#and he knew that and used it to his advantage

[ryuzakidemonprince]

Cass blushed feeling the other stiffing in his hand he slid lower curling his tounge around the tip before sliding him down his throat

"Nnnn~" he knew he was enticing and damn well knew how to use it to his advantage

💍 (Cuz it be funny xD)

Send me ‘💍’ for our muses to wake up married after a night of heavy drinking

Jack opened his eyes slowly. Ugh.. His head felt like it was about to burst, his stomach felt sore and his mouth was as dry as could be.

The boy curled up and groaned slightly to himself, he could not remember a thing.. All he knew was that this was the last time he would challange north to a shot competition.

Something didn't feel right tho, he could feel there was someone else in the bed... Hold on? Whos bed was this? He rolled over, staring into an unfamiliar face. The white haired boy sat up quickly, only to fall out of bed, noticing that he was naked, instead of one thing, a ring on his left hand.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green : Part 23

The cheerful bell rang a familiar chime as Damian opened the door to his favorite animal shelter. The scent of fur, pet food, and antiseptic was as comforting as it was potent. Damian watched Danny closely out of the corner of his eye. The other boy’s nose wrinkled, but he looked around the front room curiously.

“Damian! I wasn’t expecting you today,” Ms. Lacey said as she popped out of the back room, summoned by the chime.

‘Ms. Lacey’ was their compromise. Damian had refused to simply refer to the woman by her first name and in turn, Ms. Lacey refused to give Damian her last name. It had been supremely frustrating. Now it was almost akin to game or inside joke between them. It was nice.

She brushed the riot of curls (blue this month) out of her face and looked at the group that had entered the shelter curiously.

Damian knew they were a bit of a sight. Danny was still swathed in a number of bandages and, now out of the apartment, looked a moment away from running. Because of that, Jason basically loomed over Danny and Damian as if he could keep the world at bay.

(He might just be able to manage to.)

“No. It is not one of my normal service days, however, I am not here to volunteer,” Damian said, his tone almost apologetic. “I have brought Daniel—”

“Danny.”

“—to see if there is a pet that would suit him.”

“Hi, Danny,” Ms. Lacey said and leaned forward onto the counter.

Danny shied back into Jason’s space. He clutched a little tighter at the backpack that his bear was safely stashed in. Cass had thought it might be good for Danny to be able to take the bear discreetly with him as he seemed rather attached to it. Considering the tracker in the bear, everyone quickly helped make that happen.

“Hi Lacey,” Danny replied softly.

Ms. Lacey leaned back, her smiled now twinged with just a little bit of sadness. Damian had seen her look abused animals the same way. “Do you know what type of animal you might be interested in, Danny?”

“I was thinking a cat or dog?” The words were more a question than a statement. “Someone that can sit with me.”

“That’s a good start. That could also be rabbits, but if they’re going to be living at the manor,” Ms. Lacey glanced briefly at Damian for a confirming nod, “then a rabbit might not work the best. A cat has the advantage that it would be indoors and doesn’t need as much effort depending on the animal’s age. But you might want a dog to walk! Why don’t we get you into the kitten room to start, because that’s a great time no matter what.”

When Danny glanced from Ms. Lacey to Damian to Todd, Todd gave a little nod. Danny tightened the hold on his backpack, took a breath, and gave a little nod.

-

“Okay, this is pretty great,” Danny said as he pried a tiny orange and white ball of fluff off his shoulder and set the little guy back down with his siblings.

Immediately the kitten was pounced by the black kitten and had his ears chewed on.

“Kittens might be too much energy for me though,” Danny admitted. He had a feeling he’d never have the type of energy he used to again. He wasn’t sure if that was from his death or… everything else.

“They are a great deal of work,” Damian agreed. His own lap was full of peacefully sleeping kittens.

Danny was a little jealous. He caught the grey kitten who looked more like a a dust bunny as it romped past.

“What if I don’t find a pet today?”

“Then we will go somewhere else. This is not the only shelter in the city,” Damian said.

The straightforward certainty that Damian had about the world was something Danny had come to appreciate over the last several days of knowing Damian. The fear was still there. Danny didn’t know if it would ever go away, but he could ignore it now. Sometimes it was hardly even background noise.

Danny was used to having a brain full of static.

“It will be fine, Brother,” Damian said when Danny didn’t respond.

Brother. Damian insisted on using that instead of his name, but Danny figure that was because Damian didn’t have a last name to call him like all the others. Bruce was simply ‘Father’ too. Maybe it was about Wayne then? But Danny wasn’t Daniel Wayne. He was just Danny… no one.

