Roshan’s gaze remained steady on Wrathion as she responded. “Not quite,” she interjected. “It was agreed that the scholars would examine it here in Alamut.”

“And speaking of the scroll, ever since we’ve housed it here, we’ve encountered phenomena akin to those reported at the House of Wisdom – strange, unexplained occurrences. It’s as if the scroll’s presence is stirring…curiosities, or perhaps awakening something within Alamut itself.”

“This sounds familiar to Karazhan's own mystical disturbances, where arcane energies and ancient secrets seem to blur the boundaries of reality,” Wrathion mused. “Perhaps the scroll is interacting with the ley lines in similar ways. It’s not uncommon for artifacts of such potency to influence their surroundings. And Alamut seems to be one rich with such energies."

“I must admit, the nature of these ley lines is unfamiliar to me. What exactly are we dealing with here?” Fuladh asked.

Basim noticed a flicker of recognition in Roshan's gaze -- a sign that she was more familiar with the concept than she had let on.

“The ley lines are like veins through which the lifeblood of the world's magic flows. They converge and interact in various places, some more potently than others. Here at Alamut, we’re standing on a minor nexus, which might explain the heightened activity with the scroll.”

Fuladh's scepticism remained etched on his weathered face. "You speak of magic as if they are commonplace, Roshan. I'm inclined to believe these strange occurrences have a more tangible explanation -- perhaps hallucinogens, or some form of deceit by the Order. Regardless, I remain cautious about hastily attributing these events to magical causes."

"And yet, here I stand before you, a dragon cloaked in human guise, having just traversed a portal from another realm." Wrathion crossed his arms, smirking. "How, if not through magic, would you explain such phenomena?"

"I admit, the existence of portals and your own nature are difficult to dismiss," Fuladh conceded after a moment. "Perhaps my understanding of what is possible is too narrow."

"Magic, in whatever form it takes, is a part of the world around us, Fuladh," Roshan said. "It binds the realms and shapes our fates just as the wind shapes the sand dunes outside these walls. Denying its presence does not change its influence."

"It seems I have much to learn about the broader workings of the universe," Fuladh admitted. "Tell me more about these ley lines and their effects on our realm."

[lultimagoccia]

where does your soul rest?

deep, deep underwater

if your body wasn't made of flesh and bones, your soul would dive deep down below, under the sea, where the waters are cold and the sunlight is a mirage. i think it's a peaceful place, for a troubled soul like yours; i feel like you're an introvert who works best alone, with your thoughts and your habits, but i also know how much you crave soft touches and reassuring words. to someone you're a comforting presence, a hidden treasure buried in the sand. i like how inside you're just as soft as velvet; your heart is pure, and i wanna remind you that your past mistakes don't define who you are today. you're not what hurts you. if your soul had a color it would indeed be teal, a shiny kind, and it would smell like the salty sea breeze. i know someone is dying for one of your salty, bittersweet kisses. 

tagged by: @mariotime, thank you!! tagging: @crvptd, @pizzadoff ( for all three of ur muses ), @phonypizza ( for pino n vigi!! ), @thetravelershub ( omino! ), n' @asterismas ( for noisette! )

[amberlide]

Last Sentence Tag Game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence (not going to do that XD).

Apparently I was tagged by two people for this, so I have to do it XD Thank you so much! @animasola86 and @thefeatherwrites I loved your snippets!! :D I decided to make a separate post, because I'm gifting this to a friend @tessari-the-dreamer and I want her to find my sneak peaks instead of scrolling down... ;) So, since I stopped posting I thought it would be nice to share some lines for all my WIPs, so people know I'm not dead, but I'm just writing like crazy XD as always, Penelope x Garreth ;) I'm tagging @oceangirl24 and @mikaharuka, Tess, if you feel like it! No pressure!

Everything is SFW!! (Yeah, what a surprise, right? :O) Nothing is edited so it sucks...

Main fiction: THATP Chapter tbd - Jealous Geminids Amit chuckled, tousling Penelope’s hair. “Well, maybe I have some Korean ancestor, who knows?” Garreth blinked in surprise. “Korean?” “Yes, Penton is half Korean,” Amit promptly replied. “Actually, a quarter.” Penelope corrected. “You also have a second Korean name, right?” Amit continued, trying to remember it. Penelope nodded. “Jandi or Jan-di.” “Oh, that’s interesting! What does it mean?” Natty clapped her hands, her eyes shining with interest. “Grasses,” Penelope shrugged. “My father thought I would be easier to raise than his plants, but apparently that wasn’t the case.” A quarter Korean? A Korean name? Garreth couldn’t stop blinking in disbelief. How many things didn’t he know about his friend?

