#and good night i'm conking out now

[xxgoldie]

wait shit it;s christmas technically i have to make this festive hang on uhhhhhh (cartoon lightbulb appears above my head)

when you offer to handle christmas dinner for the sons of calydon, lighter immediately offers to help. even if you tell him not to worry, that in the nicest way possible, you find it easier to cook without anyone getting in the way, he will insist. he knows you'll get stressed co-ordinating all the different elements, so he says he's absolutely helping, but you're in charge - anything you need, just say the word, he'll be like an extra pair of hands to you. he really just wanted to help you out, save you some stress and spend some extra time together for the holiday. but instead he spends the entire time trying to act normal and like he doesn't find it obscenely attractive as you order him around the kitchen, the "could you"s and "please"s dropped quickly into the operation. at the end, as you're plating everything up, you thank him, relaxed and sweet again as you tell him you had no idea how you thought you were going to do it without him, while he's still processing the fact he's kinda sad you're not bossing him around anymore

lighter loves it when you boss him around idec. finds it so incredibly hot when you tell him what to do. literally any context, n especially if you're a bit snappy about it. teases you like "aye captain" with a little salute but his heart is mf hammering (plus, teasing gets you more frustrated so you boss him around more)

[lizeon]

every day i spend on twitter, because that's where most of the starmin are, is a day i wish most of that community would move to tumblr just because the way this site works in comparison would be so much better for it. the ability to tag art and be able to find it later on your own blog no matter how far back it was posted. the way you can add on to each others posts. and also i just like tumblers post format much better. especially for making a vague / simple post and then going into more detail in the tags cuz you don't wanna put all that in the main post but like it's there for anyone that wants to read it. on twitter you gotta put it all in the main body of the post and i. do not want to do that

[buryam-soul]

Man..

[grimesgirll]

like your weapons trainings or conditioning, getting to rick’s place for bedtime had become a nightly duty.

and okafor stressed the importance of being on time to you. after all, he needed his best soldier bright eyed and bushy tailed in the mornings.

you had to have your ass in rick’s bed by the time he was ready to hit the hay. it didn’t matter if he was planning on fucking you that night or just enjoying having another warm body around. okafor had clocked that you somehow increased the average hours of sleep rick gained each night and assigned you to a semi-permanent sleepover.

you watch from your elbows as the handsome man in front of you brushes his teeth.

this isn’t the first time okafor’s utilized your “girlish charm” or whatever the fuck he sees in you to get what he wants.

this is the farthest he’s ever asked you to go however. it was always innocent before; distracting important people, taking advantage of certain perversions to finish the mission. you shouldn’t complain. okafor did get you the job of your dreams, all things considered.

where else could you spend hours designing maps, establishing operation routes, and do it all with the help of formerly world renowned military engineers and some of the most advanced technology still left on the planet?

besides, the lieutenant colonel had kept his word; there isn’t a thing you want for at the moment. aside from the occasional homesickness which was gradually dulling into a numb, nearly nonexistent feeling, you didn’t yearn for much - only rick.

so now you spend your days in your new state of the art geospatial mapping studio and on your rare but highly anticipated surveying trips. okafor had reviewed your past surveying maps of the delaware valley with general beale and other senior staff - including rick - and your work proved fruitful enough to allow you a small team to continue surveying operations under the umbrella of logistics.

in all reality, okafor’s rewarding you handsomely.

and so is rick.

his southern drawl breaks you from your staring.

“huh?” utterly oblivious, you fall under his deep blue gaze.

“i asked you if i can turn the lights off." he repeats, fingers hovering over the light switch.

you nod. "yeah, i'm ready for bed."

the bed dips with rick's weight and like routine, you're drawn into his crushing embrace. rick liked to cuddle before bed. you don’t ask but there has to have been some wife or some woman somewhere who used to be in your position.

the soldier is stoic and stands on business, but that sour expression had begun to soften since you’d first seduced him on his sofa. little bits and pieces of a southern, east coast kind of background popped up through the twang of rick’s accent. anyone with a history with law enforcement instantly picked up on his past as a cop. you’d playfully asked if he had to cuff anyone before and just received a dim smile that started to sour until you threw yourself into his lap and cast away whatever storm clouds you’d brought on with kisses.

he’ll never outright tell you why he sleeps better with you or how he slept before he was even a consignee, but you don’t mind. the cozy embrace really gets you conked out every night, without fail. his dick does too.

that’s how you end up backing against him and tempting the hard outline that never seemed to disappear due to his size.

rick chuckles behind you but doesn’t move, just pulls you closer. "good night." he says with a kiss to the back of your head.

"night," you return, like you’re not jutting your ass backwards into him.

you’re shocked that he hasn’t said anything. rick doesn’t always take your touch so lightly. he’d punished you for teasing him in front of some of the air fleet’s officers by fingering you until you were begging to come in the repurposed law library next door just the other day.

the man only speaks up once your tight ass is rounding indisputable, deep circles against his groin. you couldn’t be anymore obvious with the gasp that flies out of you like a kite as soon as rick’s newly throbbing length twitches through his sleep pants.

��honey.”

“please, rick!�� you pull out the begging already, having expected you would be fucked silly tonight.

“tonight’s not the night, darlin’.”

needy and craving the man beside you, your knees squirm. it’s only when you’re lightly kicking rick that he pays you any mind; your legs are shut closed by the force of his human hand and the prosthetic digging into your soft flesh.

the look he gives you is lacking patience. “now, what’re you doin’?”

“i need you tonight, rick,” you state plainly.

he scoffs and lets go of your thighs. “c’mon, honey, why don’t you just lay down and get a good night’s rest?” the gears are turning in your head and you’re lifting your legs and shifting between his legs before he can even try to draw you back to your pillow. he croaks your name when you start pawing at the drawstring of his pants. “honey, you need to-,”

“you need this,” you insist.

you’re not giving him enough time to complain with his sensitive head already on your tongue. rick curses his traitorous groans, and himself when he does nothing to fight against the firm hand you're utilizing to usher him onto his back.

"so, you want to relax?" he manages, despite the shudder inducing way in which fully go for it and swallow around him. midway down your throat, a light thrust and a near gag from you is all he needs to know your answer.

rick can only lean back and take what you give him. he's pretty sure that you're going to have him coming in your mouth but before he knows it, you’re face to face again. there’s no reason to be disappointed by the firm hold you still have on him with your hand. a few more sluggish licks and you’re readjusting, straddling him to tease his tip with the slick of your entrance.

"what about you?" rick’s rasping, not yet prepared after you removed him from your sweet mouth.

"what if i told you i came here ready?"

the statement has his cock jumping. you swivel slightly, clit bumping his own sensitive slippery skin. spit strewn, his head falls back at the feeling of his dick dipped into your engulfing heat - even half an inch.

“you sure, honey?”

“mhmm,” you confirm with a kiss and a grind onto him.

“really wanted it, didn’t you, darlin’?”

your confirmation comes out as a whimper. "i just wanna be full before bed. i wanna be full of you rick," and once those words leave your mouth, rick is decided and sending you from your knees to your back. he could never say no to those watery eyes.

a courtesy finger and some intricately placed kisses on your knees, thighs, and clit have you straining upwards. you're not burning for long because rick is ready to indulge you just as you wished tonight. without warning - not that you were wanting it tonight - rick fit himself as far inside your thick muscle as he could on the first thrust.

the stretch is familiar but striking enough for you to nearly double over onto him. you won’t fold in the face of your reward - at least not yet. determined to hold on, you plant two hands on the older man’s chest as you sink onto his thick length. his groans and your steady breaths are enough to lower yourself, and even fuck yourself you and down on him.

"thank you for fucking me tonight, rick." you cry through swollen lips and damp lashes. "i really need you to fall asleep," you confess in a tone no higher than a hushed hiss.

you don't know if you're expecting an answer but the quickened pace is to be expected. without a doubt, the man is sinking deeper inside of you as he forces his hips flush to yours.

"does this satisfy being full enough to fall asleep?"

the jolt he’s sending through your abdomen with each maddening plunge into you, has you fluttering around him.

“rick!”

you wake up with a hand on your ass and a breath behind you in your hair. it doesn’t last though. rick is gone before you know it and you’re left aching, craving him. you get him out of your system with your early morning physical training - pt - and a meal with your favorite fellow soldiers.

you’re not expecting to see rick again soon.

the office facing the arboretum and the airfield is typically a still place, plagued by the constant thrum of the planes and helicopters, yes, but those who worked in the building had grown accustomed to the white noise. you're so grateful everyone in your division is out at lunch when rick slams the thick wooden door open.

stirred from your half drafted map of the midwest, your head surges up. you don't have time to open your mouth before rick is talking at you in his sergeant's voice.

“there are ten minutes until i need to be down at the helicopter hanger. you need to get me off in eight.”

stunned, the command doesn't urge you to your feet just yet. it's the sudden slamming of the door that jostles you from desk to the plaid loveseat where you settle onto your knees on a cushion facing sideways.

rick shakes his head. "no, i want you on your knees on the floor in front of me. now." you sigh and carry yourself down to the polished wooden floors. "i don't have time to sit."

"why?"

"because what i said was an order. don't question it."

with that preamble, you waste no time finding his belt and expertly undoing the buckle in record time. your hands move as fast as they can given all of the work this bulky uniform requires. somehow you breeze through the layers and ignore the ache growing in your knees. your second pt of the day is going to destroy you.

as you strip down rick's thermal boxers, you wonder if he's keen on fucking you now too. perhaps you'd gotten your allotted pounding last night and this would be it for the week. you really can never know with rick.

the issue of time returns to your mind however, so when you grip his length, you only lick up and down enough to get him taking coordinated breaths through his nose and tautening.

“you’ve been demandin’ lately, doll.”

your thighs squeeze together at the nickname.

“maybe i want to be a little demandin’ of you.”

a gloved hand shoves your head down. the incentive to keep your moans quiet doubles when you hear commotion outside your office. right on time; your colleagues are returning to lunch.

“think you can quiet that big mouth enough?”

no words leave your mouth, you just swallow around his length, glancing up into his expanded pupils; almost void of blue. hollowing your cheeks, you remember the time crunch he’s in and put a little more pep into your step. this leads to you rocking a bit on your knees.

rick snorts once he catches sight of the development. “so needy, even just with a cock in your mouth, huh?” his teasing is cut off by the orgasm building up as he throbs against your tongue.

putting in the effort to counter more than a couple of gags, you allow your jaw to slack so rick can enjoy the unobstructed tightness of your throat - perfect for him to come without the mess, leaving it to your mouth.

you weren’t prepared to suck rick off in your office today but you’re determined to leave no trace of this interaction. when he spills down your throat, only a little bit remains on your reddened puffy lips. you wipe your mouth nonchalantly once rick flops out of your mouth, still gazing down at you.

“clean me up.”

an order is an order.

exhaustively, you trace patterns from his base to the spit covered tip that’s still twitching. “fuck,” he utters when you take him into your mouth again. “don’t have time for this,” he’s scolding and palming himself back into his pants, grabbing your hand to stand you up with him for some scattered kisses across your forehead.

he presses a kiss to your temple, traveling lower to embellish purple marks on your collarbone. you’re sure he’s about to do more than just wantonly groping your perky tits but a few more moan inducing punches for your nipple and he’s sealing the interaction with one wolffish kiss. you’re nearly stumbling after him when he pulls away, tugging the last of his belts on.

the door is flung shut and that’s that. rick’s gone.

you’re on rick’s bed before he retires for the night.

“good to see you again today.” you purr, nearly kicking your feet. “i’m feeling spoiled seeing you three times in one day.”

the soldier rolls his eyes. he drops his tactical bag on the ottoman in front of the bed. “you here to sleep? or mess around?”

you shrug. “your choice.”

hints of a sly smile are on the sergeant’s face but he walks away shaking his head before you can call him down to bed just yet.

you could just sleep tonight. rick had been turning you on enough for you to take a night off, preferably drifting off in his arms until you had to wake for your quarterly river survey with the geologists, engineers, and biologists in your neighboring divisions. you had a lot to prepare for come the morning. it wouldn't be terrible to unwind by getting off tonight.

the thought's put on pause once rick's arms wrap around you as he sinks into the soft, bedding. smelling of fresh toothpaste and some kind of beard balm, he’s more than ready to hold onto you like a vice for the night.

