#THE WORM IN MY BRAIN IS ECHOING IN THE NIGHT TO ALL YOU

[catboyelimgarak]

Also, since it was said that the friendship between Boimler and Mariner transcends reality, their trust in one another being powerful, which is just to say (in my opinion) that there’s a Boimler and Mariner in EVERY universe that end up being side by side…then my stupid garashir brain can believe that the same can be said of Garak and Julian and their love for one another always being a constant as well in all universes. I.E. ex-spy turned surgeon Garak and EMH Julian being together. Also being a surgeon is just being a tailor, but with bodies lol

[beloveds-embrace]

Hello! Thank you for feeding us the angstier timeline of the dukedom au!! I live for angst

You don’t have to entertain this thought ofc, the angst and how good you write for my brain worms worming. I just can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if König wasn’t there and instead the duchess had to suffer all on her own

(Or better yet, if he was there but ended up also leaving the duchess for someone else or was killed protecting the duchess)

Reader having to endure everything on her own which eventually leads her to falling terribly ill and in the olden times we all know how a simple cold could turn into more and yield deadly results

The stress combined with the overall lack of appetite (and the food not cooked well at times to add to that… more angst (: ) as well as other factors rendered the reader terribly ill

Maybe she fell into a body of water and had to save herself, or maybe she was caught up in a rainy storm on a walk with no one offering her warm clothing or a cover up until she eventually managed to get back that leads to pneumonia

Maybe she gets injured but hides it until the blood loss gets to her and infection sets in

Just so many options and flavours of angst

Anyway, thank you for sharing your writing with us! Agin, you don’t have to engage with this, so please don’t feel pressured!! I’m just having many thoughts and am currently going feral /pos

WAITTT WAIT I LOVE THIS

Because imagine clinging to König, to your one singular source of comfort in a manor that has no room for you, and in the end, he leaves as well.

You had been telling yourself that you had been simply more imaginative lately; König was simply busy, he wasn’t growing more and more distant! The way he looks at you now compard to before hasn’t changed. At all. His responses were in hums and nods, noncommittal but that’s okay, sometimes you did not feel like speaking- like existing- either.

Until he stands in your office, the light from the windows reflecting off his armour. You had been happy to see him, a smile on your lips to be in the company of the only one who didn’t seem to despise you.

When he tells you that he will not be doing this anymore, it feels, for a very split second, like your heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. You can feel the shattering of each, single piece.

Better place. He says, pity in his eyes but no regret. He pauses for a second. I wish… the best for you.

König leaves you like that; staring after his back in abject horror. Every step he takes echoes in your ears, until you are left alone in your office, hands trembling, and your ears ringing.

After that day, everything practically crumbled. You crumbled.

Without him, the weight of your isolation became unbearable. The disdain of the household grew sharper once it became known your only solace was no longer there, the whispers more cutting. Meals came cold, uneaten. Sleep eluded you, and the constant stress gnawed away at your strength.

One fateful day, you went outside in a desperate bid to escape the suffocation. The air was crisp, the sky gray with the promise of rain, and yet you still did not turn back. You wandered farther than you intended, your steps aimless even as the first drops began to fall.

The storm came quickly afterwards, drenching you to the bone. Your thin cloak offered little protection, and the chill seeped deep into your skin. By the time you returned, trembling and soaked, no one was waiting to help you. No fire had been lit in your chambers; no warm blanket was offered, and no company was given.

The fever began that very night, burning through you with a strength that left you bedridden. Days passed in a haze of pain and delirium. The wound you had hidden- an injury from your fall in the storm- festered, the infection spreading rapidly through your weakened body. You hadn’t the strength to call for help, nor the faith that anyone would come even if you did hoarse out your voice in your attempts.

Only when your condition worsened and you really, truly disappeared out of view, the household finally took notice. Whispers swirled, faint echoes beyond the fog of your fading consciousness, and everyone became alert of your absence, meals returned untouched and maids reporting it’s weeks since they’d helped you with anything.

John sat in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey as the fire crackled in the hearth. He told himself your absence didn’t matter- that you were retreating because you’d finally realized the truth. But when he closed his eyes, he saw your face as it had been on your wedding day- hopeful, trusting, and unaware of the coldness that would greet you.

Simon found himself pacing the halls around your room more often than usual. He would glance toward your chambers but never step inside, convincing himself it wasn’t his concern. And yet, something about the silence unsettled him.

Johnny had begun to notice the meals sent to your chambers were left untouched, the plates returned barely touched or sometimes not taken at all. He hadn’t cared at first, dismissing it as you sulking because no one was giving you attention. But now the thought lingered- had you even been eating at all?

Even Kyle, with his sharp tongue and sharper gaze, felt the unease creeping in. He found himself hesitating when passing your door, his usual indifference cracking as guilt gnawed at him.

In the end, it’s Kyle who couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He stepped into your room, telling himself it was simply to prove to himself that you were fine and just- sulking.

The sight stopped him cold.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the air heavy with the faint, sour scent of illness. You lay motionless on the bed, your body shockingly frail, your skin damp with fever. Your hair clung to your forehead, and your breathing was shallow, each breath rattling in your chest.

You didn’t even notice him. Not even when he turned around and barked sharply for John, for a doctor now. You didn’t notice him at all. Not him, not John or Simon or Johnny when they appear while the maids run to get the doctor.

(Kyle will never tell anyone how utterly sick he felt upon seeing the dried tear-tracks on your face. The unfinished, rotten meals near the bed. The tear spots on your pillows. He will never, ever forget today. He doubts any of the others will be able to do so, either.)

[fanaticsnail]

Hello Snail! Hope you’re doing well 🫶 I’ve been a fan of your writing for awhile, and had a little au idea pop into my head that I thought you would enjoy :)

Shapeshifter!Mihawk who wants to get closer to Reader, yet can see that they are intimidated by him. One day, while flying about the island to keep an eye on things, Mihawk is injured in bird form and crashes into a bush. Reader witnesses this and goes to rescue the “poor birdie,” not realizing this hawk is really Lord Dracule himself.

Shenanigans ensue, including:

- attempting to feed him seeds or worms

- miHawk bringing flowers to the windowsill or little trinkets and jewelry he “finds” (he’s sweating in the treasury to find something you would like)

- helping preen his feathers

- ranting to your new bird friend about the scary, attractive warlord who seems to just stare from a distance (Mihawk sees this as a green light to court you)

- “wow those eyes are SO familiar..”

- protective bird following you around/on your shoulder (he pecked someone who was flirting with you)

Keep taking care of yourself! And have a lovely rest of your day ✨

- bird brained anon 🪶

Oh my gosh, I need this. I need this so bad. I can see him being such a beautiful little raven or obviously a hawk. First thought: Diaval from Maleficent. But it's Mihawk, and he can switch at will.

Allow me the courtesy to write you an epilogue to your thoughts, I have been thinking about this for about 20 minutes and I needed to get it out. I'm not sure of the word count, it's just a little thing. Also, forgive the dodgy Photoshop. Raven was a stock photo edited on the Polish app on my phone and superimposed in front of Yoru from OPLA and I added some flowers to it.

Pretty Bird

Masterlist Here

Themes: fairytale creature au, avarial!Mihawk x reader, shapeshifter!Mihawk x reader. Part 2 here.

Little thought: If he's injured in his bird-like form, what if he can't switch back for a while? What if he's forced to remain nestled in the roofing of your country cottage until you manage to hear his hiss-like, pained squawks.

The bird is angry. He doesn't want to accept aid, but at the offer of a small piece of stewed meats, and drink by the warmth of your kitchen fire, who was he go resist such comfort? You name him: "pretty bird," and coo affectionately as you look over his feathers and insure there is no ache in his broken, hollowed bones.

Is he frightened? If he is, he surely cannot say. He is just a bird, after all. You bring him offerings of a wooden crate used to carry your homemade vintage of brandy-wine you produced from your country garden, and he accepts it immediately as his personal resting nook.

When your back is turned while you're washing up, you could've sworn you witnessed him dip his onyx beak into the goblet of brandy on your countertop. There was something in the way his golden eyes rolled in his head at the flavor that almost seemed human. You offer him a small thimbleful of the brandy, and he seems to bob his head and shake his tail in gratitude.

You hum to him, and he echoes the tune in a pleasant, deep warble back at you, coaxing a giggle from your throat. You offer him chin scratches as a reward for allowing you to check over his wounds, and his entire body leans into the gentle touch.

As his wounds seem to heal, you're almost remorseful at the prospect of never seeing this beautiful bird again. Such creatures are not meant for captivity, and you ensure to tell him as such as you unwind his bandage and remove his splint.

The last night you spend in the company of your pretty bird, you offer him an anecdote of your childhood: wandering the halls in the the high keep gallery on Kuraigana mountain when the former lord reigned. You longed to return, but you were not certain of the new lord's temperament.

You were unsure of what happened since the old man's natural passing, just as you were unsure of the Draculean man who now ruled thereafter. Was he kind and courteous as the ruler before him, or was he simply a man who now reigned where a kind man once homed: you were certainly too shy to ever approach him to ask.

All you could do is enjoy the splendor of your cottage, trading in handmade crafts with the former staff of high keep Kuraigana when the new lord retired them. They were elderly, and you were grateful of the Draculean man's kindness.

As you slipped into peaceful slumber by your open fire beside the crate, enjoying the warmth while laying on your sheepskin tapestry, the soft bob of talons was barely audible beside your slumbering body. Cloudy vapors of scentless, black smoke shrouded the bird's form and in its place was a creature native to the land, an angelic figure from the fables of old.

The winged man crouched beside you, cocking his head inquisitively to the side as he studied your features in his natural form. His amber eyes held curiosity and gratitude in its honey-like hue as he whispered gently beneath his breath a soft repetition of your name. Now that his tongue could claim your title, he was going to praise your kindness by rolling it over his palate at every moment he spent thinking of you.

"I will not forget your eagerness to aid me when my body was broken," he gently hovered his human like hands over your face, his taloned claws desiring to give you a gentle caress, but his thoughts of your comfort and consent to his touch pulls his urges from his mind. "I was just a bird to you, and you homed and treated me with not a semblance of payment in return."

The soft shudder of his onyx wings was silent, as if testing to see if they had healed before he slowly crept from your door and flew back to his castle in the dark of the night.

When you awoke, you heard a soft rap at your door and a slot of a letter beneath the iron frame of your letter slip. You first gazed to the brandy-wine crate, sighing off your soft sorrow at your pretty bird slipping away without saying goodbye.

Rising to your feet before stooping to collect the letter from the floor, you notice the wax seal was embroidered with the stamped letter "D" on its back. You cocked your head inquisitively to the side before using your blades letter opener to coax the waxy shell from the page. The letter was curt and brief, but the lettering was careful and almost loving.

"I would formally desire to extend an invitation to the premier reopening of the Kuraigana Gallery, by the bequest of Lord Dracule."

And who were you to refuse such an invitation from your new lord, regardless to how intimidating you found his reclusive nature? Donning your best formal garb, you make the lengthy trek towards the high keep with your nerves depicted by your heart jumping to your throat, and the swell of your tongue feeling heavy behind your teeth.

As you wander to the gray slate steps, you are blissfully ignorant of the amber gaze of your pretty bird watching over your every move with a soft curiosity in his eyes and a smile on his beak. He was so excited you accepted his invitation, and he was looking forward to showcasing his home and offering you sanctuary within his walls, just as you did to him when he was but a humble raven.

He was smitten, and he could hardly believe he had fallen prey to expressing adoration of a mortal being as yourself. One thing he was certain of was the fact he was to begin his romantic pursuit of you immediately, intensely and passionately. He could only hope you would not shy away from his winged form, and instead receive his affections with your heart and mind open to it.

[druidwolf21]

*slides some stuff that give me ideas*

Imagine being Konrad Cruze daughter and what lucidity he have to protect the only innocent thing he has to any of his brothers or a nice base humans he told his legion to leave his daughter in their care knowing well she'll live a good and safe life that isn't him

And lest say after the heresy Guilliman ( after awakening and all ) there is a large planet in uncharted of space that has been trying to make contact as the one in charge have something or someone

As it's the list daughter of the Night Haunter, and she been in a force endiceted coma as she is using her ability that she inherited from her father and bit more to protect the denizen of the planet for chaos long as she can

So how would Guilliman be when situation liked that be a reaction?

*enjoy my brain dumb, you can ignore this if you want*

Ok first of all

NOT BRAIN DUMB

Brain good!!

I love this so so much!!!

I really hope you like this! Thank you for letting me write it! I rewrote it so many times

Little bit of fluff, little bit of angst!

