#(i mean don't hold your breath. writing is hard. but that seems like the natural sequel no?)

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Good Sense

Summary: Hunter gets a migraine in the middle of the night and goes looking for solace.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

A/N: So, I haven’t posted anything for like two years but I wanted to write for Hunter because I finally got to sit down and watch the Bad Batch seasons 2 and 3 and I’m currently obsessed! I hope you like it!

Please don't copy my work

***

A thud woke you.

Shooting up, you searched the softening darkness for the source of the dull clunk. Slowly, your eyes moulded a familiar silhouette from the gloom. Familiar, welcome, but worrying all the same.

You swung your legs off of your bunk and whispered, "Hunter?"

He flinched and a pang of anxiety wrung your heart. His frame was hunched, one hand clinging to the wall to steady himself. The lines of his shoulders were tense and trembling like puppet strings pulled taut to breaking point.

The anxious knot in your chest only tightened as you made out his expression. His brow creased, eyes squeezed shut and jaw strained. Every one of his handsome features contorted in pain.

"I'm sorry!" His voice was faint, barely there as he leant his head against the wall. His eyes squinted open and floundered, trying to find you. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm glad you did," you murmured, keeping your tone low. "Migraine?" you asked, moving toward him with arms held out. His trembling fingers dug into your forearms when he found them, an involuntary admission of the agony he was in. You sensed more than saw him nod, then felt his forehead lean against yours.

"It's bad," he conceded, barely concealing a whimper, "I can't see, or think, or-!"

Hushing him, you brushed a feather-light hand across his cheek, wiping a tear and smoothing his hair out of his face. His skin was clammy to the touch. "Come here."

You led him to sit down on your bunk. If it had been light, you might never have dared. You still weren't sure what existed between you and Hunter. He was entrancing, had been since you first encountered the squad. The softspoken soldier had piqued your interest from day one, and sometimes you wondered if he wasn't equally intrigued by you, but war and turmoil had a nasty habit of putting these kinds of things on hold.

Still, sitting here in the night with his head turned to your shoulder, Hunter was a far cry from the exacting sergeant, the authoritative leader you had gotten to know. Tonight, he was more vulnerable and perhaps more honest than you'd ever seen him.

"Drink," you instructed, pressing a canteen into his grasp and easing yourself out. While he complied, you rummaged in the small drawer beneath your bed that the Batch had graciously called yours. "Take," you said, holding out your recovered pain killers.

Hunter shook his head, only slightly but the motion clearly sent an extra spasm of pain through his skull. "They won't do anything."

"You won't know until you take them."

He hesitated, unused to hearing that kind of authority in your tone but he looked away and swallowed the pills without protest. You tucked your legs back up onto the bunk, shifting your pillow onto your knee as Hunter wiped a bead of water from his mouth and clenched his eyes shut again.

"Lay down," you breathed, guiding him with a gentle hand to rest his head in your lap. He was too exhausted to argue. You wondered whether he would have done, but he heaved a sigh and you pulled your blankets over his coiled frame. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when your fingers threaded themselves through his hair and soothed to and fro in tide-like rhythm. Through the gloom, you fancied you saw his features soften and in time, his breaths evened out into slumber.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," you weren't sure if the thought made it past your lips or not but it twisted in your heart. Hunter didn't stir, even when your hands moved to trace the dark curves of his tattoo. For the first time since you’d met, he looked truly at peace; it struck you how much younger he looked.

Too constant was his demeanour, too anxious, too utterly responsible for every detail. Hunter was a good leader, the best. He knew his squad and cared for them more than anything. He knew their skills, their limits, and everything in between. They all knew he would burn himself to keep them warm, and he was doing.

Yes, you were in a tight spot. The Empire’s fist closed rapidly on system after system and it was getting harder and harder to lay low. Yes, you needed to be careful but just today on a simple supply run, you’d seen Hunter drive his senses to their extremities. You’d seen the way his eyes darted like a cornered animal while every sight, smell, sound, and taste bombarded his mind. The was his hands shook and each step betrayed anguish.

There was being cautious, then there was this.

But right now, he was resting. You forced your mind to focus on the weight of his head in your lap and the ebbing rhythm of his breath moving against your thigh. Now he was sleeping with your hand on his cheek and a soft smile gracing his careworn expression. Right now, he was safe and slumbering.

Right now, you could keep him that way.

The darkness weighed heavy on your eyelids and the solid warmth of Hunter’s body next to yours pulled you down to your own drowsy repose. Head resting against the wall of your bunk, the shadows coaxed you back into their nighttime realm. The last thing clinging to your consciousness was Hunter’s soft skin against your palm.

Sleep was warm and dreamless and when you woke to movement, a faint tint of morning lightened the dim space.

Hunter sat on the other end of your bunk, hands gripping the edge and his feet on the ground. His wary gaze flickered over your face. “Sorry for waking you… again.”

You sat up, hugging the pillow where Hunter had lain against your tummy. “It’s okay,” and it was, the veil of fatigue evaporated like dew in the sun. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded but didn’t look up. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

You narrowed your eyes, tucking your knees up and sitting forward against the pillow. “Why did you?”

A teasing smile played at the corner of your mouth and to your delight, when he caught your eye, a similar one tugged at his.

“I don’t know,” he huffed, your eyes didn’t leave his face, “the boys are great but they’ve never had much control of volume!” At the sound of your laughter, his own smile grew. “I mean can you imagine waking Wrecker in the middle of the night? Or the lecture I’d get from Tech and Echo?”

You fought to suppress mirth, mindful of your aforementioned ship-mates still sound asleep in their own bunks.

“I guess I just needed someone more peaceful.”

That caught you off guard, more so the look in his eyes when he said it, and the way his smile softened. Hunter’s gaze could be piercing, expectant, even threatening to those who posed danger to people he loved, but this was the first time you’d seen it contented. Perhaps before you might have looked away, intimidated by their intensity, but that honey-gold amber had never felt more inviting.

A soft smile graced your lips. “I’m glad you came.”

You murmured the words into the silence that hung between you, both a blanket of comfort and a veil of security.

“Me too.”

For a moment, Hunter looked like he wanted to say something more but good sense won out.

“I should go,” he made to stand. You caught him.

“It’s still early.” Until today there hadn’t existed a world where you could have been this brave yet perhaps this dawn would rise on a new one. You didn’t let go of his hand. “The others won’t be up for hours yet,” you continued, easing him back to sit, “and besides, you could use the rest.”

Hunter smiled, “Wouldn’t want that lecture from Tech, would we?”

You gave your nonchalant assent and Hunter caved.

Good sense couldn’t save him a second time.

***

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave a comment and let me know if you’d like to be tagged when/if I write more Hunter stuff.

Love you guys!

[craftycoola]

as i get older, i'm gaining an increasing appreciation for natural fibers.

the crinkliness of cotton, the itchiness of wool, the stiffness of linen... it feels heartier than synthetics, you know? there's something that feels real about natural fibers that synthetics somehow lack. and i know that wool felts and linen softens and whatever, but i love that progression so much more than the way synthetics (including processed cellulose) go from unnaturally soft to weirdly plasticky.

anyways the point is i love science, and there's value to technology that improves the way we make textiles. but it's frustrating when, rather than making textiles better, science robs them of their longevity in the name of making things cheap.

there is a lot of beauty in imperfect things -- "ugly" things, sometimes -- that last.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home

Hey guyss, I wanted to write a story for Charles to celebrate his victory in Monza. I know this part is very reader x Arthur but let me know what you think and if you want more parts :)

You’ve known the Leclercs all your life. It’s hard not to when you’re their neighbour. With you and Arthur being the same age and going to the same class, you naturally became best friends, spending every moment together. From school to afternoons playing at each other's houses to accompanying his family to the track for their races, your lives were intertwined.

You grew up with them. You were there when Arthur won his first race, when Charles got into Formula 1, when you graduated high school. Your life has always been surrounded by the Leclercs, so it was almost inevitable that you’d fall for one of them—Charles.

It was evident to everyone. Even Arthur noticed, and he didn’t like it at all. He made you promise you would never date his brother. After all, how could he stand that when he was in love with you, even if you had no idea?

Your crush on Charles was just that—a crush, an infatuation, a dream. He was older than you and often had a different girl on his arm. You didn’t stand a chance, or so you thought.

Aside from your love dilemmas, everything seemed to be going okay, until one day, your father received a job offer that involved moving to Spain. Your life changed drastically from one day to the next. You spent your last night in Monaco with Arthur, savouring your final hours together before your departure.

The moon hung low over Monaco, casting a soft glow on the city. You and Arthur sat on the steps of the Leclercs' home, the cool night air surrounding you. It was quiet, the kind of silence that carries a weight of unspoken words.

"I can't believe you're leaving," Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't either," you replied, looking down at your hands. "It all happened so fast. One moment, everything was normal, and the next, we're packing up our lives."

Arthur nodded, staring off into the distance. "It's not going to be the same without you here."

You felt a lump in your throat. "I'm going to miss you so much, Arthur. We've done everything together since we were kids. I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

He turned to look at you, his eyes soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place. "You'll do great things. You always do. Spain…it's just a new adventure for you."

"But I don't want to go," you blurted out, the tears you had been holding back starting to spill over. "I want to stay here, with you, with everyone. I don’t want to leave my life behind."

Arthur reached out, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. The touch was tender, lingering longer than usual. "Hey, don’t cry. We’ll still be friends, no matter where you are. You know that, right?"

You nodded, sniffling. "I know, but it's not the same."

He hesitated for a moment, as if battling with himself. "I just…I want you to know that…you mean a lot to me. More than you probably realize."

You gave a small, shaky laugh. "You mean a lot to me too, Arthur. You're my best friend."