“Yeah,” Danny made himself respond so that Damian didn’t get worried. For all that Damian tried to be aloof he really was worse than even Dick.

“If a kitten would be too much, what do you think of an adult cat?”

Danny looked down at the little slip of a kitten in his hands. It was so tiny. “I think let’s start with dogs. Something not so small and… breakable.”

Damian nodded and started to divest himself of cats. “I have heard the vets ‘joke’ that kittens will heal from anything. One could toss a kitten and its missing foot in a cage and it would reattach. I suggest we do not try it.”

“No,” Danny said in horror. “We are very much not trying that, what the hell.”

“What is what I said.” Despite having to deal with many more kittens, Damian was up first and offering Danny his hand. “Come, Brother.”

Danny took the hand, stood, and still had one last kitten to pull off of of his jeans where it clung with this sharp, sharp claws.

---

AN: I was able to give this a read through finally, so have the first bit of this chapter! Because who doesn't want Danny and Damian surrounded by adorable kittens?

[thecharacterchronicler]

Craving (Part 5) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: After many attempts, you’re finally pregnant but you need Coriolanus’ help to induce labor.

Word count: ~ 4’000

Warnings: marriage of convenience, pregnancy, explicit smut.

Author’s note: I finally felt like continuing this series but I’m a bit rusty, it’s been a while since I wrote anything, especially in English, so my apologies if I missed some mistakes while editing this.

(( Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler )) - (( Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top )) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable )) - (( Part 4 - The Bitter Taste Of My Fury )) - (( Masterlist ))

He still remembered how you told him the news, so casually, standing in his office and interrupting his work. He didn’t mind, the moment you had walked in, all his senses went wild, his body alert and ready like you had somehow managed to train him to react that way to the infernal curves of your body. It was a day like any other day, he imagined you were visiting him in hopes to put the small amount of time he spent home to good use. Especially with how nice you looked in that dress, the fabric highlighting all the curves and dips he so enjoyed to touch… But, instead of approaching him. Instead of sitting on his lap or bending over his desk with your dress pulled up for a quick - but efficient - hookup, you remained on the other side of his desk, a nervous expression on your face that he noticed right away.

“I’m pregnant.” You told him, dropping it like a bomb. If his blood had rushed down straight to his cock the moment he saw you, it took another turn as he heard your words, making his veins buzz with adrenaline. And maybe a bit of fear too.

But what was there to be scared about ? He was Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panem, youngest - and most brilliant - head gamemaker of the Hunger Games and a wealthy and powerful man, nothing scared him… Especially not a baby. Yet, he felt his hands tremble slightly as he ran his fingers in his hair, trying to process your words and figure out a proper way to react to them but he felt lost and probably a bit dumbstruck too.

The fact that you seemed to be waiting for his approval, his congratulations or something - anything - only made it worse. He was a charming, charismatic politician, able to play with words to his advantage, he always knew exactly what to say and when to say it… But the news had rendered him silent. Or maybe it wasn’t the news, but the fear that seized him at the throat when he had heard it.

His voice was gone. His lips were sealed. But he found a bit of strength to nod at you, quietly. You gave him a cold nod back and turned around, your high heels clicking against the wood flooring of his office before your mesmerizing silhouette disappeared behind a closed door.

And that was when he realized… That was exactly what he was so scared about. Not the pregnancy, not the baby itself but you, returning to your life as if he no longer existed in your eyes now that you had fulfilled your part of the contract.

He knew it was a selfish fear, coming from a man who barely knew anything about you a few months prior. But now, he knew how to make your body react to his touch, he knew that you liked it when he was rough when fucking you and he knew exactly what to do to get you to cry out in bliss. And he dreaded the idea of never putting all that knowledge to good use ever again.

A few months later and he almost was used to the distance between you both again. His political duties were consuming the most of his time and energy so, even if you still haunted his every thought, he barely had the opportunity to feel miserable about it, too busy having to put up a show of perfection for his electors.

Every once in a while, he met you for lunch or supper at the manor, always surprised by how round your belly was getting. It seemed to him that it kept inflating like a balloon day after day. The bump you carried with you was a constant reminder that you were about to give him an heir yet, he never felt so feral at the idea of fucking you and breeding you. The way all your outfits always seemed too tight around your chest, your breasts so swollen that they seemed desperate to spill out of the fabric of your clothes, how your hips looked larger and wider than before, enhancing the shape of your body and making you resemble a work of art… All of that was close to making him lose his mind with the intense desire he felt for you.