CW: violence, bad language

@kitty-chan33 @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @laura-naruto-fan1998 @echo-of-damnation @kit-williams @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond

Konrad Kurze was a wraith, his breaths staggered and eyes wild as he tore through abandoned streets and lonely alleys. One armoured hand clutched under his tattered clothes as he ran. Above him lay a sky choked with clouds of thick chemical refuse, industrial towers spewing a blanket of toxic haze across the world and smothering the dim light of the dying sun to a muted grey sheen. The city was a maze of blistered stone and rusted iron, and the people were just as rotten. Violence and corruption wormed it's way into the soul of every living thing in Nostramo, leaving nothing in its wake but despair and blood. This was no place for humanity.

No place for you.

He paused for a moment, black eyes scanning the collapsing architecture before a sound drew his attention and he turned, teeth bared in feral snarl as he spun to the source. A small woman stepped from the shadow, a cloak bundled around her frail form as she shuffled forward. A bag swung from her shoulder and a small dagger flashed as her cape swayed with her movement.

"My lord" she croaked, weathered hands raised defensively as she approached "my lord I am here, as you commanded" she was still young, but worn out, brown hair flecked with grey and crows feet wrinkled around dull green eyes. Her youth fallen to the same fate as everyone who found themselves in this desolate place. Kurze didn't care. He stalked over to the woman, sniffing and puffing at her before finally stepping back. "Good, I didn't take you for a coward, Tela, but one can only judge so far" he bent low, his fetid breath fluttering the woman's lank hair as she froze. "You understand the... Importance of this job? The consequences should you fail?" She nodded in response. A small but firm gesture under the black stare of the primarch. "I do, my lord" she strained her neck back, staring Kurze in the eye as she spoke. "I have not failed you yet, night haunter and I do not plan to start now" Konrad rose to his full height, nodding thoughtfully before slowly drawing his own ragged cloak aside.

Clutched in his taloned hand, pressed to his chest, he held a child.

A small girl, clinging to his beaten robes with pale hands, eyes bright and large as she glanced around.

Tela watched as the hardened cold face of the lord before her softened, his hands, normally so quick to gore and maim, moved carefully as he lifted the girl from his warmth and placed her on the floor. The monster who terrorized Nostramo now stood as just a man, wrapping the child in a bundle of fabric. "Regardless of what you think of me, she deserves more than this" he growled, his eyes not leaving the girl as she laughed, unaware of the world around her. "She will be the best of us. Of me"

"your daughter will be safe with me, lord Kurze"

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Tela sat in the cargo hold, her body aching and cold from the cramped corner she hid herself in. The young girl squirmed and whined in the confines as the engines of the vessel roared to life, struggling against rocking motion as the trader ship began to depart.

"dad?" She questioned, looking at the old lady with big watery eyes, her bottom lip quivering. "Dad?"

"no sweetie, just me and you"

The girl began sobbing in earnest, tears streaming down her round face and reddening cheeks as she cried. Tela watched her for a moment, fingers twitching towards the blade at her hip. A primarch's child was an unusual thing in itself, but kurze's welp? She'd come with every intention of putting the abomination out of its misery, but this...this was not what she had expected. There was no fanged beast, no raging animal hellbent in gutting her and although the girl was larger than she should be at that age, her eyes seeing a little too much with each blurred blink, she was still just a little girl, missing her dad.

With a resigned sigh she held out her arms. "Come here, little one, I'll look after you" she cradled the girl against her chest, running frail fingers through her hair as she held her. A wave of emotion washed over tela and she blinked back tears that did not belong to her. She glanced down at the bawling toddler. A psyker too?

"what have I gotten myself into"

The two of them sat as the hull groaned and creaked around them, the sound of sobbing faded to a whimper as tela soothed her with soft words.

Shhh shhh it's ok, everything be be ok

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"Aunt Tela, I'm back!"

The elderly woman smiled from her seat on the porch, shawl drawn close around her bent shoulders to stave off the cold evening air. She raised a frail hand to you as you climbed the hill, becoming you over. "Hello love, I was beginning to worry about you"

You smiled and waved her concern off, dropping to a knee to press a soft kiss against the old woman's head. "Really Aunt, you should know better by now, I outsize and outpace everything on this planet" you laughed and raised back to your towering full height, lean muscles popping as you stretched. Tela shook her head, tutting. "I've told you before, if you get cocky, you'll get into trouble, there are things much bigger and stronger than you out there and we don't need you drawing more attention than you already do"

You chuckled softly and lowered yourself to sit on the grass in front of her, an elbow propped across your bent knee as you sat in comfortable silence staring out across the sprawling view. Wooden cabins and small holding rested on the hillside and beyond them, The city of Trahull bustled like an anthill below you, grey walls climbing high to defend the branching streets and alleys. Even from up on the hill top you could hear the faint mumble of chatter as the denizens went about their day, bartering for goods and services in the street. In the center of the city, coiled and proud, stood a spire. A titanic structure dwarfing the buildings around it, its pale marble colour stood in stark contrast to the dark concrete around it. From atop the steeple a pulse was emitted, an obsidian wave generating a translucent shield around the metropolis.

"we've been here a long time, Aunt, If someone was coming, they would've been here by now"

The old woman sighed and ran her fingers gently along your head in thought. "60 years is long for me, love, but it's a drop in the bucket for you, I need to make sure you'll be safe when I'm gone." You hummed in response, unwilling to acknowledge the way the conversation was going, deciding to enjoy the simple touch along your scalp instead. "The imperium hasn't taken much interest yet, but if they knew you were here they would..."

You reach over and gently grasped her fingers, your hand dwarfing her own as you held her. "Tela, I know, I remember all the stories, the primarchs won't find me, I swear" you turned to look at her and smiled "I promise I won't go looking for trouble"

"well trouble has a way of finding you, unfortunately"

You shrugged off the well intended accusation, huffing slightly as she flicked your head with a laugh. She suddenly grew quiet, he hands stilling in your hair.

"are you still having that nightmare?"

You swallowed dryly and nodded. Images flashed through your mind, the city burning, corpses littering the street, blood flowing down the alleys as red eyes flashed in the darkness. "your father had them too, don't dwell on them, lest you bring them to pass"

You both sat and watched the sun slowly dip below the horizon, the orange and red hues thrown from the evening casting a warm light across the terrain like molten gold. You shrugged the cloak from off your shoulders and slung it around Tela, the weighty material dwarfing her as she snuggled into the layers. "It seems like it was just yesterday that you were the one buried in fleece to keep warm" she sighed wistfully, picking at a loose thread on the purple material. "Now you're out there, protecting the cities from orcs and eldar" she clutched the cape to her, arthritic hands shaking as she pulled it against her. "Such a loud child, always making trouble"

You cocked an eye brow at her as she spoke, letting her reminisce as she leant back in her seat. "I feared you'd turn out like your father, thought I'd made a mistake, but here you are"

"here I am" you agreed, watching her rock slightly in her chair.

"my sweet girl"

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"Tela, Tela wake up, we need to move. NOW"

Tela opened her eyes groggily, seeing your concerned face peering at her through the darkness. "What? What's going on?"

"no time to explain, were going to Trahull"

You bent and clutched her to your chest, lifting her with ease as you kicked the cabin door open and you felt her stiffen against you.

From atop the hills peak you could see it all, screams and howls carried in the wind filled your ears as gunfire and artillery filled the air, the sky was crowded with ships and choked by thick black smoke that coiled and curled, blotting out the stars.

Barreling down the hill towards the city, the cries grew louder and the smell of burt flesh and scorched brick was overwhelming. You kept your eyes fixed ahead as you drove downwards towards the gate, jumping over bodies and piles of ash as the walls loomed closer. As you moved through the debris, you dropped low, clutching Tela to your chest as you crept forward. Your ears pricked for any sound as the burned remains of cabins and homes groaned and heaved around you. Bile rose in your throat as you recognized the remains of neighbours. people who had helped you, laughed with you, now discarded into the trampled earth like broken toys.

A noise

You paused, eyes flicking through the smoke as a shape began to emerge from the haze. Your eyes widened in surprise before you twisted and ducked down behind a smoldering beam. Blood red armour, fringed with gold and platinum, an axe, bloody and rusted dragging across the floor. His pauldron displayed a round mouth lined with jagged teeth. You drummed your thoughts, digging through your memory to try and recognize the sigil but the smell of ichor and the taste of iron on your tongue overloaded your senses.

"what is a marine doing here?" You hissed, trying to ground yourself. Tela moved against your grip, pulling the hood off her face to glance around. Sadness and rage consumed her features as she spoke. "World eaters, Angron's dogs" she spat. You glanced round the corner, watching the mass of Ceremite and muscle skulk off into the ash. "Why are they here? You always said the astartes were only sent in to" The old woman cut you off "I know what I said, but something isn't right here, we shouldn't linger"

You nodded and turned back around the corner.

You reeled backwards as a metal boot swung towards your face, narrowly missing you as you jumped backwards. You scrambled to your feet and hissed through your teeth, raising to your full height and glaring down at the warrior. The helmet tilted as the cold steel stared back up at you, pausing for a moment before hefting the axe to its shoulder.

"Tela, go and hide, I'll find you in a minute" you growled, placing her gently behind you. She placed a soft hand on your arm, looking up at you with concern before scurrying off. You stared down at the marine, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. You were not prepared for this fight, you had no armour and no weapons, only the soft tunic, trousers and cloak you had gathered before escaping.

"what do you want?"

You didn't understand the garbled words that were returned to you, and you didn't have time to think before a heavy blade was swung towards your center. Instinct took over and your body moved on its own as you twisted away and swung your fist at the gleaming helmet, catching the ornate crest and tilting the marine into a cartwheel sideways as his axe flew from his grasp and his helmet flew from his head. A sickening crunch as his leg twisted in Ceremite. All thoughts in your mind were muffled as a primitive voice took command.

Kill him

Tear him

Break him

You lunged after the marine, collecting his discarded axe from the ground as you charged. The marine turned to face you as he clambered to his feet, his injured leg giving way beneath his weight. bare face revealing a scarred visage, riddled with cables and cord that plunged under his skin and His lips drew back in a snarl as he ripped a bolter from is holster on his hip and began firing, the rounds tearing through wood and metal as they pinged through the wreckage. A burn in your shoulder as one embedded your flesh, another hissing past your cheek as it burned a furrow under your eye.

You raised the axe above your head and swung it down with a scream, cleaving through sinew and bone. The world eater's hands shot to his chest gurgling and choking as he pawed at the blood oozing from between the plates of his armour as he fell forward with a last rattling breath.

Casting the axe to the floor, you sucked breath into your lungs through clenched teeth. Blood thrummed in your ears and adrenaline pulsed through your body as you glared down at the corpse, you bit back a manic grin, high in the victory as you spun round.

"Tela, it's ok, he's dead"

No response

"Tela?"

Through the soft popping of cindered wood and battle cries you heard her, a soft whimpering emanating from the wreckage. Sprinting over, you collapsed next to her, eyes already burning as you tried to staunch the wound in her stomach. You ripped at your tunic, plastering the already drenched fabric against her to halt the flow. A soft hand found your face and you blinked tears away as she smiled up at you.

"You need to go"

"I'm not leaving you behind"

"you don't have a choice"

Head bowed, you sobbed, openly weeping as you continued to paw at spreading crimson on her belly. "Head to the city, the tower, if you can get there, you can keep the shield up" she coughed, her light frame spasming in pain.

"I can't do it, please mother" you wept, shaking your head. A warm smile spread across her palming face as her thumb ran gentle circles across your cheek. "yes you can, my love"

Her hand fell from your face and she sighed.

"always such a loud child"

And she was gone.

You screamed your despair into her body, pressing your face into her hair as you swore, begged, threatened someone, anyone to help. But no help came.

And you were alone.

After a while, you dragged yourself to your feet, casting one last look at her, you slowly made your way towards the city.

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Guilliman rubbed his temples and groaned inwardly at the sharp rap at his door.

"what"

"I apologize for the interruption my lord, but the astropath picked up a message, they said it was urgent."

The primarch motioned the serf and they scuttled forward, reaching up and placing the large rolled parchment on his desk before bowing hastily and making their exit. Roboute sighed again and reached out to the letter, a scowl creasing his brow as he cracked the wax seal and began to read. Blue eyes flickered over the page in disbelief, rereading the message before he lurched from his chair. Slamming open his door, he stormed down the corridor to the shock of the Invictarus guardsman stationed outside his office.

"my lord? What is happening?"

" That's what I'm going to find out" guilliman thought, as he made his way to the helm.

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The planet was desolate, the soil was barren and lifeless, motes of dust flying into the air as the thunderhawk landed. A small retinue of men stood outside, clad in thick protective robes and face shields to protect them from the acrid swirls of sand that danced along the seals of their suits as they waited for the primarch to depart.

"my lord primarch, such an honour, we are grateful for your decisive response" the leader uttered, dipping into a low bow as guilliman stepped from the vessel. "As soon as we found it, we knew it should be investigated at once, a rather splendid archeological find, if I may say."