He looked like he wanted to say something more, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it again, shaking his head. "Yeah…best friends."

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Arthur gazed at you, his eyes searching yours, and you thought you saw something flicker there—a brief, intense flash of emotion that was gone as quickly as it appeared. Before you could decipher it, he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly against him.

"I'll always be here for you, no matter what," he murmured into your hair.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "And I'll always be here for you."

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you wanting to let go, until the sky began to lighten with the first signs of dawn. With a heavy heart, you pulled back, knowing it was time to go.

"Goodbye, Arthur," you whispered.

"Goodbye," he replied, his voice barely audible.

As you walked away, you missed the way he watched you, the way his hand reached out, almost as if he wanted to call you back, to tell you everything he’d been holding inside. But he didn’t. He let you go.

Years had passed since that night. You had spent the last four years in Spain, earning your degree and living a different life. But now, you were back in Monaco, ready to start your master's degree.

The airport buzzed with activity, a mix of tourists and locals rushing to their destinations. You walked through the arrival gate, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

And there he was.

Arthur stood near the entrance, leaning against a pillar with his hands in his pockets, a smile spreading across his face as he spotted you. His hair was a bit longer, and he looked more mature, but his eyes still held that same warmth you remembered.

"Welcome back," he said, pulling you into a hug as you reached him.

"It's so good to see you!" you exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he replied, his voice softer. He pulled back, looking you over. "Spain's been good to you. You look great."

"Thanks," you said, blushing slightly. "You look good too, Arthur. Really good."

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks. It's been…different without you here."

You smiled, linking your arm through his as you started walking towards the exit. "Well, I'm back now. We have a lot of catching up to do."

As you talked, Arthur felt his heart swell with every word you said, every smile you gave. Seeing you again brought back all those feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But he knew better than to show it. You still saw him as your best friend, nothing more. And after all this time, he didn’t want to risk ruining what you had.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed, keeping his voice light. "So, where to first? Home or food?"

You laughed. "Definitely food. I’m starving!"

Arthur chuckled, guiding you towards his car. "Food it is, then. I've got just the place in mind."

As he drove, he stole glances at you, soaking in every detail, every expression. He had never stopped loving you, even after all these years. But for now, he was content just having you back in his life, even if it was just as friends.

Because being near you, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile—that was enough. At least, for now.

Part 2

[kolyubov]

Say your French goodbye

✧ pairing. pm!dazai x gn!reader

✧ word count. 1k

✧ contents. angst? petnames (sweets, darling), ooc pm!dazai.

✧ author's note. hai :3 this may be written kinda weird because i'm experimenting with my writing !! hopefully it's still enjoyable <3

Dazai wishes to enjoy this moment; you lying on top of him with his arms wrapped around your form, breathing slowly against his chest, your eyelashes resting against your soft cheeks, your lips parted just slightly— he's holding back from just grabbing your face and pampering you with kisses, aching to feel that softness against his lips.

But he can't. He can't even let himself enjoy your presence, trying to warm his whole being; his soul.

It's wrong.

He knows he shouldn't be this attached to someone.

When he lets his guard down, allowing himself to enjoy the company of another human, life takes them away from his path one way or another.

It's always been like that.

—

Your couch feels much more comfortable than his bed, naturally, and your apartment seems too colorful for his eyes in comparison to the cold steel walls of the container where he “lives”.

He wonders what you'll think if you ever find out about his questionable lifestyle.

“Osamu…”

Dazai's attention is almost immediately back to you, watching as you snuggle and rub your cheek against his chest with your eyes still closed. The way his name sounds coming from your lips has his heart skipping a beat… He’s ashamed you’ll feel how pathetically it beats for the sound of your voice alone.

“Something's wrong?” He whispered, not wanting to break the small moment of peace for you. His fingers slowly ran through your hair, twirling it a little at the ends. “Ready to go to bed, darl’?”

His uncovered eye was hard on you, carefully analyzing your body language for any indication that you felt uncomfortable.

“You're pretty silent… Is something wrong?” You ask, and Dazai doesn't answer your question, only letting his head fall back against one of your couch's pillows; his lips part for a moment, and just as he is about to speak, he closes them again.

All of this is wrong…

He knows someday you'll be ripped off his life, he can't avoid that fate that awaits him, but Dazai is more afraid of you ending up hurt because of his fault. Considering his position as an executive of the Port Mafia, many could use you in order to threaten him.

For your own good, he should let you live a quiet life.

Dazai places his hands on your waist, firmly pushing you off him to lie on his side instead, “Sweets, it's kinda late. Why don't you go to sleep, yeah?”

When he briefly glanced at your expression, you were facing him with a pout on those lips that he couldn't take his eyes away from.

“Why don't you stay? You can sleep here, on the couch, or if you're comfortable enough, maybe in my bed!” There was no hidden meaning behind those words, you really wished for him to take a rest for once, “We can even have a slumber party!”

“Ehhh… I don't have any pajamas and sleeping in a suit is…” He trails off as your hand reaches out for his arm, but he’s already pulling away and sitting on the edge of the couch, not facing you.

“I'll lend you my clothes! I have some oversized pieces that could fit you.”

Dazai rolled his eyes, amused by your attempts to make him stay. He didn’t want to keep inventing more excuses in order to avoid staying, but knowing how stubborn you were, being honest won't work either— If anything, it'll be much harder for him to leave that way.

When he was just about to get up, ready to leave and maybe disappear forever before fucking up your life, your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, trapping him with you.

“Please, stay…” You murmur against his back. The softness of your plea has him biting his lower lip anxiously as a storm builds up inside his head. He is a heartless mafia executive, so why's it so easy for you to grip his frozen heart and melt his resistance away?

Dazai's hands rest above yours, kindly trying to push them away, but your grip was strong— He wouldn't want to use too much force accidentally. The last thing he wishes to do is hurt you.

“Darling, I'm busy. You know how the mafia works. Can you take those cute hands away and let me go?” Seeing no answer from you, he gave your hands a few pats, “C'mon, or do you want Chuuya to punch my face for being late again?”

With that, he felt your grip soften, leaving him the opportunity to stand up from your couch. When he turns around to face you, a small chuckle escapes him at the sight of your defeated pout.

“Will you come tomorrow too…?”

Dazai purses his lips and looks away. Conflicted.

Both his mind and heart were arguing whether to stay and appreciate these moments with you before everything comes to an end or be selfish, spend more time with you, and put your life in danger for being in a relationship with a mafioso.

His presence is nothing but an inconvenience.

Maybe he wasn't meant to love, maybe he was never meant to care for another human being, at least in the way you cared so sweetly for him. He doesn't get along with most people after all.

“…Sure.” He replies, his voice soft as a hand reaches for your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin for a few seconds, enjoying the lasting moments.

Before he could leave, you pull him for a hug that leaves him stunned. Everything stops; his breathing, his heart, his mind— All because of your sudden display of affection. A hug was something he wasn't used to. It took him a while until his arms wrapped around your body, letting you melt against him.

No words were coming from any of you, just calm breathing and small caresses over each other's back in your dimly lit living room. The embrace lasted for a few minutes until you pulled away. Your eyes meet his, trying to see through him, wishing you could just tell him everything your heart yearns for.

“Take care, Osamu…”

Dazai gave you one last small smile, squeezing your hand in his hand before walking away, opening the door of your apartment, not glancing back, as he disappeared in the dark.

Maybe, one day, he'll figure out how to make his life less miserable; someday, he could let himself enjoy your presence without fearing the consequences of his existence.

Maybe one day he'll change.

© 2024 kolyubov — Do not copy, repost, or recommend my works on other platforms. reblogs are welcomed and appreciated!

[heizouz]

whoever requested the sub lyney thing i am so in love w u ALSO UR WRITING IS AMAZING litch rally all i can think abt rn

lyney is def like. a cocky sub tho like he’s a little feisty idk !!???! like he starts off all confident and then he just. falls apart over time… idk he lives in my brain i swear

nsfw sub!lyney + gn!reader, reader is kind of mean (not really at all), brat lyney turned cockwhore, cock can be referred to as a strap :]

THANK YOUUUU TYSM UR TOO SWEET!!! i can't tell if i strayed a bit off the request here but i hope it's okay nonetheless🤞🏻it's my favourite thing to put boys in their places so this was so fun to write, tysm for the req anon!!! <3

lyney is definitely the type of sub to test his partner's patience and bring them to their breaking point instead of being obedient because, what's the fun in that?

he always acts so confident, both in and out of the bedroom—putting on a show for anyone who has the pleasure of being around him. you know he's not always like that; you'd seen the ways he'd beg for you to let him cum, seen how he'd fall apart from things such as soft grinding or needy kisses.

that's why you just let him carry out his act.

lyney was naturally clingy, but the way his touches seemed to linger for a second too long, or fall lower than they were supposed to, you could tell he was trying to rile you up. he'd been at it all day; fingers dancing over your chest moments after you'd woken up, teasing remarks to make you flush in front of your friends, hands gripping hard on your hips when you stood, and squeezing your thighs when you sat. you put up with all of it though, letting the cockiness go to his head so you could watch him crumble underneath you once you finally got him alone.

lyney had to force back a grin when you'd stormed into the house later that day, not a word from your lips as he smirked and happily followed you around as if taunting you till you made it to the bedroom. he'd giggled when you'd practically thrown him on the bed, tongue pressing against your cheek at the smug expression painted over the magician's face.

you weren't mad per say; lyney was just naturally feisty and way too cocky, so all of his taunts and tricks were nothing by now. but he got a thrill off of seeing your reactions and watching you snap.

so what can you say really? he was asking for it.