“hey.” you coo.

“hey there,” an arm escapes you to turn out the wall light still on over on his side of the bed. only the dim glow of the hallway light touches the darkened room now.

you turn slightly so rick can at least see the outline of your face - your eyes, nose, and lips in the dark. “what was that all about early?”

“hmm?”

"the asshole act earlier?"

“you needed to remember rank.”

an exasperated heave almost sends you to a seated position. “rank?”

“yes.”

the lack of playfulness in your voice has you wondrously thankful that he can’t see your eye rolls in the dark.

“that’s kinda fucked, rick.”

“says the one who just loves getting fucked.”

you shut up.

“getting on her knees, i don’t remember you complainin’ once i got you beneath me earlier today.”

you can’t say that you recall complaining either.

it feels like muscle memory when he gets you onto all fours.

set up on his knees with your cunt under his nose, rick licks a devastating stripe from top to bottom. then he’s coming back up again and squeezing muffled shrieks from you.

“you like that, honey?”

“i do, rick,” you reply breathlessly. you dig a clenched fist into the comforter. “fuck!” tears threaten your waterline already.

“like my tongue?”

“mhmm,” you writhe as he makes it his mission to bury his warm, wriggly appendage as far inside of you as he can. he’ll never be as deep as his cock but the difference in sensation has you nearly folding into the mattress.

the added finger has you squirming in conjunction with the taunting, flickering tongue working back out to your clit. eventually there’s a two pronged attempt to open you up. you’re clenching around his fingers when you hear him ask, “do you think you’re ready?”

“one hundred percent,” you breathe.

“‘kay, i need you to be one hundred percent sure of that, soldier.”

you tease on top of him at the mention, nearly jumping once you feel him at your entrance. lust centered, you nod your head assuredly. “yes, sergeant. i’m ready for your cock. ready to fulfill the mission.”

rick’s smirk and tousled curls are the last thing you see before you’re manhandled like a rag doll into the mattress.

then that rhythm that had you so worked up is paling in comparison to how full you feel with just a few inches of rick. whispering sweet praise and reminding you of the task at hand, you exhale and puff soft cheeks. the biting kisses from rick as he settles inside of you have your eyes already rolling back. his newfound rhythm only fulfills the trance you knew only ne could put you in.

crammed tight full of cock, you’re chanting his name and he’s petting your hair, praising you as you squeeze around him just excellently.

“you gonna come on my cock, soldier?”

“only if you’ll let me, sergeant.”

his balls slap against your clit, wonderfully matching the dull tap he’s testing on your cervix. it doesn’t matter though as he’s repositioning constantly and brushing the forlorn parts, placing his fingers in a painstakingly strategic position on your clit.

“want you so bad, rick.” the words tumble out as rick brings another hand from the fat of your ass to your tit. the touch has you arching, gasping and clawing at the sheets. “rick, rick!”

“love hearin’ you say my name,” he’s grunting into your hair when he lowers himself down to fuck you deeper.

this new angle that rick’s fucking you at has you incoherent. hips pistoning you into the mattress and closer to the mounting heat in your core that was threatening to ruin rick’s sheets. the pressure has tears cascading down your cheeks. if it was lighter you’d see them on the sheets but your bleary eyes only take in pillow, as your cunt takes all of rick.

a palm pushing down on the flat of your back. you sink further into the bed, allowing rick to penetrate you deeper. this newfound depth has you face down with a single trembling clawed hand to the sheets.

“rick,” you’re croaking, crying out for him.

one more thrust of his hips and you swear he’s going to break you.

he mutters a “fuck” and croons deep;

“michonne.”

pt. 1

[badomensgoodomens]

requesting noah x reader

noah is finally home from tour and the two of you just spend the day cuddling, watching movies and eating snacks

omg omg yes let me cook xoxo

wrote at 10pm on a sunday cut me some slack

__________________________

noah had surprised you in the middle of the night, sleepily climbing into bed. You screamed, ofcourse. A 6'3 muscle man standing at the foot of your bed. terrifying. after you fumbled for the lamp switch, he apologised profusely, soft kisses peppered on your face.

"I said i was sorry" he whines as you groan. you hit his shoulder playfully. "That was NOT funny."

___________

The next morning, you wake before him. The sunlight creeps in, illuminating the soft freckles spread across his skin. you admired the soft pout of his lips, his funky eyebrows, his jaw that is ALWAYS clenched, finally resting.

he cracks a singular eye open, "its rude to stare." you just snicker, tracing the slope of his nose and his jaw. he turns on his side, pulling your warm, soft body towards him. "goodmorning to you too." you say, running your fingers through his hair. you reminisce on the longer version of his hair, you were truly devastated when he cut it. You lay in silence, just cuddling. But it's a good silence, a taking in eachothers presence silence. the room was silent yet the love for eachother was so, so so loud.

noah was once again fast asleep, poor love must be so exhausted from tour. you manage to slip away from him, prepping for a movie marathon. knowing your luck, he'll chose a horror movie and you won't be able to sleep for weeks. (I think he just likes comforting you afterwards. Sick bastard.)

after fixing a small charcuterie(?) Board, and some popcorn, you gently move to his bedside. You comb your fingers through his hair, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

"Noah.. " you whisper.

He grumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

"Come and watch a movie with me" you whine, annoyed at his sleepiness. He rubs his face, standing up with a sigh. He drags the blanket through the house. You trail behind him, only making a pitstop to yell at folio who had been picking at the food. one by one the boys filter in uninvited. just the nature of living with a bunch of boys. A random horror film plays on the large screen tv. But you're not watching. You're too busy admiring your man.

how long his lashes are, the slight stubble that's growing back, his freckles. God they were your favourite thing about him. He glances down at you, feeling your gaze. you clamber into his lap, back pressed against his chest. He presses a soft kiss on the back of your head, his warm hands splayed out on your tummy. you rest your hands on top of his, leaning back to look up at him. You press small kisses to his jaw.

after a while you fall asleep, sleep coming easier to you when your lover returns. it's his turn to admire you, tracing the shape of your lips, and your rosy cheeks, your soft dimples and petulant pout. its overwhelming. His love for you making him feel dizzy. he thinks about the future. His plan to marry you somewhere with flowers and a nice lake. how you would look in a wedding dress. And how you would look after...

he guides his fingers through your hair, gently ghosting over your scalp. Your hand tightens on his, seeking comfort.

you wake up a few hours later, noah long gone by now. I'm talking head conked back, mouth open, snoring. you giggle to yourself. You notice the others had left by now. Probably returning to slumber.

"Noah.." you poke him, he stirs slightly.

"nowahh" you grumble out.

he stirs, "yep I'm awake what's wrong?" his words are rushed, a testament to how tired he actually is. "cmon, into bed. I'll bring the snacks." he stands up, stretching his long limbs. He patters down the hallway, losing his tshirt along the way. you pack up the dips and cheeses, before finding your way back to your lover. He's already sprawled out on the bed, waiting. "I've missed this." He mumbles. Face down.

"Me? Or the bed."

"the bed."

You throw a pillow at him, he laughs. Pulling you impossibly close.

_______________________

The clock reads 4am and you PRY yourself out of his grip, you roll over, body spread over the open space of the bed. Sweat trickles down your back. Oh how noah hadn't missed this. "babe... go put the cooler on.." he grumbles.

"I'm not going in the dark!!" You whisper-shout

He just grumbles in return. He cracks open a window instead.

he pulls you back into his grip. Pressing sleepy kisses all over your face. you groan against his warm, ink covered skin. his breathing evens out and his face falls flat as he falls asleep again. You huff, sweating your tits off. You peel each layer of clothing off, laying in a bra and underwear. the sheets abandoned at the end of the bed. You were STILL sweaty AF but this man won't leave you alone. Especially after being gone for so long!!!

___________

He wakes up before you, the sight of you in your undergarments dizzying. He rests his head in the crook of your shoulder. Taking in the smell of your moisturiser, and shower gel.

"Mm morning baby" you yawn. light filters into the room, illuminating the lack of nothing between the two.

"never leaving for tour again if this is how I wake up every morning" he grunts, hands snaking around your waist.

"even in winter?"

"just means I get to warm you up."

You throw your head back in laughter as he begins to tickle you relentlessly.

______________________

I know I said I'd cook but lowkey look undercooked 😔

ik ik it's excuse after excuse but after I posted that my requests were open I got hit with the most diabolical family problems and have been putting off writing for a further week. but! I'm slowly easing back into it with the simplest request I could find.

so sorry if this is short, please leave more requests they are great motivation!!!

[foureyedfella]

☆I've gotten the case of a little art block so I'm sharing my headcanons on what I think the biggest injuries each fighter has had (apart from bring in the ring!)

Glass Joe

☆man what hasn't happened to Joe it's hard to pinpoint his biggest injury 😭 his biggest was probably a combo: twisting his ankle and then falling down the stairs due to said ankle. While trying to get him on a leveled area, Disco Kid and Bear Hugger drop him (butter fingers). Several bones broken and a concussion 😞

Von Kaiser

☆ Prank gone wrong.

☆ His students tried setting up like a Kevin McCallister home alone prank, miscalculated how bad the punching bag would swing, sent Kaiser FLYING-

☆If anyone wonders why the boxing schools' water fountain is snapped off the wall, it was him

☆ Dislocated his jaw, and if he is still or resting he can still feel the lower back pain from the incident 💀

Disco Kid

☆ He was in a paired up dancing competition, and his partner was NOT locked in 🙏

☆ During the climax of the dance, Disco Kid needed to spin mid air and get caught by his partner. His partner did not catch him.

☆Cracked his skull, but was more upset to find out they would have made it to qualifiers if it weren't for the infraction

King Hippo

☆Rogue Coconut.

☆This in itself isn't terrible, but it KEPT happening on the same spot on his noggin.

☆Severe concussion, can still hear the coconut conk when its quiet.

Piston Hondo

☆ He is honestly pretty careful and mindful when doing stuff so he probably has not had anything catastrophic happen to him

☆Unfortunately his carefulness does not account for those around him. He was caught in the Bear Hugger Fishing Fiasco.

Bear Hugger

☆The Fishing Fiasco.

☆Was on a fishing trip with Hondo, decided to try to get all fancy with his cast.

☆To be fair, the motion of his fishing line was cool- unfortunately a badly timed sharp swing while the fishing hook was still swinging behind him sent the hook straight across their backs

☆Both got stitches done

Great Tiger

☆ To the surprise of no one it would be Aran to cause his demise 💀

☆ He was doing an eye coordination test on Aran with his clones, with the goal being that Aran can still spot him after shuffling between the clones.

☆What he did NOT expect was for Aran to just lunge at him AND his clones at once, safe to say he found the real Great Tiger

☆Fractured neck, for the 2 months he wore a neck brace, he made sure to not leave Aran alone about it

Don Flamenco

☆ His heart 😢 por Carmen 😢

☆I'm lying, he was drunk one night doing the bachata on a flimsy table, it quite literally folded on him

☆ Everyone was too drunk to take anyone anywhere, so he just woke up the next morning in agony 😭

Aran Ryan

☆ Tried getting into a classic bar fight like he was back in the grand city of Dublin at the pub, except he's not and he was in America

☆Definitely got shot, but it grazed him so he clowned the guy on his way out for not getting the job done right, passed out after the adrenaline rush

Soda Popinski

☆ Also incredibly drunk one night, decided to put his juggling skills to the test with more and more stupid objects

☆ Curse whoever recommended him knives because he did just that

☆Several hand stitches, claims they're from boxing so he doesn't have to bring up how he actually got them

Bald Bull

☆ Early in his career when he was setting his persona straight, his manager was pretty adamant on having bull tied into it

☆ Did this really need to involve actual charging bulls at him? No, not at all. Was he doing pretty good wrangling them? Yeah honestly but you can only do so much with so many bulls

☆ Got rammed. Broken ribs, and a fired manager

Super Macho Man

☆ Unironically got into a "how much you bench bro" squabble with some other meathead at the gym

☆ He did NOT have the physique he has now so idk what he was thinking actually

☆ Tore his chest muscles, devastated that he ruined his precious pecs 😞

Sandman

☆ Actively chooses to gatekeep this information. Never shares it

☆ (but between you and me, he absolutely snapped his arm in an arm wrestling competition when he was younger.)