Hexed - Chapter 7 - The forbidden fruit (part II) Despite having meticulously prepared for that night, Penelope had to admit she couldn't shake the feeling that she was orchestrating more of a trap than a romantic encounter. Similar to the intricate strategy of certain orchids, mimicking the appearance of insects to draw them closer and utilize them as pollinators, she was deceiving, creating an illusion. Like those flowers, she had crafted her own mirage—a silent invitation to entice him into her desires, aiming for him to succumb to her allure and satisfy her longing for intimacy.

Out for bids - Chapter 1 - The Auction Ignoring her words, Garreth leaned forward and took the other quill from the inkwell, swiftly shifting the sack of gold from the contract he made to sign it.  Penelope grabbed his wrist, before he could do it. “Please. Sir,” her tone was low, pleading almost, as she emphasized the last word, but as she met his steady gaze, she realized the unforgivable mistake she had made. She saw his jaw clenching, a muscle twitching under his freckled, pale skin, his eyes shimmering in what she could only imagine was devilish pleasure.  There was no way he would renounce to her. 

A cabin in the woods - Chapter 3 - Healing attempts (wolf!Garreth fiction)

He tilted his head, what was she doing? He felt her hands on his back, gently caressing his fur, leaving him shivering in pleasure with each gentle stroke of her small fingers. She was moving towards his tail, when she reached it, she suddenly couched, “Let’s check if you are a lady or a gentlemen,” she mused, “I can’t really say from your size…”  Realizing what she wanted to do, he stiffened and immediately sat down, warmth spreading all over his body at the thought as his rear touched the ground. “Oh come on!” she huffed, and started to gently pat his thigh, trying to let him rise. He didn’t move, stubbornly remaining seated. There was no way she was going to check his privates! “Wolfie, please! This will take only a minute, you have too much fur to…” she didn’t finish the sentence as she sat on the ground, still trying to get him up.

[ambivalens999]

hiii hello i have been binging masks over the last couple days as i get back into naruto and can i just say that if you ever released an actual book i would be ALL over that, i love the way you take the inherent darkness of the series that is never really addressed and just go all in it's so satisfying to read and witness a sakura who gets to be just as strong and even stronger as the other boys!! it makes me so happy as a sakura super-fan who was always sad that she didnt get to have her moment -- it feels so cathartic and amazing, i'm only 2/3rds of the way through so far but im loving how they're all together again on one team, i will imagine whatever happens next to be canon no matter how sad or happy it is :)) (crossing my fingers for happy but i love it enough that i can handle anything 💪)

all that aside-- im wondering what your thoughts on sasusaku are? i think you mentioned in an author's note that you might write sasusaku & this isn't to pressure you or anything!! im just wondering how you feel about it? its one of my absolute favorite ships & your take on it would probably be amazing !! :) <3 take care!!

Aw, thank you so much for sending some love @sangomilk. I'm so glad you've been enjoying Masks! I hope the last 1/3 lived up to your expectations too! 😅

Wow! Sasusaku! I will say that when I was writing Masks (and that author's note), I was in a wondrous period of unprecedented, prolific output. I had a decent amount of time on my hands, and the muses were singing to me. At the time, I adored the challenge of writing rare-pairs as well as popular ships I had historically not bought into (the task being effectively similar to me to writing a rare pair). Something like: how can I bend, contort, re-frame, manipulate, etc. these characters to connect, in a way that readers find plausible, exciting, new, but also maybe somewhat believable...? My imagination was truly thriving lol.

Sasusaku did aggravate the fuck out of me in canon, but that only made the prospect of taking it on in a one-shot exhilarating to me--it still is for the same reasons! To be honest, though, my HP fic is taking up all of my brain space right now, and I still have some other ongoing stories I need to tend to eventually (mirage!). If I do attempt something, it will almost certainly occur in offshoots, and it will take some time.

In the meantime, do let me know if you know have any sasusaku recs <3 And, also, SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO RESPOND 😭

[123mirage]

"Nah I don't think it'll crack." He waves a hand casually, "Melt maybe."

@malika-carnelian Well well excuse him if he goes and preens himself in a mirror.

[artsy-hobbitses]

just gonna have a moment of unadulterated sincerity and say thank you for posting so much of your art here. not even the drawings of your humanformers + wrestlers, but your writing too. sometimes ill have a shit day but i know i can pop in here and ill be able to read up on your latest (or oldest) Ties that Bind musing and just enjoy how bright your world feels. hell, i cant even put into words how happy it made me when you added my user name to the cover of Mirage's magazine. just. thank you mate. youre amazing.

Awww bless you friend ;u;

It always makes me smile a little whenever I see you comment or even add tags to my stuff, it makes MY shit day feel better, so the feeling’s a shared one!

