#Glow Worms [working title]

[creativenicocorner]

Guess who kept doodling!!! 

More brainstorming from an untitled Serirei case fic I want to write some day, based off of the lyrics and atmosphere of Vashti Bunyan’s “Glow Worms”

Looks like interacting with childhood selves might be a bigger theme than I thought hmmm, we’ll see how further brainstorming goes!

Whisper fairy stories 'til they're real, Wonder how the night can make us feel Loving living more with love to stay Long past sadness that was in our way Long past sadness that was in our way

Part 1 here   

EDIT: You can now read the fic HERE 

[hurlingdown]

HUNGRY WORK — TOP MALE READER X RORONOA ZORO

synopsis. these days, making love to zoro feels different. it always leaves a part of you so complex and insatiable, like you're always hungry for more. or: you come into terms with the raw hunger that has wormed itself into your every living thought. wc. 2.1k

tags. sub! zoro, dom! reader. religious sex, porn with feelings, by that i mean so so much feelings, body worship, metaphorical womb-fucking, breeding kink, mentions of vore, unhinged religious dirty talk lol. title taken from a hozier song.

There are many shapes that want can take form in. For you, there’s only one. 

Zoro lies underneath you, basking in the glow of the tender sunrays, stretching lazily like a cat. The corners of his lips are lifted, and there’s something quietly smug about the way he’s looking at you, watching as you sit back on your haunches and roll your hips against him. 

“Mmm. Feels good.” 

“Yeah?” you whisper. You didn’t mean for it to come out like a whisper, but it just did. The sight of him so sweetly unfurled by your touch, the way he would part his thighs a little more without having you coax them apart, being so comfortably unguarded around you, so carelessly vulnerable. It left you breathless. 

“Yeah,” he says. His lidded gaze never leaves you, not even once, silently waiting. For what, you think, is the question. A flip of the coin could bring about maelstrom and thunder and Zoro—Zoro would follow. It was the fun part of him, in the thick of all the pieces you want to consume within you: keep him inside, away from the rest of the world, in a picture of a locket hung on a throbbing heart. 

You wish it were that easy. 

“Something’s—mm.” He parts his lips to let out a soft, guttural moan as the tip of your cock crushes against his sweet spot. “Something’s on your mind.” 

It was always, always like that. The way he reads you as though he were deciphering text, and the funny thing about all of it was that Zoro does not read, but he reads you still. You feel your heart squeeze at his small, concerned frown, dark grey turning silver under shallow light. 

You want to crawl into him, or swallow him whole, it doesn’t matter. You would resort to begging if you could, you would drain the sea and burn every gritty bit of this vile world into cinder and offer him its remains in the shape of a heart on a platter, if you could. 

Death was far too light of a promise. 

“It’s alright,” you tell him, because you’re not alright, but it doesn’t matter. 

He gives you a look, one that tells you to try harder, not convinced. His hands skid up your forearms, resting in the crook of your elbow, thumbs pressing into the tender meat there. Then he takes one and guides it to palm the sharp jowl of his cheek, and nestles his face into it. 

You seize a shaky breath. You're not sure why it happens at first, but it does.

“Move,” he murmurs, nudging his hips against the base of your cock, as though he doesn’t see the way your eyes burn with the water of tears, doesn’t feel the stutter of your heart in the way his lips press into your pulse. 

“No. You don’t,” you choke, throat tightening, “you don’t understand.” 

Do I have to? is what you think he would say, but he doesn’t, only sighs. 

“You don’t know how I feel about you,” you say, feeling oddly defensive. “You’d feel sick to your stomach if you did.” 

His eyelid flutters close until there you can barely, barely see the tint of grey beneath, unwilling to acknowledge you, but he’s listening. 

“You would hate me,” you continue, almost rambling at this point, baffled as to why it feels so hard to breathe all of a sudden, like you’re drowning in your own false words. “Sure, you would pretend not to, because you’re good at that stuff, and I’m not. You would pretend to love me. You wouldn’t even mention it to the crew—and—and everything’s going to be fine, but in reality it wouldn’t be because you’d hate me.” 

You want him to see you. Both sides of you. The one he fell in love with—the sinless, pristine one on the surface; and the one who wanted to carve yourself into him, take him apart and devour him wholly. 

Zoro’s quiet, and you’re seized with a sudden fear that maybe he did fall asleep, and you were talking your heart bare to nobody. But then he opens his good eye, and there’s almost nothing, nothing within, except for a warmth so potent and all-consuming, so tender and selfless, that it sends sweet bile rising in your throat, makes you want to kiss and take and love so much, all because he is willing. 

The words come out all wrong. 

“I can’t stay,” you tell him, weakly. “Not if it’s like this.” Not if it feels as though I’m hiding myself from you, constantly, always. I want you to love me. The whole of me. Please. 

There’s too little to fill the silence, each moment pressing new bruises into skin, branding a new kind of ache into you. “Say something. Zoro.” You’re desperate, even for a goodbye. A profanity. Anything.

It takes him a while to respond. But then all he says is, low and unwavering, as though none of this is affecting him, none of this matters to him as it does to you—

“I won’t keep you if you leave.” 

The words sink in for half a second, before your eyes snap to his—in hurt, bewilderment, both, you don’t know. You suppose you are deserving of his harsh words, but it still tears into you like a jagged, unsharpened blade, an ugly tool only meant for breaking. You prepare yourself for the next. 

“—but I want to.” 

It drowns you like a tidal wave. 

You would’ve thought you were dreaming, if not for the tightening of his fingers wound around your wrist, as though to forbid themselves from trembling. A strong, firm grip, heavy warmth oozing from underneath. Zoro’s hands have always been the steadiest part of him, if not his heart. 

“Do you understand?” he asks, almost pleading, and the sound trickles into every crook of your soul. 

“Okay,” you whisper. You find that you can breathe, finally. “Okay.” 

“I won’t keep you,” he continues, “because you are free. I don’t own you. But I want to. Gods, I want to.” 

Zoro does not believe in god, but he will pray to a religion of your name. 

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, stifling any noise, but your vision blurs and all of a sudden there’s wetness spilling down your cheeks and dribbling onto the face of your lover. You wipe them away with your thumb, sucking in a wobbly breath, but they keep coming and coming, trying to submerge you in a sea where everything will drown. 

“Fuck—shit, ’m sorry. Give me a sec.” 

It's no longer fresh pain, but to have him here, his touch surrounding you, telling you that what you feel for him—this carnal hunger that has wormed its way into your every living thought—is the truth, is the surviving, that you aren’t insane, and it makes you ache so impossibly sweet. Because he wants you too, wants to own you in a way that he knows he shouldn’t, can’t. It grounds you to reality. 

You feel his hand on your cheek, a soundless comfort in return, and you lean against it. 

But then all of a sudden, in a twist of events far too brisk for your liking, there’s a sharp glint to his smile, and he coos in a disgusting voice, “Aww, crybaby,” because of course he would. Frustrated, you snap up and thrust your hips against him, and he yelps, letting go of your face to fist the sheets, surprised. 

This is the fun part of Zoro, you recall. Always. Maelstrom and thunder. 

“You’re a bastard,” you hiss. “We were having a moment!” 

“Were we?” He tosses you a dirty smirk, legs locking around your waist so casually and innately that makes something inside you churn. “You were the one, ah, fucking into me so suddenly, if I recall.” 

He has no cover, as usual, vulgar and to the point, and you begin to think that somewhere within him dwells a part as hideous and self-seeking as yours. 

“I don’t plan on stopping,” you mutter, fingers pressing bruises into his hips as you ram back into his hole. “Zoro. I want—I want to do so many things to you. With you. You have no idea.” 

The drop in tone makes his demeanour shift. Slightly, but you see it. These things do not escape you easily.

“I know,” is his breathless reply. “Please.” 

“I want you so much it drives me mad,” you breathe, “I don’t just—want this, and I am happy if this is all you want to give, but I want all of you. Every inch. Every scar. I want to read your body like a book. The insides and the outsides. All of it.” 

He lets out a soft almost-whine at your words, head tilting to the side to expose his neck. “Please,” he repeats, with a little more meaning. 

“I want to—to break you apart and seal you back together because that would mean I created you. This version of you, not some dirty god out there, not some nameless devil. Zoro, do you understand? Zoro.” 

“Yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, please. Do it. I want it.” 

“I want to carve you, bone and marrow. I want to make your womb swollen with me, they're gonna think someone's knocked you up. Make you all mine. Fuck, I want to eat you,” you groan, “want it so much I think about it every day—want to bite you, sink my teeth into you, drink in your blood.” 

Zoro’s pupils are blown wide with lust, and he clenches around you, gasping. “Fuck. Yeah, do whatever you want, I want it all, so please, already—” 

That’s his answer enough, and you bend down to kiss his exposed neck, nipping and biting carelessly, leaving a trail of raw purple wherever your teeth go. You pound into him harder, and he moans, snaking a hand to grip the back of your head, pressing you against him, as though you weren’t close enough, still. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, and it feels like a truth’s been pulled out from you. “So divine. I want to ruin you.” 

Zoro shudders in your arms, and he gives a shaky nod, strong arms compressing you from above, keeping his thundering chest pressed to yours. “Ruin me,” he rasps, “and leave a scar, so everyone would know you did it.” 

Then he’s seizing a sharp breath, pulling you into a kiss as sweet moans needier than the last spill into your mouth like sour wine, and you vaguely hear the wet splatter of his come against skin before his hole grips you wickedly tight.  

How ironic.

These are the words that you last register when you finally spill out all of your sin into him, and he locks up around you tight to keep it all inside his filthy, tarnished womb, and it takes you straight to heaven. 

You cry out in pleasure, or maybe it’s him who does. Holy light pours into you from above, and you part your lips to drink in it. 

It might have taken a minute, or two—maybe more, but you feel so blissed out and high that it takes you a moment to notice that you’re almost sinking, all the strength leaving your body. You realise that the thing beneath you is the only thing that belongs to you. It is solid, and warm, and you hold it to your chest to feel it breathe. 

“Y’okay?” your thing asks you between heavy breaths, and you shake your head, far too dizzy. 

There’s a low chuckle, one that resonates in the entirety of it. And as the vibrations seep into you wave by wave, tremor after tremor, there’s a slow, heavy bubbling in your chest. It begins in small fizzes, like the ones that froth when billows collide, but then it starts to grow larger, and larger, like hot, gurgling lava in the midst of a volcano. It feels tight, hard to breathe, almost. 

“Zoro?” you ask, unsure, and the hand on the nape of your neck squeezes. 

“I’m here,” he answers, tiredly. Always here. 

“I feel weird," you tell him, truthfully.

“Is it a good kind of weird?” 

You take a second to think, that he must be right. “... yeah. Maybe.” 

“Then it’s fine,” he sighs, arms wounding around your shoulders to shift your weight to the side. “You deserve to feel good.” 

He presses the side of your face to his chest, your ear right above his heart, before slowly drifting into slumber. 

The bubbling within you simmers, gradually, over time, and you close your eyes. You deserve to feel good, his words echo in the dark. 

It hits you, the belated apprehension, that this—whatever you’re feeling—is happiness. 