☆ It took way too long to heal and it pisses him off when he thinks about it now

☆ Little side note, but the punch out community has been so awesome here, I was surprised to find such a nice community when I started posting you guys have been so awesome 😁

☆ I love that everyone has such differing opinions from eachother and we're all like "👍" I love hearing everyone's headcanons

[specshroom]

🔥Firefighter! Yuuji🔥

(CW: Burning building, Reader has boobies and is called Miss once but is mostly referred to as they/them. Inspired by that one fanart, you know the one.)

Reader comes home to their crappy apartment from a long day of work, showers, makes themselves some easy dinner and gets all cozy on the living room couch with their cat. 

They barely make it to the bedroom before they fall into the sheets, conked out for the night.

They're so deep in sleep they don't wake up from the faint smell of smoke or the sirens or the yelling. They don't even wake up when there's rushed knocking on the front door and yelling coming from the other side. 

However they do jolt awake when they hear the front door being forced open with a loud bang!

In a haze they still manage to reach under the bed for a metal bat they stashed there for occasions just like this.

They creep out the bedroom, bat in hand ready to swing. "Hello? Is anybody in here?" A man's voice calls from the living room. 

They mentally scoff. What kind of burglar calls out like that? Idiot. 

They can hear the heavy footsteps of the man walking closer towards the hallway they crept in. Holding the bat tighter, they wind up and just as a quite large man comes around the corner they swing hard. 

"OW!" 

The bat hits a hard surface. Confused they finally take in the man Infront of them. He's wearing a hard yellow helmet (the thing they hit, they realise) and a thick black and yellow jumpsuit thing. It kinda looks like a fireman get-up and Holy shit, they assaulted a fireman. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I thought you were a burglar!"

They drop the assault weapon and crouch down, assessing the helmet thats not even dented. 

"That's ok, it's alright, I'm fine! see?" The fireman tries to reassure them. Now that they have a better look at him he has an unreasonably bright smile on his face for someone who's just been assaulted. His bright smile contrasts with the few scars he has on his face in a way that's strangely endearing. 

They feel themselves smiling back and sighing "Oh that's good, I'm sorry again haha..... Why are you in my home?"

The fireman jolts up like he's just remembered something important. "Oh shit! The buildings on fire!"

"WHAT?!“ 

"Don't panic, Miss. I'm going to get you out of here." He says with a determined look that makes them believe his words. 

That's all he says before hoisting them up bridle style into his strong arms. Reader yelps. "I'm not injured. I can walk." They say, struggling in the strangers arms out of instinct. 

"The building's floors and ceilings might be unstable. Sorry, but it's safer if I carry you." The full seriousness of the situation dawns on them and they just nod at the man as he steps towards the door. "Wait! Wait! My cat!" They suddenly remember the creature they parent and struggled out of the man's hold running into their bedroom where the little guy is lazing on the bed, not a single care in the world. They scoop the cat up and run back to the fireman who is scoping out the hallway and talking on his little walky talky. They waist no time, allowing the well built man to pick them up as easily as they picked up the cat in their arms.

He successfully makes it down the few flights of stairs, cautious yet quick. "Cover your mouth! We're almost there!" The man says. They cover their mouth and nose with one hand and cover the kittie's with the other. Eyes shut tight, hiding their face into the man's neck. They don't open their eyes even when they feel a wave of cool night air telling them that they're outside the building and safe. 

The fireman carries them to one of the ambulances and sets them down gently. "You alright?" He says crouching In front of them and looking them up and down, breathing a little heavy. They nod wordlessly, looking into his bright eyes. 

Once he's satisfied that they're unharmed he stands and says, "I have to go." He points to the firetrucks stationed outside the burning building. The reader just nods again and mutters "Thanks." The man smiles at them again as if nothing is wrong and everything is going perfectly, it makes them believe he's right. He jogs over to where the other firemen are talking amongst themselves. 

They get a better look at the building now. The powerfull jets of water flowing in through the windows. The other residents of the building watching in various states of panic, relief, silence, fear. Luckily, when Reader looks around for neighbours and familiar faces all seem to be accounted for. The firemen seem to have done a really good job minimizing casualties and destruction. 

After about an hour the fire is in dieing smolders and the building no longer emits a furious heat, only ashy smoke. Reader is sitting on a bench, cat in their lap with an emergency blanket and a free cookie the ambulance responders were handing out. 

They don't notice the tall figure walking up to them until he's standing beside them. "Hi, how're we doing?". They look up to see the same firefighter from before. "Pretty good....considering." They shrug. He huffs and sits down next to them. "Well, good news is nobody died and your apartment's probably fine too."

"Oh that's good." They say and cringe at their weak conversational skills. He's just talking to them cus it's something that firefighters do with citizens in these situations... Right?

They look over at him as he looks at the doused, chard part of the building. "Uhm, is your head alright?" They ask the man, pointing to his helmet covered head.

He looks at them confused and then laughs. "Oh yeah it's totally good, see." He pulls off his head gear revealing a head of short pink hair. He tussles it with his hand and bends down showing them that there's no bump or bruise.

Before they can think not too, Reader reaches out to lightly caress the strands of hair at the top of his head. He freezes, his eyes wide still looking down, bent over for them. They quickly bring their hand back to the cat on their lap. "I like your hair." They say looking down at the kitty. Yuuji looks up at them with still wide eyes and straightens his back. His cheeks tint pinker than his hair and Reader chuckles at the sight.

"Thanks... I like your..." He's clearly rushing for something to say, not expecting the conversation to go this route. "Shirt." He settles on. His eyes flick down to the baggy old shirt with some anime character on it that they use for pajamas.

A well timed breeze blows through and Reader is suddenly reminded of the fact that they sleep without a bra on.

They tug the blanket closer and mutter "Thanks". Yuuji just continues to look at them with the same pink tinted face.

"Brother!" A loud voice calls and the two turn to see a big burly man calling his coworker over. They look back at each other and both grin at one another. "Uh, I'll see you around?" The pink haired man says while playing with his hair and picking up his helmet. "Yeah, I hope so." Reader waves slightly at him. He walks away still looking back at them and waving until he reaches the man who was calling him "brother". The man roughly pats him on the back and throws his arm around his shoulder. Mr Pink hair looks disgruntled as The big guy yells out to another black haired, serious looking fireman. "Did you see that Megumi? Yuuji thinks he's a Hot Shot now!"

Megumi just sighs and rolls his eyes. "Please get back to work, Todo." Yuuji struggles in Todo's hold, looking back at Reader for a second to see them still looking at him. They turn around quickly, embarrassed at being caught. Yuuji smiles and Todo, having seen that too, cries out "Brotherrrr!" hugging Yuuji tighter, brought to tears at his brother's perceived rizz.

Reader looks down at the cat in their lap and says softly "His name is Yuuji." They grin at the cat and the cat looks back with a sleepy, disinterested expression.

-★

[hxneyfarm]

59.  “I’ve spent the last five minutes trying to figure out what game you’re playing.” requested by @strangersteddierthings from this post thank you for the request!! i hope you like it!

Steve's been flirting with Eddie for weeks. Weeks. Eddie's not an idiot, he sees it for what it is. It's just... it doesn't make any fucking sense. Steve could be bi, sure, but even if he is. Eddie? Of all people?

Eddie, who'd gone and acted cute in that little hell dimension, Upside Down, whatever, even though he'd been under strict instructions to not do exactly that? Eddie, who'd very nearly fucking died and shit his pants all in one go? Eddie, who'd muttered some of the most insane, out of control shit when Steve carried him out of the Upside Down because he genuinely thought he was a goner? That Eddie? That's who Steve's been flirting with for weeks?

Maybe Steve's been conked in the noggin one too many times. He's not thinking clearly.

It's one of those nights where it's just the two of them. It's been happening more often, these past few weeks; Steve'll invite Eddie over under the guise of having a few beers, and he'll turn on a movie and they'll just shoot the shit for hours. And the whole damn time, Steve'll flirt.

Just like he's doing now, one arm slung across the back of the couch behind Eddie, sitting so close Eddie can feel his body heat. Steve's been full of it tonight, the teasing and the innuendos and the compliments. And Eddie's into it, giving back as good as he gets - touching Steve and calling him sweetheart and pushing back.

But Steve still won't make a move, a real one. There's no way Steve can't feel the tension mounting between them. It's been building for weeks. It's been building all night. They've been sharing these looks, lingering things where they capture one another's gazes and hold, until Steve glances down at Eddie's lips and Eddie has to look away.

It's driving Eddie nuts, the will he or won't he of it all. And the fact that he hasn't makes Eddie wonder if he's just fucking with him. It'd be so like the guy Eddie always thought Steve was, to play a joke like this on someone like him.

"Y'know, I've spent the last five minutes - nay, the last five weeks - trying to figure out what game you're playing here."

"Game?" Steve asks, his eyebrows pinched and confused.

"Yeah, like. The flirting? You messin' with me?"

"You think this is a game?"

"Yeah. What else could it be?"

Steve scoffs and scoots away, his arm falling away from the back of the couch to rest at his side.

"You really think I'd do that? Mess with you like that?" Steve sounds offended. A little hurt. "What happened to me being not a douche?"

"Whoa, man, I'm just sayin', alright? It's weird, is all," Eddie says, defensive. "'Cause... y'know... I never thought you could be into someone like me."

"Yeah? Well, it turns out I can. I thought you might be into me, too. It's why I've been inviting you over more."

"Sooo," Eddie says with a smile. "Is this a date, then? You been puttin' the moves on me for real?"

"This is hardly a date, Munson, but yes. The moves are very real."

Eddie's pulse kicks up and he feels warm, a little nervous. He brings a lock of hair in front of his mouth to cover a dopey smile. Steve's still looking at him, scooting closer again and putting his arm back up where it was before. They're sitting right up against each other now, their thighs and knees knocking together. Eddie puts a hand on Steve's leg.

"Alright, then. Carry on."

"A game," Steve mutters, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "Sometimes I wonder why I like you."

"Too late now, big boy. You already said it. You like me, and I'm never gonna let you forget it."

[hoiststowline]

remind me

wheeljack x f!reader

Standardly, the research lab that Wheeljack synonyms as his berthroom also doubles as your bedroom. That is typically where you would find him on most days, standing at the counter in the center of the room, every surface littered with electronic parts and tools, himself headfirst into a project. You can't recall when you've seen the tabletop's entirety, but it did have some unorganized order to it, at least to the mech in question.

Wheeljack generally understood where everything was, including your belongings that had come to live there, tucked away in a drawer at the very top. He had said that he didn't want anything to happen to them, as the probability of something occurring that was dangerous was high. He knows sometimes things get out of hand or end up on fire, but you didn't mind the chaos that erupted, at least every now and then. 

In this very instance, your eyelids were so heavy that any attempt to keep them open was met with a yawn, blinking a bleary gaze awake only to fall back into the same loop. Wheeljack was hunched over, pulling at wires and shoving his servo around the inside of what looked like a weapon that you couldn't describe even if you tried in your delirious state. With a hum, you haul yourself onto your feet, padding across the table, stepping around and over nearby objects. 

At your movement, Wheeljack pulls away from his work, observing you with bright cerulean optics. "Hey, I thought you fell asleep a while ago." When you don't reply right away due to another yawn, his posture jumps a little straighter as a notion crosses his processor. "Was I bein' too loud?" 

"No, not at all." You wave your hands, eager to soothe his worry. "I have been fighting sleep for like two hours." 

The scientist can sense that you're exhausted, at least more than you're letting on. "Go to sleep, y/n. Seriously, no point in tryin' to fight it."

"Are you sure?" Weight shifting from foot to foot, you watch as he continues to fiddle with the device but maintains eye contact with you. "You should probably get some recharge, too, Jackie."