"good fucking boy." you growl, your hips pistoning slow and harsh into him. lyney's moaning, crying out against the sheets as you hold him down, knocking the breath from him with every thrust. "see? 's not that hard to be a doll and listen, is it?"

lyney's constant stream of moans echo around the room, unable to answer you whether you wanted him to or not. he's too fucked out, cries spilling from his pretty parted lips with every drag of your cock. he's too weak to grab the sheets, fingers clawing at the material. he's so perfect like this—nothing like the usual overconfident, charming character everyone sees him to be; all completely at your mercy and squirming underneath you.

your fingers tighten in his messy hair, his once pretty braid now loose and falling out, and you lift his head from the sheets. lyney whines, high and needy, volume so much louder now he was no longer pressed against the bed. your hips don't slow, rather they pick up a little in pace and lyney has to hold himself up with his arms to stop himself from collapsing on to the sheets.

"what's happened, doll? can't talk?" lyney can feel your smirk just from your tone alone. you fold your body over his back, thrusting deep into him and he whimpers, "have i fucked you dumb?"

letting you wrap your hand around his throat, you make him tilt his head back as much as he can to look at you. his eyes glaze over with nothing but needy tears, pants falling from his constantly parted lips with every drag of your cock and how you handle him so easily into such positions. lyney doesn't answer you, but if the moans dropping from his tongue with every hard thrust told you anything, it was that you had fucked him dumb.

lyney's brain is practically empty, pretty dumb whimpers leaving his throat and he can't form any words; especially when you pull out just so the tip of your cock stays inside before dragging him back onto you with such ease. especially when the fingers around his throat find his open mouth and stuff his needy throat full, shutting him up even though his moans bleed past your digits. and especially after he finishes, head blanking and eyes rolling back into his head as you continue to fuck him through his orgasm, letting him know that this is what he deserves.

[marksbear2]

Can I request an Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader, pleaseeee I really love you and your writing!

Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader

I haven’t wrote in forever 😔. But I wanted to comeback and stop sulking and I actually want to improve and go back doing what I love which is writing.

The moon hung high in the sky, a silvery lantern casting its light over the city of New Orleans. A cool breeze swept through the narrow alleyways, its chill at odds with the heat that simmered beneath your skin. You’d heard rumors, of course—the tales of the enigmatic vampire, Lestat de Lioncourt, who had once been a figure of myth. Now, however, his presence was very much real, alive in the whispered corners of this haunting city.

But tonight, there would be no rumors. Tonight, you were going to meet him.

The faint sound of music spilled out from a nearby club, and you adjusted the collar of your jacket, feeling a slight tremble in your fingers. You didn't know what had brought you to this moment. Was it the sheer thrill of danger? Or the promise of something you couldn’t put your finger on—that Lestat offered in his dark, seductive allure?

Before you could second-guess yourself, you were there—standing in front of the old, crumbling mansion that seemed to breathe its age and secrets. Its gates creaked open with the slightest touch, as though they had been waiting for you.

You took a step inside, your pulse quickening. The marble floors of the foyer were cold underfoot, and the scent of something old and faintly metallic lingered in the air. You could almost hear the silence itself—it was as though the house itself was holding its breath.

And then, a voice, low and smooth, like velvet wrapped in shadows.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived,” Lestat said, his tone filled with dark amusement.

You froze, your heart skipping in your chest as you turned toward him.

Lestat stood at the top of a winding staircase, his golden hair gleaming even in the dim light. His eyes were locked onto you, sharp and intense, as if he could see into the deepest corners of your soul.

He wore a tailored suit, black and perfectly fitting, that only added to his aura of aristocratic elegance.

“I was wondering when you'd come to find me,” he continued, descending the stairs with an effortless grace. With each step, it felt as though the distance between you shrank, your pulse pounding harder.

“I—uh—I didn’t know what to expect,” you stammered, trying to keep your composure.

Lestat chuckled softly, a sound that both soothed and sent a ripple of unease down your spine. "Expect the unexpected," he said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “I don't bite... unless you ask nicely.”

The playful, almost teasing nature of his words caught you off guard, but there was something dangerous lurking behind that smile, something ancient and powerful.

The weight of his gaze made you feel exposed, as if he could read every thought, every desire you hadn't yet acknowledged. He stepped closer, his movements fluid, like a predator circling its prey. The air around you seemed to grow heavier, charged with an invisible energy. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath as he reached out, his cool fingers brushing your cheek in a way that made you shiver.

"You’re far too easy to read," he murmured, his voice like honey and smoke. "You’ve been dreaming of this, haven’t you? Of me."

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” The words came out more breathless than you intended.

Lestat’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate. “Oh, but you do. Everyone who seeks me out knows exactly what they’re looking for. And deep down, so do you.”

His eyes glinted with something dangerously intoxicating, his gaze locking with yours as if he were pulling you into his world, his darkness.

“You belong to me now,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing your ear as he leaned in. The heat of his body radiated against yours, and you felt a thrill run through you—part fear, part yearning.

Before you could respond, he pulled back slightly, just enough to gaze into your eyes. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with gentle precision. “You’ll enjoy this far more than you can imagine.”

Lestat tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning you like a collector examining a rare artifact. He leaned in again, closer this time, the coolness of his lips grazing yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. His chuckle was a dark, silken sound as he stepped back, watching you closely, savoring your reaction. “You see? Not so bad, is it?”

“You’re... a monster,” you said, voice unsteady but defiant.

Lestat's eyes flickered with amusement, his sharp smile never faltering. “And yet, you crave it, don’t you? The darkness. The danger. The unknown.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a look—one that made your insides twist with a mix of fear and desire. “I could teach you,” he said softly, almost coaxing. “A different kind of life, one beyond mortal limitations. No more fear, no more pain. Just... eternity.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing. He was offering you something you’d only ever dreamed about: the chance to live forever, to experience a world that most only whispered about in terrified reverence. But was it worth the cost? Lestat's gaze softened slightly, as if he understood the conflict in your eyes.

“You can resist, of course,” he said, the words almost a challenge. “But the more you fight it, the more you’ll be drawn to me. And when you finally accept it, when you give yourself over, you’ll belong to me. Body, mind... and soul.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. Could you truly walk away from him? Or was this inevitable?

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in with every passing second. Lestat stood before you, offering you his world, his eternity. It was everything you had ever imagined and more... but at what price?

Before you could make a decision, Lestat smiled again, this time with a slow, wicked grin. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“Don’t think too hard, darling,” he said softly, his lips brushing your ear once more. “You’ll come to me... sooner or later.”

And with that, the room faded around you, leaving you caught in his intoxicating spell—utterly, helplessly, his.

[myers-meadow]

Foolish Gratitude (Rolan x Tav)

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Summary: After you saved Rolan from the shadow people, his mood worsens. It's up to you to make him feel better. AKA Rolan hatefucks you <3

Warnings: smut, 18 +, dub-con, penetration, (mild) spanking, degrading language, fem Tav (she/her and vulva used), submissive tav, no aftercare shown in the fic, no discussion of kinks or consent, Tav is into it though ^^.

Word count: 1767

This is my first ever foray into writing Rolan 💞✨, please be nice. Reblogs and comments are very appreciated (please feed my brainrot i beg). Proofread by the very kind @gauntermetaverse - thank you! Divider by saradika-graphics.

Rolan is taking his loss hard. After that drunk night, he turns mean - doubly so after you save him from the darkness the next day.

The Last Light Inn is pleasant tonight. There's some gossip, some small hopes and dreams shared at a table, and some tears. At least there is still warm soup, you think to yourself as you sit down at a small table with a bowl full. It warms you in just the way you need it to. The rest of your companions are around, resting, playing board games, reading. Lae'zel is armwrestling whomever dares. Gale is talking to Halsin about the nature of the shadow curse. A quiet evening. Your bowl is empty, and you stand to return it to the bar.

"There we have her; our beloved hero," It could've been Raphael if it wasn't for the cruel sarcasm dripping from his every word. Rolan. "Come to the inn to gloat? To rub it into my face how much better you are?"

He's not even that drunk, but his anger is something fierce. In the past, you were understanding, kind. The man has been going through a lot. But now... Even you are losing patience in the face of his barbed words.

"Rolan," You start, your tone soft, not wanting this to escalate. "I know you're-"

He cuts you off. "No, you don't know. But I have something better in mind."

He grabs you by the fabric over your shoulder - you're in your camp clothes, no armour to protect you here - and drags you past the bar. All the while, he's hissing things at you like a cat who had her pride hurt.

To avoid escalation, you follow him willingly. Then, the door of a small food supply closet shuts and the lock clicks shut. The key clatters against the ground as Rolan drops it over his shoulder.

"A hero who doesn't know her place, that won't do..." He muses as he stands over you. A cruel smile licks at the corners of his mouth. "How fortunate I've always been a good teacher."

His tone is startling. He doesn't even seem drunk. "Rolan, that’s-" 

He clamps a hand over your mouth. He's so close that you feel his breath on your cheek as he turns your head to the side. He breathes deep. "You think you can solve everything." The grip on your cheeks is hard enough to make you feel he's gonna leave a bruise.

Your muffled sounds go ignored. Rolan chuckles, and it sends a weird tingling sensation through your lower belly.

"You're gonna have to be quiet for this lesson," He says, and with a dizzying movement, he turns you to face the wall. A warm hand gropes at your ass, through the thin fabric of that cute skirt you found in a chest at Sharess' Caress. His nails dig in. How good it feels, startles you. None too gently, he bends you over - still keeping his hand over your mouth.

"You're nothing more than any other adventurer in this inn. Yet you think you're owed all this gratitude, all this praise..." His voice curls meanly at the end. "You need to learn. To really feel where you belong." 

In his groping, he moves your skirt up and tucks in the waistband so it stays. The first slap, hard, short, without warning, has you twist against his hold, and with a muffled shout to match.