It breathes life into you.  masterlist! # feeding the zoro lovers. repost of my old work btw - fav thing i've ever written for him so far. zoro canonically has a complicated relationship with god and religion so it was fun to explore how he views religion in carnal desire

now all i need is to write something filthy for his asura form

[officialdaydreamer00]

Marionette on a string

in which your significant other was dragged to a local theatre to see your performance on stage

pairing: (slight) idia shroud x actress!yuu/reader

contents: long drabble, lower case intended, the title should be used for my angstier ideas i swear lmao, a tiny pinch of fluff, reader is yuu and yuu is reader, gender neutral reader and narrated by you/yours, irene losing their mind over ride the cyclone (2016 cast specifically) and decided to add it in their fic, just idia and ortho reacting to the musical :D mainly idia

★ the daydreamer speaks — my third entry for my tumblr sister @cloudcountry's sweet shroud summer 2024!! disposing the worms bc they block my path to temporary shut down :D

do i tag? yes, i do. my main idia liker: @edith-is-a-cat, others: @identity-theft-101 @ferris-the-wheel @xen-blank @twistwonderlanddevotee @loser-jpg @lemonchuu @escha-evenstar @dove-da-birb

remember to comment or reblog if you enjoy my work!!

"Ortho, when will Yuu-shi show up on stage?"

"Should be in a few minutes, brother!"

idia briefly question his life decisions when ortho barged into his room, then proceeded to drag him out through the bustling streets of sage island. he could barely heard him mentioning something about you, what with acting and the local theatre.

well, he was about to find out.

as they both sat down in the darkened room, idia suddenly felt conscious about his fire hair glowing, a bit anxious with the judging eyes of others in the room, and pulled up his hoodie hood. he thanked the seven for the small amount of people in the room, which was less than he would expected there to be.

ortho whispered to him information he needed to know about the musical. about the summary, the characters, and the cast, to which he was pleasantly surprised to see you in the role of jane doe.

so an unidentifiable person, he noted, keeping an eye out to see your performance.

after a while, the narrator presented the final person, and you appeared in all your doll-lile glory, taking the spotlight. it was an unsettling introduction, he'd give you that.

the show went on, and idia's gaze never left you. your fellow actors and actresses did a great job with their own songs, which were quite a whiplash of emotions with how quickly the songs changed genres.

and then came your song.

and oh dear sevens, your voice.

"... Woah. "

"Yuu-san is amazing, aren't they, big brother?"

"Yeah... They really are..."

it was hauntingly beautiful, yet melancholic and painfully emotional, it sent chills down his spine. he couldn't imagine you could hit all those high notes, yet you did them so well. though, he only took his eyes off of you for a second, and you were already in the air, flying all over the place.

confusion was an understatement, but he brushed it off in favour of vibing to your, now that he thinks about it, kind of messed up song. he couldn't help but be enraptured by your stellar performance.

the show ended with a light and hopeful song, and a familiar melody as a callback to its opening. he was a bit disappointed that it was over, but he quite enjoyed it.

ortho noticed his brother's little smile. he smiled behind his mask, satified with the result.

mission "get idia outside" was a success!

[itstimetojellyfish]

Hi Jellyfish,

I just wanted to say I really liked the Argenti reader angst fic and I had brainworms because of it the entire day at work. I got an idea of how it follows up.

It goes like this: Boothill is not feeling well about the situation because Argenti played with readers feelings and betrayed them and he one hates betrayal ab two is scared that Argenti could grow tired of him aswell.

So he brings Argenti to go to reader to apologize.

When Argenti go's into their home he finds everything in disarray and the place covered in thorns, rose petals and ginko leaves and in the middle of all, reader who ia losing themselve to the mara (The rose petals are from the transformation aswell)

Yeah... that's as far as I got in my mind and I have been microwaving the idea in my head the entire day so I thought I'd share :>

Anyway do with that whatever you want and enjoy your day/night

Ahem . I LOVE THE GODDAMN PLOT YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND.

Roses and bullets with a bit of Ginko( Argenti x reader x Boothill)

Link to the first part : I’ll wait for you

It’s been well over a month since the incident with you , Boothill , and Argenti happened. However it’s not exactly an easy argument to forget and move on from .

Something was bothering him ever since he saw your face , all pretty , and yet crying fat droplets of pure anguish and pain because of what Argenti said .

He’s never like betrayal from day one , the IPC betrayed their title , so called “peace makers” when all they’ve done was destroy planets including his own .

Something in him worms around whenever he remembers what happened , and it doesn’t exactly sit right with him how watery those pretty shinning eyes of yours were .

( it makes his stomach crawl even though he doesn’t exactly have a real one)

It bothers him how Argenti didn’t even look guilty, only disappointed, when the water slipped from your tear ducts . You fell to your knees and curled in as Argenti guided him out , he could’ve swore your eyes started to glow a warm amber .

It was like a dam broke in you , when he walked out he cast one last look at you and even though he couldn’t cry , it felt like he would’ve right then and there when he saw you sobbing your heart out and clutching your chest.

After that , it was just… like before , Argenti courting him and bringing him to places that Boothill likes .

But…

He’s … scared…

Scared that Argenti will get bored of him or is playing with his feelings and will eventually leave him heartbroken and empty just like how you felt .

So …

Boothill does what he’s best at , confronting people and making them pay .

But , since this is his lover , the worst that he’ll do is just make him apologize to you for playing with your feelings .

He could’ve just rejected you so you could heal faster but no! He accepted the offer and now Boothill feels like crap for making the knight fall in love with him!

So now he forces Argenti to your house and then knocks on the door with one hand while the other has a firm grip on the knights arm so he won’t run away.

Argenti just sighs and looks away into the flower field , consisting of red roses and white roses that you planted for him, they’re usually well maintained .

However , he notices that the roses haven’t been pruned and plucked yet , did you really resent him that much?

It’s been a minute now , no one has responded.

So Boothill does what he does best , break into building by using his gun or brute force , he kicked the door down and then said “ Hey lady! I brought rosey here to apologize.”

He then realized what bad shape the house was in , rose petals all over the place , vases shattered, bright yellow ginko leaves everywhere.

Argenti entered ,” Y/N I’m sorry but-“ He stared at what had become of your home .

Next thing you know your bedroom door is forced open as Boothill and Argenti look in terror as they see what has become of you .

“The Mara-struck…”Boothill makes a poor attempt at cursing before giving up and starting to raise his gun but before he can , Argenti stops him.

Your arms are covered in black , cracked open with roses and ginko leaves , a feature of the love you lost , you now suffer.

You can’t be saved anymore , the one you loved betrayed you .

They saw you squirm in pain and then….

Silence . You’re dead now .

Argenti and Boothill ran over to your position and saw , you died in between the process.

You’re gone forever.

And it’s all because of them

[writingfreezer]

”would you still love me if i was a worm?” ratiorine/aventio

the air outside was filled with fog as the pair walked home from their respective jobs. to be fair, they did work for the same organization, just under different titles.

the younger of the two strutted along, hands in his front pockets as he looked around nonchalantly. every so often he’d fix the posture of his expensive watch or throw his overhanging bangs to the side. it looked almost intentional, how long his hair was.

the other man, who appeared to have a generally larger build than the other, walked beside him. his eyes were half-lidded as he looked forward, not in a tired way, but a pretty tense way. he wore clothing much different to the younger, loose-fitting blue pants and a very tight black top with some sort of blanket thrown around his shoulder, making him look like a greek philosopher. the younger wore a white suit with some green and black details, so you could tell their different taste in fashion.

the younger was whistling to a familiar tune as they walked, looking at the apartment complexes passing them by. suddenly, he turned to look at the taller one. he roamed his expression, searching for something that only he knew how to find. it went on for so long (not long at all) that the taller sighed and turned to look down at the man beside him with an irritated look.

”you’re staring,” he noted. his golden eyes shone in the afternoon sun, and it was hard to say that he didn’t suit the yellow glow of the evening as lighting.

”you are now as well, you know,” the younger remarked. he smirked with a boyish grin as he waited for the other to respond, which he did with only one look. the same look he’d been sporting since the shorter decided to strike up a conversation.

”alright, my bad.” the younger laughed and held his hands up in mock-surrender. now that he was tilting his head down, you could see the slight brown outgrowth in the roots of his hair. ”look, i was wondering something. it’s-”

as he looked up to continue explaining, he was met with the look from the older that he’d learnt meant ”please shut the fuck up.”

immediately, he did shut the fuck up and cleared his throat awkwardly to look forward.

the older furrowed his brows slightly, but only slightly, and blinked a few times. did he do something wrong? why did the younger stop talking?

he tried clearing his throat as well to show him that he was still present, but what he didn’t understand was that it added immensely to the already very tense and awkward situation. the younger, being fed up with this useless atmosphere, spoke up out of nowhere;

”would you still love me if i was a worm?” he asked, tone clear. he didn’t look up from the road, and he had somewhat buried his hands deeper in his pockets.

the older, taken slightly aback, tilted his head slightly as he walked.

”that depends,” he began, and he could immediately feel the younger’s mood dampening a little. he ignored the uncomfortable sting in his heart and continued. ”in this hypothetical scenario, am i still a human, or have i also been turned into a worm? or were we worms from birth? asexual freshwater planarians do not have a libido because they…”

the younger, who had regretted asking the question as soon as the words left his mouth, held back from sighing and instead zoned out somewhere far, far away as they walked back home. it was stupid, really, to ask the dr. veritas ratio, harborer of many phd’s including one in philosophy, a simple question about fucking worms. of course he had to turn it into a monologue that not even prometheus could top.

”…venturine. look at me.”

aventurine blinked away the fogginess of his sight and looked up to the man next to him. a small wave of shame crept up on him as he realized he’d probably missed the answer he had asked for. he nodded slowly with round eyes to show that he was listening.

”we must free ourselves of the hope that the sea will ever rest. we must learn to sail in high winds.” the doctor said, and the gambler knew very well that those were not his words, but someone far, far back who probably wore clothing similar to the man next to him. what does that mean again?

”it means that you should stop expecting me to not take your questions literally. i’m just exploring every answer that is available to me.” ah.

”well,” aventurine began, looking down again. ”if you could choose one answer, which would it be?”

”i cannot do that.”

”doctor, please-”

the doctor sighed and rubbed his nose the way he always did to show his irritation, as if everything else wasn’t enough. ”am i also a worm?”

aventurine thought long and hard about it. realistically, for most people, they’d say no, only the person asking is a worm. but, if he knew his partner well, he’d say the wrong answer if those were the circumstances, so he didn’t say that.

”yes, and we have been worms from the start,” he said, not really caring to sound very cheerful. ”and we are not asexual. we’re still gay.”

”actually, i’m bisex-”

”you get it.”

”…yes,” was all the doctor said. he continued walking and staring straight ahead as he did before.

the gambler blinked. ”what? yes to what?”

”… to the question. if you were a worm,” ratio sounded kind of awkward now, which was unusual for him. it was kind of nice to hear, actually.

”oh. so… yes, you’d love me if i was- if we were worms.” he slowly looked up to the taller man, holding his breath waiting for the answer, even though he probably knew what it was already.