"I am sure, and I will. Let me finish this up, and I'll catch some recharge. Promise." Wheeljack visibly melts at your laugh, though the action is diluted and heavy with lassitude, it's still precious nonetheless.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." His finials twitch upwards, the singular yet slight movement that presents the idea that he's smiling under his mouthplate. "But I'll take your word for it."

"I'm tellin' the truth!" He lowers himself, elbows resting on the metal of the table before pointing to his faceplate. "Lay one on me," 

Knowing exactly what that means, you stretch to your tip-toes and kiss him gently. "Good night, Wheeljack," 

"Night, y/n," He makes sure you make it back across the counter to your so-called nest, curling up atop a mess of pillows and blankets. Listening until he's positive your breathing evens out and your eyelids flutter and remain shut, is when he returns to his work. 

You weren't certain how long you'd been asleep, but it had to have been a lengthy period because the overhead lights had dimmed out, and the only source of illumination was the computer screens up against the walls. Somewhere in a groggy state, you find that a green blanket has been expertly placed over your body, hugging you in the cool environment. 

As your addled state subsides, you're met with the fact that Wheeljack is getting some recharge as promised, but not in the way you'd initially expected. As you sit up, blanket pooling around your waist, you find that he's conked out at the table, cheek smushed against an arm that was sprawled out in front of him. 

When you stand, gathering the blanket around your shoulders to keep the chills away, it appears that he fell asleep mid-action, screwdriver in opposite the hand that currently wasn't holding the device. "Wheeljack," You whisper, stumbling through the darkness towards him. 

While he was getting some sleep, he was going to feel the kink in his cables in the morning, recharging bowed over like that. A brief thought of caution passed you by, you weren't sure how safe it was to leave the room the state it was in overnight, a concern brewing in that regard.

"Wheeljack," Your palm brushes his plating, not entirely sure how deep into sleep he was, but not wanting to startle him. "Hey, wake up." 

He stirs first but comes back to consciousness as his optics blink awake. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," You murmur, fingers running over the plating of his arm gently. "I'm happy you're catching some z's, but shouldn't you be in your bed?"

"Nah," One digit curls to beckon you closer, to which you oblige his request immediately. "You're sleepin' here." 

"Yes, but-" You laugh, unable to find the energy to refute his insistence. "No, you're right. But shall we move to the bed now?" 

Realizing what you've said, you watch as Wheeljack's brow raises in mild amusement. "Oh yeah? You wanna go to the berth?" 

You roll your eyes, but it's all in jest. "To sleep."  

"To sleep," He echoes, servo caging your back as he runs a digit absentmindedly down the length of your spine, a comforting and familiar touch. "That's no fun, y/n. But I concede." 

"Atta boy," But neither of you makes a move, your sleep-ridden stare meeting his half-lidded one, the soft light of his cerulean optics bathing you in their minor light. There was something mischievous in his eyes, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask in such a perfect moment. The warmth he radiated did more than root you to your very spot, it made your heart beat so fast you could hear it in your ears.

"Whatssamatter?" It's hitched, like it got stuck in his throat. 

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm trying to savor the moment," 

"Yeah?" He asks like it's an incredible feat that needed a second affirmation to support such an honest answer. 

"Yeah." Wheeljack was many things, highly intelligent and optimistic, and he deserved an award for the compassion and patience he shared with you every single day. He was sweet, incredibly gentle, but most arguably the most sincere of all, he was the only one who could read you like an open book.

"Ya got that look, though." A nudge pokes your side with his knuckle, an unspoken action that's a silent 'spill your guts'. "You're here, but your noggin' is somewhere else."

Another laugh brims to your lips, threatening to spill as your cheeks begin to hurt, attempting to suppress it. "I'm here. All of me is here, including my noggin'." 

"If you're sure." He's smiling again, the moment you blink and your eyes focus, his mouthplate is gone, the metal slinking over his face before tucking away. "Before we go to bed, I want a real one,"

You know what he means, moving closer across the table before you kiss the grey metal of his cheek, feeling its temperature increase just by your featherlight contact. "Now I want a real one." 

The pressure that rests atop the crown of your head is indescribable but extremely familiar. The mesh of his own dermas meets your temple, kissing the area with a weightless touch. "Now we're even." Wheeljack mumbles against your skin. 

"All I could ever ask for," And while more moments slipped from the both of your grasps, it made you not mind putting off sleep for a little bit longer. Instances like these you wish could last forever, rosiness dusting your ears as he moves just slightly, mouth landing squarely on your cheek. 

"Alright, alright, enough stallin'." Wheeljack breathes, pulling backward a bit. "Yer a bad influence y/n, I've been tellin' you to go to bed for cycles," 

"That's funny," Your arms cross your chest, feigning annoyance. "I recall trying to herd you to bed a couple of times."

"That wasn't me," The both of you share a laugh, to which he offers you a servo, palm up against the counter, and you know what the action means. You tug the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, movements sluggish but with purpose. 

A yawn comes forward one last time for the evening, but you do little to smother it. "Y'know, you never did say what you were working on."

Wheeljack's mouthplate returns to his face, sliding across it before he replies. "Don't worry yourself about it. Nothin' that's gonna get fixed tonight." 

Once in his hold, you burrow into the grooves of his plating, a sigh of happiness escaping as you slot into place in his grasp. "Okay," You murmur, smiling as his thumb comes to rub up and down your leg, an unthinking gesture that easily lulls you back into slumber. 

"Okay." He whispers, beginning the trek to his actual berthroom, just down the hall, but ensuring that he made the journey without jostling you, since you were practically already fast asleep in his servo. 

[aihoshiino]

Da Vinci Magazine Jan. 2024: A Q&A with Ai of B-Komachi!

In the January 2024 issue of Da Vinci magazine, there was an in-character interview with Ai as written by Aka Akasaka that you can read a translation of here! What I forgot to mention on that initial post is that there was also a little lightning round Q&A the original anon didn't translate at the time. Thankfully, they did post it and I just... completely forgot it existed until now. ;9 Shout out to past me who remembered to save it and kept me from having to dig thru the 4chan archives for it...

Unlike the original interview, this is my translation! So any goofs and gaffes are entirely on me lol. This is also totally spoiler safe, so you can read both this Q&A and the original interview no matter what point you are in the series.

Get to Know Ai Better! Q&A Session

Q. What motto do you live by?

A. I really like "Tomorrow is a new day." I'm one of those people who forgets all their worries after a good nights' sleep. (laughs)

Q. Tell us how you refresh yourself!

A. I like taking naps on my days off. I was saying earlier that I forget my worries once I've gotten some sleep but with this job, it can be hard to find the time to actually do it. Not just that, but lately I've been waking up in the night to take care of this and that, so when I do have the time to sleep, I really conk out.

Q. What is your routine on days off?

A. I wake up, prep some milk… oh, um - I like cornflakes so I always need milk for breakfast. Then I go for a nap (laughs). I know some of the other B-Komachi members like going to beauty salons or nail salons, but I don't do nails and I let my hair grow out so I'm usually just at home (laughs). I even cut my own bangs! I've been doing it for years so I'm pretty good at it. I've even cut other peoples' hair once or twice, though not anyone in B-Komachi.

Q. Your 20th birthday's coming up soon. What are you looking forward to doing once it arrives?

A. I want to try drinking alcohol. The president of my agency keeps saying, "I can't wait to have a drink with you!" He makes it sound like a lot of fun, so I'm curious to know what getting tipsy's like.

Q. What book left the biggest impression on you this year?

A. It's a manga, but I was moved to tears by "I'll Go With Sweet Today". The heroine is a girl who distrusts people and develops anorexia, becoming terrified of eating… I have a bit of that in me too, though not quite to the same extent she does, so I could really relate to her and her journey to recovery really moved me. If there's ever a live-action version, I'd love to play her!

Q: What would you like to do after the Dome concert?

A: I'd like to go on a trip or something. Where would be nice... Oh, I've heard of 'Mito Natto' before, so maybe Mito!

Q: What's something a fan said that made you happy?

A. You know, I didn't used to read any fan letters at all. But there was a time I was getting tired of being an idol and I was planning to quit, so the president made me sit down and read all the letters I'd gotten. That was the first time I'd ever realized just how much support I was getting and it made me go "in that case, I'll give them all my love and support in return!". I even wrote a song about it. So now I treasure all the letters and words I get from my fans. I actually got a gift from a fan recently, some 'star sand'. It was really beautiful and my real name "star" in it, it made me really happy. I've still got it displayed in my room.

Q: What is "true love" to you?

A. I guess if I had to sum it up, I'd say true love is being a genius who doesn't lie. I think maybe people lie to avoid lying. I'm not sure if that's a good answer and even I don't know if it makes sense, but it's just something I feel.

Q: Do you think you're a liar?

A: Hmm~~? That's a se~cret! (laughs)

[allisluv]

hi dear, this is a very awkward ask now that im actually typing but its been on my mind, i saw you do a lucy gray nsfw alphabet. i was wondering if i could request a katniss everdeen one? (only if you are comfortable!)

anon this is no problem at all! don’t feel awkward!! im sorry this took me so long to get around to <3

pairing: katniss everdeen x fem!reader

content warnings: lesbian smut, not edited or proofread but whats new

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

katniss gets super sleepy after sex. she'll get you a glass of water and a snack but she's conked out for the rest of the night afterwards.

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and their partners)

i do think katniss likes her hands. they're calloused from hunting and making snares and she likes how soft your hands feel in hers.

as cliche as it sounds, katniss loves your eyes. she especially likes how they get wider when you're desperately begging for her.

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

katniss won't let up until you've cum at least three times in a row. she takes great pleasure in knowing that she’s the one making you feel so good.

D = dirty secret

katniss likes feeling her fingers be sucked into your cunt. i think it really turns her on.

E = experience (how experienced are they? dp they know what they're doing?)

i honestly think katniss is too socially awkward to have experience before you. the first few times you have sex, its gonna be awkward but once you get to know each other's habits and bodies, youll get into the swing of things.

F = favourite position

katniss is a fan of both scissoring and doggy style. i think she likes being able to grip your hips and guide you.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment or are they humurous?)

she giggles during sex but apart from that, i do think she's more serious in the moment.

H — hair (how well groomed are they? do the curtains match the drapes?)

i don’t think katniss likes shaving so she leaves her hair grow naturally.

I — intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspects etc)

even if katniss is fucking you, she's lacing your fingers together. if theres not some aspect of intimacy to sex, then she doesn't like it.

J -- jack off (masturbation headcanon)

before she met you, katniss would masturbate only once a week but she'd much rather fuck you than her fingers.

K -- kinks (one or more of their kinks)

i quite honestly think shes a big fan of degradation. she can say the meanest things but she is doting on you constantly during the aftercare. she

L -- location (favourite places to have sex)

katniss is a homebird so she doesn't like venturing far outside of the bedroom. she'll use other rooms in the house but apart from that, she likes staying in the one place

M -- motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

she likes watching you take control, even in just subtle things, like taking something out of her hands or doing something little for her

N -- no (something they wouldn't do, turn-offs)

katniss doesn't like roleplay. i think she finds it too awkward.

O -- oral (preference in giving or receiving, skills etc...)

she prefers giving but she won't say no if you offer to eat her out. she also knows what to do with her tongue if you know what i'm getting at

P -- pace (are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

katniss prefers taking her time but she can fuck you rough and hard if you wanted her to, especially if she's feeling frustrated

Q -- quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often etc...)

katniss loves quickies. she likes the feeling of only having a certain amount of time before you've got to leave the house because shes always up for a challenge

R -- risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks?)

katniss doesn't mind taking the occasional risk but she wouldn't make a habit out of it

S -- stanima (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

katniss can go for more than an hour but i dont think she lasts very long.

T -- toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on their partners or themselves?)

katniss likes using vibrators on you and i just know she has five strap ons that she uses on a regular basis.

U -- unfair (how much they like to tease)

katniss loves to tease. she'll wear the shortest skirts around the house and then act all innocent when your panties are wet. she could edge you for hours without cracking

V -- volume (how loud are they and what sounds do they make?)

katniss is super loud. she's not hiding anything for anyone. she doesnt care whos listening.