Rolan tuts. "Now, hero, is that how you take a little spanking? I would've thought you could take more. This is a disappointment, really."

The second slap lands on your other asscheek, just as stinging as the first. The third deepens the sensation. You don't struggle out of his hold, instead, you lean into it. After the fourth, he soothes your sore bum with strokes of his hand. That's far from the end, though. A fifth, a sixth, the heat increases, the stinging takes longer to leave after each slap. Seventh, eight, and you lose count. His speed increases, and your shouts of pain turn to whimpers as he tires you out.

He seems barely out of breath as he speaks again. "And that is the hero against the Absolute. Pathetic. Look at you. Whimpering after just a few meager slaps." Another sharp one lands, your whiny moan of pain punctuating his words. You're not sure you're hearing it right through the ringing in your ear, but it almost sounds like he moaned.

His hand lets go of your face, instead he pushes two fingers in your mouth. "If you can barely take a spanking, I'm not sure how you'll take this, but you owe me more than some pain."

The nails dig into your tongue, but you wet his fingers a bit too eagerly. "You want to help others, right? To serve them. You'll call me 'master', understood?"

You nod, but it's not enough. He jerks your head to the side by the fingers now hooked in your cheek.

"Yes," you manage to get out.

"Yes, what?" he grits his teeth. Another slap on your ass that feels like it's on fire.

"Yes, master." After you said it, you sigh in something close to relief that comes from the depths of your chest.

"Good. Finally you're beginning to understand." He lets go of your face fully, leaving you to feel cold without his touch. He tugs at the straps of your underwear, and the sound of fabric shifting emphasises the tension in your body. There was no way Rolan could've known your submissive streak, he really just needs to get all this pent up frustration out - somehow his wordless confidence and the lack of care for whether you enjoy it or not turns you on more. It's a primal feeling, that only very few people can unlock from within you. Exhilarating.

Something nudges between your legs, and with a start, you realise it's his cock. Even though you'd hoped this is where it was headed, had pined for him night after night, experiencing the real thing was so much more raw and real than you ever envisioned. He presses inside with little care for your comfort. It surprises you how smooth it goes in, even with you already dripping wet, it's still quite the stretch. His groan of pleasure is the most sinful thing you've ever heard.

His lips are at your ear, his tone changed completely to before. "Aren't you just good and wet for me? Filthy little slut."

Finally, his cock hits home somewhere deep inside, and the drag as he moves out is even better. "Gods, I needed this."

You can tell how much he needed this by how he wraps his arms around you, pressing your back against his chest. His horn bumps into your cheek, as he bites your bare shoulder. As slow as he went before, he seems to lose all control and sets a messy pace, slipping out and forcing himself back in again and again. The sounds of your slick and skin slapping skin are disgusting.

"Perhaps you have some redeeming qualities yet," he says, his playful tone returning as he relaxes. His grip around your torso is crushingly tight and you try to reach down to touch your clit, whining as he won't let you. "Na-ah, your first lesson isn't even done yet, you naughty girl."

Rolan fucks you roughly, his horn keeps bumping into you but neither of you mind. Every time he thrusts in, it draws attention to your sore ass, its small edge of pain only heightens the pleasure. His groans and moans are delicious. You angle your hips to make him hit deeper and he delivers, with a bruising pace. 

“Who knew the hero would be such a good little slut? Fuck, you feel amazing.”

“Rolan,” you moan, pressing your lips against his cheek. 

As much as you imagined fucking him as intense, your fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing. You moan something high-pitched as he hits just right, dragging his tip back and forth against the most sensitive parts of you. The feeling builds quickly, even without being able to touch yourself, and your breath is catching as the pleasure of being filled transcends all. 

His thrusts stutter, and although it takes great effort, he pulls out, and whirls you around. Surprised, but altogether too overwhelmed to resist him. He tugs you down to your knees. Your core throbs, yearning for him, but it’s your lips that now enjoy the taste of him. He’s salty, and you taste your own wetness on his length as he pushes himself into your mouth. When you gag, he grabs a fistful of hair, and prevents you from leaning away. No choice but to take all of him as he pumps himself in and out. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth as you try your best to please him. His groans are delightfully filthy, heavy with all his pent up emotion. Your own desire makes you light-headed. As soon as your hand darts down to your core, Rolan slaps them away. 

“What did I say? No touching.” He’s just as stern as a school teacher. Your core throbs around nothing. He groans as he makes you gag, “The others should see you now, on your knees, doing so well to please your superior.”

His grip on your hair tightens to something uncomfortable. “This just shows what can become of the high and mighty hero - ah, fuck - who amounts to nothing good without proper guidance.”

His thrusts grow sloppy, yet deep, so deep, fuck you need him inside of you so bad - he moans and pulls out. Ropes of cum land on your face, some on your tongue, or across your chest. You twitch as several flecks get in your lashes. Rolan looks so proud, smiling down on you like this, so pleased. A sense of satisfaction swells in your chest, even as you still tingle with ghosts of his touch, longing to be sated. 

Rolan bites his lip. “Such a good hero, really willing to go the extra mile for those in need…” He considers you for a moment, tracing a finger over your face. “I’m sure this is the best reward you’ve ever gotten, dear hero.” 

You’re not sure whether the curl of his lip is playful or contemptuous. After collecting enough cum on his finger, he presses it to your lips, for you to clean off for him. 

Despite, or because, of his mean expression, you say just what he wants you to say: “Thank you, master.”

[creatingnikki]

Dear twenty-seven year old me,

You have your work cut out for you, let me just say that right away. I am sorry but this is all I could do. I, the twenty-six-year-old, who had to abandon the home she was happy and struggling to build. And the ones before me, the twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, and twenty-year-old selves too — I won't say we did the best we could but I will say that we tried.

Of course, now, with five days left before I turn 27, I finally know that sometimes trying is not enough. For things that absolutely matter to you, for things you absolutely want, trying is not enough. And so you, you have to do better than try.

Too much pressure? But you only have to try for yourself. You don't have to try for the world or anybody in it. You don't have to try to be kinder, sweeter, politer, or more useful. Friends, lovers, corporations, ideologies will always demand more and more and more from you. And for them I tried and tried and tried. All of your twenty-something selves until now did. Your teen selves too.

Also, just because you are a good person, it does not mean that the world will treat you better. One of the hardest truths to accept and understand. Of course, you were never good because you thought there would be such a reward but you always just assumed that it would only be natural for life to be just and fair in these ways. Now I know it's not.

Please, remember, you do not have to be quiet and take it all lying down. You can still speak your mind and respectfully put people back in their place instead of letting them walk all over you. You are no Gandhi. You should only show your other cheek to someone when they have kissed one cheek and now you want them to kiss the other. Not to slap you again.

When you are tired, when you are upset and demotivated, please, take rest. Pause but do not quit or abandon. You know, our abandonment issues may just have something to do with the fact that we have quite easily abandoned our values, goals, and dreams at different stages of life.

Either because we wanted to accommodate another person or because of the hurdles that showed up. Or because it was us who did not believe that our goals and values and dreams were worthy of being faithful to, worthy of being met, worthy of being celebrated.

But dear twenty-seven-year-old me, listen to me. You are worthy. And I know you like proof and reason and not empty flattery or words of affirmation. And I could list a thousand reasons and this isn't even a hyperbole — I really could. However, all you need to know to believe that is that you have lived a life that is gracious and graceful. God loving, not god fearing. Fear has never motivated you in any walk of life. You are someone that if you were to come across you would not only really like but gosh you would be in utter awe and really respect.

Above any reason I could give you, however, is this — you have to support yourself, no matter who you are and how you decide to live your life, you have to support yourself.

Okay, now that all of this important stuff is out of the way I just want to say, while you work hard at what is important, have fun (as much as is possible and in ways that is safe) and keep writing. For dreams that do not seem possible right now, put them on hold but do not abandon them or shoot them in the head. For dreams that are possible now, don't overthink.

Balance, breathe, and go back to basics. That is all you have to remember when it all gets too much. I love you, your mother loves you, and there are a handful more on that list. If all else pales in face of pain, go to them. In joy and abundance too, go to them. In the mundanity of life too, be by them whenever possible.

All my love, now and forever, 26-year-old you.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Murder in the Age of Enlightenment: Essential Stories

By Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, translated by Brian Karetnyk

"... having fallen as far as this, they had already been so wearied by the many tortures of Hell that they no longer had the strength to cry out." (The Spider's Thread)

"At any rate, if you want to rob a man of his woman, it's only natural that you're going to have to kill him. Only, when I do it, I do it with a sword. People like you don't use swords. You gentlemen kill with power, with money, sometimes with words alone - all on the pretence of doing a man a favour. True enough, no blood is shed. He might even live well. But you've killed him all the same. It's hard to say whose sin is greater - yours or mine. [An ironic smile]" (In a Grove)

"When it once pleased His Lordship to joke, 'You appear to take pleasure in all manner of unsightly things,' Yoshihide's unnaturally red lips creased into an unnerving smile and he replied haughtily, 'Yes, My Lord, it's true. Other more frivolous painters lack the insight required to perceive beauty in what offends the eye.'" (Hell Screen)

"'As a rule, I'm unable to paint anything I haven't seen. ... I have seen a man bound by iron chains,' Yoshihide said. 'I have made a detailed sketch of another being tormented by a monstrous bird. Thus, it cannot be said that I do not know the tortures that sinners endure. As for the wardens of Hell . . .' here the corners of Yoshihide's lips rose sinisterly, 'as for the wardens of Hell, I have seen them any number of times in my dreams and hallucinations. Devils with bulls' heads, with horses heads, with three faces and six arms. Almost every night they come to torment me with their noiseless clapping hands and their voiceless gaping mouths. No . . . They are not what I am unable to pain.'" (Hell Screen)