I’m so glad I get to share the ridiculous things I do with you as a mutual 💖

[edgymuses]

META POST MUSE LIST

here is a list of muses on this page, this list maybe subject to change due to various reasons. lost of interest or simply cleaning out the list. Some muse may have hiatus because I might not have consumed newer media my muse in, but one I will remove it from their name once i do so.

some muses maybe listed as primary, secondary, and request only. keep in mind that I may change muses activity depending on how much muse I have for them or if I feel like they either have more traction or less (ex: how much people request them in either asks or threads + how much I push said muse). primary muses are the ones I’ll use the most in sending memes, use in threads, making meta post about, detailed headcanons, and edits. secondary muses will be used in some threads, some meme post, headcanon will be posted at times, may make meta post, and I may make edits for them. request only muses are only used if the user wants to do threads with them or send ask memes for them to my ask box, I’ll occasionally develop them via meta post or headcanon, if I feel like it I will send memes to them, I’ll rarely make edits for them.

another point to note is if my muses’ bios or verse are not up please feel free to message me if you have any questions or concerns if I do write their bios and verse. I’ll be linking their bios and verse page as well. it’ll be next to their active status.

down below is my muse list, I’ll keep it under read more to avoid long post. enjoy your time here and I can’t wait to start threads and friendship with you! thank you so much! 💜

COMICS (with hints of other medias sprinkled in)

MARVEL

rachel grey-summers (prestige) secondary / bio & verse page

talia wagner (nocturne) primary / bio & verse page

callisto primary / bio & verse page

illyana rasputin primary / bio & verse page

danielle moonstar (mirage) secondary / bio & verse page

luna maximoff request only / bio & verse page

jimmy hudson (wolverine) secondary / bio & verse page

anya corazon (arana + spider-girl) primary / bio & verse page

lorna dane (polaris) primary / bio & verse page

frances barrison (shriek) request only / bio & verse page

crystalia amaquelin secondary / bio & verse page

DETECTIVE COMICS (DC)

grace choi secondary / bio & verse page

manchester black secondary / bio & verse page

scandal savage request only / bio & verse page

louise lincoln (killer frost ii) primary / bio & verse page

june moone (enchantress) secondary / bio & verse page

harper row (bluebird) primary / bio & verse page

leslie willis (livewire) primary / bio & verse page

artemis of bana-mighdall (artemis) secondary / bio & verse page

siobhan smythe (silver banshee) secondary / bio & verse page

cassandra cain (batgirl/black bat) primary / bio & verse page

barbara minerva (cheetah) request only / bio & verse page

lian harper request only / bio & verse page

renee montoya (the question) secondary / bio & verse page

IDW COMICS

oroku karai (karai) secondary / bio & verse page

IMAGE COMICS

cassie hack primary / bio & verse page

DYNAMITE ENTERTAINMENT

red sonja primary / bio & verse page

vampirella primary / bio & verse page

VIDEO GAMES

METAL GEAR SOLID (MGS)

eli (liquid snake) primary / bio & verse page

emma emmerich (ee) secondary / bio & verse page

MORTAL KOMBAT

sareena request only / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

jade secondary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

sindel primary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

RESIDENT EVIL

rebecca chambers primary / bio & verse page

SILENT HILL (SH)

heather mason secondary / bio & verse page

PERSONA

eikichi mishina secondary / bio & verse page

STREET FIGHTER

vega primary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

poison primary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

cammy white request only / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

ken masters secondary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

TEKKEN

lei wulong (super cop) primary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

julia chang primary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

jun kazama secondary / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

eliza request only / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

kazumi mishima request only / bio & verse page (on hiatus)

POKEMON

guzma primary / bio & verse page

FILM

LABYRINTH

jareth the goblin king primary / bio & verse page

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET

nancy thompson secondary / bio & verse page

TV SHOWS

EXTREME GHOSTBUSTERS

kylie griffin secondary / bio & verse page

MONSTER HIGH

frankie stein secondary / bio & verse page

toralei stripe secondary / bio & verse page

twyla boogeyman secondary / bio & verse page

[vampirelover890]

It's that time of year again,

I'm doing the

Writerly Question Tag

thingy...

Thanks to @leahnardo-da-veggie for tagging me

About You

When did you start writing?

I think in about 1st or 2nd grade, I ended up attempting to be cool and famous in my school by writing a stupid comic or something about a cat that gets superpowers. I vividly remember writing an entire 3 page comic about the cat and his evil doppelganger doing a trivia game show to prove which is which.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Little known fact, I love vampires. I love dark fantasy, and everything attached, but I also enjoy Dystopistic SciFi. Really enjoyed the Bladerunner series and ever since, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep has been on my 'to read' list. So maybe sometime soon I do something relayed to the concept of mortality and robots or something.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don't really try to imitate anyone when it comes to writing, I just kinda let the mind guts spill and whatever comes out I live with. I do me best, I don't want to try to be someone else.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)?