Roboute gestured for the men to lead them as his guard readied bolter and blade. Following the men at a leisurely pace, he cast an eye around his surroundings. Whilst the outside world had been laid to waste, the city sat resplendent behind high walls, a tall tower peaked over the great palisade , emitting a purple hued barrier that shielded the occupants from the wasteland. The archeologists stepped through the barrier with barely a glance, but roboute paused, examining the barrier closely but pressing a gauntleted hand flat against its surface.

The barrier convulsed under his touch, a blue ripple passing through its surface briefly before fading again. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling a familiar psyching energy emanating from the barrier, but a strangeness alongside it he couldn't place. He stopped through the wrought iron gates and pressed on, listening to the gentle sounds of the city. The imperium had hardly laid a claim here, with only a few militarum patrolling the alleys. The streets were crowded but happy, children ran in-between the feet of market owners peddling their wears from bright stalls.

A small child ran into the back of his legs, clustering against the armour. He looked down, towering over the small boy, who picked himself up off, dusted his britches and looked up at him with a toothy smile, gaps in his front teeth and a bruise forming already on his forehead. "Sorry sir!" He laughed before squealing and running after his friends.

Guilliman's gaze traced after the boy as he ran, an almost wistful look across his stoic face before returning his attention to the tower. Approaching the base, he was directed to a large door, carved so intricately into the marble it was easily missed. Pushing it open revealed a set of steps driving down into the dark bowels of the earth.

"wait here, I'll go alone"

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

It was so cold

Or maybe it was warm

A touch, cold metal reverberating, echoing

An image, a man clad in blue and gold

Where am I?

Is this.

.

.

Home?

🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶🪶

Roboute paced the sphere cautiously, examining the cables and pipes feeding from it into the heights of the building. The sphere was glass, or something similar at least, a fluid bubbled softly inside, iridescent and ethereal.

Floating in the liquid, was a girl.

Curled in the fetal position, her eyelids flickered like she was dreaming, fingers twitching gently as if to reach out and grasp. Her face was soft, but the similarities were undeniable.

"Konrad, what did you do" Guilliman muttered, running a hand through his blonde crop. "And to hide her for this long" he felt his hearts pounding in his chest, his rage at his brother surfacing, along with the grief of everyone he had lost. Konrad had been a monster, fueled by rage and fear, but would she be the same? Why was she here, who was she?

Why did he hide you?

He continued to patrol the edge of the receptacle, tapping and touching every so often. Thousand of theoreticals pouring through his mind as he measured and counted. Finally he stopped, pulling his fist back and shattering the glass with a deft punch.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨���✨✨✨✨✨✨

Everything was too cold and too loud, but all at once too quiet and too hot, you felt yourself falling forwards and a strong pair of hands catching you as you gasped, breathing air for the first time in

How long had it been?

Memories came flooding back to you, the attack, the devastation. You had entered the spire to boost the shield, to save the city, to sleep and forget it all.

So where am I now?

Above you hovered a man you had never seen, but felt so familiar. You reached a hand to him, cupping his cheek with a soft touch as you lay in his arms.

"I.... Know... You?"

"no" he whispered, leaning in slightly to the touch "but I'm here to help"

You closed your eyes again and nodded slowly, pulling your hand back "everyone... The city... They're ok?"

The primarch gazed down at your face, so much like his brother, and yet so soft. "You're worried about the city?"

"yes"

"the city is fine"

"good, thats good"

The lord of ultrimar sat, holding you gently as you faded in and out of consciousness. His head was a mess, filled with confusion and hope as he listened to you mumble. Kurze might have been an abomination.

But you might be better.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

in the sugar and spice universe, the boys know that she cams and i assume that she’s aware that her roommates watch, but does she know about ransom watching?

a/n: i. am. gnawing. at. my. cage.

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

we’ve already established that his discovery of your little hobby was what ended your relationship. i imagine that he fell over your stream while just browsing for something to jerk off to and then BOOM, there you were. 

in true asshole fashion, he of course confronted you about it in a big ol fight:

“choose. come on. me or that.”

“ransom,” you sighed as he kept on pushing.

“come on,” he roared, “just pick goddamn it!”

“that!” you blurted as he kept on yelling, “i wanna keep camming!” though that statement hadn’t been what he’d predicted, “it makes me happy and you–…”

“…i don’t?”

“not lately…”

“well how else would you think i’d react to finding out my girl has secretly been whoring herself out to anyone with an internet connection?”

the slap you then crack against his cheek echoed throughout the whole room, “fuck you,” you spat, “don’t ever talk to me, don’t even look at me, ever again.”

and then you tried to stay as far away from him as possible even though i think he would have kept trying to worm his way back into your good graces (because he obviously fucked up)

you also moved in with steve, bucky and curtis after the breakup and i imagine they began to act as your bodyguards when it came to your ex. keeping an eye out and helping you avoid him at all costs. 

but the thing is, from the moment that he first discovered your stream, and honestly also as a way to lick his wounds post-breakup, he kept going back to it, kept opening up the website till it was permanently open on his phone, always ready for when you went live or posted something (a pic or vid or just flirty message)

it was like an addiction and he couldn’t stop

he wasn’t even ashamed about it because to him it was a way to keep your faded relationship alive, keep you with him and for a generous tip (which he could more than afford as the trust fund kid he was) you’d still do as he wished, still follow his sinful commands.

turn around, let me see that ass

be a good girl and turn up the speed

send me those panties after you’ve soaked them with your cream, i’ll pay double your usual rate for the underwear you sell.

did you know that TittyCokeKingXXX, one of your most loyal followers and top tippers, was your ex? hell no.

how would you finally discover his true identity? maybe it would be at a party you’re both at, a celebration after the football team’s latest victory (of which both your roomies steve and bucky are on, but unfortunately so is ransom) 

he probably gets too drunk and then the truth starts slipping out

maybe he thinks he still has a shot, but just as you turn him down, he gets petty and accidentally blurts out, “well you didn’t seem to have a problem with me last night when you were calling me sir and making yourself squirt in the shower.” 

the image of you crumbled on the tile floor, shower head blasting in your hand as you ripped it away from your overstimulated clit was still seared into his brain. tits all soapy, yet he could still make out the faint letters of the possessive scrawling he'd paid you to scribble with marker the week before reading daddy’s girl

“…how do you know that?” you uttered and he suddenly realised that he’d actually said those words out loud and not just thought them as usual, “ransom, how the fuck do you know that?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[xlpoww]

GUTS

love is embarrassing

Anonymous asked: okay okay i just read your sanji imagines and maybe make a part where the roles are reversed? like the reader gets flirted on by someone else and she flirts back and sanji doesn’t understand why he feels jealous all of a sudden? this is part two to this original request, which can be found here: SOUR and the finale: LOVE

thank you for taking the time to read my silly little stories :)

warnings: jealousy, sanji and zoro get into a physical fight

word count: 1209

opla! sanji x f! reader

the moon is high in the sky when you return to the going merry that night. theo’s sweet words echoing in your mind, what a charming boy. no matter how great a time you had; he couldn't even hold a candle to your ship’s resident flirt. no one could worm their way into your heart like sanji vinsmoke had.

the resident blonde of the going merry is in a foul mood. 

what reason did he have to wake up on the right side of the bed? he’d gone to sleep before you’d even come home last night, and woken up to see you missing from your usual morning reading spot. the eggs made this morning were over whisked and undercooked, and sanji couldn't find room in his brain to truly care. 

“good morning sanji,” nami walked into the kitchen with a yawn. she’s covering her mouth as she shuffles towards the island. when she reaches it she leans on her elbows, looking at sanji’s back as he moves about around the stove.

“good morning mademoiselle, how did you sleep?” there was a robotic feeling to his flirting, the redhead frowned at the sound; with a raise of her eyebrow she spoke

“what’s gotten into you?” sanji turned to look at her with a smile, placing a plate with eggs and bacon in front of where she stood leaning on the countertop. he wipes his hands off and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

“nothing gorgeous, i’m quite alright! especially since i have the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face so bright and early.” before nami can push him any further, luffy comes barreling into the kitchen nose first. 

“sanji! i knew i smelled something good cooking!! i am starving.” nami is forced to drop the subject as she quickly snatches up her plate before luffy can steal a piece of bacon straight from it.

—

by the time you walk into the kitchen for breakfast, the crew has assembled and luffy is on his third plate of eggs. everyone greets you kindly, except your favorite blonde. the silence from his causes a stinging feeling in your chest, and as you sit down you notice he’s staring intently at the wall opposite of you. ‘why wont he look at you?’ 

it stings, of course it does! you considered sanji a very good friend of yours, for him to suddenly start ignoring you. you can't deny the pang you felt in your heart. ‘did you do something to upset him?’

"how was your night y/n?" nami turns to look at you, there's a ghost of a smirk on her face. you face lights up like a fire engine, you're looking bashfully down at your plate of eggs when you reply.

"it was nice, he was very sweet." 

"i'm glad to hear that, do you have any plans to see him again?" she's leaned her elbows onto the table and placed her chin in her hands. her question is finished off with a wink.

"well actually-" your reply is cut off by an abrupt slamming sound that makes you jump. sanji has slammed his hand onto the table and stood up, his chair making a loud noise as he propels it backwards. he snatches his empty plate off the table, grabbing nami and zoro's as well before stomping over to the sink. he takes the time to light a cigarette and stick it in between his lips before starting to clean the dishes. 

the rest of the crew sitting at the table with you are staring at sanji's back with confusion (zoro with frustration) but no matter how piercing your gazes are. he wont turn to meet a single one. 

"what's your problem waiter?" zoro speaks up, looking so very over the cook's jealous antics.

"whatever could you mean my friend?" sanji speaks up, plastering a smile that doesn't meet his eyes on as he turns to look at zoro. you subconsciously tilt your head in confusion, and when sanji sees it out of his peripherals he cant help the way his heart swells. you make it impossibly hard to stay mad. you're so naturally adorable.

"you've been in a shit mood ever since we left the bar last night." zoro crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

"i'm not in any kind of mood. why don't you mind your own mosshead?" sanji's words are practically spit out of his mouth.

"why don't you quit acting like you're not jealous, waiter." sanji turns off the water, forcefully placing down the plate he'd just washed on the drying cloth. he turns around and begins to roll up his sleeves. 

"it would be wise of you to shut your stupid mouth, now wouldn't it."

"you think i'm scared of an idiot who can't even tell his best friend he's in love with her?" it feels like your heart has jumped out of your chest and into your throat. before you can even begin to process the words that just left zoro's lips, he's standing up to face sanji as the blonde walks over. 

"you don't know shit." and sanji's legs has gone flying up into the air, aiming for zoro's head. the green haired man catches it with his hand and pulls it, knocking sanji off balance.

'holy shit. they're fighting.' 

"guys, stop it." nami has stood up from her place at the table, but her words fall on deaf ears. usopp is looking at you sadly, but has to quickly dodge a stray kick from sanji. he stands up and back away from the table. 

"woah hey guys, maybe it's time to cool down a little yeah?" the sniper raised his hands next to his head and slowly backs away from the scene.

"guys!" nami's next shout is fractic, zoro had drawn two of his swords and sanji had kicked usopps chair far away. the two men show no sign of stopping, apparently this argument had been building for much longer than you would've known. 

you're still frozen in place in your chair as zoro's accusations, sanji's weird behavior towards you this morning starting to make sense. he had feelings for you, and you had left with another guy last night. you only can begin to wonder how heartbroken he must have been, had he stayed up to see if you would come back home to them, to him?

'you felt awful'

you're broken out of your train of thought by a sickening cracking noise, and when you turn sanji is on the floor covering his nose. you can see blood flowing from underneath it, and you jump up in worry. 

"sanji!" you rush to his side, kneeing down besides the broken man on the floor and placing a hand on his shoulder. you can hear the sound of a sheathing sword behind you, but your eyes don't leave sanji's. he looks so, defeated. you had never seen his eyes so sad.

he brushes you off without a word, standing up and walking out of the room. there’s a heavy silence in the air, and you slump down on your knees. with tears in your eyes you turn to glare at the swordsman.

“what the fuck zoro.”

Taglist: @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @teenyforestfairy @gothicuwusposts @cheesesoda @shuujin @untoldshortsofthefandoms

[ryuzakemo128]

Konig x Enemy Soldier!Reader

He falls in love with her while she’s torturing him. His team rescues him later on, and he forms an obsession with her based on that one interaction. Years later he’s walking home from a bar shitty little bar, and he hears someone from inside what seems to be a closed restaurant. He draws his gun and enters the building.

He goes into the kitchen, and finds her chopping some dudes hand off.

You can decide which way the story turns. I just want some angst/dark content, please and thank you!😔🙏

DANGER!

Pairing: König x Enemy Soldier!Reader

Content Warnings: Torture, Interrogation, blood, forceful submission, manipulation, kidnapping, shoulder dislocation, executions, obsession.