W -- wild card (random headcanon)

she once tied herself up with ribbon and got you to unwrap her for your birthday present 😭

X -- x-ray (lets see whats going on in those pants)

katniss has lots of hair down there but she'll wear cute little lingere sets to show off to you

Y -- yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

she has a pretty high sex drive. she could go multiple times a day every day.

Z -- zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep)

katniss traces patterns onto your back until she dozes off!

[becauseplot]

(Alright I know everyone’s got their own lore reasons as to what their qsmp characters are up to while the qsmp Brazil meetup is happening but I have this stupid crack silly fluffy headcanon(??) alternative rattling around in my brain that brings me much joy. So.)

It starts with Roier and Cellbit.

Like most others on the Island, the past couple weeks have been tough for them both. With Cellbit spending most of his time in his office at the Ordo and Roier out working tirelessly (ceaselessly) on Bobby's city, neither of them are home very much, and neither of them are sleeping very much either. When the do make it back to the castle to sleep, the other has either already left or leaves before the other can wake up beside them. Two ships passing in the night. It's awful on several levels, not just physical.

Cellbit broaches the subject first because he knows Roier won’t---neither of them can keep going like this. It's just not sustainable. They're both exhausted. It's becoming increasingly clear that the situation on the Island with the missing eggs isn't going to be improving anytime soon. (If at all; he doesn't say that, though.) Cellbit's brain needs a break, Roier's heart needs a break. They need to regroup. So Cellbit suggests that they sleep.

It's not unheard of for someone on the Island to just conk out for a few days; it's pretty commonplace, actually. (Cellbit teases Roier that he's a pro at oversleeping, and Roier calls him an asshole in three different languages.) They get everything prepared to spend a long weekend asleep, then Cellbit goes to Forever and Pac, Roier goes to Jaiden, and they explain why they're going to be MIA for a bit.

Forever, Pac, and Jaiden totally get it. In fact, they understand all too well. With everything that's been going on, being passed the fuck out for a few days doesn't sound too bad, actually...

One way or another, Roier and Cellbit end up extending an invitation to their friends, saying that there's plenty of room at the castle if they want. They could make a little get-together out of it. And all three accept. So now Forever, Pac, and Jaiden are staying over too.

But of course, Forever, Pac, and Jaiden have to tell their friends where they'll be, so Forever talks to Baghera and Bad, and Pac talks to Mike and the rest of the morning crew, and Jaiden talks to Slime and Foolish and Mouse and anyone she bumps into, really, and Cellbit and Roier see the global chat messages of other tired people on the Island bringing it up in conversation with each other, and they decide, well fuck it, and they make an announcement:

Long depression nap sleepover at the castle this weekend, everyone is invited, bring your own blankets :D

Not everyone goes, of course. Etoiles doesn't feel he can afford to nap when the codes are still prowling about, Tubbo is getting ready to set some big plans in motion, Bad is...doing whatever it is that Bad does nowadays. People have matters to attend to.

But a good chunk of the island decides it's time for a collective fuck-this-I'm-goin'-back-to-bed break. They all show up at the castle at or around the agreed upon time, bringing food to share and drinks to pass around. It's a surprisingly good time, all things considered, casual but still playful and chaotic as all gatherings on the Island tend to be.

After some shenanigans getting the furniture moved out of the way, the guests get themselves set up in the foyer and main hall downstairs, having brought whatever they need for their respective sleeping arrangements: the avians bring blankets and personal belongings for their nests; Foolish drags a massive mattress out of his inventory to accommodate his full, un-shape-shifted height; Fit has a strange, sagging semi-hammock contraption that allows him to sleep without setting his spawnpoint. Cellbit and Roier think of their bed upstairs, shrug, and get themselves situated down on the floor in the hall with everyone else with a spare mattress they find.

Everyone gets cozy. Some people (coughFelpscough) peace-out immediately. Others stay up and chat and tell stories and gossip and giggle and shush each other like little kids at...well, like little kids at a sleepover. It's fun. But one by one, those people drift off as well, and eventually, it's just Roier and Cellbit who are left awake.

As they lay there in the darkness on the twin-sized mattress they pulled out of storage, they stare up at the vaulted ceiling high above their heads, and they listen to them breathing. All of their friends breathing---sleeping, shifting, sighing. Murmuring things, names, in their sleep, dreaming dreams. Good dreams, they hope. They could all do with something good right about now. Just a little something.

Roier whispers this was a nice idea. Cellbit hums in agreement. He closes his eyes and turns and curls around his husband and drags the blanket up to their chins. Roier pulls him in, and they slot together like two puzzle pieces, not a hair's width between them. Cellbit gives Roier a soft kiss. He feels his husband smile against his lips.

Maybe things can get better. Maybe.

They sleep.

[meiga-s]

step up

obey me! nightbringer

mammon centric. implied reader/mammon (lesson 23 spoilers)

ao3 link

what does it mean to be the avatar of greed?

It takes too long for Mammon to fall asleep.

So long, in fact, that he hears you slowly getting up from the couch and making your way out of his room, trying to be as quiet as possible, probably thinking he's already conked out. It would've worked if he was asleep, but asleep he is not. Mammon holds back a snort, hearing the stairs creak as you make your way down, and swallows when he notices how his brothers' muffled voices become louder. You must've gone downstairs straight to the living room.

What a night, huh.

For a moment, Mammon closes his eyes and daydreams a little longer. He will have to go down and face the storm, eventually, but not now. He can breathe for a bit longer. He owes Belphie and Simeon an apology, after all. Behind his eyelids, he sees Michael, frowning at his begging of asking Lucifer to take him as an apprentice instead. For a moment he fears it won't ever happen, facing Michael's and Lucifer's refusals over and over and over, unwavering. Then, as if out of thin air, you appear right next to Mammon, squeeze his hand and tell him in a soft voice that it will be okay. Trust me. Keep trying. He adores you, we all do, so do not forget that.

Your trust in him aches, your belief in him, your love for him, all of it. I have always been yours, Mammon, you'd said the moment he'd poured his heart out to you. His greedy, hungry heart, which always wants to swallow you whole so none else can.

It's terrifying to think how close he's been to actually doing it.

And yet, he can't let go of his greed. Mammon can't stop wanting you, wanting everything from you. It's in his nature as the Avatar of Greed, it’s not a skin he can shed off like an unwanted molt, even if he sometimes feels it's just as tight over his skin and is slowly suffocating him.

His own words, coming from the depths of his heart, still haunt him. He won't forget them anytime soon.

I never even stopped to think that it might cause trouble for someone else. But the way I thought back then... It was naive. And lately, it's been gettin' clearer and clearer to me just how naive. I'm startin' to see through it...

And it's real, real scary...

You'd looked at him, not saying a word. He couldn't stop.

... I can't go back. Not anymore.

I've hurt so many people. All for me. All for my own benefit.

"But Mammon, I know for a fact that you're kind to your family because you love them, don't you?"

You'd said it so matter-of-factly, as if just affirming that water is wet and the sky is blue. There was no mockery or pity, just a determination in your eyes he'd seen a few times since he'd met you.

"There's still time to learn to be kind."

And you were probably right, damn you, but Mammon had doubted his affection for his family could stand against his greed, and the mere thought of it had terrified him.

Mammon covers his eyes with his arm, rolling over on his bed. The muffled voices coming from downstairs have grown softer, and Mammon feels a pang of something go through his chest when he realizes you probably shushed all of them so he can rest.

For a moment Mammon wonders if the pang in his chest is an effect of the new pact you two have just made, then he shakes off the idea with a sigh. Pacts aren't supposed to hurt, so he's probably just exhausted, right? Lucifer had knocked him out pretty good, after all...

The sudden knock on his door startles the life out of him, and Mammon lets out a curse. He's not ready to face anyone just yet, and for a moment he considers pretending he's asleep for a while longer.

"Mammon. I know you're awake."

Damn Lucifer and his keen senses. Mammon hadn't even heard him come up the stairs. He wonders if Lucifer snuck past you when you weren't looking. The thought makes him smile a bit.

"'course you do. Come in."

When Lucifer walks in, Mammon feels the urge to curl up on himself. Not out of fear, but out of shame. 

None's watching, after all.

Lucifer sits on the edge of the bed, crossing his arms and tyring to look as the pillar he always tries to be. Mammon holds back the urge to roll his eyes. "How are you feeling? We were told you woke up, but that it was best to let you rest for a bit longer until you came down."

"'m feelin' okay. Just a bit tired."

Lucifer nods, then averts his gaze. 

It's strange to see Lucifer at a loss for words, but Mammon isn't exactly in the mood to talk him up a storm or annoy him as he usually does, so he's not sure what to do when the seconds keep ticking, and ticking, and ticking...

There's muffled laughter coming from the first floor. It sounds like Diavolo's, most likely keeping the mood uplifted without even trying. Your voice, too, sounds muffled and a bit stern. Of course you'd be the only one trying to shush the Prince of the Devildom when he's getting noisy for someone else's sake. 

You're incredible, Mammon thinks, as the thought of being the total opposite of him hits him like a brick to the face.

Mammon lets out a sigh.

"Don't you worry me like that ever again."

Lucifer's sudden shift catches Mammon off guard, and when he snaps his head up to look at the older demon, he finds Lucifer staring back at him with hardened eyes and his lips turned downward.

"Wha–"

"I mean it, Mammon," and if Mammon didn't know better, he'd say he's in for a scolding of a lifetime. But he knows almost every telltale of a Lucifer Scolding, so he knows Lucifer isn't angry. Far from it.

He's worried. To death, in fact.

It only makes Mammon feel worse, yet a small part of him feels a little happy, remembering the newfound words that lifted his heavy heart in the darkness before you both awoke: the words that could only come from an older brother.

"I vow to protect you — hopes, desires, dreams and all."

Truly, Mammon feels so glad he never gave up on trying to reach Lucifer back then.

"... I'm sorry, Lucifer. Won't happen again."

"Good," the older demon says, expression softening so fast it almost gives Mammon whiplash. "But if it does, come running straight to me, understood?"

It's a reassurance. If it gets you, I'll be here for you no matter what. Mammon notes how Lucifer has the same look in his eyes that you do while you're looking at this mess of a family when you think none's noticing. But Mammon does.

You're both a pillar, a shoulder, a shield, a whole foundation . Yet between you and Lucifer there's a big difference: Lucifer has always carried the burden alone, while you use your own strength combined with the one of those around you, never fearing, never proud.

Mammon sees Pride slowly swallowing up his older brother the same way Greed swallowed him. He thinks: this wo n 't do , and vows to himself to be the first to run to Lucifer when the time comes.

He feels this is something they all have to go through, as Avatars of the Seven Sins, but it doesn't mean they have to do it alone. His little brothers can use the help, too. Perhaps he can soften the burden on both you and Lucifer if he steps up as an older brother for a little bit.

Lucifer is still waiting for his answer.

"... I will, ya got my word."

Satisfied, Lucifer nods and makes his way out of the room. When he has one foot out of the door, he turns around and looks like he's about to say something, but in the end he simply walks out and closes the door behind him.

Mammon sighs, although he's smiling now. 

"... Yeah, I can do this."

He's Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and big brother to the Lords of the Underworld. Nothing more, nothing less.

If he fails, he'll try again, and again, and again, because he's the Avatar of Greed, and giving up on what he wants the most isn't in his nature.

His head feels clearer than it has in days, and he feels lighter. This sure isn't a side effect of the pact, is it? He'll have to ask you later. You’re his first, after all.

Jumping off the bed, Mammon decides it's time he goes downstairs. It's not like he can rest now, after all. He’ll do it later. Maybe he can ask you to join him, too, if only Solomon would stop hovering over you for a damn second –

Oh, his greed is showing... Ah, what the hell . You've accepted it too just as Mammon had done, so you better be ready for him later when he catches you.

With a skip on his step, Mammon walks out of his room and makes his way down the old familiar stairs of the House of Lamentation, straight towards his family.

[athenatalks]

A New Discovery (Dark Era Soukoku-Romantic-)

Osamu Dazai is a secretive man. That much everyone knows, you can tell by the way he holds himself. The dark look in his red-brown eyes, screaming danger and mystery to any on-lookers. Though it's also equally as well known that Chuuya Nakahara is the one who knows arguably the most, though he'd deny it if asked.