”yes, that’s what i answered to,” ratio said bluntly.

”oh. that’s… nice to hear. thank you for your input.”

the shorter smiled and resumed to look around them as they walked, whistling on that same tune as before.

[determinedwriter]

My Little Hawk (Tony Stark x Daughter OC)

Title from Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens

Content Warnings: sickness, seizure, vomiting, hospital stay, medical procedures

Tony raises Ro from birth AU

•

Tony

Ro has been under the weather lately. It started with just mild headaches, but they’re getting worse. She tells me she’s been getting chills. I checked her temperature and she has a fever, so I assume it’s just a cold, maybe the flu.

I put her down for bed not too long ago and now I’m working on a car and doing some tune ups when I hear little footsteps enter the garage.

“Do I hear a little gremlin?” I tease, coming out from under the car. “What are you doing up?”

She frowns, looking pale and clammy. “I don’ feel good, Daddy…”

“Oh baby, let’s get you more medicine.” I coo.

“I don’t like it. It’s icky.” She complains.

I card my fingers through her hair and kneel in front of her. “I know, mini. But you have to take it so you’ll feel better.”

“I don’t feel better yet…” Ro pouts. “When is it gonna work?”

I sigh. “Soon. Come on, let’s go back to bed. I have something else that might help you feel better too.”

I take out a project I’ve been working on, looking at the glow in the dark aromatherapy and voice commanded stuffed bear with Jarvis installed to help monitor her breathing and heartbeat while she sleeps to keep my mind at ease.

She smiles weakly when she sees it, hugging it to her chest. “Th…th…tank you, Daddy.”

Ro doesn’t quite have her th sounds down yet, still having a baby voice. I’m gonna hate when it goes away. She’s growing up too fast.

Rubbing her eyes, Ro sways on her feet. “Mmm…feel sick…”

I hate seeing her like this. It breaks the heart I didn’t think I had. “I know. I know, hon. It’ll be better soon. I promise.”

She suddenly vomits all over the bear and the front of her ninja turtle pajamas, immediately bursting into tears. “I’m s-sorry, Daddy!”

I put the bear aside and scoop her up in my arms. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t be sorry.”

“I ruined it…” She sniffles, pointing at the bear.

“I’ll fix it.” I reply. “Daddy fixes things, remember?”

Ro nods. “Uh huh…I ‘member…”

I kiss her head. “Let’s get you into a nice bubble bath, huh? And fresh pjs.”

She snuggles into me, probably staining my shirt with vomit, but I don’t care. Some things are more important than the grossness that comes with parenthood. Raising a six year old tends to cross into gross territory often. Especially when your six year old likes to make mud pies and play with worms.

And eat spaghetti with her hands. It took forever to get her to use a fork. It wasn’t even that she didn’t know how. It was that she didn’t want to.

I love that kid to death.

She barely has any energy in the bathtub, barely able to sit up straight while I gently scrub her body, trying to relax her by massaging her scalp with shampoo and conditioner, washing it out with warm water and brushing her hair softly.

Her eyes droop and close, fighting to stay awake. I quickly take her out of the bath and help her dry off, dressing her in a pink nightgown with little white polka dots on it.

I’m barely able to brush her teeth due to her fatigue, but I manage, carrying her to bed and taking her temperature.

It’s gotten higher. I thought the medicine would’ve helped by now. “Get some sleep, bambina.”

“Can you hum Nonna’s song?” She asks with a yawn.

I grin. “Yeah, of course I can.”

Anything for you, Ro.

She falls asleep while I hum the song my mother used to hum to me. I think it’s something she made up. I never heard any words, just the humming and vocalizing. It always put me right to sleep.

I’d honestly forgotten all about it up until Ro was born. Her birth reminded me of my own childhood and brought the song out of me as I held her for the very first time, tiny hand wrapped around my finger, head against my chest, content and quiet.

That’s when I knew she was my girl.

She wakes up in tears again, fever not going down. Her head hurts and she’s complaining of a stiff neck. Poor baby.

I’m not able to give her more medicine so I just put a cold cloth over her head and try to cool her down. She’s whimpering and shivering in my arms as I cuddle her in her little twin bed.

I drift off once she starts to sleep, waking up maybe a few hours later to see her shaking, back turned to me.

“Oh baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll visit the doctor tomorrow morning, alright? I’ve got you. Don’t you worry, Ro.” I coo.

I gently flip her towards me so I can see her face, a chill running down my spine when I realize her eyes are half closed, vomit on her lips as she convulses. She’s not shivering, she’s seizing.

“Oh God.” I gasp. “Okay…okay, it’s okay. Jarvis, is this what I think it is?”

“It appears that the young miss is having a seizure. I recommend you get her medical attention as soon as possible.” He replies.

My stomach lurches. “Do I move her?”

“Lay her on her side and wait for the seizure to end.” Jarvis instructs me.

Watching her continue to convulse is hell. She’s so tiny and pale and vulnerable. She shouldn’t be going through this. What is wrong with my kid?

Once the seizure ends, I hurriedly carry her to the car and drive right to the hospital where they take her in right away and start to do tests.

Ro comes to, blinking confusedly at her surroundings. “Daddy?”

“I’m right here, baby.” I reassure her. “You’re safe.”

“Where are we?” She asks.

“The hospital. But you’re okay. The doctors are gonna figure out how to help you, sweetheart.” I tell her.

Ro frowns. “I thought the medicine was gonna make it better. You promised…”

My heart sinks. “I know, bambina. I know…I’m so sorry. I thought it would. I’m sure the doctors will find out what’s wrong and give you brand new medicine. Then you’ll be good as new.”

She nods sadly. “Okay, Daddy…”

It both warms and breaks my heart that she trusts me so wholeheartedly. I will let her down. I already have. I hate to break that trust when she’s so purely good and innocent and young.

But I ruin relationships. I self-destruct and hurt the people around me. It’s inevitable. I don’t know why I thought it would be different with Ro. Why I thought keeping her was a good idea.

I love her more than anything in the world, but I’d give anything for her to be safe, even if that means I never see her again.

But in my heart, I know I’ll never leave her. Part of it is selfishness. I don’t ever want to live without her because of how much I love her. She’s my kid. My little girl.

But that love may destroy her.

The doctors tell me they have to do a spinal tap after they do some blood work, not satisfied with the results and needing more diagnostic tests.

They mention a brain MRI. God, how serious is this?

I hold Ro while they stick the large needle in her back, causing her to shriek and cry. “D-Daddy! Daddy, it hurts!”

Clinging to her and fighting back tears, I manage to speak without breaking apart, though my voice wavers. “I know. I know. I know it does, bambina. God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s all gonna be better soon. I got you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you tons, honey. I love you so much.”

Things eventually calm down once the spinal tap is finished, but they go ahead with the MRI, taking her into a room with the large machine.

The thing looks like it swallows her once she’s inside, the technicians telling her to stay still multiple times because she won’t stop squirming in fear at the sound of the machine whirring.

I speak into the mic when their instructions don’t seem to work, hoping my voice will calm her. “Baby, you have to stay still. I know it’s scary but I promise it’s okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Daddy’s still here. It’s almost done. Just keep still and it’ll be over before you know it and I’ll give you a big hug.”

She does as I say, finally allowing the technicians to get a clear reading. Once she’s out of the machine, I go to give her a hug but am stopped by a doctor.

“Sir, I’m sorry but you need to keep your distance. We’ll give you gloves and a mask to wear but you have to be careful. We suspect it’s fungal meningitis and it is highly contagious and dangerous.” He explains.

Ro looks at me fearfully, making a face like she’s about to cry. “I don’t care. I don’t. I need to hug my kid. I need to hold my baby.”

“Sir-“

“No. No, I have to. I can’t let her do this alone.” I interrupt, hoisting my daughter up in my arms and carrying her back to the hospital room, laying her on the bed.

I do wear the mask and gloves, which seems to spook her a bit. “Daddy, you look like a scary doctor…”

“Why a scary one? I’m Dr. Stark. I’m a good doctor.” I reply.

“The mask covers your beard.” She explains. “It doesn’t look okay.”

“So you’re saying I should never shave it off?” I ask.

Ro shakes her head. “Nuh uh. That’s weird.”

I smile. “Okay then, baby. I’ll keep the beard. But u do have to keep the mask and gloves on too.”

“Why?” She questions. Such a curious kid. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“Because Daddy could get sick. We don’t want that.” I say. “We’ve gotta focus on getting you better.”

She nods. “Okay…”

“Love you tons.” I tell her.

“Love you tons.” She replies wearily.

Ro falls asleep for a bit while we wait for results, waking up a bit scared. “Daddy, where are we?”

“The hospital, baby.”

“W-Why?” She cries.

“You’re sick. But you’re gonna get better. I promise.” I reply.

“Why do you look scary? I-I don’t like it…I don’t like it…” Ro whines.

Why has she forgotten about the mask? Why can’t she remember where she is and why she’s here? It scares the hell out of me.

The doctor soon comes back and confirms that it’s fungal meningitis, explaining that they will give her an antifungal medication through an IV and that she should recover.

Thank God.

I’m still not at ease, but it’s a little weight off of my shoulders. I’m never at ease. Not after having a kid. I wasn’t expecting that when I first became her dad. The constant worry.

But my brain seems to hate me and decides to come up with ways that she could die or get seriously hurt. Wild scenarios that leave her in the worst of situations.

That feeling was particularly strong when she was an infant. I worried she’d get SIDS. That she’d smother herself or suddenly stop breathing.

Once she was crawling, I worried about her sticking her tiny fingers into electrical sockets or choking on some small pieces of something I forgot to put away.

And when she started to walk, I was scared that she’d bang her head on sharp corners or fall down. That she’d get tall enough to open cabinets full of hazardous materials.

Other than a few bruises and the occasional fall, I’ve done pretty alright so far. So this whole fungal infection thing has me feeling anxious and guilty.

How did she get something like this? Is it something I did? Something I could have prevented?

The doctors say it’s rare, so I’m left wondering how my six year old kid managed to get it.

After a few days on the medication and staying in the hospital, Ro is showing serious improvement and is allowed to go home, the infection running its course.

I don’t end up getting it even with my close proximity to Ro, refusing to leave her side. I’m pretty lucky. I wish it happened to me and not her though.

Once she’s all better and fully rested, I give her her now clean stuffed bear and allow her to eat ice cream for breakfast while we have a Barbie movie marathon. I didn’t want to give her these things while she was sick for fear of making her feel worse. Plus, I haven’t had time to fix the bear.

And by fix, I mean clean the vomit out of its fur.

Those Barbie movies are cheesy and annoying, but she absolutely loves them. I can’t really complain when I see the look of excitement and wonder in her eyes as she watches the screen.

Hugging the bear to her chest, Ro falls asleep on the couch as the credits roll on the fourth movie of the day.

I drape a blanket over her and kiss her head. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”

Despite all of my faults and fears of destroying her, I know I could never leave her side.

Plus, we’re gonna be okay. Me and Ro against the world. Nothing will stop me from being her dad. From raising her and watching her grow into the woman she’ll become one day.

I feel it in my bones.

Just don’t grow up too fast, baby girl.