Words: 2353

Masterlist

Note: I hope you like this. I had added a few more details from the premise you have given me originally. I hope you enjoy.

Credit for dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Worry not, little lamb. The time has come for me and my kin to put you in your place.”

Enemy. Opponent. Adversary. Foe.

You are not his Friend. His Ally. His Comrade.

Alas you were neither of those things.

Konig’s memory of the past with you was jumbled up. He doesn’t know what parts were real and what were either conjured, fabricated, or purely invented by your words alone.

His brain had been scanned, examined, X-rayed, and scrutinised. Yet they don’t understand where his obsession with you came from.

He still remembers your voice, how it echoed, reverberated and ricochetted. The soft, angelic voice of yours. Haunting his nightmares even after he is rescued years later.

His nightmares repeating parts of his torture regardless of how he slept at night. It didn’t matter if he slept on his side or his back. The nightmares came for his mind, again and again.

Sleeping medication only granted him five hours of sleep at a time. Only ever five hours of sweet, blissful, delightful, tranquil sleep.

“Worry not, little lamb. The time has come for me and my kin to put you in your place.” You uttered into his ear. “You were a little naïve for thinking you could…...waltz right in here without any issue? Hmm?”

“Perhaps you were betting on worming your way right inside here.”

“Unlikely.”

“I mean seriously, have you not seen how large you are? Or did you get an ego boost from someone up top?”

“Either bravely stupid or stupidly brave.”

“No matter. It doesn’t concern me which one it is or isn’t. My job is to figure out what you know up inside that head of yours.” You were keen on it. Bargaining on cracking upon that vault of information inside his skull.

A woman in her twenties handed you his medical file, “Looky here…...it says you’ve got severe social anxiety. And they said there wasn’t anything on here I could find useful. It’s a gold mind, my little lamb.”

König’s eyes to wear you were pacing back and forth, back, and forth, his team would rescue him surely, right? They wouldn’t leave him in the hands of the enemy too long, right? A colonel in the hands of the enemy’s interrogator?

Preposterous. Absurd. Ludicrous. Outlandish. Unreasonable. Laughable

It would be a betrayal of the deepest level. Not that it hasn’t been done before. It’s technically not unheard of. Not unheard of to leave a leader inside the clutches of the enemy. A last desperate resort most of the time. But never done unless they had no other choice.

They wouldn’t do that to him, right? Right? They were coming to get him, right? They will come to his rescue, right?

“Worry not. Little lamb, I’m just going to make a few more preparations, and we should be underway shortly. Until then, you will be in the capable hands of nurses.” Before you headed out to get your tools from your lab. You weren’t going to interrogate the guy and cut into him with dirty tools, are you?

No.

It would be against your moral code of conduct.

Hygiene is a must.

Especially when you interrogate someone as important as him.

Can’t have him dying too quickly, can you? All that information locked up inside his head would be gone.

Can’t have it.

Can’t risk it.

Won’t risk it.

König sat there in the dark, cold, dimly lit concrete box of a room. As the nurses fussed around him, setting the surgical lights ready, the pristine cotton white sheets around him, the gurney he would be soon strapped onto sometime later.

The nurses weren’t harsh on the eyes, either. Meaning, you knew, exactly how to cause a man with severe social anxiety to stutter, fall on his own words and flush up like he was under the midday sun.

They took the helmet off. The dark black veil came off afterwards. The smell of disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, the layers of soft white cloth wrapped over his front to keep the dirt and the dried blood from making a mess everywhere else.

Clearly you took your torture seriously. Seriously, enough to make sure he’s alive and aware of the entire process. Making him aware of the kind of terror you were about to unleash onto his skin.

“She would rather not have you look like you crawled from under the ground.” One of the nurses muttered. As if she were scolding HIM for letting HIMSELF get captured. No. He didn’t let himself get captured. He was sold out. Sold out by someone who knew would be there.

A detail remain consistent with the nurses, they look similar to you, acted like you and the same aura as you.

As if even as, you, the person, the real one, the original, wasn’t there in person. You weren’t completely gone from the room. Your influence remained whenever you were physically present or not. What wasn’t to love?

Your influence, physically present or not.

The nurses looking and acting like you.

The whole nine yards to keep him on his toes.

Despite the fact, you were trying to cause him serious amounts of discomfort. Using his severe social anxiety extensively.

Why? In order to prove to your superiors that anything can be tailored to an individual to both torture and interrogate.

Washing the dirt, the layers of black painted onto the eye region. Washed, disinfected, massaged, and made clear enough for your eyes. To etch in the fear clear enough for you to see. Smug, aren’t you? A right smug bitch aren’t you Maus?

All this work for him? You shouldn’t have.

You really shouldn’t. Furthermore, you should have done all that for him.

No one had gone out their way to do those things for him before.

But you’re the enemy, right? It would be wrong to have you as his.

Though given the chance of it ever reserving, would he give you the same treatment as you just did? He can’t say that he would or ever could.

Then again, he would have to contend with having you get rescued, as he would be sometime soon.

He couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t have that.

Once you walked back into the concrete slathered room, “Aren’t you just a soft lamb. I will get the information from you, regardless of its integrity. Either way, information is just that. Information and information of any kind is worth more than gold from the right kind of person. Don’t you agree? Of course, you do.”

You rolled out your tools upon the surgical tray, the top practically drowning in the dark course material. Each pocket, holding a syringe. “I have a lovely little concoction, the Americans loved to call a ‘truth serum.’ A concoction of a range of psychoactive drugs. Used by Russian Federation and the USSR, United States, and India. Why am I telling you this? Well, can’t have your mind wandering to things that clearly won’t matter.”

God, woman, you talk more than a chipmunk hyped on caffeine. Knowing more about this than I would have expected.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you tapped him on the side of his face to regain his attention on you, as if it ever left it. Your soft fingers on his cheek, sending a small shock of electricity down his spine. I want you to do that again. But I know you won’t.

“Quit zoning out into Lala land and focus on what I’m talking about.” You don’t have to tell me twice. I’ll listen to you no matter how much you touch me.

“Now back onto more important matters, these psychoactive drugs come in the form of at least ethanol, scopolamine, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, midazolam, flunitrazepam, sodium thiopental, and amobarbital, among others. Though thoroughly tested, ethical and legal issues were raised. Serious issues, mind you.”

You paused for a few minutes, tightening the foot strap to prevent him from wriggling out from the chair and escaping. Another form of physical contact between the two of you, the cold black, course medical gloves against his skin. Despite them being covered, he just knew how soft your hands must be underneath those gloves.

“Luckily for the both of us today, we’re sticking with Sodium thiopental, also known as Sodium Pentothal.”

Snip. Snip. Snip. There goes half the sleeve of his long-sleeved undershirt. The syringe dug deep into his flesh, into his skin, biting him like a snake injecting its venom into its unsuspecting prey. But he’s suspecting, you told him it was going to happen regardless of how he felt about it.

Not a complete lie, isn’t it?

The cotton ball dabbed onto his inner elbow. The cold liquid combined with your warm hand made for suffocatingly strong mix of desire, uncontested need for more and if he could will it. He would get more of your touch.

Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.

The syringe placed on his inner forearm, the gentle touches to ensure he received the right dosage amount. Couldn’t have him dying on you before you go the information you wanted from him, could you?

“Now, don’t move a muscle, or I’ll accidentally give you more than I intend to. Which will end up with you overdosing and dying in that chair.” You warned him. A stern glare in your eyes told him you weren’t kidding on the dying part.

The squeak of the wheels on the chair, clearly you haven’t maintained it on purpose, clearly you intend on leaving that way on purpose.

“Let's start with,” you paused, forcing him to maintain eye contact with you. A sly grin spreads across your face.

“Isn’t that better? Isn’t this much better?”

Your hand gripped his chin, forcing his face up to look at you. Tight enough to remind you what you were capable of doing. Loose enough to allow him to breathe.

You’re lucky I am bound within this chair.

If I wasn’t.

I don’t know what I wouldn’t do to you.

I do know what I would be doing to you.

What I would be willing to do to you.

Don’t think for a second, once I am freed, I wouldn’t find you again and again.

To inflict the same level of pain you have done to me.

Delicious levels of pain.

Misery.

All of it will be mine.

Mine and mine alone.

The layers of interrogation kept going from there, from the truth serum, you received little information. But it certainly wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for your senses. You wanted more. You were keen on getting information, no matter how blood it had to get. No matter how forceful you had to be.

Whatever it happened to be the first time. Whatever it could have been. Whatever it will be in the future.

Once König had been recused. Once he had escaped your clutches.

He couldn’t help but stare as they drove away.

The further away he went, the angrier you became. The sweet tasting anger. Only for him.

He really, really, should have known better than to enter the bar. The foolish man ignored his instinct to run. The closed blinds, the locked windows, the only light turned on was the bar’s kitchen in the back.

The bar was a hole-in-the-wall bar only few people recognised, and even fewer people would have appreciated. It had been years since he last encountered you. The depth, the intensity and power radiating from you since then. It had only increased his want for you.

Decapitation of several soldiers leading to the room in the back. Blood seeping into the wood flooring, many of his men were put to death and the screams were getting louder telling him run. To flee.

“What do you know?!” You demanded from the man who would only speak in German.

“I didn’t ask for a prayer. I asked for an answer.”

The amputation of the man’s hand, it was the last act sealed, signed and delivered how much he wanted to keep you for himself. The Damascus machete in your hand, your grasp cutting into the wrist of the man’s arm.

The emotions were brought to the inevitable forefront. Upon seeing your face again. Looking deep into your eyes again.

Snapped something inside of him. Marching into the kitchens. Slamming you against the wall, his grip on your throat tight and his grip on your machete tearing it away from you.

“There is nothing I am not willing to do to you.” He whispered, his hot, warm breath against your neck. It took all your might to resist him.

Konig couldn’t risk you getting away, thus the only way he knew would make you stay with him long enough?

To injure you severely enough to keep you around him. Punishment for touching him so attentively, conscientiously, responsively, and assiduously.

To wound you enough to keep you for himself.

And to turn around to heal you in a twisted act of love and affection.

A most twisted, perverse, dogged, Contrary kind of love.

A darling all for himself.

Determined to force you to feel all of his adoration.

His devotion and tenderness.

With a crack, snap, and pop. Your shoulder dislocated from the combined force of him pinning you against the wooden floor and the force of his hand.

Throwing you over his shoulder like you were a princess from a foreign castle and he was a prince of Austria.

His mother said he loved him.

She always knew what to say.

Dragging you into the van didn’t take much effort. You were too focused on the pain from your dislocated shoulder.

Groaning, moaning in pain.

Your thighs in his grasp like he imagined they would be. Plush, plentiful, sumptuous, abundant.

Wrapped in layers of black clothing he had every intention of ripping off your body once he got the chance to.

The characterless, unremarkable, nondescript black van parked on the side of the road. His team waiting for you to be shoved inside like a fragile porcelain doll.

[lilylovestowrite]

May I request Dan Heng taking care of drunk reader?

HE'S NOT MUCH OF A DRINKER, BUT HE'S A DREAM GIRL ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Dan Heng x GN! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Dan Heng picks you up from the bar, and it seems like you’re completely hammered.

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.4K 

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you so much for submitting the very first ask! I won’t lie, I got a bit carried away so it’s a bit longer than most drabbles. I love my silly little dragon man.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

A sigh echoes across the halls of the Astral Express. The stars gleam and the sky is streaked with hues of purple and the serene teal of Dan Heng’s eyes, currently focused on the door to the little bar in the Astral Express. He opens the doors, and the grandiose chandelier above his head nearly blinds him. But what nearly takes his breath away is you, slumped on the onyx marble island with a cocktail in hand. No matter how often he enters a room and lays eyes on you, each and every time, his brain and eyes race to compute your beauty. However, even as your partner, the dark haired man  keeps his affections closer to his chest. 

“Dan Heng, what are you doing here?” You slur, eyes squinting at the silhouette approaching you. You can tell it’s him, because the aroma of autumn petrichor and old books almost overpowers the stench of alcohol. “Were you reading?”

“I’m here because March texted me to pick you up,” he smiles softly and nods in the pink haired girl’s direction, “let’s go to my room, angel.” To this nickname, you swoon, and March giggles softly, slinging a drunk Trailblazer over her shoulder and taking them to their room. 

“Night, Dan Heng!” She chimes, eyes alight with amusement. Even in your state, barely able to walk, you know that this whole set up was most likely by her design. You can’t fault her for it though - March, ever the romantic, is the very reason you and Dan Heng are together now. 

“Night, March.” He replies back, and he turns all of his attention towards your slumped figure. “Now, what to do with you.” His mutters are soft, and even in private, there is a rather comforting strain of sterness in his tone. “I’m going to help you up, can you walk?” 

“Mm, no.” You reply, and find his perplexed expression absolutely adorable. His nose scrunches up and you can practically see the cogs running in his head, trying to devise a plan to get you to his room. You decide to be gracious and give him the solution: “Carry me?” 