I write laying stomach down on my bunkbed/desk from about 10pm-12am PST. Also on the bus sometimes.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Monster, situation, in that order. Vampire, Crazy Person. Werewolf, Imposter Syndrome. Zombie, Janitor. Skeleton, Fight Club. Shapeshifter, Isolation. I'm actively running out of ideas because I can't think of any more cool monsters to write about. Maybe more vampires.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not really? I grew up in the suburbs near a beach, but didn't really go out for the sake of going out all that much, and now we've moved to a place where the nearest town is a 20 minute drive away so I can't go out for the sake of going out. It was definitely the early and fairly unrestricted access to the internet that created the author who spouts nonsense to you today.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Please refer to the vampirelover890 Blog Description.

Your Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Easily it's Mirage, The Blue Knight. She started as a stupid joke for a one shot, got translated from sci-fi to fantasy, lost some character elements, gained an actual backstory, I wrote an unused campaign which revolved around her as an antagonist. Some close contenders are Anders Deephall and Jones + Nathaniel MacGee

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

All of the people I write about are horrible and murder on a weekly basis, but I would have to go with Siobhan, just because I imagine she's chill and mellow when she isn't thinking about also eating you.

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Probably Ava, because she doesn't have any redeeming qualities (I haven't written them yet), she's a murderer, and she's named after a character in Borderlands 3 who I like as a presence on screen, but definitely not my favorite.

Tell me about the process of coming up with your characters?

As outlined previously, I come up with a monster, and then a scenario, but that applies to the story as a whole. When I make a character, I go after personality first and foremost. Ava is naive and overenthusiatic about something she definitely shouldn't be, Prometheus makes sure hes groomed, dressed nicely, and speaks properly because it reflects the way he thinks he deserves to be treated, and Siobhan is socially awkward because she's dead and doesn't entirely get society. I almost never describe a character's physical appearance. This is because I personally think that a picture is worth a thousand words, and so why waste a thousand words trying to describe a picture when you can use them to describe the way a person feels and thinks which is infantismally more complex than how a shirt looks, and gives you a better feeling of the character and their personality.

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

Every single character I write is a freak, physically or socially. Anders is a maniac when it comes to learning something he doesn't know, and has no qualms with a letting Monster inhabitants headspace if he gets to know more. Siobhan is socially bereft, she doesn't understand how the construct of society itself is supposed to function, and also is dead and eats people. Ava pulled apart the corpses of the people who loved her to learn how a body works. Mirage has spent the last 100 years living and crying and killing in an abandoned castle in the deep woods of a land declared lost by all factions. Everyone is a freak. Also I once again implore that you read the vampirelover890 Blog Description.

How do you picture your characters?

Anders is an average height guy with brown hair and maybe unkempt sideburns. His defining trait in my mind is the white dress shirt, brown vest, and tie he wears that are tailored for a beast 2 feet taller than him. I see Siobhan as a woman in her mid 20s who's skin has gone gray. She feels like she'd hunch on her mop for support and have awful posture. Those are the only two I feel like describing though, because Mirage has no definite shape, Ava's looks do not matter to me, and I actively avoid Nick's series.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I would fucking explode if I didn't. Also I get to elaborate on TTRPG characters without having to worry about scheduling.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Anything. Literally anything. I once got a comment that just said "fucking sick" or something, and it made my entire day. Any sort of interaction be it commenting or likes let's me know I'm not just screaming fruitlessly into an endless abyss where no one can hear me.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work?

Goblin who emerges from his cave every 2 weeks to put out, at worst, a mediocre fruit cake.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Idk? Originality? I've never heard of an Illegal Necromancer Mecha Skeleton Fighting Ring before, but maybe I'm just not looking hard enough. Or maybe I'm clueless to some big massive story that I'm accidentally ripping off. Or maybe it's my ability to write "I'm" in the same spot, 3 times in a row.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

"Fucking awesome" -tashaiseverseeing1.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Other than To Hunt A Vampire, which I have said many times I don't like because it felt rushed and whatnot, I think I'm just fine. I know people who have been driving cars for years and still don't know the difference between Their, There, and They're, so I'm probably alright.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

If by some miracle I lived long enough to write at all, I would write. Maybe in something that would stand the test of time, so that when the light in my eyes exits stage left, my story may still be felt, or heard, or maybe even read by some distant intelligence.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy?

I wrote a very long rant about the sanctity of writing and how Jesus died so that humans could sin, but the short answer is that I would not stop loving vampires if I thought that might get more people to read my stories.

That was fun but it took a very long time. There was probably an easier way and I'm just being dense but it is 1:27 am as I write this and I would rather be asleep than contemplate the ways I could have written this better.

I have no one to tag and as such I leave this to an open tag.

Good night