-Chuuya’s POV-

This mission is fucking stupid. And it's not because the Boss forced me to dress as a woman, no. I'm well used to that now and it hardly bothers me anymore. This mission is stupid because the fuckin Mackerel got drunk off his flat ass, and now I'm stuck with lugging him back to my penthouse that he has just decided to live at.

I'm fuming as I walk through the dark back alleys, Dazai conked out over my shoulder. It is the easiest way to carry him while I'm stuck in this hideous dress, like who thought chartreuse would look good on me? Whatever, I'm getting myself worked up again.

I sigh and take deep breaths as I walk through the lobby confidently and go into the empty elevator. The damn lanky bastard is still passed out, I tap my heeled foot against the marbled floor of the silent elevator. Finally, it opens to my floor and I march to my door, grabbing my key from my purse and pushing open the door with my hip, locking it back, and going directly to the Mackerel’s room.

Keeping the lights off I toss Dazai on his bed, when he's this drunk he is painfully hard to wake up despite him being an insomniac. I sit on the bed beside him and work on getting his tie off him. I know he'll probably complain about it choking him while he was sleeping so I might as well save myself the headache. Once the tie is off I toss it to the corner where Dazai piles his dirty clothes. I notice a black dot on his neck that I'd never seen before.

I figure a tick or some shit had landed on him so I try to brush it away but it’s not coming off. I grab my phone out and turn on the flashlight. I can finally get a better look at it and it's a mole. Didn’t know Dazai had one, I poke it, and Dazai squirms, his one visible eye fluttering open, his stupidly long lashes framing his eyes, he turns his head to look at me and a hint of shock appears on his face before it is quickly masked. He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows

“Oh my~Is the chibiko trying to get handsy with me, a poor drunk boy?” I immediately roll my eyes when his stupid mouth opens

“Fuck off Mackerel, I thought I saw something on your neck. I never knew you had a mole.” I mutter, being too tired for his shit. All Dazai does is sit up and his smirk widens

“Why, I’m not obligated to tell Chuuya everything about myself, am I?” Of course he’s going to tease me over this.

“Obviously not shit-face.” I huff out, standing up and heading to the door when I hear a noise. I turn back around and see Dazai out of bed, grinning like the mad-man he is.

“How mean of you Chu-ya. Leaving a poor beautiful maiden like myself to sleep in this cold, dark room. Alone.” He fake sniffles and I throw a punch, he easily doges it, sidestepping to the right.

“Knock that shit off, you ain't no damsel in distress. And you always sleep alone, what’s changed your mind huh?” This night just won’t end will it? I just want to sleep for Arahabaki’s sake. Dazai looks a bit taken aback by my adamance he is no maiden. That’s when it clicks.

“You having ‘nother one of your dysmorphia episodes ain’t you?” He blinks and I know I’ve gotten it right.

“Ughh I hate when my dog actually uses his tiny brain.” He whines like a toddler.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I sigh, am I actually going to do this? I probably won’t sleep, I mean what sane guy lets his sorta-best friend who he’s made out with a few times, sleep in his bed? I walk out of Dazai’s room and across the hall to my room, looking back over my shoulder I see him staring at me with those fishy red-brown eyes, reminding me of the color our sink gets stained after one of his attempts.

“What are you just standing there for? I might as well let you sleep in my room, knowing you, if I don’t let you then you will complain and bitch the rest of the week.” He grins and darts over messing up my hair

“Good doggie! Letting your master sleep in your bed like a good boy!” He taunts

[hailqiqi]

these secrets beneath your fingertips

I'm going to (eventually) post all of my fics over here on tumblr, so here's the next one! Content warning for non-graphic L&O SVU style content in the first part. This fic was originally supposed to be crack. I'm not sorry.

Characters: Lucy, Skull, Sir Rupert Gale, Lockwood.

Words: 6,207

Read in full below or on AO3 here.

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

Three in the morning was a good time to be out if you didn't want to be seen. It was still dark for a few hours yet, so most of the country was asleep indoors safe behind their ghost wards and lavender smoke. It being the end of the night, most agents were safe at home, too — maybe clean and in pyjamas, or maybe conked out on top of their quilts, still covered in grave dirt and magnesium ash and the other detritus of the profession (as I’d been known to do on particularly hard nights).

The only people on the roads were night cab drivers, DEPRAC workers, and the Night Watch — but few and far between, and all at the ends of their shifts. I’d only seen a single car on the short walk from Marylebone, and it hadn’t seen me. That suited me fine.

Now I crouched outside the front door of a semi-detached townhouse in St James’s. The windows were dark, as they should have been at that hour. The front garden was lovely and well-tended, with luscious fronds and rows of short palm trees celebrating the last vestiges of summer, and offering almost complete privacy from the road. My rucksack — with the ghost jar — was upon my back, my rapier hung at my hip, and my belt was well stocked, though I’d swapped most of the salt bombs for extra flares. I was after human prey tonight.

‘Since you’re picking locks like a cracksman, I assume this isn’t a social call.’

I hushed the skull quietly and turned my wrist a fraction, intent on hearing the tiny ‘click’ as the bolt slid into place. Two more seconds and the lock came free. I caught the door before it could open all the way, but paused.

‘There’s still time to turn back, you know. You haven’t told me what you’re up to but I know it’s a terrible idea.’

He had a point. I thought of the fight on the bridge, when swords had been drawn so quickly I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice Sir Rupert had challenged Lockwood, and twice Lockwood had been hard-pressed to fight him off. And I’d never beaten Lockwood in a proper spar yet, despite my suspicion that he was still going easy on me. I was definitely outmatched here.

But then I thought of George lying in Lockwood’s bed, so small and weak and broken and everything George wasn’t. I slipped inside the house.

The door closed silently behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. To my left and right were doors; presumably leading to the sitting and dining rooms. Ahead of me was a dark flight of stairs leading to the first floor, and a dim hall that probably led to a kitchen at the back of the house. The decor was surprisingly tasteful, given Sir Rupert’s garish fashion choices, though I couldn’t make out the colours in the dark. The walls were mostly bare save for some classical artwork, and the carpeting and furnishings in the hall both had a luxurious, moneyed look about them. At a glance, it all looked like the type of aesthetic Lockwood would pretend to like.

Out of habit, I closed my eyes and opened my inner ears to Listen. The streets outside were quiet, the area was well-defended, and the house itself had the usual iron and silver ghost charms (along with a costly runnel outside) so I expected it to be quiet. It was. I moved on.

The skull was quiet as I did a quick sweep of the ground floor — the kitchen was a modern, airy room that ran along the back width of the house, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading straight out into the back garden that made it feel more like a conservatory. An open doorway led back towards a room of thick carpets and white chesterfields, and a matching doorway at the opposite end of the wall led to what appeared to be a library. Another door was set in the side wall close to the library which presumably led to a cellar of some sort.

I’d already decided not to open any unnecessary doors — silence was the name of the game here — but the cellar door gave me pause. The door was wooden, painted white to match the wall, but decorated with silver tracework that ran in thin curves to cover the entire length and width of the door. The handle was small and unobtrusive, but undeniably silver. 

‘Do you feel that, Lucy?’

I stood before it and Listened, one hand on the wood; the only sounds I couldhear were the ticking of the clock on the wall, almost echoing in the quiet, and my own soft, even breathing. Still, the skull was right — there, underneath the darkness, hushed by the expensive carpets, was some sort of disturbance. It was muffled and restrained to the point where I couldn’t tell you anything about it. It didn’t have a discernible sound, there wasn’t an underlying current of distress or fear or anger like many psychic disturbances emanated. All I could recognise was a feeling of wrongness, and it wasn’t malaise.

Two nights ago — or was it three nights ago? I couldn’t remember at this point — Sir Rupert had quite clearly Seen the Clapham Butcher Boy in the pillar at Fittes House. Something told me that, despite the defences, he didn’t fear Visitors as much as most adults. Anything could be behind that door.

Carefully, I re-checked all the pockets on my work belt. Then I stepped away and padded back towards the stairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as I could.

‘Not going to check, Lucy? How very sensible…and un-like you.’

I couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The skull was still acting much more subdued than its usual abrasive self; likely it had realised how tenuous the grip on my sanity was these few days and had wisely opted to cut the snark out of self-preservation. It certainly hadn’t offered any sympathy for George’s condition — but it had made an effort not to twist the knife, and for that I was somewhat grateful. Still, I couldn’t really tell you why I’d brought it with me tonight. Perhaps I just wanted the company.

Boots weren’t the best choice of footwear for this kind of job, but thankfully rich people loved their peace and quiet. The carpet absorbed most of the sound as I crept up the stairs towards the first floor.

The same hushed stillness permeated the first floor landing. Artwork hung on the walls, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in from the window at one end. To my right, a staircase led to an upper level — likely guest rooms, or rooms that used to serve as servants’ quarters. Only three doors led off this landing, and it was anybody’s guess as to which one I wanted.

Maybe the skull could help. I jostled my rucksack quietly, hoping it would offer some insight. Luckily, it caught on quickly.

‘You’re not alone up here,’ it said, its voice pressing against my mind. ‘I don’t think I want to know what you’re actually planning, but stay quiet.’

I risked a whisper. ‘Is anyone awake?’

A pause, and then: ‘I don’t know. Tread carefully.’

Not very helpful, then.

One out of three, pick a door. It was a game agents often played in the dead of night, one we dreaded. It was a game that was always worse to play alone, of course, but at least I’d grown used to that the year before. I crept towards the door closest to the window and eased it open.

For a moment, I thought I’d found another library, this one more modern in décor and lit by coloured string lights, like my attic was now (George had once called it ‘basic teenage girl lighting’ and I’d immediately stormed out to buy another string). But then my eyes adjusted to the strange light in the room and I began to make out the details.

Thick, dark curtains covered two large windows, blocking out the light from the street and the ghost-lamp outside; the room itself was mostly open space, furnished with a few trophy cabinets and display cases, and the walls were covered in frames clustered around individual wall-mounted boxes. It was a trophy room, like we had back in the basement at home. I turned to leave, then paused.

It was a little too like the trophy room at home, actually. The pale blues, yellows, and lilacs were eerily familiar, as were the shifting glows cast as they shimmered across the floor in swirling ripples. Too familiar.

I walked softly towards the nearest light source, my mission momentarily forgotten. The pale blue light was contained within a small wall-mounted display case, a silver-glass box stuck to the wall at around waist-height. Inside the case was a severed finger, still wearing a ring — and, of course, a ghost.

As an experienced agent, these things shouldn’t affect me anymore. I’d seen worse — just five months prior I’d walked in another world of glittering frost and starless skies, a place where the only living beings were myself and Lockwood beside me. But sometimes the shock still gets to you, even when you were expecting it.

This one wall held at least five similar display cases interspersed between ordinary picture frames, all containing Sources glowing various colours. I counted seven on the long wall — the one with no windows or doors. The other two walls, with their large windows, held only one or two each, and each display cabinet held at least three Sources, scattered amidst dark frames and boxes. Gaping at the sheer scale of it, I shrugged my rucksack onto one shoulder and loosened the top so that the ghost in the jar could see out. 

‘Oh, so now you want my— that’s…unexpected.’ The ghost inside swirled with a green light as the face spun, taking in the vast array of Sources on display. ‘Lucy… Where are we?’

‘Sir Rupert Gale’s house,’ I muttered, transfixed.

‘Marissa’s bodyguard? The bully with the bum-fluff moustache and terrible fashion sense?’

I nodded. Maybe he’d been an agent before, back in the day. Maybe, like Lockwood, he collected trophies from successful cases. He was admittedly an excellent swordsman; likely he’d had a great deal of those. And, I supposed, like many adults past their prime he longed for his glory days — the days before his Talent deserted him, the days when he was still useful in the fight against the Problem — and with all the money at his disposal, he’d decided to create a display room to help him remember.

But Sir Rupert’s glory days weren’t behind him yet — he still had excellent Sight, if the other evening was anything to go by, and it was hard for me to think he might be trying to fight against the Problem, when he seemed so devoted to the person we suspected of causing it. No, whatever this was, it was something else.