“Carry you?” Dan Heng asks, surprise leaking into his voice. He then falters and coughs behind his palm in an attempt to regain his composure, “Carry you. I can do that. Come on.” He gently pries your hands off the cocktail glass and lifts you up in a bridal carry. His footsteps echo in the halls, the starlight illuminating his soft expression. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading time,” you whisper, suddenly self-conscious that you’ve made your boyfriend take the brunt of your own actions, “I didn’t think the cocktails were so strong.”

“It happens, don’t worry.” He replies, “I wasn’t reading anything interesting anyway. Just boring things about the stars.” And you think you’re about to enter his room, the faint glow of his night lamp leaking through the doorway, but he makes a turn and heads towards the observatory.. 

“Are we sleeping somewhere else?” You ask, shifting slightly. You trust that Dan Heng won’t drop you, even if you thrash around like a worm. 

“The observatory has a nicer bathroom nearby in case you feel nauseous. And besides…” He hesitates, dark lashes fanning over the teal irises that stare down on you. “...I’ve wanted to sleep under the stars with you for a while now. What do you think?” 

You pause, both flustered, taken aback, and enraptured by him. It seems that no matter what he does, or what he asks for, you can never say no to him. Nor do you want to. The urge to spoil him, to see that serene little smile on his face when he lets his guard down, is your ultimate goal. So naturally, your response is: “Sure, let’s do that.” 

Dan Heng is rather good at keeping a poker face, but around you, (either because he has no use for his reservations or because you have gotten so good at reading him), not one emotion goes unnoticed. So even if he looks away, you notice in the reflection of the windows sealing off the extra rooms, that a light pink hue kisses his cheeks, accompanied by a toothy, boyish grin. 

He gently opens the door to the conservatory with his hip, setting you down in a chair and cracking open a bottle of water. “Here, drink this. I’m just gonna open up the sofa bed.” And as he does so, you take a look around the remarkable room. Made of glass, you can see the stars as the express glides across the cosmos. The interior is rather simple: a  minifridge in the corner, accompanied by a few house plants; a black chaise lounge that you currently occupy, and a black sofa bed that Dan Heng places pillows on. The entire view is celestial, picturesque, but the most breathtaking view is your lover. Even in simple clothing, the black turtleneck he wears, paired with his white pants, he always looks as if he has stepped out of an ink wash painting. Untouchable, yet so gorgeous. 

And, all yours. 

It seems that you are too drunk to conceal your adoration, because Dan Heng comes towards you, crossing his arms. “What are you looking at?” He asks, both teasingly and with slight seriousness. The cadence of his voice, normally monotonous, rises and falls as his eyes scan your expression. 

“You!” You giggle, unashamedly. Dan Heng blushes softly, realising that his plan has backfired. Instead, he guides you to the bed, a hand hovering above your waist. 

“You really have no shame, do you?” 

“Especially not when I’m drunk!” You babble, letting him prop the pillows up so you aren’t fully laying down. You make yourself at home, shimmying into the covers next to him. 

“I can see that, dear.” He replies.

Dear?

 You jerk your head towards him with such speed, you nearly go green. 

“Wh-what?” He asks, blinking at you. 

“You never call me pet names.” You blurt out, “It just caught me off guard.” Dan Heng has never been one for sappy affections, especially because he can’t take your reactions. He tells you it’s because your name is the most beautiful thing to call you by, and it’s true, but if he catches you with that lovesick stare, he isn’t sure his heart can handle it. 

“Well, you’re so far gone, I don’t think you’ll remember this  anyway.” He replies cooly, but his ears are completely red. “Do you want something to eat?” 

“Don’t change the subject! Call me that again!” You plead, pouting and dramatically draping yourself over his lap. “C’mon please?” 

“N-no, I think pet names are more effective in moderation.” Dan Heng replies, but the heat consumes his face so much, he pushes his dark hair out of his face and fans himself slightly. 

“Aww, bummer.” You lay back, and he locks his fingers with yours, using your intertwined hand to reach up to the sky, in all its astral grace and heavenly beauty. He guides your clasped hand to a planet above:

“That’s Venus, look!” His voice, now slightly sleepy, rumbles a few octaves deeper, and the calming vibrations cause waves of sleep to wash over you. “And over there, that pink planet? That’s actually a moon for another planet. Miranda.” 

“Really?” You look towards him, and his face glows with childish wonder. His guard is completely lowered around you. It’s not that he becomes more like a kid around you, but he feels comfortable being vulnerable and letting his excitement show. You watch him with the same wonder he gazes at the stars with, but your eyes struggle to stay open. 

“Mhmm! I think there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Do you want to watch it together?” He asks, a tiny smile spreads onto his face, but when he turns around, his expression softens even more. “You look tired, get some sleep, my love.” 

“Okay but…” You mumble, pulling the floral duvet up to your chin, “...Wake me up when it begins.” 

You don’t hear his reply as you  finally let your fatigue catch up with you, slumber slowly letting you drown, but just as you fully surrender, you feel a pair of lips brush against your forehead.

[grunckle]

Some disjointed thoughts on the Void Sea and the subconcious

I really just wanted to write something quickly on this, it’s not so much a theory as it is just a small analysis on the general mood of the ending, with a little contextualizing with in game dialogue.

So the subconscious is such a mysterious yet integral part to understanding the more spiritual/alien parts of Rain World. This isn’t a world in which the eldritch and unknowable lurk in the far reaches of space, but rather appear through our own minds and subconscious.

Echos appear in dream like sequences, where all other life except scavengers (in vanilla) fall asleep.

Karma flowers allow us to contact imagined worlds, other selves, dreams, and memories.

Eating a neuron of an iterator allows us to perceive voidspawn.

Our karma is raised through the mark of communication, which is linked to the brain in some way judging by Five Pebbles’s slideshow.

And, beyond that, plenty of cerebral/brainy imagery and concepts are present.

“Cabinet beasts” (the organ-like worms found in Memory Crypts) are likely some sort or mutated brain tissue, I talk about it more in this post.

Void worms also have a neural texture that covers their skin.

There’s the cut brain tree, which made it back in the game (though pretty unceremoniously) in Downpour.

And then of course there’s iterators, massive brains that are the last long-standing remnant of the benefactors’ civilization, and serve as the main driving forces of the game’s side plot.

I bring all this up just to show how cerebral and subconscious elements are pretty prevalent throughout the game, and it provides some context to my thoughts on the Void Sea.

That being said, I think the Void Sea acts as a collective unconscious, a place where the many worlds and selves of the subconscious coalesce into one, dream-like existence.

Echos appear in dream-like sequences, but are still experienced by nearby scavs. They even have different personalities and reactions to it, some being curious, while others are afraid.

Continuing on this, benefactors experienced the same dreams we do in Subterranean, shown through white pearl dialogue.

“Oh, interesting. This is a diary entry of a pre-Iterator era laborer during the construction of the subterranean transit system south of here. In it they describe restless nights filled with disturbing dreams, where millions glowing stars move menacingly in the distance”

These go towards the idea of the Void Sea and other void related phenomena existing as a sort of collective unconsciousness, experienced through hazy dreams and hallucinogenic plants by many.

But then there’s the “egg” sequence, where you swim in unison with others just like yourself. I think these are the “selves of other planes” mentioned by Moon in the Karma Flower dialogue, and I think that same dialogue is indicative on what the nature of the Void is. It’s detaching yourself from your carnal body and coming in contact with your own subconscious, and possibly the subconscious of others. Think of it like a big mind soup.

Anyway this really resonated with me because I distinctly remember the feeling I had the first time I went through Depths. As the caves around me started melting, it felt like I was descending deeper and deeper into a dream I couldn’t wake up from. That packed with the genuine horror of seeing the worms, and the dreamy ending, it really left a lasting impression.

Halfway through writing this, I realized it’s a bit longer than I was initially expecting, but I hope I managed to convey the general vibe I got.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Alpha & Ifrit angst wooooo. Also PLEASE tell me if my use of the past and especially the "had been ...-ed" form is correct or not, it's late, I'm having a huge brain lag and i'm losing my english.

Alpha only had Ifrit for three weeks and if anything happened to the younger fire ghoul, he would kill everyone in the room and then himself.

Alpha's barely exagerating. It's crazy how quickly his new student adorable little fuck mentee hope ? burden managed to burrow himself under Alpha's skin.

Thing is, Ifrit is impossible to dislike. His smile is too bright to hate, digging dimples into his cheeks whenever it graces the fire ghoul's face. Ifrit is a ray of a sunshine, a crackling bonefire illuminating happy faces. His enthusiasm and interest in everything is so terribly endearing, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve a testament to just how good the younger fire ghoul is.

The exact opposite of Alpha.

Ifrit has none of Alpha's acidic, rancid anger festering under his skin, none of the spark of agression dancing in Alpha's tone at the slightest inconvenience, none of the bitterness tainting Alpha's vision of the world.

Sometimes, it hurts to look at Ifrit. To see what Alpha could have been, might have been at some point, before life fucked him over time and time again. A comforting warmth instead of an unbearable heat. A sparkling-eyed, mischievious creature, instead of a closed-off, destructive monster.

The thought of seeing Ifrit lose that spark keeps Alpha up at night.

He cannot let this happen. He cannot let history repeat itself, let another fire ghoul get taken appart until all is left is a rotten core.

Alpha will always remember his first lesson with Ifrit. The younger ghoul was eager, tail wagging in excitement, bouncing on the ball of his feet. Alpha felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart ; and as always, his response to such an intense, unexpected emotion was anger. He snapped at Ifrit, telling him to settle the fuck down.

And Ifrit, sweet, darling Ifrit, smiled, tail wrapping around his leg. Stilled, like he had been asked to. Alpha immediately felt bad. But what could he do ? His venom had been spilled already, there was no taking it back. Still, his face twisted as guilt burnt in his throat.

"It's okay," Ifrit suddenly humed, looking so terribly earnest, "Your anger, your furstration. I understand. And I can take it."

Alpha nearly choked on remorse upon hearing that. Ifrit was much more observant than he had thought. And he apparently was a huge self-sacrificing idiot. Alpha wanted to shake him, to grab him by the shoulder and tell him to run, far, far away from him, from this wicked world that mercilessly breaks all that's good.

Instead, Alpha tightened his hand into a fist, and growled, low and threatening.

"You can't. Neither should you, or will you."

You don't deserve this had been left unsaid.

Ever since that day, Ifrit seems to have taken it upon himself to bring out all the sides of himself Alpha thought were gone.

The first time he called Ifrit "kit", in an appreciative manner after the younger fire ghoul had managed a tricky riff in very little time, Alpha knew there would be no going back.

Ifrit wormed his way into Alpha's not-so-stony heart and he is here to stay.

And if Alpha has to shoulder all the shit life brings to keep Ifrit unmarred by it, then so be it.

As Alpha watches his promising student wrestle with Aether, he isn't surprised to feel Omega press up against him, one arm wrapping around the fire ghoul's waist. Omega's thoughts nudge Alpha's, echo in the fire ghoul's brain.

I know. Me too.

[lexluvswriting]

I’m so excited for princess treatment!!!!

EDIT: PRINCESS TREATMENT IS OUT !!!

I AM ALSO SO EXCITED FOR PRINCESS TREATMENT!!!

For some reason, my brain has decided that Hozier and Loki are like tea and biscuits, which makes tears roll down my thighs. AHEM.

Anywayyyy... because anon that requested princess treatment has waited so long for me to get my shit together, i'd like to give you guys a slice of the cream pie Loki will give you THE FIC while i polish up the final touches (hehe) <3<3<3

--- ⋆⁺₊✧｡˚⋆♛｡⁺୨୧˚⋆⁺₊✧ ---

[18+ CONTENT AHEAD, SUGGESTIVE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

“He was right.”

“Who, love?” He hummed, barely listening to your vent, more focused on soothing you and your body- his vice, as he’d tell you whenever he was in between your legs, or looking up at you as you’d ride him- only to pause at your next words.

“The lord.” You sniffled, looking up at him with teary eyes as you shuffled slightly, climbing up him to rest your head against his chest.

“The lord? The lord is an insignificant fool- a worm who has been left alive to wriggle for too long. You are wonderful, beloved-”

“Loki.” You groaned, sullen as you hid your face against his neck, not in the mood for sympathy- regardless of how sincere it may have been.

“Be honest with yourself!” You snapped, the anger not even anger at all, but a storm of self-doubt, harsh self-criticism and insecurity,

“All these nobles see is a frumpy pig in pearls & frilly dresses, alright? So let us say it for what it is. I am fat. I am fat, and hard to look at, and I don’t even look like a proper princess-”

“Never,” He had flipped you both over faster than you could blink, his snarl protective as he grabbed your face with his left hand, pinning your hands above your head on the pillow with your right, rearranging your positions with that unfair godly strength he possessed, “Utter that filth again.”