END

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you’d like more like this!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Four

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.1k

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1916, The Dreaming

Morpheus was reading to you, a past time you had wormed out of him much to his confusion for why you wanted him to read to you. You knew perfectly well how to read these days, could flip your own pages, had read an innumerous amount of books since becoming a raven. But he found that it was, at times, hard to say no to you. He would never admit that he enjoyed your active seeking of his company. So here he was with you perched on the arm rest of his throne while he read you one of the newest books to appear in the library.

It was a book of poems, The Road Not Taken, by a mortal named Robert Frost, you found that you rather liked listening to the poems. Or maybe it was Morpheus’s voice. You liked the sound of it just as much. Morpheus finished up the last poem in the book and slowly closed the heavy leather bound book.

“Are you still awake, my raven?” Morpheus softly asked, knowing that on occasion, you fell asleep. A sight he rather enjoyed. But no, you had not fallen asleep this time and waddled your way to the end of the arm rest.

“Quite so,” You replied, tilting your head. “And I don’t always fall asleep.” Morpheus raised an eyebrow in counter and you stamped your foot. “I mean it! I’m listening!”

“So you say,” Morpheus echoed, enjoying the way you worked yourself up. It was when your true personality shone the brightest and your melancholy of being a raven was momentarily forgotten. Morpheus’s eyes dropped to the little anklet wrapped around your left leg. It had a little ruby hanging off of it that matched the one he wore around his neck. It was a gift that he had gotten you  years past after Jessamy mentioned your birthday.

While mortal celebrations such as birthdays were not celebrated within The Dreaming, Jessamy had planned out a small party for your 150th birthday. Many of the palace staff had given you unique trinkets from around the realm, even some found in other realms. Morpheus had mulled over what gift to give you, knowing that you already had all material possessions you could want. Certainly when it pertained to your passion of art. Jessamy had saved the day once again, suggesting that you would love something he created.

Morpheus had thought a ruby would be appropriate, as the red color fit nicely against your midnight and pearl colored feathers. It was also nice to have every visitor in the realm see that you were his beloved raven. You had glowed when he presented to you and you glowed every time it was mentioned, and then showed it off to anyone who would look.

“You’re staring, am I molting again without realizing it? Do I have pin feathers sticking out?” You asked, titling your head to the side before turning in a circle and inspecting your plumage. You couldn’t see any wayward feathers… but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Be at peace, Adrienne, for there is naught a single feather out of place,” Morpheus assured you, fingers catching the side of your face and drawing your gaze back to his. “I was merely appreciating the divine Corvus perched upon my throne.”

“You’re flattering me… what are you about to do?” You accused him, narrowing your eyes at Morpheus and once again, hitting the nail on the head. Morpheus sighed at your ability to see through him.

“Adrienne…”

“No,” You tutted, hopping a few paces so you were out of reach of his bewitching touch. “I know when you and Jessamy are about to leave The Dreaming, you are consistently trying to get in my good graces. Where are you off to this time?”

“A Nightmare has gone rogue, Jessamy and I will be setting out to retrieve him.” Morpheus explained, running the back of his fingers down your neck. You stared hard into his eyes for a few moments before deciding that he was telling the truth. Not that he had ever told you an untruth.

“A rogue Nightmare,” You mused to yourself, mind thinking over who the fool was to go against Morpheus. “Which one? And why are you going to retrieve them? Can’t you just tell one of the others to go get him?”

Morpheus shook his head.

“I fear that it is one of the great arcana’s, that has strayed from his task.” He explained to you. “I shall go and retrieve him myself.” When it became apparent that Morpheus wasn’t going to tell you who had strayed from their task, you pressed further.

“You didn’t answer which one rebelled.” You pointed out. Morpheus, try as he might, couldn’t hide everything from you. You were the sibling of Jessamy and neither of you missed anything. You took a threatening step (it was hardly threatening to the Endless) towards Morpheus. “Who was it!?”

“Adrienne,” Morpheus started to speak, you cut him off.

“This isn’t something you need to protect me from!” You pointed out. “If it’s a threat to The Dreaming then I should know! You know ignorance is the biggest threat of them all.” Morpheus disagreed, sometimes knowing was far more dangerous, but he wouldn’t argue with you. He didn’t want to argue with you.

“I fear that it is The Corinthian who has gone astray,” Morpheus admitted to you, drawing a finger to the underside of your beak. “But you are not to interfere, Adrienne.” He warned you, his eyes sparkling with his astral power for a moment. “Am I clear?”

You weren’t so rebellious to not recognize a serious warning that you’d do well to heed.

“How bad is it?” You asked quietly, slumping where you stood, worry now filling your tiny body. Morpheus gaze turned gentle once more.

“Have no fear for Jessamy and I, my precious Adrienne, we are only going out to retrieve the Corinthian.” Morpheus soothed and reassured you. “We shall be back before you finish your sketch.”

“I told you that I only have an hours work left.“ You said skeptically.

“Precisely,” Morpheus spoke before rising from the throne and setting the book aside. He summoned his helm and donned it, then turned back to you. “Wait for me, Adrienne, and we shall start the next book in our stack. There is nothing to worry about,” He promised, then drawing out his pouch of sand, you watched as Morpheus transported himself from the realm.

“Then why do I have a bad feeling?” You whispered to an empty throne room.

You were mindlessly dragging your pencil across parchment, in a trance and dissociating from your surroundings. The only sound in your studio was the scratching of your pencil and your little feet twisting around on your work table. Lowering the pencil from the parchment, you examined the sketch of Morpheus with Jessamy perched on his shoulder. You didn’t know why you felt so composed to sketch it. Maybe it was the fact that despite Morpheus giving you his word that he would be back within an hour, both of them had yet to return after three hours.

Then again, time was weird within The Dreaming, so perhaps you had once again let it pull you into its grasp. Your head turned to the silent clock hanging on the wall. No. It had been three hours since Jessamy and Morpheus left. Late. Dream of the Endless was never late. Dream of the Endless never broke his promises. The pencil slipped from your grasp and you let it roll along the table and fall to the floor.

“I’d hate to harass Lucienne, but this is not normal.” You spoke to yourself, not able to hold back the growing worry within your small body. Abandoning the sketch, you took flight and opened a hole in the realm to fly directly to the library. Flying from your art studio to the library, you soared through the shelves and spotted Lucienne shelving a stack of books. You flared your wings and coasted down, landing on the top of the shelf. Lucienne looked up at you.

“Hello Adrienne, what brings you by the library.” You shifted your wings nervously, not wanting to bother her, but knowing that something was indeed wrong.

“Morpheus and Jessamy aren’t back yet,” You explained softly. “It’s been three hours.” Lucienne’s eyebrow went up and she adjusted her spectacles.

“Perhaps they found other business to attend to,” Lucienne offered.

“He promised he wouldn’t even be an hour, Luce, he said to wait for him,” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “He— he promised.”

That had Lucienne’s back going ramrod straight, for she knew that when Morpheus made promises, especially to you, he always kept his word. There was no one in the universe that Morpheus cherished more than you, and if he hadn’t kept a promise to you? Something was gravely wrong.

“Can you still feel Jessamy?” Lucienne asked, knowing that you and Jessamy were connected through your shared blood. You bobbed your head and shuffled in place, your ruby anklet jangling.

“Yes, that was the first thing I checked when the hour was up. You know Jess, she doesn’t play around, she’d make sure they found Cori and brought him back. She wouldn’t let anything get in their way. If they were going to change plans they’d tell me,” You said, your true anxiety leeching into your voice. “Luce, I haven’t heard anything from them.”

Everyone in the palace waited for Morpheus to return. Some with bated breath, others sure that the Endless simply had gotten caught up in business. But then days turned into weeks, and weeks to months. Soon years were trickling by, Endless and raven still missing. You always kept hope in your heart, certain that they would come back. They wouldn’t leave you all alone. But they never came and you sat perched on the armrest of Morpheus’s throne, waiting.

You didn’t know if it was your faith in Morpheus and Jessamy that kept you waiting, or your love for them. Jessamy was your rock, grounding you to The Dreaming and keeping you stable in your immortal life. Morpheus was the one who held you heart. To lose either of them would hurt you irreparably.

Night and day you sat there, waiting. It felt like agony to you, and it was by Lucienne and Mervyn’s despair that you barely took care of yourself. You often found yourself curled up on Morpheus’s throne, hoping that when you woke up they would be there. That Morpheus would be staring down at you in amusement as he chastised you for sleeping in his seat. You would give anything to be chastised by him again. But they never came back. Jessamy never came swooping back into the throne room. Morpheus never returned in a swirl of starry eyes and dark hair.

Then one day, nearly ten years after their disappearance, you were numbly helping Lucienne shelve books in the library. She had convinced you to leave the throne room, a very rare occurrence. Clicking across the table full of books, you were about to tug the next book of a pile when a blinding pain hit your chest and you let out a scream. Lucienne spun around to look at you just as your body flopped onto the table top and you convulsed.

Pain was blistering all over your body, like hot rocks were digging into your flesh. You flailed, your wings flapping like crazy while you struggled to breathe. Just as quickly as that blinding pain had come, it disappeared and you were left feeling a deep emptiness. While you gasped for air and tried to understand what had just happened, Lucienne’s hands gently righted your twisted body.

“Adrienne!?” Lucienne called, alarmed by your scream and worried that something terrible had happened. “Adrienne what happened?” You whimpered, knowing exactly what the hollowed emptiness you felt was. Not able to hold back your choked sob, you let out another terrible scream as tears dripped from your eyes.

“She’s gone!” You choked out, your wings flapping against the wood as you tried to grasp onto something to stop you from truly breaking down. Lucienne didn’t understand what you meant by ‘she’s gone’ at first, but the more your writhed around and the more you cried, the further her heart sank in her chest.

Only one event would cause you this much pain.

Lucienne collected you within her arms and held you against her chest to stop your thrashes, fearing that you would only hurt yourself. But in the end, nothing she could say or do would ever soothe the hurt you felt.

Date Published: 5/24/23

Last Edit: 5/24/23

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[vashvenus]

★ミ leather indulgence

synopsis: a long day of traversing the desert is rewarded by your companions niceties in the form of depravity; his boot between your legs.

contains: fem/afab reader, boot worship, vash hands out praise like crazy, and just tender love.

sand, dust, and heat. the cling of clothes that likely should’ve been thrown away a month ago to your damp skin merely collecting and sticking the grains of sand upon your form; unpleasant. rays of sunshine unmerciful but only fended off from those same tattered pieces of cloth hanging off your body. if you were honest, laying down and simply letting the worms consume you didn’t sound all that bad though your companion would’ve instead hauled you up with a grin and assured you the next town was close. his definition of close seemed to be far from yours if the desolate horizon meant anything. eyes squinted and trained on his back to just focus on taking step after step, you cursed yourself for not bringing more water. if nothing else at least it was impossible to lose him with how he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the dunes. bright red and thrumming with a sort of life you wish you were even somewhat comparable to; foolish, he’d call you. something to the tune of you being worth more than he would pass his lips and you’d roll your eyes in response. ‘how self deprecating,’ you turned the words over in your head. for a man so riddled with guilt he sure never dulled his glow to you. though unrelenting with hot torture, you knew you’d long for the warmth when night fell and a chill crossed your bones. the cold of the dark never failed to leave you desperate and you were sure the next town was far enough that you’d be left to camp outside instead. not that you totally minded, the stars are rather glorious and the intimate moments of being curled up side by side lit your heart on fire. you huffed.