But, despite his desperate need for you, he was determined to respect your wishes. If you no longer wanted him to touch you, now that you were about to give him what he had asked of you, then he wouldn’t force you to accept him, even though he knew very well that he could. He didn’t even try to take his frustration out on another woman, because none of them compared to you. All he had left was his hand and the blurry memories of your body and how it felt when he was buried inside you.

“Mrs Snow.” He greeted you, casually, as he always did so that there was no way for you to be able to tell what effect the sight of you had on him.

“Mister Snow.” You replied, taking your seat at the end of the table.

He liked when you called him like this, even if it sounded cold and distant. In the intricacies of his mind, he firmly believed that it was your way of calling each other pet names.

“The pond you wanted to add to the greenhouse is finished.” He told you, hoping that small talk would help him focus on something other than the plumpness of your lips.

You didn’t say anything, simply nodding, as two of your house employees placed a plate of fuming food in front of each of you. Coriolanus found it odd to see you react with such little enthusiasm, considering that the pond was one of the few things you had asked in exchange of giving him an heir.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, as unpleasant images of your body in a hospital bed and thick smoke danced in his mind.

“Absolutely.” You replied, in a tone that meant the opposite.

He watched as you shoved a huge piece of filet mignon in your mouth, chewing with determination. He decided to do the same, carefully cutting his meat in small cubes before bringing one to his lips. His tongue instantly tingled in reaction, his tastebuds catching fire as he struggled to chew and swallow the overly spicy piece of meat. He tried to put out the fire in his mouth and throat with a big gulp of water but the numbness that the burn left in its wake almost felt worse.

Coriolanus looked at the avox standing by the door, wondering if somehow, one of his servants had attempted to poison him but then, his gaze landed on you, chewing on your meal as if the spice barely affected you.

“What is going on with the chef ? It’s the third time this week that we’re served spicy food.”

“It was a request of mine… I was hoping for something stronger, I’m a bit disappointed.” You replied, placing a slice of pepper directly on your tongue.

“Why would you want to eat… This ?” He asked, unable to conceal the expression of disgust that appeared on his face.

“I read that it helps to induce labor.”

Coriolanus almost choked on his water at your words, he wiped his mouth with the luxurious napkin placed on his lap before looking back at you, skeptically.

“Isn’t it a bit early for such experiments ?”

“Early ? I’m over forty weeks pregnant and there are no signs of the baby coming out anytime soon.” What ? Forty weeks ? How was this possible ? If the time he spent longing after you felt like an eternity, surely his daily life didn’t seem to be passing by as quickly. “I want this baby out, I won’t be able to stand being pregnant much longer.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, finding your distress a bit amusing but, judging from the way you were glaring daggers at him, you did not agree with him.

“It’s not so bad, is it ?”

Your eyes darkened for a moment and he wondered if you were plotting his demise.

“Are you kidding me ? My whole body aches constantly, I’m hideous and our baby won’t let me sleep because he or she is too busy kicking my bladder from midnight to morning.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, hiding his smile by taking another sip from his glass because he knew you might kill him if you caught it. “I wish I could help.”

“Well, you can.” You answered, a spark of something unusual in your eyes. Coriolanus raised an eyebrow at you, wondering what he could possibly do to take away a bit of your discomfort. Whatever it was, he was willing to give it a try and that made him realize that, maybe, sex wasn’t the only thing he cared about after all.

You winced and before he could ask you what was wrong, you stood up to join him by the opposite end of the dining table, placing his hand on your belly, where your skin was stretching out under your baby’s ferocious kicks.

“See, I swear he does it on purpose.”

Coriolanus didn’t answer anything, amazed but what he felt under his palm. Life he had helped create, moving and stretching, right there inside you. It was unbelievable.

“It must be… Uncomfortable.” He finally managed to say, keeping his hand there for a moment longer.

“Very.” You confirmed and, when he looked at you again, he noticed the soft blush coloring your cheeks. “I was told that orgasms are another good way to induce labor.”

He took his hand off of your belly like it had burned him. He wasn’t used to you being so… Blunt. The proposition was tempting, extremely tempting, especially since he hadn’t touched you since the moment you had told him your efforts had paid off and you were finally pregnant. Even if, most nights, he couldn’t sleep, thinking about how he missed fucking you. He missed how you moaned his name and how you cried out in pleasure. How your pussy perfectly fitted his cock each time. How good it felt to be inside you and how much he loved the fact that everyone in Panem knew that you were his.