With a glance at the open door, I took my torch from my belt, set the light to low and flicked it on.

I expected the frame directly next to the box containing the finger to contain a newspaper cutting or perhaps some information on the Source itself. Instead, it contained a photograph: a simple picture of a slim boy about my age, dressed in an old-fashioned agency uniform and holding a rapier. He was smiling at the camera, all confidence and easy charm.

The next frame contained a newspaper cutting featuring an article about a successful case from the 80s, the sealing of a Dark Spectre that had caused several deaths by a team from the newly-established Sebright Agency. The boy in the first photograph was part of the team, again pictured holding his rapier. His name was James Hynes and he was 16 years old.

Above the article was another photograph of the same James, this time crossing the road with a smaller boy. He seemed unaware of the camera in that one. Next to that one, closer to the case, yet another photograph, this one taken in a shop. Then another of him on a street I didn’t recognise, leaving a building with the DEPRAC logo hanging above the door. There were a few more shots, all clustered to the right of the Source in a haphazard semi-circle — all candid shots where he was seemingly unaware of the camera.

I followed the images round, slowly moving my light up and around, to the frame hanging above the case. This time James was looking at the camera, but that charming smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were bound behind his back, a gag was around his mouth, and his naked body was bruised and bleeding. He looked terrified.

Heart in my throat, my eyes roved frantically roving over the next few photographs. Clustered around the other half of the case were similar pictures of James naked, beaten, and terrified, his body growing more and more broken as the photographs went on. I didn’t get very far along that terrible journey — three or four more photographs, and then I looked away. I didn’t need to see how it had ended.

Perhaps in response to my turbulent emotions, the blue glow from the Source in front of me brightened, James’ ghost shifting restlessly, swirling and ebbing with new urgency as it tried to escape the confines of the silver-glass. Taking a calming breath, I reached out with my senses, trying to establish some kind of connection, but could only pick up the barest whispers of anger and frustration through the glass. Opening my mind further, I concentrated, trying to pick up a sense of the other Visitors in the room.

The feelings were muffled, but they were there: anger, sadness, and an almost overwhelming sense of frustrated helplessness. And so many of them. The sheer scale of it made my breath catch; for a moment, I was back under Aickmere’s, with the ghosts of those who’d been left to die, forgotten and abandoned until I’d found them — and then they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the fires at Clerkenwell, removed from this world without a shred of justice. Maybe I could do better here.

Determined, I stepped away from James’ display and moved further into the room, towards the next. Before I could take a proper look, however, the skull spoke.

‘Lucy…I think you should leave.’  

I paused, my hand on the hilt of my rapier. ‘Why? Is he coming?’

‘No,’ it replied slowly, as though carefully weighing each word. ‘But I’ve…known people like this before. You don’t want to be at their mercy. They don’t have any.’

I checked my watch; it was half past three. I still had at least two hours before dawn, and likely more than that before Sir Rupert would wake up. I could afford to spend a few moments learning their stories, and I told the skull as much. It grumbled, clearly displeased, but by now it knew me well enough to know when I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The next case held a human ear and a swirl of lilac plasm. The photographs to the right — all seemingly candid — showed a tall slim boy; the ones to the left showed the same boy, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the same windowless room that James had been in. I didn’t look too hard at those ones. A newspaper article on his disappearance named him Harry Newman, a 15-year-old agent who had worked at Grimble’s in the 90s.

I moved on. The next set of photographs showed an unnamed smiling boy with dark hair and a slender build, dressed in a Rotwell’s uniform. His Source was a rumpled and bloody prayer booklet. Another case contained a ring, like the one Lockwood wore, belonging to a dark-haired 17-year-old called Denis Butler who’d worked for Tendy’s just before I was born. Next to Denis rested Reginald Spencer, a tall 16-year-old Fittes agent in the 70s who was now a Dark Spectre tied to a mummified hand. I kept going.

Josh Murphy, 18, tall, dark-haired, cocky smile. Went missing ten years ago and now resided in what looked like his kneecap. Noel Hart, fifteen with a floof of curly dark hair, was an agent at Sinclair and Soanes eight years prior, now tied to a broken rapier hilt. Smiling Louis Burton, 17, a team leader at Mellingcamp in the 80s before being reduced to yellow light and a couple of teeth.

On and on it went, boy after boy after boy. My head was spinning, but somehow I managed to keep it together as I swiftly worked my way through the room. The last one made the bile rise in my throat: Lachlan Thomson, a tall, friendly Scottish Listener from Staines that I’d worked with over the Black Winter. One of the astonishingly few agents I’d enjoyed working with during those cold, dark nights, I’d been upset to hear of his disappearance five months back. I stared at the shifting maroon hues of his ghost with sorrow, remembering how he’d put himself between me and the Spitalfields Horror with zero hesitation, holding the Changer back while I broke free of the ghost-lock and gathered my wits. He’d been brave, and kind, and competent (which was shockingly rare), and he’d talked me into meeting him for coffee as thanks for a job well done. I’d had hopes that I’d made my first new friend as a freelance agent, but we’d never found the time to meet up.

‘Lucy! Lucy, look at this!’

The urgency in the skull’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and I glanced quickly at the door, hand on my rapier. The landing was quiet.

The case next to Lachlan’s was dark — I’d initially suspected another Dark Spectre, but a brief inspection showed it to be empty. There were, however, photographs, and the first one stole my breath in an instant.

It was Lockwood. I knew the photograph well, as it was one of my favourite images of him in our album back home: a mid-air shot of him leaping between two floats at the doomed ‘Take Back the Night’ Carnival last year, sword in hand, coat billowing behind him, the thrill of the chase clear on his face. George had cut it out of the Times and pasted it on the inside cover of our album.

But this wasn’t our album, and it wasn’t our cut-out. And it shouldn’t be here. In a panic, I checked the case, but of course it was empty; Lockwood was safe at home, hopefully still asleep on the library sofa. The frame hanging above the case — the one that would show the initial stages of the torture — was empty too. I stared at it, breathing hard. It seemed to me as though it were waiting.

‘Lucy, isn’t that you?’

Wrenching myself away from the empty frame, I shone my torch on the other frames to the right. It was a collection of candid photographs — Lockwood at Arif’s, Lockwood and Holly outside The Times offices in town, Lockwood sweeping the steps at home, Lockwood at Satchell’s. And there, as the skull had said, a picture of Lockwood and myself, though my back was to the camera. We were standing by the penguin enclosure at London Zoo, on a day last summer after the business with the Bone Glass — I’d mentioned that I’d never been to a zoo before, and Lockwood had managed to scrounge up a pair of tickets a week or so later, so we’d gone. It had been odd, walking around with Lockwood in the daylight without the excuse of work to distract us, but pleasant, too, in ways I wouldn’t have wanted to admit to anybody else.

He’d bought a flower from a passing vendor and presented it to me, and the photographer had captured the moment he’d tucked it behind my ear. It had been a sweet, unexpected gesture, a private moment between friends that cemented our closeness…but now it was here, hanging on the wall in a serial killer’s house.

I was horrified. ‘He’s been following him for over a year…’

‘Yes, well, he has proven rather difficult to pin down.’

The skull at my back let out a litany of profanity and I whirled around, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and dropping into a defensive stance. Sir Rupert Gale leant against the doorframe, sword held casually at his side, dressed in garish purple silk pyjamas that reflected the shimmering lights of the Sources in the room. For once, his arrival wasn’t heralded by a cloud of aftershave — I suppose that was his one concession to the late hour — and the smile he bestowed upon me was polite and genial, his eyes glittering with a benign amusement like a jolly old grandfather at a family dinner who had caught the children hiding their vegetables. He terrified me.

‘I rarely have guests, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, pushing away from the doorway and slowly moving into the room. I took a step back and strengthened my stance. ‘And when I do receive visitors, they tend to stay downstairs.’ His smile grew. ‘Only very special visitors get to lay eyes on this room, and unfortunately you don’t meet the qualifications yet.’

‘You mean I’m not dead,’ I spat, my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on his hips — after the chase at the carnival he’d attacked so fast I hadn’t even seen him move.

‘Lucy!’

He paused by one of the display cases in the middle of the room and raised a hand, as though to greet the Visitors on the shelves within. For a moment, his face took on a curious expression, something blank and almost gentle. An instant and then it was gone, his posture taking on a predatory air as he turned to me again. ‘I rather think, Miss Carlyle, that they failed to teach you proper manners in that hovel you hail from. I can fix that, if you accompany me to the cellar.’

I’d seen enough photographs of the cellar to know what that meant. My lip curled. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Are you sure? I’m a rather good teacher.’ He tapped lightly on one of the wall-mounted display cases as he prowled closer. ‘This young man was rather polite by the time I was finished with him. Used all his P’s and Q’s perfectly.’

‘And look at where that got him,’ the skull interjected. ‘Lucy, you have to get out of here.’

‘I know,’ I answered, gritting my teeth.

The problem was, there was nowhere to go. We were trapped in this strange dance, him slowly prowling closer, me slowly edging backwards, trying to keep up the niceties when in reality we were circling each other like two tigers waiting to strike. Only I didn’t feel like a tiger. I felt like the prey.

I’d never been foolish enough to believe I could beat him in a fair fight; the plan had been to slit his throat while he slept. But it seemed that, in all my hurt and fury, I’d forgotten something: I was an agent, not a killer. God, why hadn’t I listened to Lockwood? He’d said he had a plan. For once, couldn’t I have just listened? 

Sir Rupert moved closer, regarding me appraisingly. ‘While it’s unfortunate that you’re nothing like my usual preference, I suspect I’m going to rather enjoy your extended stay.’ His smile was all teeth, like a shark. ‘At the very least, you’ll make excellent bait.’

A wave of fury rushed through me. ‘Never!’

‘I think you’ll find you don’t have much say in the matter,’ he said calmly, and in the same breath he lunged.

I parried the blow, barely dancing away from his follow-up in time to avoid having my thighs sliced open. He pressed the attack, and even as I tried to counter he caught my rapier with his own and tried to push it to one side. I only just managed to disengage before he twisted his wrist, scarcely avoiding the attempted disarm.

‘Lucy, let me out!’

‘How?!’ I cried, whirling out of the way of another swipe and letting the momentum carry me, futilely trying to put more distance between us. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the hands to do it; Sir Rupert was relentless.

Yellow light flared at my elbow and on impulse I feinted high, then used the split second of time that bought me to fling myself to the side and smash the hilt of my sword down hard on the display case. At once I was engulfed by a wave of fury, a desperate need for freedom and revenge that was abruptly cut off as Sir Rupert dispatched the Visitor with a swipe of his sword.

But the distraction had already served its purpose and before he could turn on me again I threw a flare at the display cabinet behind him. In an instant, it all changed: glass shattered, bright light burst against my tightly-closed eyelids, and a freezing cold wave of psychic energy slammed me back against the wall. My inner senses were immediately bombarded with a cacophony of sound and I winced, blinking away the last of the flare-light to see three or four Visitors converge on Sir Rupert.

He burst into movement with a roar of fury, his blade flashing as he whirled to defend against the advancing ghosts. Two were already rematerializing as I scrambled upright.

‘Oh, you’ll let them out, but not me,’ the skull groused.

‘Shut up,’ I answered, ripping another flare from my belt and lobbing it at where two cabinets stood close together. ‘You’re not as accessible.’

‘I’m also less likely to turn on you.’

‘Or more likely, depending on your mood.’

I braced myself and covered my face as the second flare exploded and more glass flew. Sir Rupert was — in a feat of particularly impressive rapier work — somehow holding his own, though I doubted it would last as the numbers grew. The most important thing was that he was no longer after me.

The ghosts weren’t after me, either. The first ghost I’d freed had rematerialised less than a foot away and completely ignored me, instead moving towards where a wild-eyed Sir Rupert fought for his life with a single-mindedness reminiscent of George with a new book. I moved along the wall towards the door, smashing cases as I went for good measure.

‘Are you going to let them all out? What’s the plan for when they’re done with their revenge?’