Your tears had stopped in their tracks; doe eyes wide as you looked up at him, pouty lips parted in shock, face slightly flushed from crying.

“For as long as the sun brings day, and the moon calls night, I never want to hear you utter such horrid curses. Not a damn word. Do you hear me?” He growled, fingers holding your chin firmly before his hand cupped the side of your face instead, thumb brushing away the tears that lingered before his thumb rubbed at the soft squish of your cheek, index and thumb pinching the apples of your cheek- the only apples he’d crave as long as he lived- gently, before kissing either side of your face.

“You are the only woman in all nine realms I love. You are the only woman I want; be it above me, beneath me or by my side. You may be the people’s princess, but you are a queen to me. The only woman I would kneel for- be it in the comfort of our bed chambers, or in the middle of the damn courtyard. Understand?” His words reverberated in your ears, rattling around your puddle of a brain before slinking over your heart and straight down to your core. The warmth he had triggered when he defended you during the meeting came back again in full force, your breathing hitching as you gawked up at him, before finally nodding dumbly, as if you had lost all ability to speak.

“If this is truly how you feel, then I must be punished for failing you.”

You blinked, trying to understand where he was going with this- your sulky voice a mere squeak as you echoed his words,

“P… punished?-”

“Oh, yes. Punished severely, for failing to present just how infatuated I am.” He murmured lowly as if this was a grave offence, his cock stirring in his pants as he saw your brain working behind your eyes; the way the words clicked and the way your thighs squeezed together, making your cheeks redden as your lips quivered.

“If I have to fuck my love into you for you to remember how beautiful you are, then I will make sure neither of us leave this bed until I have done it successfully.” His voice had taken a husky dive, your stomach coiling as your chest puffed up, nipples pebbling beneath the layers of fabric making up the bodice of your dress.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧｡˚⋆♛｡⁺୨୧˚⋆⁺₊✧ ---

I hope we all like!! 🤭🫣

Will be out in a few hours!! <3 <3 <3

[thiccpersonality]

You've Got My Back (So I've Got Yours)

Richard was excited.

Scratch that, he was beyond excited, he was...what does Alfred say? Ecstatic-exhilarated even.

Why you may ask?

Tonight is the night that Richard John Grayson debuts as Robin, HE a circus freak (in a fond way), gets to be seen with Batman of all people.

Tonight.

Do you know how big of a deal that is? Richard knows how Bruce barely likes to interact with people as a civilian, but Batman, he definitely won't tolerate anyone closing in on his personal space unless he says so. And he's just grateful that such a seemingly intimidating man has kindly decided to take him in, on top of letting him fight crime alongside him...nevermind that he threatened to go off on his own.

"Richard, can you stop moving for one second and put your shorts on?"

Bruce raises an amused brow at his child pouting, the boy huffing in protest of the older using his real name. "I told you to call me Dick! S'what everyone calls me, B!" Richard looks down at the green spandex shorts the other is holding out for him, his tongue poking out in concentration as he lifts each leg and slips them into each leg hole, his lips twitching in amusement when they get stuck at his thighs. "It's stuck, B!"

Richard giggles and starts shimmying as hard as he can. It's no big deal-the shorts getting stuck that is-he's had to deal with this plenty of times getting dressed for his performances in the circus.

Bruce holds tightly onto the pants and tries to hold back his amused smirk as the nine-year-old wiggles around like a worm just to get the shorts on. With a small hum, he catches Dick's attention, giving a small smile to the boy before lifting the child up and shaking him into the stubborn material, his heart feeling oddly light at the innocent sound of childish laughter echoing in the cave. "B-e-ee-e!" Richard clings onto Bruce's shoulders as he's now being held up by only his shorts, the taller having stood up so gravity would do its work and drop the boy down into the clothing. "There, all done."

Bruce lets his smile show when Richard looks at him, the boy's face flushed pink from laughter, though the joy is turned into concern at the younger frowning suddenly.

"Chum? Are you...okay?"

Richard hugs tightly onto Bruce, his chin resting against the man's shoulder as he speaks into his ear. "I-...you'll protect me, right? I've never fought crime before...but I want to do you good, B. I need to do this."

Bruce frowns and rubs the small back gently, "Of course I'd protect you. And we've talked about this before, Dickybird. You don't have to do any-and I mean any of this, do you hear me? I...I just want you to try being a kid after what happened. This lifestyle is a lot to handle, even with petty crimes, like how we're dealing with tonight. And it's a lot of responsibility to put on a child-" he gently draws Richard's head away from his shoulder so he can look the boy in the eyes-"I just want you to be safe. In whatever way that is. You don't need to fight crime to do good by me...you are good enough for me, D."

Richard clenches the Bat-suit in his tiny hands, lowering his head so Bruce hopefully doesn't see his watery eyes.

"But I want-need to do this. Knowing men exist out there like the one who murdered my mom and dad...I can't let them be free! Someone needs to do the tough stuff! So why not me?"

Bruce sighs and ignores the part of his brain where he's telling himself to say no to tonight...he doesn't want the boy to fight crime, not only because of his age, but because of the anger he still holds at the moment. But, if he doesn't teach Richard to fight and defend himself now, there's a high chance that the boy truly will run off...and then who will find him? What things could that person teach Dick instead? 

There's no way that Bruce will sacrifice Richard's innocence any further, especially when he knows what he's doing and how to teach the boy properly himself.

"Okay, it's okay."

Bruce kisses the boy's temple and lowers him to the ground, allowing the other time to cool off while he tries slipping on the child's gloves.

Key word: tries.

After a few minutes of struggling with Richard's gloves, Bruce huffs out a laugh and gently grabs the boy's wrist in his hand. "You're moving around again, Dickybird. Is this excitement or are you nervous again?" Richard finally stops moving his hands around and smiles bashfully at his dad caretaker, "Sorry, B! I think-I think it's both! I know you'll protect me...but what if I'm also not ready yet?" He blinks up at the man, insecurity and worry in his gaze. 

Bruce finally manages to finish slipping Richard's hands into the gloves, holding firmly but gently onto the smaller hand.

"If you aren't ready, then that is perfectly fine, Dicky. You can stay home with Alfred and I can go out alone, there is absolutely no pressure to do this...thing that I do." At Richards dejected look, Bruce sighs softly and grabs the boy's chin gently in his hand so he can tilt the boy's head up. "However, I wouldn't bring you out tonight if I didn't think you could do it, you hear me? If there is something that you can't do, I'll be there to help you-"

Richard's eyes shine with something that Bruce can't describe...gratitude? Trust? No one has ever looked at him like that before, like he's a hero. "If I fall...you will catch me." Richard finishes with a small smile on his lips, his posture loose and relaxed at the older man's words. "Thanks, B." 

Bruce smiles back with a slight nod, his face getting serious as he puts on his mask. "As soon as you put this mask on, you'll become Robin, Batman's partner. Your identity is something precious, so remember to keep it secret unless it's absolutely necessary to reveal it to someone. And above all else, Richard, I'm proud of you no matter what. So, if you ever decide this life isn't for you...I will still support you as your d-" he cuts himself off from that three letter word, what is he doing? He's not even anywhere close to being a father figure to Dick...and he doesn't want to feel like he's trying to replace the child's real father.

"Partner. I'll support you as your partner."

Maybe he cut himself off quick enough for Richard to not hear his slip up? The boy definitely seems distracted enough looking at his gloves...but the look in his eyes as he stares at Bruce causes the older to stiffen up nervously.

Richard blinks once-twice, before giving a large smile and looking at the domino mask in the large hand. Hopping one leg to the next in excitement, "Can you put it on for me, please?!" Bruce relaxes and nods with a small smirk on his lips, attaching the mask securely to the boy's face and stepping back to get a good look at the nine-year-old.

There's something absolutely horrifying about the sight before him, I mean, what kind of man is he to allow a child to fight crime? 

But.

There is also a swell of pride at seeing this small nine-year-old boy ready to fight for justice. Bruce knows that Dick has a lot of anger now...but, he won't give up on him, he'll make sure that he uses that anger for good; he'll teach him how to control that and put it into something productive like boxing or screaming out his frustrations or writing, cause if it's the last thing Bruce does, he won't allow Richard's trauma to make him bitter and cold...not as long as he's under this roof.

Bruce won't have a repeat of himself for this innocent little boy; his boy.

"How do I look, B?"

Bruce snaps out of his thoughts at the innocent question, exhaling out all his nerves, imagining the anxiety and stress as nothing but smoke to expell from his lungs.

"You look ready."

Robin beams up at Batman, following the man to the Batmobile and holding his hand for that extra bit of comfort as they head out into the night.

XXX

Robin remains in the Batmobile, his small hands wringing together nervously as he watches Batman fighting a group of robbers. Luckily it wasn't anything too serious...and it doesn't look like any of the men have guns, but they were still trying to steal someone's car, and Robin doesn't need to tell you the reasons as to why that's a big no-no.

It's...fascinating watching Batman fight, it makes Robin feel as though he's in a dream-a good dream he supposes-that such a man like him would take in one lone circus freak like himself.

Yet.

There's also something terrifying at seeing Batman in action. 

Robin worries that he won't be able to live upto a figure-a man-like Batman is. The only skills he has are tricks he's learned from the circus, and yes, him being lithe helps him with the acrobatics portion of crime fighting, but other than that...he's just a boy in a suit, right?

Robin's eyes widen when seeing one of the thugs sneak up on Batman holding a crowbar, his body moving on autopilot as he shouts for the Batmobile to let him out, sighing in relief when the car listens and opens the roof. "Batman, look out!" Everyone seems to freeze at the sound of his voice, the small group of robbers turning to look at the boy with wide eyes when they see a child in green spandex shorts and a bright yellow cape.

Robin sticks his tongue out in concentration as he fumbles through his belt, ignoring the shaking of his hands as he grabs his very own Birdarang and throws it as hard and precisely as he can, the man with the crowbar raising a curious brow at the small grunt that escapes the young boy when chucking the bird shaped toy. 

The man blinks rapidly, processing the sound of metal clanging to the concrete floor loudly as the weapon fails to reach its intended target and falls to the ground.

The group of criminals look at each other before laughing loudly at Robin, the one attempting to hit Batman in the head pointing at the boy with his crowbar. "That's cute! And who exactly are you supposed to be?" The man looks down and squints at the 'R' symbol printed onto the leotard, snorting loudly and gesturing at his friends to get a look at it. "Look here, fellas. It's R for Retarded."

Robin looks down at the symbol, something he felt proud of earlier that day, but now feels sad and even embarrassed over at these men-criminals-laughing at him.

His eyes water with embarrassed and angry tears, his face growing hot at the men continuing to make fun of him. "I-It's Robin! I'm Batman's partner and you'll respect me as such! So take it back! I'm not retarded!" Robin balls up his fists and tries to stand just a little bit taller when the men look at him again, his posture slumping a bit in defeat when the group of robbers somehow manage to laugh even louder and harder at him.

"You gotta be kiddin' me, Bat's! A kid!? Have you really stooped so low as to have a kid out here askin' Gotham for respect?"

The criminal in front of Batman turns to look at him questioningly, hoping that the vigilante will reassure them that it's all just an elaborate joke, that maybe the Dark Knight of Gotham truly does have a sense of humor.

Instead, what he receives for his harsh words is an icy look from the Bat himself.

It scares him-no, horrifies him to be looked at like this by Batman. I mean, he and the boys have seen the other look upset...but why does Batman look so...so...furious?

"H-Heya, Bat's...I's just joki-"

Batman grips the man in front of him by his greasy shirt, pulling the criminal in until they are face to face, the front of his mask harshly digging into the other's cheek as his deep voice rumbles protectively in the now trembling robber's ear.

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for jokes, Tony?"

The criminal; Tony, swallows nervously at his government name being used. Stuttering and sputtering while shaking his head frantically, "W-W-What!? No! Course not, Bat's! I'd be stupid ta think ya have a sense of humor..." He trails off at the look the other gives him...is there a right answer for that? Tony's thoughts are interrupted at the grip on his shirt getting tighter, a panicked squeak escaping him at his airway being restrained.

"Then why are you laughing at my partner Robin?"

Tony struggles to swallow against the collar of his shirt digging into his throat, the other robbers making a shocked noise at realizing this is in fact not a joke, but that-as usual-Batman is very serious about this situation.

Crowbar man almost drops his weapon in shock, "You mean-" at Batman's venomous glare being turned onto him, he quickly shuts his mouth, hard enough his teeth clack together from the force of it . "Of course! You wouldn't lie to us, B-man!" Batman grunts in agreement and nods towards Robin, "You made my kid very sad with those comments. Tell me. Is he crying?" 

Crowbar man stutters and looks at Tony for help on what to do, the man responding with a kick to the other's leg in panic.