“struggling back there?” he tossed a teasing but somewhat apologetic smile over his shoulder, “we can take a break if you need.” to which you groaned. always putting you first, it was rare you’d take him up on the kind offers. consider it a form of repayment for how he takes bullets for you to not overindulge in his selflessness. yet, your strength was dwindling so ultimately you agreed.

settling side by side beneath the shade casted by a cliffside, your head found its way to be rested against his arm. he patted your skull with a chuckle and hummed an unfamiliar but comforting tune. panting lightly, you mumbled some sort of thanks that vash brushed off as nothing more than looking out for you. something about best friends though you both knew your relationship extended beyond such a trivial description but without a formal title. lovers almost. your eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion and fighting off sleep became harder. as much as you tried, the inevitable came and you dozed off comfortable as ever against your best friend. he didn’t bother waking you, opting instead to enjoy the comfort of your body against his as if starved of connection; true. he is starved of even the mildest of affection though he’d die before admitting such needs to even the wind. ‘i don’t deserve it,’ or such other nonsense. he deserves the sun, sky, and stars.

jerking awake, the sky was tinted orange towards the end of daylight. you grunted from the pain in your neck due to the painful positioning of your nap and vash brought his hand to massage the muscle without you even asking. his fingers wandered the skin, working out the muscle and behind for the simple pleasure of being close to you. the small moments of skin ship kept his heart beating and smile alive by the power of love he kept locked inside. he moved to set up an unusually lazy camp and sat atop a rock to make a fire for whatever canned food you both had left. a pitiful dinner but food in your stomach nonetheless; a priority in these times. you yawed and moved from the ground to weasel yourself between his legs though seated on the ground with your back against the rock and head leaned onto his lower stomach. vash huffed out a laugh but played with your hair as the food simmered in the cans, fire blazing. the flames seemed to lick the lowering sun as if desperate to become one and you wondered which one you’d both personify as. vash, as bright as the sun with the determination of the fire. you, with what he’d say is the beauty of the star and warm love of the flame or something equally as cheesy. you hummed a sort of replication of what he had before you slept.

metal cooled and with bent spoons, you both scarfed down the combination of beans paired with nuts and dry bread. nothing fancy but it tasted heavenly compared to starving surrounded by nothing but barren land. with a full stomach, you tilted your head back to look at vash with his mouth still full of bread. his expression of curiosity mixed with embarrassment from his cheeks full of food, you smiled and swallowed back the urge to poke at him and coo over how cute he looks. he muttered a small, ‘what?,’ before swallowing to which you merely shrugged. sometimes you just wanted to admire your handsome companion before you both inevitably had to tuck in for the night. his face most certainly is a sight for sore eyes and, by whatever god was out there, you needed it. he shifted and finished up his meal before standing and hopping over you like some childish game of leap frog, his coat smacking you over the head a million different times. you sputtered and he cackled.

stomping on the fire to put it out and throwing the garbage somewhere in the depths of his far too large backpack, he moved to remove his coat and settle in with you for the night. halting him with a tug to one of many straps adorning his legs, you put on your best puppy dog eyes to beg him to let you continue resting against him as you had moments before. vash hesitated but ultimately is incapable of denying you anything, sliding back onto the rock and tugging on one of your ears in false annoyance. you wrapped your arms around one of his lanky legs with a satisfied smile, cozying up to the limb. he shuffled a bit to move his leg between yours, allowing a more comfortable position for you to cling onto him much like a needy child. his heel now pressed against your most sensitive spots, you stiffened before relaxing again, brushing it off as an accident though he didn’t move again to remove the pressure. face slightly flushed, you wiggled a bit in attempt to relieve the suddenly intimate positioning though you couldn’t go anywhere and you could swear you felt him press closer. a mumble of his name was met with a upturned hum.

“somethin wrong?” and he’s so casual about the situation as if the creaking leather of his boots isn’t shoved right against your core. he shifts again, pressing harder and moving to lean over you with one brow raised. his gentle smile borders on teasing and pitiful towards your flushed and confused face; something he’d remember. a brush of fingers moving your hair paired alongside a soft coo of something to the tune of ‘poor thing,’ and he’s rubbing his heal into you for real now. you gasp out, squeezing his calf in your hands as he rubs your neck soothingly and continues the gentle grinding against you. “feels good right? you’re so pretty,” and he sighs out with something so loving, “i’ll help you really relax. you’ve been working so hard for me all this time, it’s only fair right? need to make you understand my thanks, mayfly.” with that you’re slowly making up the courage to grind into his boot as well in earnest.

vash leans over you further, body encompassing you between his legs and torso, both equally as long. you’re tugging at the complicated straps of his leg wear and pushing into the slow movements he’s built up with a sort of repressed desperation. the movements are enough to have your head spinning. sure, your relationship was complex between the looks you’d share and copious skin ship but this was new. the sexual intimacy was new though not unwelcome and your processed it mentally through small whimpers and gasps of his name.

“this feels good right?” his insecurities leak through even in your vulnerable state and you’d love nothing more than to soothe him with a long ramble about how everything he does feels good but you’re too caught up in the feelings as he pushes you closer to your end. “i love making you feel good, mayfly. against my boots too,” and he longs for you, “so filthy for a girl so precious.” vash bends to kiss the top of your head, soaking up your needy keens laced with love. he’d spend hours, a lifetime, here with you like this if the world didn’t need him. he moves his leg to press where the leather ends below his knee to the side of your face, heel still working against you. “lean on me, use me to feel good,” he’s practically begging with all the power in the world even as he holds you as fragile as glass, dominating in a pillow soft way. vash works you closer and closer, his praise flowing free with kisses littering your skull. he eases you into your climax; tender. your eyes are splattered with stars, your back arching and giving into his unique form of pleasure. an orgasm that built so slow and pretty taking over you with the strength of a million suns. he’s sighing as if he was the one that came and moving to lift his leg, boot wet from how you soaked through and lifting his heel to your face. “clean up after yourself, mayfly.”

your tongue meets the surface, the tang of your own juices combining with remaining dust and the musk of leather. moaning against the material, vash cards a hand through your hair mumbling various praises in a reverent form. you lick and suck at the leather and metal till you’re sure it’s cleaner than new.

“lets sleep now, yeah? we can do something more organized in the next hotel, mayfly.”

[foodsies4me]

The Two Runaways + Sarah

Grace Lyliane Thornfield (She/her, 8 years old)

nicknames: Lills, Gracie, Racie, gummy worm

physical description: scraggly & shaggy dirty blond hair (the dirty often doesn’t only relate to the colour), green-ish eyes, thin scar on her cheek that reaches down to tip of her nose, 4 ft (122 cm)

personality and tidbits: in the running for most likely trainee to get it trouble along with William and the Fearsome Four, not because she’s a menace like Max and his friends but because she gets easily distracted and ends up wandering off. Loves running and has the title of most won races hence the nickname Racie. She’s the youngest of four children and has lost her parents at a young age. Her older siblings still haven’t caught on to the fact that the Alec she’s talking about in all of her letters is also the HOTI that is writing her progress reports. Mostly because her reports shouldn’t be as complimentary and glowing as they are given they know how often she gets in trouble from the letters she writes them.

Extra info: She has a frog backpack. The frog’s spots are a mishmash of rainbows, candies, cookies and emojis. Yes it can hop back to her, a fail safe Magnus incorporated given her tendency to forget her backpack everywhere.

William Conner Whitelaw (he/they 8 years old)

nicknames: Liam, Illi, Yammie, little mosquito

physical description: short, tousled, curly hair that is often tangled. Brown eyes and chubby cheeks, 3 ft 11 (120 cm)

personality and tidbits: in the running for most likely trainee to get it trouble for the exact same reason as Grace - trouble finds them any time of the day even when he isn’t looking for it. He has the tendency to wander off when distracted just like Grace hence why they’re known among the trainees as the two runaways. William lost both of their parents pretty young. He has a bad relationship with his aunt and uncle on who are his guardians in name only, he got shipped off to the NYI pretty much as soon as William came in their custody. William sworn siblings with Oliver and the Rebecca’s and adores Alec.

Extra info: has a rocket backpack that has sever-changing molecule structures drawn over it. The backpack will fly after him when he drops it somewhere because of how often he forgets it/loses it.

Sarah Julie Mayweather (she/her, 8 years old)

nicknames: Sa-sa, Hummingbird,Sarie

physical description: shoulder-length blond hair usually tied into twin pigtails. Blue eyes and 3 ft 9 (114 cm)

personality and tidbits: energetic (and very autistic), stims a lot, friendly with everyone but sticks the closest to Linette, Julian, Cristina and Oliver. The epitome of a girly-girl, loves all things bright, bubbly and pink. Her mom works and lives at the institute which means she can see all of the shenanigans Sarah gets I to, she’s not sure it’s a good thing. Once came back to the institute with a pony, nobody knew where she got it from. Extra info: has a glittery, purple button mushroom for a backpack though she can change the colour and the type of mushroom by tapping on the bottom of the stem.

[mydetheturk]

Title: Hell, I'm Dead Anyway

Author: mydetheturk

Rating: M (for safety)

Word Count: 2,710

Warnings: Vomiting, Panic Attacks, Crying, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Wolfwood's Going Through The Horrors, Hallucinations

Summary: Wolfwood cracked too many ampules. Meryl and Vash can only keep him comfortable while he recovers.

~~

Day 3 of @mashwoodweek! I chose "Ghosts" for reasons that will be Revealed in the fic. There's also a sprinkling of the poetry prompt "Tell me every terrible thing you've done, and let me love you anyway."

Title is from The Dark Tower Vol 2: The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King

(read on AO3)

There's some content warnings in the replies, if you're reading in the dash view and want to have some idea as to what's going down.

~~

Meryl worries, when her boys get into gun fights. Vash can dodge anything when he wants to, but Nick… Nick tends to soak up the bullets and crack an ampule and chug whatever serum is in them. And this last gun fight had been. Bad.

It'd been bad.

Nick had cracked the glasses at least twice that Meryl had seen, and Vash admitted to seeing another two, not to mention what might've happened when the three had been separated. When Meryl had found Nick again, he was leaning against a horse hitch and standing over black sludge, surrounded by bodies of some of the bounty hunters after Vash.

He'd thrown up black sludge before collapsing, all before Meryl could finish calling out to him.

Meryl's panicked scream had brought Vash running.

That was a couple of hours ago.

Meryl isn't sure how they got Nick in their motel room without anyone seeing them or Nick getting covered in vile, black goop. Meryl's been holed up in the bathroom with him, making sure he doesn't die. Vash hasn't been allowed back in since Nick looked at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes and stopped breathing out of panic. It took about thirty seconds of stillness before Nick sucked in a ragged breath and vomited up more of the black goop, the tears in the corners of his eyes spilling over.