"The fleeting moments I have left impel me to set down my story, to describe the motives that brought me to commit the murder, the act itself, as well as the strange state that gripped me after the deed was done. And yet - O! and yet - even now, how keenly I am aware of my breath warming the frozen ink, of having placed this sheet of paper before me, and, with fear and trepidation, trying vainly to master myself. After all, to examine my past and set it down in writing means nothing less than to relive a past life. Once more I hatch my plan, once more I commit the deed, once more I am made to suffer the torments of this last year. Can I really have the strength to endure all this?" (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"My state of mind then was such that a Japan without [her] had become utterly foreign to me. Rather than eke out the existence of a broken man in a country that was no longer my own, I thought it might be better to take a volume of Childe Harold, travel to some remote, distant place and, having roamed the world in lonely solitude, bury my bones in the soil of some foreign land." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"It seems that deep within my soul there lurks a monster incomprehensible even to myself." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"As the time passed, however, little by little I inched closer to the most despicable temptation of my life, and to a destiny with which I would ultimately have to reckon. By no means do I have the courage to recount how fierce was the battle I had to fight, how step by step, it pursued me to the brink of death. No, even now, as I inscribe these lines, I must enter into mortal combat with this hydra of temptation." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"... he contemplated death and war. But not even the faintest glimmer of wisdom came of it. After all, dying was still a wretched business, even if it was for the Emperor. As for war . . . Well, he didn't even hold war to be a crime. Next to war, crime, rooted as it was in private passion, was almost understandable. But war mean one's duty to the Emperor, and nothing else. And yet, he - but no, it was not just he, for more than two thousand men, from every division, had been selected for the White Sash Unit, and they too, whether they liked it or not, would now have to die, carrying out the greatest of duties . . ." (The General)

"I have no artistic conscience; indeed, I have no conscience whatsoever. I have only nerves." (Cogwheels)

"Soon enough, I began to feel that anything and everything was a lie. Politics, industry, arts, science - all this seemed to me little more than a gaily coloured enamel concealing the true horror of human life." (Cogwheels)

"I looked up to the lofty heavens to remind myself how small the world was - and, consequently, how small I myself was - amid the twinkling of countless stars." (Cogwheels)

"I haven't the strength to go on writing this. To live in this state of mind is an agony beyond all words. Isn't there someone kind enough to strangle me softly in my sleep?" (Cogwheels)

[wayfayrr]

I've been wanting to play around more with reader's relationships with the other links in househusband au, as well as writing for other interactions that might not happen within the main story. For this one it's Cal and reader bonding over tarot cards!

the reader in this is gender neutral however, they do get referred to as mum by Cal so just a heads up if you don't like gendered terms being used!

"Is there any reason you'd like to learn to read these so badly Cal?"

"... well you taught Wind and Wild, didn't you? And that it's a family tradition… So I should learn, shouldn't I?"

There's more he isn't telling me, some other reason he doesn't want to admit. I won't pry, if he doesn't want to talk about it there's probably something sensitive there. He's practically my third son at this point though, if he wants to open up to me it'll be his choice. 

"You don't have to unless you want to link, I'm not going to force you alright?" 

"No, I'd like to know how to. Please [Name]"

"I'll start by giving you a reading then, that way you can see how I do it. Then you can try on your own afterwards."

The way Cal's watching me set up my cloth and unpack my cards would be unsettling if it were anyone else, but I know why he struggles more than any of the other links socially. He's focused on my hands though, like they'll tell him every secret he needs. Shuffling my cards is almost more natural to me than breathing, so even with his eyes on me, I don't make a single mistake. 

“[Name], you dropped one of your cards…”

“You see that’s one of the things with tarot, sometimes the cards that resonate most with you or the person you're reading for, force you to see them by coming loose as you shuffle…”

It’s the tower. No, I'm not teaching him this only for the card that defines him be, this. It’s fine, I can play it off. Just shuffle it back in like nothing happened.

“Or I just accidentally dropped it and there’s no meaning to this one.”

“You dropped it again.”

“I think I’m just being a bit clumsy honestly.”

Why does it keep falling out, I already know this about him. I know he’s going to have to go back and that he has this ahead of him, but can’t he be happy? Just for now?  Stop just telling me what I already know, please just let him have some hope, please. With how many times it’s fallen out, I have to tell him what it means. It would be cruel of me not to, but still… Is it so bad of me to want to give him some hope?

“... Mum, if it keeps falling out it has to have a meaning. I can handle it if it’s bad, please can you just tell me?”

He… that’s the first time he’s seen me as a parent. The first time he’s called me that, and it’s… I have to explain what it means to him even if I struggle to say it. Even though I want to protect him more than anything else, I can’t hide this from him. It wouldn’t be fair…And… I’m crying. He doesn’t deserve this, he’s just a kid. Why does he have to have the fate of Hyrule on his shoulders?

“The tower it’s… It’s mostly associated with danger, crisis and destruction. I’m so sorry Cal, I - you deserve so much better, I didn’t want to tell you.”

“You... I- don’t…”

How incredible am I? Now he’s crying as well, and that’s the last thing I wanted. I should’ve stopped myself from crying, he needs someone being strong for him right now, not this. 

“Is- would it be alright if I…”

“You don’t need to ask sweetheart…”

Cal was the link I thought would be the least likely to throw himself into my arms like this, but after being told that danger is the only thing you’re seen as associated with I don’t blame him for breaking down. Holding him right now is the least I can do, because no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to stop myself from crying and well what kind of parent would I be if I didn’t comfort my son? 

“I don’t think I want to go back to Hyrule mum. I don’t, I-I can’t”

“You don’t need to worry about that for now, just… I’m here for you, you’re not alone baby.”

“I- I’m the youngest knight in the history of Hyrule, I trained for years but even still, even still… I��”

This is the most emotion I’ve ever seen from Cal, the most words he’s ever said to me, I just - I just wish it was for a better reason, anything but this. The way he’s clinging to me, how he’s wrapping himself up into my hold, how he’s just breaking to pieces and I don’t even know how to comfort him… I never want to let him back to Hyrule, how could I when I know what's waiting for him, but do I even have a choice? For now, I’m just going to hold him close to me until he feels alright, even if that means I have to stay here for hours. Especially if it means that I have to sit here for hours, he deserves everything I can give him for comfort and more. 

“I failed… I couldn’t do it… I’m not l-like the others here… I don’t know what you see in me…I’m a failure…”

“It’s not your fault Cal, you’re not a failure, everything was against you. You had so much more to fight than the others, more than you ever should’ve. You never should’ve had to fight. I’m so sorry Cal.”

He doesn’t even have the energy to speak at this point it seems, with how his words are coming out as muffled whimpers and sobs.  Why did Hylia ever think it was a good idea to force children to become heroes, to have their lives ruined by this immense guilt and trauma because she can’t handle her own problems?  It makes sense he acts like Sage, he is a version of him from a different time period after all but them crying themselves to sleep on me is one trait I wish I never had to learn they shared. After he wakes up I won’t rest until he’s found something in this world he genuinely enjoys, something to take his mind off of everything. Has he ever had the time for hobbies before? For now though, I’ll stay here with him for as long as he needs. Until he wakes up, longer still if he wants me with him.

[whattraintracks]

I see Raph having pyrokinesis lol because fire powers is awesome. But your idea is way angstier

Oh gosh, I cracked up so hard when I got this. Thank you.

Yeah, fire powers are sick! And I'd be lying if I said they didn't cross my mind for Raph. Pyrokinesis works so well for him as this easily agitated, powerful ability that demands so much give and take. It captures the balance he strives for as someone who loves to fight but deeply fears he will hurt his loved ones. Fire warms, guides, and protects; these are such important Raphael traits. In HEM, it's Don "thinking hard about the way he always felt safe and comforted by Raph's presence" but also knowing that smothering Raph's anger means smothering himself and reassuring him that "You're always at least a little bit pissed off, and that's okay." I truly love how @languajix portrays Raph, and these are their quotes from 'Cause Your Future's Ready to Shine and Don't Hold Back (Just Shout it Out), respectively. So, yes! I agree! Pyrokinesis fits Raph incredibly well. If you're interested, here are a couple of reasons why I chose psychometry over pyrokinesis for HEM Raph.

One, Jix's idea that mystic specialties are a consequence of one's environment and state of mind rather than intrinsic qualities really stood out. This made a lot of sense for Raph, whose surroundings and mind are often volatile. Plus, it's a fun connection between the brains and brawn duo! While Don's and Raph's specialties are situational developments, not exclusively linked to their talents or personalities, I do like the idea of Leo's and Mike's developing internally, connecting to their innate mystic potential and essence of being, if you will. Leo because of his spiritual discipline and Mike for reasons that I'm still trying to put in order. I have quite a few thoughts stewing for Mike's specialty. Hopefully, I'll get that out in the next few days!

Two, I also wanted to switch it up a little. Since I feel strongly about Leo having an elemental power, I didn't want to give the other three elemental abilities, too. Not that there's anything wrong with more than one of them having elemental abilities, and fire powers are, as you say, awesome and should be doled out to characters just for funsies.

Psychometry has a lot of angst potential, and so does Raph, so the combination was naturally an angst overload. Would you believe me if I said I didn't set out to write angst, though? I was listening to "Love Power" by Idina Menzel and thinking about how much Raph embodies love and the love stored in memories, which led to JFO and echoes, and it all fell into place. But it still didn't seem as set in stone right to me as something like pyrokinesis, so I had to do some writing and review HEM to work through it. To the surprise of no one, the results turned out pretty angsty. Even still, I believe Raph would come to cherish the echoes more than anything once he overcame his knee-jerk frustration about having a "useless" ability. Psychometric Raph feels to me a little like this line in HEM: "Handing Dee to Raph felt like handing Raph his beating, breathing heart. There would never be a safer place, in Donnie's opinion." It comes back to where I started because if love is stored in memories and memories are stored in objects, then with this ability, Raph gets to be the keeper of all that love.