‘No idea,’ I huffed, ducking as the Dark Spectre floated to hang overhead. ‘He’s making a good go of it, hopefully I'll be out by then.’

The skull grumbled a response, something about a lack of planning. Part of me wanted to point out that I had no other choice, but as usual: it had a point. Annie Ward had moved on once she’d exacted her revenge on her killer, but there was no guarantee these spirits would. And there were so many of them — Spectres, Wraiths, a Raw-Bones, plus a few Type Ones. Leaving would be the smart option.

But I had one thing I wanted to do first. I spun around, carefully avoiding a Shade hanging at the edges of the fray as I cut the corner and flung myself at Lachlan’s display case, driving the hilt of my sword into it with my full body weight. The maroon glow flared brightly then disappeared, reforming right where I’d stood a moment before into the shape of a boy. His naked torso was covered in bloody gashes and bruises, the skin hanging off in places, the bones twisted and broken. I blinked back a tear.

The Wraith regarded me silently, and I held its gaze, my breath fogging in the frigid air.  There was no trace of Lachlan’s confident smile on its visage, only a deep, hollow exhaustion. Then Sir Rupert screamed, and it turned and glided away towards the centre of the room.

I didn’t see him hit the ground but I felt it all the same when he lost the fight; the energy in the room suddenly shifted, expanding as the frenzied, focused rage lost some of its strength. Whether he was dead yet or not didn’t really matter; he would be soon.

‘Time to go, Lucy.’

‘I know.’ I stopped in front of the empty case beside Lachlan’s and snatched the photo from the zoo off the wall.  Then I got the hell out.

⚔⚔⚔

The dawn chorus was in full swing when I slipped into the front hall at home. Quietly, very quietly, I placed my rapier in the umbrella stand, removed my boots, then tiptoed towards the library where Lockwood slept.

He’d shut the door.

‘You’d think he’d at least leave it open so you could watch him sleep.’ The skull sighed dramatically. ‘How short-sighted of him to deny you one of the few simple pleasures in your miserable existence.’

I scoffed and turned for the stairs. It was past four-thirty in the morning; I didn’t need to see him to know that Lockwood was fast asleep on the sofa, long legs slung over one end. George’s harsh breathing was audible on the landing, so I knew he was safe too. All was well.

Still, twenty minutes later I stood outside the library door, my hair damp from the shower. The skull’s derisive laughter echoed in my ears. It was irrational, and it was stupid, but…I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t rest until I’d checked.

The door opened with a soft creak and my entire being sagged with relief: there lay Lockwood, one arm thrown up above his head, his too-long legs hanging off the opposite end of the sofa, the spare blanket he’d taken from my room cutting out at his shins. I drank him in for a moment, studying the way his fringe flopped over his brow and the way his expression was relaxed and serene. Tomorrow he’d be a force of nature, a tornado of sharp focus and purpose as he rallied the troops for the next great challenge. Right now, he was just a boy.

The clock in the hallway chimed five, and he stirred.

‘Luce?’

‘Go back to sleep, Lockwood,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

‘S’okay,’ he mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

I thought of the photographs covering the walls, of breaking glass and the smell of magnesium smoke. I thought of Sir Rupert’s shark-like smile as he moved towards me and found I couldn’t quite dismiss it. ‘Something like that.’

‘C’mere then,’ he said, shifting and lifting the blanket with a yawn. ‘There’s room for two if we squish.’

On any other night, I would have declined. I’m sure my face would have turned scarlet at the offer alone — surely only made because he was half-asleep — and I would have insisted that I was fine, that all I needed was a bit of warm milk and a book and then I’d be out like a light, all by myself. But tonight? Tonight I was haunted by images of an unaware Lockwood on the street, by wide, terrified eyes and horror and gore and cruelty too great to name. Tonight I had no strength to resist.

I crawled under the cover and he shifted to accommodate me, arms coming around to press me to his bare chest and keep me from falling off. Our legs tangled together, and I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders before wrapping my free arm around his back. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, time dipped and whirred; the clock on the bookshelf ticked softly, but my world was spinning with the way my face fit perfectly in the hollow of his throat, the way his breath tickled my ear, the way his hand felt so warm on the skin of my back where he’d slipped it underneath my top. We’d never been so close before, not even when we’d sheltered under the same spirit cape. And the circumstances had been quite different.

Eventually, though, I relaxed, the tension gradually drawn out of me like a slow sigh by the warmth of his body, his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. This was new, but this was Lockwood. I’d wanted to reassure myself he was alive, and really: how much more alive could he get? Neither of us had spoken since I’d lain down with him, but I could feel the lines of his muscles relaxing as I melted into his embrace.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ The question was soft, murmured into my hair. I shook my head. ‘Okay then,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep, Lucy.’ His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture sparked a memory.

‘Lockwood?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you remember that day we went to the zoo?’

‘Yes?’

If I hadn’t been safely ensconced in his warmth, my face hidden in his neck, I would never have asked. But it turns out certain things are easier to voice when you’re snuggled up in the dark, and the way he’d looked at me in that photo…it was making me connect all kinds of dots. I needed to know, so I asked.

‘Was that a date?’

‘...Yes?’ His voice was laced with sleepy confusion, but the answer still made my heart skip a beat. ‘Wait, Lucy, did you not know that was a date?’

He tried to shift away, probably to get a look at my face, but I stubbornly pressed closer and shook my head.

‘Lucy, I gave you a flower!’

‘I thought it was just…you know, a flower,’ I said, my voice a strangled whisper. ‘You never said—’

‘I’m quite sure I did,’ he replied, his tone incredulous. ‘Even George knew.’

‘Oh.’ That explained why George had given me such an odd look when I’d invited him to join.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘I really didn’t know,’ I said, shaking my head again. My cheeks were burning, and I was very glad for the darkness. ‘Um…Do you think, maybe, when all this is over, we can go on a second date?’

Lockwood was silent for a moment, then his chest began to rumble with laughter. ‘Lucy,’ he began, ‘what did you think that day at the fair was?’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh,’ he agreed, burying his face in my hair as he laughed softly. ‘Oh my god, Luce. This explains so much.’

I was starting to laugh now, too, embarrassed though I was. ‘Like what?’

‘Like why you were always so hot and cold. One day I’d feel like we were doing great, and the next day I’d be wondering where I stood with you.’

‘Oh my god. Wait, so how long were we dating for?’

His arm around me tightened. ‘Well, you broke up with me when you left—’

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’

 ‘—but if we ignore that, about a year?’

‘Wait, really?’ I finally pulled back so I could look at him. He looked as exhausted as I remembered from earlier — his smooth face lined and weary, the bags under his eyes prominent even in the dim dawn — but his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Did you think we were dating now, too?’

‘Didn’t we just go out for lunch last month?’

‘That was a date?’

‘Lucy.’ He threaded a hand through my hair, drawing me closer. ‘It was a fancy restaurant. You wore a dress. Remember?’

His breath ghosted across my lips, and my laughter died away as we gazed at each other. Dark hair fell across his eyes, that floof I always wanted to reach out and push back, and I suddenly realised that he definitely wouldn’t mind if I did.

His hair was soft and silky beneath my fingertips. ‘Have there been others?’ I whispered, searching his gaze. ‘Since I came back, I mean.’

‘A few,’ he breathed, gently touching his nose to mine. ‘How did you not know?’

‘You never kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I could fix that.’

‘Please do,’ I replied.

His lips met mine — soft, gentle, tentative — just for a moment, and then he pulled back. I closed the distance for a second one, laughing as our noses bumped, pulling back just as quickly. But we were fast learners, Lockwood and I, and years of living and working together had us pretty in sync; it didn’t take long to find our bearings, to figure out how to melt against each other as what had always been between us deepened into something slow and warm and perfect.

Outside the window the first rays of sunlight spilled across the street, chasing away the last remnants of the night; here, inside, I held my own piece of sunlight safe in my arms, and let his warmth melt away the remnants of mine. Later, I’d have to tell him what I’d done, but for now? I’d let him help me forget it.

Thanks for reading! If you got this far, please reblog.

[skyward-floored]

You don't have to publish this, but I was wondering for an upcoming chapter of your incredibles AU, if we could have a happy Hyrule chapter? My heart is bleeding dry from all the angst my poor boy is going through. He is with an amazing and wonderful family! He needs to smile, please! I'm willing to wait however long it takes, so no rush! Thank you!

Absolutely, lovely anon! I hadn’t realized until now that he really hasn’t had much fluff (like... at all. Oh dear.), so I sat down to fix that real quick since I had a moment. Hope this is good :)

————————————————————

"...and the princess and the hero finally defeated the demon after the long fight, and were reunited once more. The End."

Legend finished the story with a flourish, and Twilight looked over at Hyrule, who was still stubbornly awake where he was leaning on Legend's arm. He blinked as he realized the story was done, and looked over at Twilight with hope in his eyes.

“Can we read another one?" Hyrule asked sleepily, stifling a yawn.

"I don’t know... It's getting late, and Dad'll probably come in here and tell you to go back to your room to sleep soon," Twilight said, and Hyrule let out a small aww. Twilight looked down at him, curled up between him and Legend, and sighed, knowing he would regret what he was about to say come morning. "Well... maybe we could read a short one."

Hyrule perked up, and smiled happily as Legend began flipping through the book again.

“Alright, what do we want this time?” Legend said, eyes flicking across the pages. “Have we read you the Tale of the Helmarock King yet?"

"That one's too long," Twilight said with a shake of his head, and Legend nodded and flipped around a little.

"Okay... how about the Boy and the Moon?"

"Too scary for before bed," Twilight said quickly, and Legend rolled his eyes as Twilight took the book out of his hands. “Here, I’ll find one.”

"Party-pooper."

"Maybe do the one with the nice monster that lives in the bushes?" Hyrule said shyly, and Twilight nodded, turning to the page with well-practiced fingers.

“Good choice. Wild likes that one too,” Twilight said approvingly, and looked down at where Wild was sprawled on his lap, quietly snoring. He’d conked out before they’d even gotten through the first story that night.

“It’s good,” Hyrule said happily, and rested his head on Legend’s shoulder as Twilight cleared his throat and began to read.

"The Friendly Moblin. Once upon a time, in the kingdom of old, there lived many monsters, who lived under the reign of the evil king of darkness, Ganon,” Twilight began, raising and lowering his voice dramatically. “Some monsters were mostly harmless, like the little keese that swooped at people's heads, or the gels that slipped and stuck to boots. But others, like the mighty Lynels, or fearsome Moblins, were to always be steered clear of. Except for one..."

Twilight watched as Hyrule's eyes drooped more the longer he read the tale, blinking more and more tiredly. Legend noticed as well, and he tugged the blanket they were under up some more, Hyrule's eyes finally slipping closed.

Twilight found his own eyes drooping as he read, and even Legend’s head started to nod. It was cozy on the bed, Legend sitting next to him, Hyrule squashed in between, Wild curled up with a blanket on his lap. At some point, Twilight realized he was the only one still awake, and he stopped reading, smiling at the pile of brothers on his bed.

Hyrule’s head slipped down to land on Wild’s arm, but their brother didn’t seem to notice at all, merely letting out another snore.

Twilight stifled a laugh, and squirmed a little so he was in a better position to sleep for the night. He really should wake Hyrule up, and get him and Legend to go back to their own beds for the night, but... Hyrule looked so content squished in between them, a faint smile on his face, and Twilight decided it wasn’t necessary.

He’d regret it in the morning when Legend’s foot would inexplicably be in his face, but for now... it was worth it.

“Twi..?”

Twilight blinked his eyes open, and looked down at Hyrule, who was looking at him with a tired, but happy, face.

“Thanks for reading,” he said sleepily, and Twilight nodded, gently ruffling his hair.

“‘Course Hyrule. Now go back to sleep, it’s late. We’ll read you some more tomorrow.”

Hyrule sighed contentedly, and closed his eyes again, that same smile on his lips. Twilight watched him for a minute, then closed his own eyes, thinking about how a few months ago, Hyrule never would have been willing to curl up with them all like this. The show of trust wasn’t lost on Twilight, and it made him feel even warmer.

“Sleep tight, Roolie,” he whispered, and Hyrule’s smile seemed to grow just a bit.