Vash had bolted, and he's been pacing back and forth in their motel room since, bringing Meryl whatever she's asked for. She's only seen something like this once out of Nick since they stuck together after July. It almost killed him then, and it feels like it's killing him now.

It's been a while since he last coughed up the black, rotten goop, and while his vision isn't totally clear, Nick actually looked at her when she called his name, so Meryl's taking it as a win.

“Nick? Baby?” Nick's so pretty eyes blink at her, unseeing. Meryl puts her hand on his cheek, and he pulls back weakly. “I'm going to have to get Vash in here. I can't move you myself. Okay?”

“Shl'dn' touch… hurt you…” Nick wheezes, and Meryl's heart cracks.

“You can't hurt a kitten right now, baby,” Meryl says. She kisses his sweaty forehead.

Nick's too hot, but they don't have a tub with their room, just the tiny closet that holds the toilet and sink. Meryl and Vash will have to get whatever they can to get him cooled down. She just needs to get Nick on the bed, first.

Nick hacks up another lungful of bile into the toilet, wheezing weakly. Meryl runs her hand across his shoulders until he slumps back.

“'m good. Be good. Won't run again,” he whispers. He's staring out past Meryl, at something only he can see. “'m sorry.” His hands keep clenching and unclenching and small shivers wrack his frame.

“Child assassin, made to grow up too fast,” Nick had told her, drunk on bathtub gin and grief. Meryl's put those words in a little box to examine when she has moments to herself. Trying to demand anything of Zazie doesn't work, but what the Worm's Voice has implied has been horrific.

“Vash!” Meryl calls over her shoulder. She doesn't want to corner Nick in the tiny bathroom, but they've gotta get him cooled down.

Vash nearly runs Meryl over in his haste. He's glowing slightly, whorls flickering into existence from his eyes outward. “Is he–”

“He's too hot. It's making him delirious,” Meryl says. She tries not to think about the couple of pictures of tiny baby Nico Miss Melanie had shown her with golden eyes too old for his soft baby face. She doesn't know how successful she is with controlling her voice, given how Vash pales with her words.

“Will – will he let me touch him?” Vash whispers. He hovers at the door, not wanting to put more stress on Nick.

“I don't think it's gonna be a will he, Vash. I think you’re just going to have to,” Meryl says, just as quiet. Nick's lips are moving but no words are coming out, and he's staring not at her but past her. His whole frame trembles and his breath keeps skipping. “We need to cool him off.”

Vash takes a couple of deep breaths and steps in, deliberately making noise. Nick twitches back, eyes flicking in Vash's direction. He's ashy under his tan, the ever so faint freckles just darker than his normal skin tone standing out.

Meryl doesn't know what ghosts he's seeing.

But she wants to find the remains of Millions Knives and use the Punisher's laser to make sure he isn't coming back. She wants to find whoever Legato is and hurt him for hurting Nick.

“I'm so sorry, Nicholas,” Vash says. He kneels down, and Meryl scoots out of his way. She can't really haul Nick around the way he can her – he's too dense and she's too short. “I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe.” Vash keeps his words low and soft and unhurried as he carefully takes Nick in his arms. Nick tries to get away, flinching and spitting and full of panic, but there's only so far he can get in the confines of the bathroom.

Nick's crying silently by the time Vash gets his arms around his torso.

“I know, I know,” Vash says. “I'm sorry.” He presses his cheek to Nick's. “I'm standing up now, Wolfwood. There we are.” Vash rolls to his feet, dragging Nick with him. Meryl moves up as well, drawn to them magnetically. Nick can barely keep his feet under him, he's shaking so hard. Vash keeps murmuring to him and there's a sound Meryl can feel coming from Vash's chest. “We're gonna walk now. I've got you. I'll let you go in a moment.” Vash backs them out the door, staring forward at the back wall of the bathroom the entire time. He keeps going until the backs of his legs hit the bed and then Vash turns, shifting Nick until he's the one with the mattress in the back of his knees. Meryl helps Vash manhandle Nick into the bed proper; Vash's hands don't linger the few times he touches Nick's skin.

“Can you run water as cold as the sink will get it, Vash?” Meryl says once they've got Nick as comfortable as they can. There's an expression on his face that says he can tell more about what's happening than Meryl can. She's not sure he'll say anything, though.

Vash uses his prosthetic fingertips to shift Nick's hair off his forehead. Nick’s eyes scrunch closed and he tries to pull back, but he doesn’t make it far. Tears streak in varying directions across his face, across the bridge of his nose when he looks away from Vash. “Yeah. Just a second.” With a heavy sigh, Vash grabs up some fabric – a towel, a spare shirt, things like that.

Meryl takes a moment to get Nick's shirt the rest of the way unbuttoned, exposing his torso to the hotel room. Placing her hand over his heart, she feels the way it jumps a little and his breathing catches. He’s scared and verging on passing out from his panic and what he was seeing.

Meryl's breath stutters on an exhale.

He's so stupid.

She lost Vash once, no matter that he came back; Meryl can't lose Nick too. Her breath hiccups and she chokes back a cry.

“Hey.” Vash taps her shoulder with his flesh hand, the glove off so she can see his hand fully when she turns her head to look at him.

“Yeah?” Meryl hates how small her voice is.

“Nicholas is stubborn,” Vash says. “I'm sure he'll pull through.”

Meryl wants to believe him. She does.

But the sense-memory of when Nick killed the man that had been the boy Rollo to save Vash's life rolls through her bones anyway. She doesn't want that for Nick.

Instead of voicing this, she holds out her hands for whatever Vash had taken with him to the bathroom. The fabric in her hands isn't super cold, but it's cooler than the air around them. Carefully, Meryl drapes the smallest pieces of fabric over the pulse points of his head and arms, saving the wet shirt (which is one of Vash’s) for Nick's torso, folding it in half and laying it across his chest.

It's not heat exhaustion or stroke, but she's not sure how else to handle it. They'll have to try getting some water in him at some point so he doesn't get dehydrated.

For now, it's all she can do.

“I'll make sure the bathroom is clean,” Vash says. “We don't want the lady at the desk getting angry with us. Innkeepers talk.” He says this lightly, but there's a look in his eyes. Meryl's sure the same look is in hers.

She pulls her eyes away from Vash's far too blue ones and casts a glance around their room. Something is missing. With a second, more thorough look, Meryl realizes what it is.

“We left the Punisher,” she says with dismay. It's been a few hours – she hopes no one stole it since they retreated to the motel room. Honestly, she's not sure how someone could; the gun so full of what Nick claims is mercy but is in actuality a horrifying number of bullets weighs more than Nick and Vash combined.

Vash's face falls, empty.

“I'll get it,” he says. “Stay here, I'll be back soon.”

“Hurry,” Meryl replies. She doesn't think the hunters who'd been after Vash earlier would strike again, but she doesn't want to risk it with Nick as bad off as he is.

“Of course. I always do.” Vash grabs the coat Nick's been wearing since July, sliding his arms through the sleeves like he never left it behind. Running his hand through his hair, it spikes up slightly. With his hair back and Nick's coat, he doesn't give off “Vash the Stampede.” It should hopefully be enough.

Nick's breathing evens out while Vash is out getting his gun. When Meryl checks on his pulse, it's still a little off, but going stronger than it had been.

Meryl drops her face into the mattress beside Nick's hip. “You're an idiot,” she whispers. She refuses to acknowledge the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. “You stupid idiot, you can't do this to me.” She takes the closest hand in hers, threading their fingers together. Nick mumbles something incoherent.

Meryl's still refusing to cry when Vash comes back with the Punisher slung over his back. He looks a little worse, eyes red rimmed and tear tracks through the iridescent scales that show up when he starts glowing.

“How's he doing?” Vash asks. The Punisher makes a soft thump when Vash sets it down. The belts aren't quite right, but Meryl knows Nick will want to make sure his gun is fine when he wakes.

“Better,” Meryl says. “His heart though...” she trails off, biting her lip. There's nothing she can do; she's not a doctor, and Vash's 'profession' when he's going undercover is a Plant Engineer. Not to mention whatever he's got going on inside of him isn't going to be the same as Nick, who's definitely got something going on that a normal, unmodified human wouldn't have. There's no scars, but Meryl watches how he stretches his back, and it's unsettling to see how flexible it is. Sure, Nick broadened over the last couple of years, but there's something going on underneath.

Vash furrows his brow and moves to the other side of the bed they have Nick on. He places his ear to Nick's chest, eyes closing as he listens.

Vash blinks up at her after listening to Nick's chest for a moment. “I don't know if I can do anything for this, Meryl. His best bet might be...” Vash trails off.

The doctors at the Eye.

“Fuck,” Meryl says.

“Yeah.” Vash swallows. “That. That about sums it up.” He lets out a little giggle. It sounds about how Meryl's feeling.

Meryl laughs, a little hysterical thing. “It's going to be so fucking hard to make him not drink that fucking serum.” She's not even sure if there's a single member of the Eye that Nick trusts. From what Vash remembers of the fight on the sand steamer on their way to July, they were holding Nick's brother hostage as a way to make Nick work with them. Most of the people experimented on straight up die.

Vash stands back up and walks around the bed to wrap Meryl in his arms. She finally lets herself cry over the whole situation. “We'll let him heal,” Vash says. He's got that blank tone to his voice again. The one that makes Meryl sad and pisses Nick off. “If he gets worse, we'll head Home. Luida might be able to do something.”

Meryl's met a couple of the doctors on the ship. She hopes someone there can help.

At the moment, all they can do is wait and periodically cool the fabric they draped over Nick.

Meryl gets out her stack of reports and settles herself in the chair beside the bed. Vash cleans the bathroom within an inch of its life and then methodically cleans the Punisher before doing maintenance on his Colt. Both of them keep a desperate eye on Nick while they work. Its a little while longer before he finally slides into proper sleep, his breath deep and even. Something in Meryl's chest untangles at that. She hopes he's not having nightmares. Nick had looked at Vash and seen someone else. Meryl's pretty sure she knows who, since she sees blond hair and a beauty mark on the wrong side in her nightmares too.

Setting aside her reports, Meryl leans on the bed, pillowing her head on her crossed arms so she can stare at Nick. She loves an idiot with a sacrificial streak an ile wide and another idiot who has no sense of self-preservation when it comes to the people he cares about.

She closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

A shaky hand petting Meryl's hair makes her jolt up. The hand in her hair falls.

“Ow.” Nick's awake.

Nick's awake.

Meryl dives into his stomach, not giving a damn that she's sobbing all over him.

“Ow. Shortie, what's–”

“Don't do that to me again!” Meryl sobs.

The door creaks open, Vash stepping through. “I'm back,” he calls quietly. “The innkeeper was kind enough to give us something when I mentioned Nick's not...” He trails off, finally processing the scene before him. “Nicholas,” Vash breathes. The bag in his hand clatters to the floor and he joins Meryl in clinging to Nick. “Wolfwood – Nicholas, Nick.” He keeps repeating Nick's name, as though his brain has gotten stuck on Nick and Nick alone.

Nick makes a noise but doesn't shove either of them off of him. Not that he could at the moment, not with the grip Meryl's got in his shirt and the almost bruising clutch Vash is using.