All this is to say, there are infinite possibilities for the mystic abilities Raph, Leo, and Mike could develop, and it's a lot of fun to explore some of them.

Thanks for stopping by! And thanks again to Jix! For writing such a thought-provoking and beautiful story and extending the invitation that kickstarted this whole thing.

[crystalxwitch]

4| Hike - W. Maximoff

Summary: A hike in the mountains turns out to be longer than expected.

series masterlist

"So, what brings you into the solitude of Norway? It's not a typical day-to-day vacation destination, to say the least."

You look up from your book, mustering the redhead. Wanda has her arms wrapped around her stomach, the hem of the sweater pulled over her hands. The way her fingers stick out of it is somehow adorable.

"I could ask you the same." You retort back. "I'm not the only one staying in a barn in the middle of nowhere."

"Yes, you could. But I asked you first, so you need to answer me." She grins, nodding to herself as if to agree with her own explanation.

Closing your book, you lean back against the armchair. "Oh, do I? I don't believe this is how it works, Wanda."

"Don't try to beat around the bush, we need to have some small talk sooner or later. Or do you just want to philosophize over the trees and food for the next few days?"

"I could do that, don't underestimate my love for food.. or trees." You add, hiding the smirk that plays around your lips. "I'll tell you everything if you go first. View it as a kind of payback for the pancakes that I made you this morning."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but agrees with the terms. You are surprised that Wanda doesn't argue any further. She is usually the first to pick a fight. Basically the embodiment of stubbornness.

"Well, I like the quietness. The nature. Norway has always been on my bucket list, and I just quit my job. That means no responsibilities and enough time to enjoy a vacation." Wanda explains. "And I wanted to be alone, away from all the people, but sadly that prayer wasn't answered."

"Maybe we both didn't pray hard enough."

"Maybe." She mumbles, eyeing you with attentive eyes. "What were you running from?"

"Life." You breathe out, leaning your head back. "My job, my responsibilities, everything became too much all of a sudden. So instead of falling into a depth of misery, I decided to take a break from all of it."

Wanda looks at you with understanding eyes, nodding at your words. "Our reasons are not so different after all. Reality sucks. I just want to stay here forever."

You tilt your head to the side. "Even with me by your side?"

Her eyes hold pure mischief in them as she mirrors your smile. "I guess it's the lesser evil. Speaking of evil. What are your plans for today?"

"I don't know yet." You shrug your shoulders. "Maybe I'll take a hike down the mountain and take some pictures. Someone seems interested in my day-to-day affairs?"

"No." Wanda replies bluntly. "I don't want to worry about which ditch you fell into again."

A smile appears on your face at that revelation. "I feel flattered."

"Please, don't." She quickly replies, averting her gaze towards the window. "I didn't mean it like that."

A few seconds tick by without saying another word. Wanda has her face turned away, probably thinking about another way to annoy you. Since the conversation is over once more, you stand up. Already at the door, her voice calls out to you.

"Can I come with you?"

What?

You turn around, the confusion clearly writing on your face. Wanda never seems to step outside the barn except the front porch or a few meters around the cabin. Her wish to accompany you catches you off guard.

"Into the woods?" You ask dumbfounded.

"No, into the desert." She responds sarcastically. "Of course, into the woods. What else is there other than endless miles of trees and wood?"

You part your lips, trying to find reasons that could make her change her mind. "You'll get your shoes dirty, you know that? And not to mention the wild animals. Bears. Wolves."

"I think I can handle myself. Besides, I didn't come here for a spa day." She cuts you off.

You raise your brows in disbelief. "You did not?"

The redhead narrows her eyes, not responding. Does she seriously want to accompany you? Wanda seems like the type of woman who squeals when she sees a spot of dirt on her precious clothes.

You sigh. "All right. Just don't get lost and fall into a ditch. I don't want to babysit you during my vacation."

"Don't worry, that part is meant for you."

You roll your eyes. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you walk into the hallway and get your jacket. Thankfully, the sky is clear of any clouds and no rain in sight. Wanda disappears upstairs, letting you wait impatiently in the hallway.

First, she wants to accompany you, and now she keeps you waiting. Unbelievable. Wanda couldn't make herself less popular. Your eyes nearly pop out as she returns, wearing a whole ass hiking equipment.

You muster her from head to toe. "We're going on a simple hike and not climbing Mount Everest."

The different layers of clothes makes her look like she's ready for hibernation. A heavy backpack is strapped around her shoulders. You on the other hand are only wearing a small backpack with all the needed items.

"Are you always this funny? If yes, I need some alcohol to survive it." Wanda groans, walking to the entrance and putting on her shoes. "I want to be prepared for anything, hence the outfit."

"Okay, Bigfoot. Just don't let the weight slow you down." You need to hold back the chuckle that wants to escape from your joke. "Are you ready?"

"Lead the way."

~

You wipe the perspiration from your brow, eying the path in front of you with exhausted eyes. The small hike turned into a much longer one because Wanda insisted on taking the right path instead of the left. That leads to you hiking upwards most of the time instead of taking the much easier hike down into the valley.

Wanda doesn't seem as exhausted as you are, continuing the climb without any complaints. Everything hurts. Your legs have long ago struck against the painful march. Closing your eyes for a second, you slow down your pace.

"What's wrong?" Wanda asks, coming to a stop beside you. "Is everything okay?"

"I need a small break." You admit, sitting down on a nearby rock. "This path is rockier than I previously thought."

Grabbing your water bottle out of the backpack, you drink half of it in one big gulp. Wanda chuckles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Not even one drop of sweat on her face. You eye her over the rim of the bottle, mustering her near perfectly composed face. How is she not out of breath?

Maybe she did take something beforehand. You would believe anything that could explain her current state.

"How much longer do you think it takes until we are back at the cabin?" She asks, placing her backpack on the ground. "Looking at you, I don't think you can't take much more."

"I feel fine." You grunt, clenching your jaw as she grins. "I'm not sure. Maybe another hour, give or take a few more minutes."

"If you think you can handle it, I don't need to worry. But I actually thought that you have a bit more stamina."

You give her a cold look. "I thought we decided on the fact that you don't have to worry about me?"

She slowly nods, withstanding your gaze. "Right."

Not in the mood to continue this conversation any longer, you put your bottle back into the backpack. You stand up with a sigh, trying to not show the pain on your face as a sting rushes through your thigh.

"Let's keep goin-"

"Quiet." Wanda shushes you.

"What?" You turn around to face her, putting your hands on your hips.

Anger rises within you. The nerve that she has to talk to you like that. You open your mouth, ready to put her in place, but her raised eyebrows silence you. Why is she staring at you like that?

"Don't move." She whispers, nearing herself to you. "Hold still."

No words leave your mouth as you quietly observe her. Wanda moves closer. Too close. You gulp, eyes frozen on her hand that reaches out for your face. Her fingertips come dangerously close to your temple. Panic bubbles inside your stomach.

Your cheeks grow warm, taking a step back on shaking knees. "What are you doing?"

"I said, don't move." Her fingers grab your shoulder, holding you back from back again. Your heart hammers twice as fast against your ribcage, bursting to get free. "There's something on your head."

"What?!" You let out a high-pitched scream, shaking your head wildly from side to side. "Get it off. Get it off me."

Now, as she said it, you do feel a slightly different pressure on your head. Every scenario flashes before your eyes, beginning with a harmless bird and ending with a hairy spider.

"Don't scream, dumb head. You scare it with your loud voice." Wanda grabs your face between her palms, holding you still. "Calm down."

"What is it? No, don't tell me." You squeeze your eyes shut, holding in your breath. "Just please, get it off me."

"I'm working on it. Just be quiet." Her hand carefully picks up whatever animal off your hair. "See, it's harmless. What could a cute little fellow do to you giant."

Taking a peek out of the corner of your eye, you let out a sound of disgust. A small frog is sitting on her palm, staring at you with wide eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly. Trying to get your racing heart under control, you press your hand against your chest.

You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know? It could piss on me."

"Rightfully so if you scare it like that." Wanda gently pats the frog's head, her voice changing to that tone one uses to talk to animals. "Look at how innocent it looks. You nearly scared it to death."

With furrowed brows, you muster the absurd scene. Who would have thought that Wanda would be such an animal lover. Shuddering as you look at its moist skin, you need to suppress the urge to gag. She can't be serious.

"It's not even cute. It has no fur and it's slimy." You whine, pointing to the frog. "How can you let it rest on your hand? It's disgusting."

"It's prettier than you." She responds, lowering herself to the ground.

"That's a lie."

Wanda chuckles. "Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better."

Carefully, Wanda places her hand on the dirty ground. The frog immediately jumps away, disappearing into the grass. Standing up again, she shakes the dirt off her clothes.

"I guess you are the one who is afraid of animals. If you act like this because of a frog, I don't want to see you when you come face to face with a bear."

You avoid her eyes. Without even looking at her face, you sense the silly grin spreading over her mouth. Waving her off, you continue to walk up the narrow trail. Acting like that is one thing, but behaving like that in front of her worsens it.

"Let's keep moving, unless you want to return home in the middle of the night."