Clearing his throat nervously, CBM takes a peak at the boy, praying to anyone that will listen that Robin won't be crying...because if he is, he and his friends are all-in the eloquent words of his beloved grandma-deep horse shit. (she worked on a farm, okay?)

He almost exhales loudly in relief at seeing the boy just looking extremely embarrassed, upset and sad, luckily not to the point of tears...okay, maybe the child looks like he'll cry, but the point is: he isn't! CBM quickly turns to look at Batman, "No! He's not crying! I admit...he looks a bit upset, but I swear he's not crying! Just...have mercy on us and please, for the love of God and all things holy, let Tony breath!"

Batman looks at Tony and quickly releases the young man's shirt when seeing that the other was turning purple.

He takes a moment to calm himself down and slowly sets Tony back down onto his feet, steadying the light-headed man with a warning grip on his shoulders.

"You three listen to me very closely-" he pauses to add to the air of murderous and angry parent before continuing-"This is Robin's first appearance. He obviously wasn't very confident when coming out here, but he did so anyway because he has a good heart to keep Gotham safe from filth like you. We are starting off with petty crimes and even pettier criminals; no weapons involved. So I don't understand why you have a crowbar-" he turns the glare back onto CBM, holding his hands out for the weapon and gripping onto it when the man hurriedly deposits the metal into his gloved hand. "And I definitely don't understand why any one of you would think picking on a child would be a good choice to make in front of me."

The three young men look at each other before each trying to plead their case, stopping immediately when Batman raises his hand to cut them off.

"Robin...Robin is more than just my partner, he's my child, my son. So, what you three are going to do is continue fighting us; however, when Robin hits one of you, you better act as if it's the worst thing you've felt in this world." Batman holds his glare with the three stooges before releasing them from his paralyzing glare, Tony immediately sending CBM to go 'fight' Robin. "Y-You heard the man! Go on and fight the kid, and for all of our sakes...please make it realistic."

CBM stutters and attempts to protest, but the look Batman is giving him shuts him up and sends him on his way over to Robin, the man pausing when the boy stiffens and settles into a fighting stance.

"B-Be still!"

Robin finds it odd that the man listens to him so easily...but he won't complain about an opening showing itself to him so easily.

His hands tremble as they reach into his belt, grabbing another Birdarang and chucking it as hard as he can at the man, gasping softly as the man shouts in pain and stumbles back from the force of the weapon. Robin pulls out a pair of handcuffs and tightens them onto the dazed criminals wrists just a tad too tightly, the boy stepping back and looking at the man, his eyes wide as he processes the fact that he just took down a thief.

"Oh. My. Gosh..." Robin whispers and looks back and forth between the bound criminal and Batman, the excitement slowly seeping into his body as he shakes with the attempts at suppressing the feelings. However, he's just one small little child and hops up and down while pointing at the now awake robber. "Batman, I did it! I did it! Did'ya see me!? He laughed at me and underestimated me and then he walked over trying to scare me-I was a little scared-BUT, then I 'membered what you taught me and threw my birdarang at him and then he fell down and then I cuffed him!" Robin pants loudly to try and catch his breath, his smile wide and proud while watching Batman walk over with the other two robbers. 

"I saw you. Good job, Robin, I'm proud of you for being brave tonight-" Batman (in his still bitter feelings of Tony and his crew making fun of his child) harshly tosses the two men to the floor next to CBM, nodding his head slightly in approval of their acting-"It seems you'll have their respect in no time if you show them your skills." Robin feels his heart flutter in excitement at the gloved hand ruffling his hair, his smile quickly disappearing when remembering what the man with the crowbar tried to do to Batman.

A loud slap echoes through the surprisingly quiet street, Robin glaring harshly at the now stunned man.

"Robin!"

The boy turns to look up at Batman with a pout on his lips, his gaze unapologetic as he holds the older man's gaze. "What?! I'm not gonna say sorry!"

Batman sighs softly and kneels down to Robin's level, "You...you can't hit the criminals after you've already caught them, understand? We can't abuse our power. And it's not right to hurt someone just because of what they say about you, actions speak louder than their words ever can."

Robin's eyebrows furrow in confusion as to what Bru-Batman means, it taking a second for him to truly remember the man's earlier insults before he looks angry again and turns to kick the bound man in his stomach, sniffling innocently at Batman's scolding tone. "I didn't slap him cause what he said to me...he...he could have hurt you, B. A-And you promised to have my back...so why should I not have yours? You're my dad, so-" he cuts himself off and shrinks under Batman's intense stare. He's messed this up for himself, didn't he? Bruce didn't almost call him son in the cave...Robin probably just imagined it and became too hopeful-vulnerable from the excitement and adrenaline, that he let it slip.

Batman blinks in shock behind his mask before pulling Robin into a hug, shooting a glare over at the three blind mice for their cooing at the cute scene before them.

"No! I mean, you're fine. I think-you-I..." Batman furrows his brows and pauses, taking a moment to breath steadily and gather his thoughts together, his gaze never leaving Robin's uncertain yet hopeful one. "You are my son. I never said anything because I didn't want you to think I was trying to replace your real father...so, don't worry about what you said. I think the same thing about you."

Robin feels himself slump in relief, wrapping Batman-his dad-in a strong hug and hiding his face in the man's neck.

CBM can't stay quiet anymore and loudly aww's at the sight, sniffling at seeing how soft the Bat can be. "I wish I had a dad like you growing up, maybe if I did I would be better off now? You're a lucky kid Robin...and just so you know, you give a mean slap, but I won't hold it against you. You're kind of a cute kid-" at Batman's deadly glare, he corrects himself-"I mean, you are definitely for sure a totally adorable kid."

Tony nods his head, "Yeah. I think your fiery temper has a charm ta it-" he tilts his head in curiosity-"Ya know how to break into cars? We could use a guard dog."

The other lackey elbows Tony for the question and starts apologizing to Batman, "I'm sorry for his behavior! He doesn't know what he's saying-" he elbows Tony harshly in the side again-"You can't ask a freaking kid to commit crimes, Tony-and no, I don't care that you did it when you were younger, we should have standards."

Tony huffs and settles back down, "But why not? B-man over there is allowing him to fight crime."

Robin frowns at their conversation and lifts his head up from Batman's neck, "I threatened to run away and fight crime myself! B didn't want me out tonight, but if he didn't I would have left." CBM's eyes water even more and he sniffles, "You mean to tell me that Batman didn't want to lose you to this world, so he allowed you to fight crime?" Robin tilts his head at the man and pouts, "I think he just doesn't trust me fully yet."

Tony sighs and shakes his head, "Trust is earned anyway. Even with criminals like us, Batman was right when he said that your actions speak louder than words ever could...though words are still nice too, ya know? You gotta back up what you say with actions, and even though you looked kind of scared tonight, ya didn't hesitate to defend the Bat." The man nods in approval and bumps into his men to get their attention, "Seems like B-man found a good partner after all guys."

Robin looks at the group of criminals curiously for their behavior, they aren't exactly what he was expecting. He thought that these men tonight were God awful, irredeemable individuals...but CBM just wants a dad and Tony got into crimes young, so who knows what brought them to this point?

The sound of police sirens causes Robin to hide under Batman's cape with a surprised yelp, he doesn't think he's quite ready to meet the people Batman has worked with for years now.

But luckily enough, Batman notices that too and makes sure to leave the three criminals where they can be seen by the police and slips away into the dark alleyway and to the Batmobile, setting Robin gently down into his seat and turning towards the boy with a small, proud smile when he settles into the driver's seat. "So how does ice cream sound?"

Robin smiles brightly and whoops in excitement, his legs kicking out excitedly as he starts chanting what flavor he's going to get.

XXX

It's a few weeks later and three criminals are playing a game of poker until their game is interrupted by an officer calling out their names. "Tony Esposito Bianchi, Marcus Hamilton and James Irwood! There's some letters for you three."

The three men look up in shock before scrambling towards the officer with grabby hands for the letters, it's rare that the three get any messages from outside, is it family? Marcus opens his first, licking his lips in excitement at the thought of who it could be, his brows furrowing at seeing childish handwriting. "Dear CBM (Crowbar Man), after lots of thought towards my actions during our fight, I'd like to apologize for kicking you in the stomach. Even though you were a jerk, I may have went overboard, and I don't regret slapping you for almost hurting Batman. However, I assumed the worst of you when it turns out you don't have a daddy to teach you goodness...sorry about my temper and-" he pauses to read the multiple crossed out words before settling on the correct one-"assumptions. I hope your stomach and face gets better, Robin."

Something...odd settles in Marcus's chest, something warm, touched and endeared by this odd little boy he made fun of. Though his attention is caught when noticing a little extra something scribbled onto the paper.

"P.S. If you ever need a dad, I think Batman has room for plenty here. P.P.S. dad helped me write this and says he's sorry for saying you were filth...whatever that's about! :)" Marcus looks up at Tony and James with a smile on his lips after reading the letter, the three silently conversing before coming to an agreement. 

"Robin is definitely for sure a totally adorable kid, guys. And we'll make sure Gotham filth never touches him."

(So...Robin adopted three new criminal brothers and most likely (definitely) reformed then just by being adorable, he's truly already a great hero! 😂

As it was implied with Robin writing the apology to them for Bruce, he didn't mean to say they were Gotham filth, the only reason Batman did is because he was mad they hurt his son's feelings XD. Much like Robin, he pondered his actions later and felt bad for saying that to them, because ultimately, he desires for everyone to have a chance at doing good and he just implied with his words they weren't anything (as far as he's concerned).

I was going to title this story as 'Robin's Firsts' and have it be a multi chapter story about each Robin's first night out on patrol as Robin. But...I obviously didn't make it multi chapters, however, if you guys want it that way or even just as a series...I can work on it! But as usual, be patient with my horrid schedule XD.

Also, I wrote Robin hitting Marcus (CBM) because I read everywhere that he was a feisty and angry little boy. So, I decided to add that bit somewhere by having him slap and kick the poor guy XD, and yes, Bruce will have a talk about how Robin needs to control that. I just want to focus on the cute stuff.

If anyone enjoyed this small, simple and silly little story, you are much appreciated! Kudos, bookmarks, comments, silent support and all the more is always appreciated! You all are the greatest, and if you love reading good dad Bruce Wayne as much as I do, well, I literally love you. 😂

You all remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛)

[steveshairychest]

previous anon! :D

child actors steve and eddie who worked on a movie together and developed crushes on each other. after the movie, they dont see each other again until eddie is playing music at this fancy party. he recognizes steve immediately because steve became a famous model. it takes steve a second to recognize eddie, but steve knows it's eddie because of his eyes. they have a reunion and kiss. 💅🏼

oh this is delightful! Child actors steddie has got my brain worms spinning around.

The first and only movie they ever did together became quite a hit. Steve and Eddie both played the love interest for the other young girl in the movie, but the reason the movie became so popular is because of the amazing chemistry between the supposed rival characters that Steve and Eddie played.

They spent a lot of time together on set. Eddie was 14, Steve was 13, so they got in quite a bit of trouble for causing mischief on set, as was to be expected of teen boys. They also rehearsed their lines together and when no one was looking, Eddie would lean in close and kiss Steve's cheek just like he had to do with the girl. "I've got to practice!" He'd say.

Steve never denied him. Not even when he accidentally misjudged and planted a kiss right on Steve's lips.

That was Steve's first kiss. Eddie's too.

"Look at her, not at Steve!" The director would scold Eddie while he was giving his lines. He never looked at Steve on purpose, he just found his eyes wandered while giving the sweet lines.

It was just a coincidence that his eyes always found Steve while delivering the line, "I think I love you."

After the movie and all the press was over, the boys went their separate ways and very rarely saw each other.

Eddie sometimes saw Steve's face plastered on billboards while he walked the streets because Steve had abandoned acting and chosen to model. If he stopped and stared for an obscenely long time, well that was his own business. Eddie always used to tell Steve he was pretty.

Acting didn't work out for Eddie either. He got enough money from the one gig to set him up but now he spent most of his time making music and performing at other famous people's parties. It's not the type of stage he wanted to perform on but it was better than nothing.

He was performing at his old co-stars party that night, the girl from the movie, he barely remembered her name. The only thing he remembered from back then was Steve. He still knew that Steve's favourite colour was sunflower yellow and that he liked 3 sugars in his coffee. They used to drink so much coffee at that age to stay awake.

Sometimes he wondered if Steve would even remember him. Would he stop and say hi if he saw Eddie on the street or would he keep walking? Would he add him back if Eddie was man enough to follow him on instagram? Probably not.

Eddie had changed since they were kids. Lots of tattoos and piercings and long hair instead of a buzz cut made him nearly unrecognizable. Steve had barely changed. Eddie could still see the young boy he'd had a crush on in the handsome face that stared at him from billboards.