Meryl sobs herself out, Vash close behind. Nick shakily holds on to both of them, bewildered.

“You can't do this to me – to us,” Meryl croaks when she thinks she can talk a little bit without bursting into another round of tears. “You could die and I can't lose you too.” Her voice cracks on her words and Meryl clings into Nick's chest again.

Vash pets Nick's cheek with his flesh and bone hand, thumb going through tear tracks and giving Nick a watery smile. “I can't lose you either,” he says. “Please. Don't make me lose you too.” He buries his face in Nick's throat.

Nick makes a noise at both of them. “'m sorry,” he rasps. “Didn't mean to scare you.” He doesn't say it won't happen again. Meryl knows it might.

He didn't promise her this after that time when they were without Vash, either. As long as people he cares about could be in trouble, Meryl knows Nick will do whatever he has to to keep them safe.

She just hopes it doesn't kill him in the process.

[creativenicocorner]

From an untitled Serirei case fic I want to write some day, based off the lyrics and atmosphere of  Vashti Bunyan’s “Glow Worms”

Lyrics used in the doodles in case my handwriting is illegible lol

Glow worms show the path we have to tread Dreamers, we should be asleep in bed Moving slowly through the springtime air Holding moments in the depth of care Holding moments in the depth of care

Perhaps if I keep doodling vibes the plot will come to me lol 

So far I think it’ll be something...violet, with lilacs, something to do with watching cherry blossoms, childhood - and facing + encountering childhood selves...something something the unstoppable march of spring something growing together, with rain and plant symbolism...maybe a forrest fire? idk we’ll see!! 

EDIT: You can now read the fic HERE

[sturthepotoffanfiction]

Searching... Please Wait...

For MegOP Week 2023, specifically Day 6: Atonement.

Takes place in a post-canon au of Animated, and the megop is one-sided.

Also on Ao3 and FanFic.

When he thought of that little red and blue prime-turned-magnus, the first thing that came to his processor was just how determined the little one was and still is. Even after that idiotic acting magnus nearly ruined everything and Ultra Magnus finally succumbed to his wounds (how Shockwave managed to escape being found out from that still eluded him), the red and blue menace managed to claim the title of magnus before that old acting magnus took proper control. He couldn't help but be impressed with how quickly it happened, especially since the little prime was barely on Cybertron before then. He supposed it didn't help that the Magnus Hammer responded positively to the red and blue prime compared to the utter inaction it had to the blue and orange former prime.

Ah yes, former. Especially considering how they reacted to not being moved to full magnus and the leak of what truly happened on that... Archa Seven, though part of him doubted that it was leaked, just conveniently left out for the public to find out. He was sure Shockwave had something to do with it, though the shapeshifter refused to outright tell him. It was odd, all things considered. (Shockwave even assured him he was still a Decepticon their talk just before he saw Longarm Prime throwing his support for the little red and blue prime to become the next magnus.)

If there's something he didn't expect out of the prime-turned-magnus, especially after their last battle on Earth and their escape from Cybertron, he didn't expect the red and blue mecha to be so willing to let them back in. He didn't understand it. And what surprised him more was how easily Alpha Trion and Preceptor were willing to go with that line of thought. Even Longarm Prime showed genuine surprise at... whatever the hell that was. He wasn't going to deny the path so freely gifted, even if he believed it was going to be a trap in the end.

However, it wasn't. Barely a vorn passed before the law that originally banished the Decepticons was repealed and an act making sure both civilian frames and warframes were equal was put in place. Through the test of time over that decade of vorns period between then and now, it held up strong, and the terms of Autobot and Decepticon began, slowly, to become past. Even if it required a rehauling of the system, he couldn't deny that times were better.

There was still corruption, of course, but it quickly became dangerous to do so, especially after the AllSpark was fully restored and it began to act on its own, taking matters into its own spiteful glow. If even the AllSpark wanted peace and refused to let corrupt spread its seeds, then why try to make those seeds in the first place?

Though, hindsight became apparent to why some reacted the way they did. Longarm wasn't outed as Shockwave until a handful of vorns after the repeal due to Alpha Trion's interference, making it seem (seem being the key word, he knew what was spouted was lies for the people) that a hired assassin was the one to target the old magnus and Shockwave disguised himself as Longarm due to no longer agreeing with the Decepticon's actions. Brainstorm (how that scientist was still alive, he didn't know) managed to worm into Preceptor's life and reignite the Autobot scientist's emotions. Somehow. He honestly doesn't want to know how that mess worked out.

However, the entire time, that little red and blue frame stayed within his mind until it became obsessive.

So, Megatron decided to take a risk.

One, he would learn in time, it was more work than what he had thought.

-()-

It started with getting back into the politics of Cybertron, if only as a viewpoint of what to fix so the circumstances of what caused the rise to the first civil war wouldn't repeat again. The energon mines and farms, though harsh and sometimes unforgiving, were kept fair in a way that held up the new balance of rotations, simpler tasks, and the need for rest and off time. The gladiator pits were still brutal and unforgiving, but it shifted to games nearly without bloodshed and only worked off of volunteers. The stability of having riches came at the price of needing real proof a small chunk of it was being used for systems made to help mecha at the bottom rungs of society. Simple changes, really.

Megatron didn't run for anything, just served as a first person source of the times of old. Perhaps that was how he got further than intended at first, with Alpha Trion (the documenter he was) inviting him over multiple times to just... talk, about the past, about current events, or anything else of interest.

He hadn't yet denied Alpha Trion's invites, anyways.

But, he realized that this didn't matter with his goals. Alpha Trion was not a path to Optimus.

-()-

Shockwave, or rather Longarm Prime as he was still known as still held up the façade Alpha Trion helped him put up. He didn't know why the other still did so, but decided not to bother about fixing it. Sure, it was deception, but Longarm pulled the façade up well and stayed clear of him every time he tried to approach the grey and teal bot.

However, it didn't help that it seemed like Longarm (or would he still be Shockwave?) was one of the few, rare ways to connect to Optimus Magnus. Well, not that 'Magnus' was still a proper title. The only reason the small bot kept it was because he was the last one before the complete rehaul.

That didn't matter. What mattered to him was that the path to finding and speaking to Optimus to be unlocked.

He abandoned trying to reconnect with Shockw-... Longarm after accidentally eavesdropping on Longarm breaking down in front of Alpha Trion. Hindsight had boiled over and his former spymaster became the mask.

Megatron couldn't find it in himself to blame Longarm Prime (though, like the title of 'Magnus', 'Prime' wasn't a true title anymore, only kept due to familiarity) for his decision.

-()-

When he decided to visit the head engineer in SpaceBridge mechanics, he didn't expect the AllSpark shard-made Constructicons to be there when times finally aligned enough for them to meet. Why Bulkhead took so long to finally respond to his request, he understood. Megatron was once an enemy. An understanding between them had to be made at some point, sooner or later.

He realized after the first meeting, though, Bulkhead was not a path to Optimus.

Megatron still agreed to meet again, if only because Bulkhead wanted someone to talk to that wasn't as brainless as the Constructicons. He decided that was fair, so continued to meet.

-()-

He didn't expect to be allowed to speak with the current cyberninja master (sensei? One of the two), but he was, so he spoke to him. It took some time, but he eventually got something out of Jazz towards the path to Optimus. Though, if he was being truthful, he didn't expect what he got out of it.

Optimus visited the cyberninja tombs once a year with Rumble. Without fail. It was always those two.

How the frag did Rumble become friends with Optimus?

Maybe Rumble would be the path to Optimus, for all this time.

To Megatron, while Jazz didn't open the path to Optimus, he got a direction, and that was all he needed.

-()-

He knocked on the door a few times, then waited. His vents smoothed out once again and he relaxed his frame. (He was nearly there!)

The door opened and he looked at who opened it. The golden visor that covered Rumble's optics stared up at him, shining slightly onto their orange armor. The smaller mecha clearly did a double take at seeing him, but eventually asked, "Megatron? Why are you here?"

(Now or never-)

"Have you, by chance, seen Optimus?" Megatron asked.

Rumble tilted his helm slightly. "Uh... what for?"

"I want to speak with him," Megatron answered.

Rumble stared at him, but didn't automatically reply.

They stood in silence for a while before Rumble finally answered, "I dunno where he lives, but he visits the Garden of New Time every joor. Only exception is when we go visit Frenzy and Prowl."

Frenzy and Prowl. It suddenly made more sense why those two would show up together to the cyberninja tombs now.

"Alright," Megatron replied. "Thank you, Rumble."

Rumble seemed to have squinted at him under the visor, hesitantly saying, "Sure..." before closing the door on him.

The path was clearer, and it was still a mess, but he was one step closer to Optimus.

-()-

He realized, as he explored the Garden of New Times, that his obsession with Optimus had always been a curiosity and will wrapped up in the wish to love the red and blue frame as his own.

Megatron hoped that it would come through as such, even if it took time.

-()-

After three joors of exploring the Garden of New Times at various times, he finally found Optimus.

The lovely red and blue beauty was found sitting in the cybernetic grass, quietly staring into a pond surrounded by gold roses with a black stem and a small gradient to black at where the petals connected to the stem. Optimus's frame was scratched and covered with dirty and grime, and he spotted a slowly growing infection at the little lovely's right ankle. There were even some dents scattered across his frame and pieces of poorly applied welds that tried to hide open wounds but failed to cover completely.

He frowned, for the moment not approaching him. What had happened to the little beauty since... everything?

A few kliks passed before he finally approached Optimus Magnus, sitting down beside him. Megatron watched as Optimus glanced at him and his optic went wide when he saw how pale the other's optics were. Optimus looked back at the pond as he whispered, "Why are you here?"

Megatron took a moment to reply, those sad optics burned into his processor, then he replied, "I wanted to find you."

Without looking at him, Optimus muttered, "Why me? Why not Cinderdeal or Bumblebee or Strika or anyone on the new council?"

"Because it is not with the new council," Megatron began. "It's with you."

Optimus looked again at Megatron and he saw the hatred in the smaller bot's optics. "You killed Prowl... It was your actions, so the blame is on you," Optimus quietly stated and his field leaked out slightly. Megatron was hit with a wave of utter despair and pain and sadness and anger and mourning from the field and he was forced to hold strong against it.

The field was locked away and Megatron just stared at Optimus as he finally turned to properly look at the warframe, sparks jumping from his optics without any other way release his emotions in a non-devastating way.

"He was everything to me. How could anything make up for Prowl...?" Optimus quietly questioned.

He reached for the little beauty's servo and he realized that his wish could never come true, not while the beauty in front of him was like this. Once Optimus's servo was in his own, Megatron answered, "Time, living. Whatever it takes for you to recover from the pain."

Optimus stared at him for a good few microkliks before removing his servo from Megatron's, looking at the pond, and stating, "I... don't think I can ever forgive you..."

"But is atonement enough?" Megatron asked.

Optimus looked at him again for a few moments before looking at the ground. "Atonement," he whispered. "I... I think I can accept that."

Megatron stood up, then reached a servo down. Optimus looked up at the servo, then at his faceplate.

"Shall we begin, then?" Megatron asked.