[writingforfishes]

hiiiiiiiiii asking on anon cause my blog for this is a secondary blog ( @hic-hic-dreams )

i saw star trek in your intro update thingy and omg another trekkie in here!!!

any headcannons or stuff? your pick anything!

i personally think Data is fascinated with hiccups and has tried to imitate them before, and that spock is the only recorded vulcan to ever hiccup cause biology

(I realize I haven't filtered this as I have other fandom musings. I suppose the Star Trek fandom is so big and weird that I don't think this'll make a fingerprint regardless of the weird kink it muses on. But, normally, I do request for fandom asks to be filtered with either periods or slashes in the words and character names. I'm throwing caution to the wind with this one, I guess. Let's see what happens. One I started writing about it I couldn't stop.)

Oooooooh.

So I do have a headcannon about Data. I think at least once there has been an internal dysfunction in Data's respiratory/cooling system or circuitry that has created a hiccup-type phenomenon.

I believe in an episode someone asks (possibly Bashir) why Data breathes. It's stated that even though he doesn't require oxygen he uses breathing as a cooling method to keep his inside mechanisms from overheating. I assume Soong (as he was obsessed with mimicking human biology) created this system in a similar way as a respiratory system. Data possibly has a muscle-like structure that mimics a diaphragm and connects with his chest via comparable intercostal muscles to create the breathing simulation so it can be convincing and not startling for humans to watch.

I'm not sure how Data's hiccups would sound as the air is gasped and brought through his voice modulator (as opposed to vocal cords), but I imagine the hiccups would have similar if not identical motions and cadence and unexpectedness as human hiccups. Data's reaction might range from fascinated to something similar to frustration when he attempts to speak for long periods of time.

A cure would probably require some sort of reboot of that specific system leaving him vulnerable to overheating for a time. But the hiccup spell would probably not affect his temperature too much unless they came too quickly.

As far as Spock is concerned, I think he would be more prone to hiccups than other Vulcans. But I suspect even Vulcans aren't immune. Any being with something similar to a diaphragm can develop a spasm or nerve miscommunication. Vulcans might have learned greater control over their parasympathetic systems, but no control is perfect 100% of the time no matter what Vulcans say to outsiders.

I do wonder whether Vulcans would find hiccups to be an indication of a lack of control or whether hiccups are so logically benign that it wouldn't be an issue. I suppose if the hiccups are emotional in nature they'd be more inclined to take offense or be disgusted.

I think Spock is such a perfectionist in being a Vulcan that any deviation in that perfect façade is much more offensive. His hiccups probably tend to hurt because when they're hard to get rid of he holds them in, even though it's not logical.

Do Cardassians hiccup, though? With their biology is their breathing mechanism still closely related to that of amphibians or lizards? Does that mean they hiccup more or less?

Did Odo get a case when he was biological for some time?

Are there any alien races that find hiccups to be a positive aspect?

There was a Star Trek novel I once read that, quite unexpectedly, featured hiccups. Picard was talking to a Trill who was paired with a symbiote. The Trill contracted hiccups and seemed to be quite uncomfortable. He considered going to the med bay to seek a cure if they didn't stop soon.

When Picard queried as to why such an extreme measure was necessary for something seemingly innocuous (not in a rude way but in a curious way) the Trill responded something like, "Imagine if you were being bounced violently around every few seconds as the environment you were in spasmed around you."

As he was connected with the symbiote and the symbiote is located somewhere in the Trill's abdomen he was speaking as if the sensations of hiccuping were unsettling as he was sensing the feeling of being inside a body when it was hiccuping.

I read this passage I don't know how many times over and over again. Even thinking back on it now I find it absolutely fascinating to imagine how disorienting a person would be if every time they hiccuped they felt disoriented or dizzy as if their body had just been tossed about a little bit.

As I recall, the hiccups were also written really really well.

[sataara]

Blossom

Hello! I'm here again with an x reader this time with Emmet! This was a request that my friend @nartothelar did a whiiiiiile ago when I was asking for ideas to write and I finally finished it! Hope you guys enjoy!

You can read it on ao3 here

-

You could hear the soft sound of a guitar, somewhere deeper into the apartment. The pastries you bought, now out of the to go box and in a plate, could wait. A paper towel covered them as you went on to investigate the calm notes floating almost lazily through the hallway, your sticky hands were quickly wiped on a table cloth.

Your socked feet made muted thumps on the wooden floor as you followed the sound. Emmet’s door was slightly ajar, and now, closer to his room, you could hear a hum accompanying the chords.

You decided to knock, let him know you were there instead of suddenly opening the door and startling him, but, despite your best effort, you still heard a yelp and something hard hitting wood, a hiss.

“Sorry, Emmy, are you alright?” As you finally entered the room, you were met with the sight of Emmet in his bed, an acoustic guitar laying next to him while he massaged a knee.

“I am Emmet, I'm fine. I didn't know you were here.” He recovered quickly, knee just a bit red now but looking fine otherwise as he sat cross legged and faced you.

“Ingo let me in before he went to work, said you were probably still in your room since it's your day off. And sorry again, I didn't mean to surprise you like that. I got curious, didn't know you played the guitar.” You sat down next to him, your own legs thrown over the edge of the bed instead.

“I do not talk about it much. It is one of my hobbies but I feel like a boring one compared to other things I do.” Emmet grabbed the guitar, bringing it to his lap as you assume he was doing before you knocked.

You leaned on his shoulder and as naturally as if he was breathing air, he kissed the top of your head before resting his cheek against you. Your hands met in the space between your thighs.

“The song was very pretty. Does it have any lyrics?”

He hummed an affirmative, letting your hand go only to bring his back to the guitar, swift fingers moving over the strings.

“ I close my eyes

For once I don't have to try

I'm well-wishing for a life

I picture you happy, oh…”  

Softly he sang, cheek still pressed against you, his voice taking an almost raspy quality as he followed the notes. You felt yourself relax, body just shy of limp where it rested against his side.

As the song finished, Emmet put the guitar to the side so he could hug you close. You knew, without him having to use words, that he was comfortable and happy, holding you, hiding his face on your hair.

“I didn't know you liked this type of music.”

“It’s from an artist that Ingo showed me, don't tell him I learned it, he'll make fun of me.”

“Why? Did you make fun of him for liking it in the first place?”

He only hummed again, more than enough answer for you. Emmet couldn't see the mischievous grin plastered on your face, but he probably felt it from your silence, sighing loudly about it what in turn got an evil laugh from you.

After a few moments, you quieted down, just enjoying each other's presence until a thought suddenly made you jolt, making Emmet sit up quickly to avoid a hit to the chin.

“Emmet! I left pastries on the counter!”

He answered with an alarmed look. The joltiks.

You raced back to the kitchen, stumbling, almost face planting once or twice, but just in time to see Eelektross scolding the tiny spiders. From their positions it seems like he stopped them just in time.

“Thank you, Eelektross!” Emmet exclaimed as he walked up to the eel, grabbing his face between his hands and swerving him gently side to side while cooing compliments and promising treats.

While the pair was busy you went back to the food, giving the joltiks a long look before stealthily pulling a battery from your pocket. They immediately perked up but you stopped just shy of their reach.

“This is all yours if you promise you won't try to take any more pastries, deal?” You barely finished whispering and the little ticks quickly nodded their heads, skittering away the moment they had a hold on the battery.

“Want to watch a documentary while we share these?” You quickly turned, trying not to act suspicious but almost dropping the plate when you found Emmet's face a breath away from yours.

“Verrrrry naughty, giving them treats after they misbehaved.” Despite the words he couldn't hide his amusement.

“Aw, c'mon, it's a peace treaty.” You paused. “Or should I say… a peace treats-y!”

Your boyfriend only looked at you for a long second, face unchanging. “I am Emmet and that was very bad.” With no other word, he walked to the living room, already picking the controller up to turn the TV on as you followed right behind him.

“It wasn't that bad, it was electric .”

“I will bite you.”

“Is that a promise?”

He answered with a huff and a shake of his head, dropping himself on the couch with his legs splayed out. You sat on the other side of it, throwing your legs over Emmet’s thighs as he rested his hands on top of them, his thumbs playing a nonsensical rhythm on your skin as the narrator started on the history of trains in the region of Kanto.

Emmet seemed very into the program, despite having seen it before, but your mind kept going back to the moment you two shared in his room.

“Emmy?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know any other songs on the guitar?”

He gave you a questioning look, documentary momentarily forgotten while he tried to gauge where this was coming from.

“I just didn't expect you to be into music like this, got me curious.”

His eyes stayed on you for a few more moments, a thoughtful look replacing the curiosity until he gently picked your legs up, dropping them back on the couch and stood up fully only to disappear in the hallway. You heard his steps coming back not long after, this time with his guitar in hand. You moved so he had space to sit down on the couch again.

After a few moments of rearranging himself, his fingers met the strings, sounding them out before actually playing.

“So up rolls a riot van and sparks excitement in the boys

But the policemen look annoyed”

As Emmet sang, his voice got that raspy tint again, this song had more of a laid back feel to it, like something you'd play while sitting around a fire pit in the beach. From the lyrics it was obvious that he chose this one to get a laugh from you.

“And please stop talkin’ ‘cause they won't find us if you do

Oh, those silly boys in blue…”

Following the words he nudged you with his elbow, looking at you conspiratorially. You rolled your eyes even though you couldn't quite keep the smile off of your face.

“‘Have you been drinking son? You don't look old enough to me’

‘I'm sorry, officer, is there a certain age you're supposed to be? ‘Cause nobody told me’”

Now you did laugh, from the drawl on his voice to match the words, the silly faces he made as if acting along as the characters. You couldn't help the fondness that seemed to blossom in your chest.

As the song ended you cheered loudly for him, earning a shove with not much heart behind, it was impossible to miss the amusement on the curve of his lips.

“You can keep playing, y'know?” You blurted out.

He gave you a questioning look, head tilting to the side.

“I really don't mind, and… it's nice.” Your voice was a bit quieter at the end. There was a lot more going on in your head than you could verbalize but it seemed like Emmet understood.