He's tuning his guitar while the party guests meander into the crazy huge mansion when he spots a familiar face in the crowd. A face that caused him to stop and just stare, his eyes unable to look away from Steve Harrington. He watched Steve glide through the crowd, his smile bright and friendly as he hugged and greeted people, some he kissed on the cheek which made Eddie remember the first time he kissed Steve's cheek.

Steve didn't see him at first, his focus on the people around him, but then Eddie bumped into the mic and caused a feedback screech to echo around the building. "Sorry." He laughed into the mic.

And then Steve's eyes meet his and Eddie could see no hint of recognition in them at all. He smiled up at Eddie as if to say, 'It's ok', but then something changed. His smile dropped and his mouth fell open into a surprised little oh.

Eddie could see Steve mouth his name, could see the realization wash over him as he took in Eddie on the stage.

"Hi." Eddie said into the mic, both to the audience and to Steve, who was walking slowly towards the stage.

"Hi." Steve mouthed the words to him.

Eddie was glad that he took this gig, was glad that he took the time to put on his best outfit and brush his hair.

But most of all he was glad that Steve remembered him.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

style

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI... also never take driving lessons from matty. 

(an: this was supposed to be a short blurb with no smut, but i couldn't help myself. also this is my first time actually writing smut so be nice or i’ll cry myself to sleep.)

“well this isn’t conspicuous at all,” the breathless laugh that falls from your lips is enough to almost make matty lift his foot from the brake and send the rented, red convertible into your friend’s perfectly manicured garden, “at least you turned the headlights off.”

“at least i turned the headlights off,” he echoes into the darkness. there’s remnants of a sly smirk on his lips. you’re dizzy at the way his eyes are tracing over your body as it’s perched at the driver’s side; hands holding onto the cool metal of the car and you’re just barely leaning in. its enough that you can smell the aftershave and cigarettes; a combination that leaves your mouth watering. you would have been a fool to ignore his late night text, no matter how much your friends warned you to. he’s only in town for a few more days. and despite the way you’re acting now, you’ve done a pretty good job at pretending he doesn’t exist.

the luminesence from the moon and the warm street lights are painting you in the most beautiful light. he almost wants to look away from your blinding beauty. almost. he can’t. it had been awhile since he had seen you, mostly due to his own veteran slew of excuses, and he wants to take in every last drop of you. he knows that he’s dodged calls and sent one word replies to your texts, purposefully avoided places he knew you would be. but you hadn’t been an angel either. he vaguely remembers the documented nights out detailed in photographs of you leaving clubs with randoms, and the infamous “they’re busy” text he had recieved after pouring out his heart and soul to you in one-hundred and fourty characters the other day. it had felt like a direct dagger to his heart. but he deserves it. he’s not innocent and neither are you in this back and forth seesaw of a situationship you’ve both gotten yourself into. there are so many questions that are perched at the tip of your tongue. you don’t utter them though. 

he watches you carefully as you make your way to the passenger’s side. it feels like ages until you’re sat in the seat next to him. and now its his turn to feel dizzy. your perfume is wafting through his nose, the sorry excuse of a skirt is riding up your thigh. he feels drunk, all of his movements feel like liquid. his white t-shirt is feeling unbearably tight around his neck. his whole world seems like its on pause, and the only thing he can do is swallow thickly and stare you down.

and maybe thats the reason why you shoot him a laugh and a raised eyebrow, “need driving lessons?” you’re eager and he likes that. 

his own eyes narrow as they bore into yours, a pregnant pause before you have to tear your eyes away from the intensity of his stare. his eyes are dark and clouded with something you can’t quite put your finger on. its too much. in truth, you could get lost in his eyes and there’s been many a time that you have. now isn’t the time for that though as he’s speeding off to the spot the two of you have frequented so many times before. 

you’ve seen the pictures. you know about the other girls and the many escapades he’s had since the last time you’ve been together. the thought alone has sent you into a tizzy multiple times. you want to ask him about it, want to pick his brain. however, you don’t want to ruin the moment by opening a can of worms you can’t reseal. you know he knows about you’re own flings. and maybe that fact alone is why you have to keep telling yourself that this is wrong.

this is wrong, you keep trying to remind yourself. but your fleeting thoughts are so much as moot whilst his calloused fingers seek solace on the skin of your exposed thigh. it starts out quite innocent, tracing patterns on the skin. they climb higher, and higher, though and there’s no way that he means anything innocent by his actions. you know he doesn’t want to talk. a gasp tumbles from your already parted lips as his nimble fingers push past the hem of your skirt. 

his eyes meet yours, chocolate brown pleading for a moment, asking for your consent. its unspoken, but you nod, a bit too eagerly for your liking. eyes back to the road and matty’s pushing the flimsy material of your panties to the side, letting his fingers tease up and down your slit. your skin feels like its on fire, the wind whipping past you is the only thing that can attempt to cool you down at this point. you’re on fire and he’s doing nothing to satiate it. the rough pads of his fingers rub slow, tender circles at your clit, your breath catching in your throat. your eyes are boring into his side-profile now, soft whines falling from your lips. he’s still circling slow, and there’s no sight of relief in sight.

“matty,” you whimper out, “please.” 

you think he’s ignoring you at this point to fuel his own selfish desire of teasing you to the point of no return, but the way his unoccupied hand grips on the steering wheel sends a chill down your spine. this is dangerous. he knows it, you know it. there’s nothing covering up the filthy melody he’s playing between your legs as he’s zipping the rented convertible through the streets. he’s supposed to be focused on the road, but the way you’re whimpering and whining next to him has his jaw going slack. that’s when he gives in. he slips a finger in, languidly, in a way that has your head rolling back against the tan head rest. his thumb assumes its position on your clit and he’s working a sweet, sinful rhythm against you. his own lips are parted, puffy from all of the biting, and his fingers are moving in tandem with each other. 

“feeling good over there?” he breaks up the hushed sounds of your moans with his words. his voice is husky, laced with lust and need. “because the view from here is phenomenal. you’re taking it so well, baby.” 

the sound of his voice makes you mewl, hips bucking into the fluid motions of his fingers. “you’re.... you’re supposed to be watching the road, matty. fuck.” 

your attempt at scolding him wavers with a moan of his name. he’s slipped another finger into you, smugly of course, and watching as your lips curl around the syllables of his name. you’re practially chanting it as if its the only word you know at this point. the fire is burning deep within you. you’re thankful that its late and that this road is desolate, because had anyone seen the way you were thrashing and moaning and bucking into him, you know it would be on the front page of some tabloid and a trending topic on twitter come the morning. 

not that you would really care, anyway. because in reality, all you can think about is the delicious way his fingers are moving inside of you. he’s playing you like a song he’s written on his guitar, pulling moans from you as if they’re his very own carefully orchestrated and sinful melody. his fingers are pushing inside of you at a deafening pace, almost as if he knows just how close you are. just how bad you need it. 

“looking so pretty when you take my fingers like this. sound so sweet, too,” he’s moaning out to you as the car rolls to a stop at a red light. matty’s quick to lean over, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. you can’t help yourself from getting lost in the kiss, teeth and tongues clashing against each other, moans lost between the two of you. you practically whimper as he pulls away to set the car in motion again. you know what awaits you at the destination, but he’s sat next to you looking like that and touching you like this and its all too much. 

that’s when you feel it. the promise of sweet release rising in the pit of your stomach. his name falls in caution from your lips, warning him of the sapid end you’re about to reach. but you know he knows your body better than that. he was probably anticipating it. you hear a deep groan in the air between you two, over the low hum of some top fourty hit on the radio. 

“you wanna come, darling?” 

“please, i need it. i need it so bad,” you could cry. in fact, you might be crying. you’re not even sure anymore, all you can think about is the feeling of his fingers and the sweet release that’s on the cusp of the horizon. 

“go on. come. come for me. want you to come for me,” you can barely hear his voice over the roar of the engine, but you feel his eyes lock on you every second or so. the band breaks and you’re writhing in the seat next to him, moaning out his name in a sharp cry. he fucks you through it, fingers still working you until you’re basically pushing his hand away from the intensity of it all. you’re limp in the seat next to him, letting out a low moan as you watch matty brings one of his fingers to his lips. the sinful pop of his lips smacking against his finger drives you mad, alluding to the many of nights he’s spent with his head buried between your thighs.

he sucks his finger clean before he’s holding the other out to your own lips, tapping gently. you immediately invite the digit into your mouth, cleaning off the tangy taste of you from his skin. your cheeks hallow around his flesh and you’re moaning at the taste. your show is well received by the man sat next to you, as you hear his groans. you always knew how to put on a show for him. he’s watching you again, eyes wild with desire.

your chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate, vision a little hazy as you slowly come back down from the matty-induced high. he’s clicked the engine off and you realize the car is parked in the back of a parking lot. the both of you’s usual spot for nights like this. his eyes are on you, like a predator watching their prey, darkened and piercing into you. 

there’s a moment before he speaks, and you’re half wondering if he’s going to bring up your own not-so-innocent escapades. he didn’t bring you here to talk though. he never does.

“you’ve made a mess of the seat, so so dirty,” he tsks, unclipping his seatbelt and looming over you, “whatever am i going to do with you?”

and with a sly smirk, mirroring his own, you hum out, “i can think of a few ideas.” 

you’re pulled into the back of the car quicker than you can even catch your breath. his lips are on yours, on your neck, your jaw- any inch of skin that you bare to him. he’s nipping and sucking welts into your flesh, marks you know you’re going to have to conceal tomorrow.

“i’ve … i’ve heard things,” you whisper out, finally, as he begins his descent down your body, fingers pushing up on your shirt to expose more skin that he hasn’t yet claimed. its easier to talk about this when you can’t see his face.

“i know,” he murmurs against you, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your stomach. you shudder at his advances. “and they’re true, but i just… can’t stop thinking about you.”

he’s between your legs now, pushing up the flimsy skirt and pulling the thin material of your panties down. he makes quick work of stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans and he’s gazing up at you, big brown eyes pouring into yours. he’s ready to kneel at the altar that is your hips and beg for forgiveness the best way he knows how.

and how are you to deny him when you’ve been there too a few times?

[the-nerdiest-insanity]

Okay so I'm not saying you have to write this but I wanted to share this little plot bunny in my brain with the first fic writer who showed up in the tags.

(this is not a request I just really really want to talk about this)

Okay so we all agree that the reason 'we literally have the rest of eternity to figure out what the rest of it means' is cause Charles never finished reading the myth, right?

So imagine if Edwin is killed of for realsies, and instead of just out right stating that the reader instead gets to find it out through the means of Charles reading the myth- you know, finishing it.

(the angst potential is twsiting me insides)

I started this at midnight for me, and this wormed it's way into my brain and won't leave. The ask gives away the twist, but I hope I've written this well enough that it doesn't matter

The Song Was Written Long Ago

Title from Road to Hell (reprise), Hadestown

Charles landed on the floor with the dull thumping feeling he has associated with living as a ghost on Earth. Niko and the Night Nurse are staring at him with shocked expressions.

"Charles--" Niko tried to start before he abruptly cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Don't Niko, just don't," he mumbled. Charles sniffled and slammed his fist into the ground. Slowly, he sat up onto his knees.

"Hey, I heard a loud noise," Crystal said as she entered. She took in the somber faces around her. "Did something happen? Where's--"

"Don't," Charles spat out, sharper this time. "Don't fucking say it."

"Charles?" Crystal asked as she took a hesitant step forward.

Charles stood up and plowed his way across the room, uncaring about the voices asking about him or the hands trying to stop him. He leapt into the first mirror he could reach. "Take me home," was his only thought.

Charles landed harshly into thei-- the office. His legs carried him automatically to the bookshelf. It had been so meticulously organized before this whole damned trip. Now, everything was a cluttered mess after searching for the book to save Niko.

A painful voice echoed in his head, "It wouldn't be so messy if you'd just follow my system." Charles bit his lip, attempting to rein in his emotions.

This is like one of those Orpheus and Eurydice moments, yeah?

Charles knew there were many different versions of the story he was searching for, but focused on finding the one he had started all those years ago.

Finally, he pulled out Metamorphoses. He flipped to Book X, finding the line he last read. He had stopped when the pair began to leave the Underworld. He had figured either they made it out and lived a happy life or something terrible happened. And, Charles was fine never knowing what the answer was. Until now.

He read about Orpheus's confidence in getting the pair out. He read out Orpheus's doubt. He read about Orpheus turning around too soon.

Charles slammed the book shut. He didn't need to read about how Orpheus died because he was already dead.

Charles slid slowly down to the ground, crying into the book. He could hear a voice in his head scolding him for not taking care of property. It made Charles hiccup as he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Edwin. I shouldn't have looked back. I should've lead up out before I talked to you. I'm so sorry. We were supposed to have the rest of eternity. Edwin, please."

The rest of eternity was a very short time, indeed.

Was I listening to the Hadestown soundtrack while listening to this? How could you tell? For real, I hope you all liked this and I made the annon proud.

[mothervonmayhem]

Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.