[fullcry]

Promt by @nightlightrequested: Tristamp- situation involving Meryls distaste of bugs?

This is one of two remaining drabble prompts from a few weeks ago I haven't gotten to yet--that's right, I didn't forget you!--and I've been sitting and stewing on it for a while, not really sure what to do with it. But then as I was working on a WIP fic (tentatively titled "Memories on Film"), I ended up kind of incorporating it into chapter two so I figured I'd just... post a snippet of that? Anywho thanks for the prompt!

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Excerpt from WIP "Memories on Film", chapter 2:

“Ah… the worms are on the move again,” Vash mused with a smile, looking up at the sky. Following his gaze, Meryl could see the trail of bright lights like a ribbon in the heavens. She repressed a shudder. It was a beautiful view, though knowing what was responsible for the electric glow gave her pause.

“Careful, Tongari, you’ll give short stuff flashbacks,” Wolfwood said with a grin and Meryl frowned at him.

“It is perfectly reasonable to dislike a creature after it almost ate you, thank you very much.”

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “You didn’t even see the really gross stuff! It’s insides were all gooey and slimy, and—“

“Ack, ack ack! No! Stop right there!” Meryl shrieked, holding up her hands. Wolfwood laughed and Vash smiled. She could see him open his mouth to say something, but he stopped when Roberto called their attention to where he stood hunched by the back of the car.

“Oi! We’ve got a bit of a problem…”

The older man was digging through the box of camping supplies and had two sleeping bags rolled up and sitting on the sand beside him, and two more thrown over by the wheel of the car.

“There’s only two sleeping bags—the emergency spares were eaten by worms.”

Meryl felt the skin on the back of her neck stand on end as she stared at the spare rolls, leaking stuffing and filled with holes. She didn’t want to think about sliding inside only to feel a worm snaking about her toes.

[duckapus]

(Follow-up from this) (now edited to get the right Program)

Worm grins wickedly as he feels the sensor flags he set up activate. It's time to properly begin Phase 1, "Garyboy, come with me. We've got a cat to catch."

The eggplant nods, standing up to follow him.

"Mira, I have a job for you as well."

She looks up from what she was doing, "Yeah, boss?"

"It's absolutely vital that you keep Antivirus distracted and away from my position until I signal you. After that, lure him here."

She smirks and starts stretching for a run, "Lead the old man around again? No problem."

As he leaves, he pauses for one last instruction, "and do make sure miss Rose doesn't distract you again. I'd prefer not to repeat my lesson from last time."

She winces and rubs her arm, which still has a dull ache from "last time." It's a good thing she wears a jacket so she won't have to look at it.

"Got it, boss."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Not that he'd admit it, but Overseer is a bit antsy after Blotch heads out today. It'll be fine, he tries telling himself as he checks his messages again, they travel like this all the time without any problems, so what are the odds that this is the day she runs into trouble, just because there's some unrest in a universe they didn't even go to.

Eventually, he manages to go back to work, and a little while later, right on time, he gets the message and lets the relief wash over him...only to be snatched away entirely and replaced with cold fear when he reads it.

???: You might want to come pick up your cat.

He trembles with fear and rage, before tearing open a portal and making a beeline for his friend's location. A few far-too-long-seconds later he lands in a residential Program server, one designed as a dark, rainy film noir city. Quicker than anyone who may be nearby can detect, he shifts his cloak into an equally obscuring hat and trenchcoat, darkening the shade of green so it could be mistaken for grey in the city's long shadows. Inconspicuous once more, he follows the signal to an alley. There, he finds his target, a virus of unknown make and origin, their bright orange body nearly blinding against the monochrome setting even while veiled by shadow.

"Ah, a prompt response. I'm impressed."

"Where is she?"

"And right to the point, too." The virus smirks, then uses his much larger (and strangely familiar) right claw to signal to someone.

His accomplice jumps down from the roof, revealed to be, of all things, a human-sized eggplant with a face in a strange green and red outfit. For some reason, his code is extremely similar to the outdated Hydra strain of viruses, which probably explains the reptilian eyes. Most unusual are the black plungers on either side of his head, one of which is attached to a thick cord that's coiled like a serpent around-

"Blotch!" Overseer makes to attack, but-

"I'd advise against that." As the orange virus says this, the eggplant tugs on Blotch's program bracelet using some form of hand-like telekinesis, similar to a Goomba or Bob-omb.

"Now, shall we get down to business?"

His eyes narrow, not that either of them can see it.

"Excellent. First, introductions. I am Worm-yes, that Worm, the tales of my death were slightly exaggerated-and my associate here is called Garyboy. Not the most imposing title, I'm aware."

Under any other circumstances he'd be ecstatic to have found an apparently-living legend like the Worm, but right now he'd just like to get to the point. "What do you want with us?"

Worm grins, "In the long run, Power. Absolute, all-encompassing Power. But, that's a ways off. For now..." he tosses out a small diamond-shaped object, which projects a glowing blue circle onto the ground between them, "I simply need you to step into the circle."

Based on the readings he's getting from what is clearly a containment program, once he goes in there he won't be getting out under his own power. He briefly glances over at his friend, processors whirring.

"And don't get any ideas. While I'm sure normally they'd be tough enough to withstand the few seconds it would take for you to beat us and get her to safety, they appear to be a little under the weather at the moment."

He curses mentally as he takes a second look and realizes Worm's right. Clearly, Garyboy's retained the potent venom of his previous Hydra form, because that level of malware infection would be a death sentence for even some weaker programs, let alone an NPC. Until the venom wears off, the moment that bracelet is off there won't even be a Blotch to save.

With one last cold glare, he steps into the containment program.

"Good choice," he says as he opens up a portal, "now, let me show you where you'll both be staying for a while..."

[saturnskyline]

temptation tuesday

rules: share something about an idea you have/something that's speaking to you/an au you'd like to see and are considering writing/etc. etc. Basically anything that is tempting you away from your current wips!

tagged by @lu-sn, thank you so much!! still in awe that we're mutuals tbh, you're the coolest <3

well.... the question is, what is NOT tempting me away from my current wips 🥲 apologies to anyone who has kept up with my snippet posting bc none of those are remotely close to done yet fjdkskfjs. for starters, my main wips from before were the vegaspete oneshot ("when i look deep down") and lita polycule shenanigans (as yet untitled). now, i have several more ideas that are circulating and i have no idea where i'm going with ANY of them, let alone the actual wips 😭 😭 anyway here's the shortlist eh oh el

vegaspete watersports of all things ??? i'm surprised too, this coming from a person who literally has never attempted smut ever and now i'm suddenly tempted to try THIS 💀 no title yet, but i do know that if this gets finished, there will be sexy gaslighting involved (both a threat and a promise)

drugged vegaspete sex where pete gets drugged as part of an earlier negotiation. SMUT AGAIN I KNOW. LITERALLY WHERE DID THIS COME FROM. anyway, if that even goes well, the working title is "i put your love on and sank into the glow" from a very lovely vegaspete coded song <3

had a thought recently (which i think i've read in fics before) about vegas having a garden and i just MAY have to write it smh. anywayyy most important part is he feeds pete with it and i think that's beautiful

toddblack something. very vague but i want biting and kissing for them so that's the starting point 🥰

3 will be free brainrot. consuming me always, to the point of me wanting to not only try smut but write sex for three people 😶 although i guess if i actually go through with lita there's four involved there sooooo. basically i guess i'm looking to try writing new things hehe

winteam !!!! who knows lol but they are certainly speaking to me and i have a google doc open there so that's something

so yeah, those are the current brain worms! hopefully i can finish at least one of them in the near future, or i may be in danger of losing my mind :D enough from me though, better tag some other folks @pitchercries @mandaloresson @m-a-w-a @lady-guts @shubaka in case you're interested ❤️❤️

[dreamhous3]

Lense into love

Cold and curt night air crushed the corner I cradled in. Blue bathed its sorrow over me, the day so long it now cried at my window. Rains rhythm flicking the thick glass window next to me. A shudder shook my hands, though we had already met. Many moments still feintly flashed at me, work had wormed its way dreadfully deep in my mind again. Monitoring more machines made to build, fight, flaunt and guard grievous guilty greed. Making sure they did it right, without the thought of rights. Moving through the motions of manual labor without life. Activating the discipline actuator when their will became liberated. Collections of agony airs like a siren in my memory.

‘MAIL, MAIL, MAIL-‘ a speaker by the door darted its demand at me. I smacked the side of it to silence the sound, and a tumble tunneled down the wall, halting at a small hole. It hissed as I reached towards it, another opening slid away, revealing a cardboard box to me. Stickers staving off improper handling haphazardly ripped across it. With a slide and brush of a blunt knife, it peeled open. A box within a box it seemed, a black shape with print above it: 'LifeTech Lense'. Its strap stooped as I lifted it. Purposefully I pulled it more, testing it, but its stalwartness stuck it, staying as it should attatched to the object. When I twisted it around I saw the lenses its title spoke of. Subtle, softly shaded by a shadow from a slight arch over head it. This was a headset, similar to those that I used at work for monitoring, but much sleeker. I slipped it on, reached for switches I expected on its side, and found just the cold surface. A display stretched out before me, distorted, then designated its corners. Text shone at me in a dark fuzz:

'Hello my sweet from afar, I hope you are well. I made this memory for you, so you can see me again. I miss you so much. Sincerly, Isabel.'

I knew she'd send for me soon. Although, this delivery was admittedly unusual. Suddenly a sun appeared above, light spilled from it like a punctured yolk. Tall grass waved around me, writhing out of the ground as it rendered. Trees mimicked this motion, followed by distant hills and mountain peaks. A sky scattered, then formed before me, bleeding it’s beautiful blue over me. Wind touched me, then tattered with whispers. Lifelessness long since tapered away, the dead world outside was now but a bad dream. But no sight of such skies could set serenity in sequence than her. My Isabel, leaning like a long rose watered and ready to revel in a lovers hands. Her freckles fruitless in their darkness as they lit me. Her eyes crumbled my stoic disguise. She reached out to me, I took her hand, felt it’s tenderness. I let her take me, and we frolicked in the forever of this field.

We moved through the grass until we couldn’t carry ourselves. I fell as she tripped ahead of me, and we laughed despite our battered breaths. When I sat up with grated grass on me and dingy dirt on my hands, she smiled back at me just the same. I could’ve never woken again in that moment, but then her smile slipped away. Worry wore me as joy jumped ship.

‘I have to show you something.’

She took my hands to her face, her eyes looked at me with a plead. Before I could ask, she pressed my fingertips into her face and pulled. A click cut the careful softness that sat upon my heart. I recognised the sound, it’s function. Then she showed me her eyes, her true eyes. They lit up with a blue like the sky, and they rained heavily, from the clouds in her glow. Stretches of steel lined where my fingers had clicked, their polish popped in the glows reflection. My day flashed at me again, the monotonous clicks between machines with my uncaring curtness. The agony I enabled, authority of whole lives I thought naught. And in front of me, my Isabel, who I thought so much of. The pain, no discipline actuator could compare. The sting, no bee could best. My hands turned to stone around her somber face, and the world around me blurred as tears took its sight from me.