He offered a hand, which you accepted, getting comfortable as he pulled you closer, letting you lean on his side as he got in a better position to support you while still playing. An instrumental intro lasting a few moments before his voice joined the melody.

“You've done

Me wrong

For a long long time…”

Warm light covered the living room, the morning making way for the afternoon, the city in movement contrasting the calm atmosphere that surrounded you. You brought your knees up, hugging your legs while your head found his shoulder once again. Emmet’s voice fell over you like a soft blanket making you close your eyes, your breathing evening out. 

You didn't really notice when the song ended, distantly feeling careful movement under you, the hollow sound of the guitar being moved to the ground, careful hands pulling you against a firm chest, arms holding you close. It was in that safe embrace that you let sleep fully take you, knowing there was nowhere else you rather be than in your talented partner's arms.

[synthetickitsune]

can u pleek write a soohyuk piece with c*ck w*rming as the smut <3

Here you go~ ♡

Lee Soohyuk | Cockwarming smut | 0.8k

You feel yourself getting sleepy. It's only late afternoon yet it seems that you can't keep your eyes open. The sound of the tv playing in the background doesn't help either, the words slur together in your ears and lull you closer to the peaceful embrace of sleep.

You're not sure if you're that obvious or if Soohyuk somehow twisted his neck without it miraculously snapping to look at you and see your closed eyes, but either way you feel his chest rumble with a low laugh. He pulls on the blanket to cover your bare shoulders, not without kissing each of them first, feeling your cold skin under his lips.

"Tired? Should I get you to bed?" he whispers, shifting a little under you - and as a result in you - drawing a soft moan from your lips. You pretend you don't notice the way his breath hitches.

"No," you mumble, slightly awakened by the sudden stimulation, "You're so warm. So comfy."

He chuckles again. His hand gently cradles your head closer to his chest. You're so cute to him, all sleepy yet making a mess on his lap. He wonders if you realize how often you clench around him and that if he wasn't so dead set on having a nice and lazy binge session of the drama he's been waiting for, you'd be so in for it. He knows he could drive you crazy if he shared the filth of his thoughts with you, and you're very lucky he feels too shy to do that.

"Should we change the position? I want you to rest comfortably," he asks, keeping his voice down to avoid waking you too much. You shake your head - before nodding a second later.

"Can we lay down? But - stay… please."

Despite the less than innocent position, despite literally leaking all over his lap and feeling him throbbing inside you, you nuzzle into his chest to hide your face as your hand falls to his hip to show him what you mean exactly. He sighs, and it's easy to hear he does so through a smile.

"Want me to spoon you, hm? I'll stay close, don't worry," he promises as soon as you give him a pleading look.

"No, wanna lay on you," you whine and loop your arms around his shoulders. You pull yourself closer and as you do, you naturally move your hips over his. He steadies you, hands on your waist as he breathes unevenly.

"Easy now," he coos, "Whatever you wish, darling."

He steels his resolve, taking a couple deep breaths, but hearing it you giggle and murmur something about him being cute.

He can't let that slide, can he?

He hugs you tighter, safely holding you to him as he begins adjusting his position. He bites down on his lips, not that it stops the soft grunt as his hips shift against yours and his cock slides further into you. Your nails dig into his back and he reconsiders how lazy he's feeling right now. Fucking you senseless is a tempting possibility, but getting to enjoy being enveloped by your wet heat for a while longer while simply holding you close is perhaps a better option.

Making his decision, he knows he needs to be careful but quick. He moves slowly and if his hold on you gets tighter, you don't mind. To be fair it’s hard to focus on anything but Soohyuk. He’s overwhelming your senses with his scent, his naked skin flush against yours, the breathy noises he makes, his strong hold on you. And of course, his cock rubbing against your sensitive spot with each little movement.

He shushes you, your tiny whimpers threatening to make him drop all his self-control. Even as he finally settles in a new position, lying on the couch with his head and shoulders propped against the pillows and you on top of him, he finds it impossible not to softly thrust into you a few times. Your voice keeps breaking and the moans spilling from your lips are like honey.

“T-Too much,” you whine, desperately nuzzling into his chest. You don’t know what to do with yourself. As overwhelmed as you are, your hips betray you and meet each of his thrusts. Soohyuk takes mercy on you, however. Soothing his hands over your hips, he slows down his movements until you feel like everything is still. You, him, the world, universe, everything. It’s so peaceful. You can’t hear the tv over your labored breathing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tenderly stroking your cheek.

“Mhmm,” you nod, kissing the closest spot you can reach, “Wanna nap.”

“Wanna nap?” he smiles and pulls the blanket over you once more before his arms wrap around you. It makes you feel safer and warmer than any blanket ever could. “Sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”

It’s not hard at all to drift off, reassured by his words and feeling him everywhere all around you.

[jeanstapleton]

How do you think Munch lived before? Where did he live? Where does he sleep? I wanted some details, because I'm trying to write some kind of fic and I'm not that good at it, what do you think? Where was he before Roy hired him? I wanted to write a fic without all the erotic stuff that part of the fandom does, I want something more serious, about his trajectory. So, I wanted some ideas: did he live by breaking into houses? Did he live on empty plots of land? What was he eating? What did he do on a daily basis? Where does he get cigarettes and so on? Sam said that the idea is that he doesn't carry things with him, because he's the kind of guy who when he needs to, grabs a gun, a cigarette and so on. Like the scene of him picking up the cigarette from the ground, what did he do before? What kind of jobs was he taking? Just kidnappings and murders? What do you imagine? Has he had other "Irma's"? Where did he break in and stay quietly in the person's house? Where did he sleep in the meantime? I would like some insights, I am grateful for your headcanons.

all great questions!! under the cut since my responses are kinda long:

so according to munch in the finale, he doesn't need to sleep. we can assume his curse has left him biologically frozen in time like a vampire. i think he was still able to rest & eat, but they dont actually serve any real purpose. he's not restored afterward nor would he suffer when deprived of those things. he closes his eyes, but he doesnt relax or dream. he eats, but it just disappears inside him. this makes it tricky to pinpoint why exactly he's a smoker, though. if i had to pull something out of my ass real quick, i'd say its an easy way to confirm his own existence, like how we can see our breath when its cold, or when we hold our hands close to fire. it becomes addicting to him in that sense, rather than his body needing nicotine itself. he wouldn't respond negatively to cigarettes at all, but because tobacco just generally stains anything it's in prolonged contact with, that explains why his teeth are so tarnished.

as for jobs, i genuinely think he was a drifter in every sense of the word. he has an innate need for creature comforts so i think his quests to find those things lead him to kill-or-be-killed situations. money is also a tricky topic bc idk what it'd mean to him apart from a sign that the completion of a job has been acknowledged & properly compensated. he didn't seem to care about roy's money once he acquired it. my guess is, in relation to your "irma" question as well, that he leaves money where it's most needed. he clearly gave some to her when she returned to the house with groceries.

munch might have acquired firearms by brazenly attacking organized crime circles or just stealing off of criminals. i think he'd be efficient & quick enough that the murders would just be reported as internal conflict.

i don't see him as a vigilante but i also don't think he'd just hurt people indiscriminately. he's had centuries for his hatred of the rich to fester, & he's very clearly disturbed by the deaths of innocents re: irma. i understand this is kind of a conundrum where dot is concerned, but again, it's represented through a cycle. munch maintains it by allowing himself to be employed by the powerful to secure that throwaway money. all he knows after being hired by the tillmans is that a rich man wants his wife back, whom he probably assumes is also rich, like bunny lebowski. it's only after he sees how hard dot fights back that he questions the nature of the job.

i think munch has had other "irma's", but not recently. i said this in a previous post, but i think every once in a while back in the day he'd stop by a rural family's home & offer to help them out for a bit in exchange for food & board, which he only took advantage of for a couple of days out of fear that his presence would somehow attract danger. again, this is less of a need to satisfy biological hunger & more about his hunger for companionship & family. losing that which he found in the indigenous tribes that invited him in left him very hesitant to seek it out anywhere else. fleeting moments are better than none at all. something else to dwell on is him assigning irma as his temporary "mama". from this we can infer 3 things:

he misses having a mom, & he wants someone to take care of him. obvious.

calling her his "mama" might be a way of apologizing for scaring her. awkward, yes. ineffective, yes. but the title suggests purity, hardship, and the respect owed to a mother who exhibits those things. another example of his innate connection to women.

he suggests it casually, showing he doesn't feel guilty for breaking in. this interested me for a bit since it makes him partly responsible for irma's death, but the more i thought about it, it makes sense because he is aware of his own power, power he wasn't employing to bully. in exchange for her charity, he promised to protect her. this made her death that much worse & undoubtedly stirred past trauma.

there's also the question of his sudden need for a mama. what about the dot job made him that lonely or scared? my theory is that the kin connection to dot was sparked during their "battle". he didn't know how to respond to it, especially considering this woman was briefly his victim. he figured he could seek an outlet somewhere else, but somewhere incedentally close to dot, in a house in the suburbs. his ability to "know people" must've told him that irma was not one of the suburbanites. she is ignored, her house is falling apart, etc. this is presumably why he didn't break into a more well-off house.

when he doesn't want to go through the trouble of bothering people, he'd most likely find uninhabited homes or buildings to squat in. the little hut in the beginning of episode 9 intrigued me, but nothing about it suggested it was owned by him. it might just be a shed used by ice fishers. it made me think of the one wrench & numbers used in s1 to keep warm.

as for what munch does in his spare time, there's nothing in the show to really drive me in one direction or another, so i like to think he reads. finding books without the use of a library is not uncommon (those little free libraries where ppl leave books for others to take). plus he can just steal & then leave them somewhere when he's done. i like to think reading is how he learned to speak english, even way back in his early years.