It was impossible to refuse what you were asking of him now, not when all he had been thinking about for the past 40 weeks was how different your body must feel now, with your breast so much bigger and tender looking, your hips wider, and that round stomach that would bounce with each of his thrusts. But if the goal was to get you in labor faster, then he couldn’t do it. Not if it meant taking the risk to shorten his time with you, if anything went wrong and he lost you… If he could never see your beautiful face again, fuck your perfect body until he was satisfied and hear the way you laughed at other politicians’ bad jokes, he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from such heartbreak. Because that was what it was, even though he fought against it with all his might.

He loved you.

“I think you should rest, the baby will be here soon enough.” He told you, his chest tight with the realization of his feelings for you and his body begging for him to change his mind.

“Please.” You pleaded, taking a step closer to play with a button of the burgundy vest he was wearing. “Don’t make me beg, Mister Snow.”

He would do anything for you and you knew it, didn’t you ? All you ever had to do was ask nicely and it was yours. This request was no exception, he couldn’t say no. Not when his cock was throbbing with desire in his pants and his body was calling for yours like a magnet desperate to connect with its rivaling force.

There was no guarantee that this old wives’ tale would work and provoke the birth after all. And he couldn’t pass up on this opportunity to be inside you once again, fill you up with his cum, one last time before he’d avoid it at all cost after that. He was determined to not get you pregnant again, not if it wasn’t necessary, the risk of losing his most valuable possession - you - in childbirth was far too high to take.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes scanned your voluptuous body with hunger. The sight of your lush curves and the scent of your perfume filled the room, a heady aphrodisiac that made his cock throb painfully in his pants. With a low growl, he stood from his seat, grabbed you by the hips, pulling you closer, and pressed his thickening erection against the soft mound of your belly.

Without a word, he scooped you up and sat you down gently on the polished mahogany table gleaming under the soft glow of the pendant light. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roamed over your body, caressing your swollen breasts and tracing the curve of your hips. His fingertips grazed your clit, and you gasped, arching your back.

Your pussy was a wet, already soaking the crotch of your silky panties, leaving a damp spot on the fabric that grew darker by the second. He slid his hand down to feel the heat emanating from your core, and his cock grew even harder at the thought of plunging into your tight, wet warmth for the first time in such a long time.

He took his time, tugging your dress off and unhooking your bra, revealing your swollen breasts in all their glory. He took one in his mouth, sucking your nipple with a hunger that only a man who hadn't tasted his wife's flesh in weeks could muster.

You reached down to unbuckle his pants, your eyes never leaving his as you freed his cock. It sprang forth, thick and veiny, the head a dark, angry shade of purple. You stroked it gently, your thumb circling the precum that had gathered at the tip, smearing it along his shaft and making it glisten. He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily at your touch.

The tension grew as you stood before each other, naked and wanting. Your belly, a testament to the love and lust he felt for you, served as a tantalizing reminder of the passionate moments you shared. He stepped between your legs, his cock standing at attention as he leaned in to kiss your pussy, his tongue sliding along your slit and teasing your clit. You threw your head back, your hair cascading over the edge of the table. His tongue delved further into your depths, savoring your taste, while his thumb played with your clit in slow, deliberate circles. Your moans grew louder, your body tightening around his mouth as you approached your climax.

He glanced at you, mesmerized by how your breasts heaved with each ragged breath you took, the sensation of his mouth on your most sensitive flesh driving you wild. Your hands clutched the edges of the table, your knuckles white with the effort of holding on as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Finally, your climax crashed down on you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you cried out in ecstasy. He didn't stop, though, his tongue lapping up your sweet release as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

With a smug smile, he straightened up and positioned his cock at the entrance of your slick pussy. He paused for a moment, your eyes locked in a silent challenge, before he thrust into you with a force that sent shockwaves through both of your bodies. You were tight, tighter than ever before, and the sensation was both painful and exquisite. You both gasped as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock stretching you to the limits of your new capacity. Your walls clamped down around him, a velvety vice that seemed to pulse with every beat of your racing heart.

His hips slammed into you, his cock plunging deep inside you with each powerful stroke, while you met him thrust for thrust, your heels digging into his backside. The friction of your skin was electric, sending sparks of pleasure along every nerve ending as you pushed each other closer and closer to the brink.

You could feel your orgasm building again, a slow burn that started in your toes and worked its way up your body. You reached down to rub your clit, your fingers slick with your juices, and your pussy contracted around his shaft, urging him deeper. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, as he felt you tighten around him. He knew you were close, and the thought of you coming again was almost too much for him to bear. He gripped your hips and drove into you with renewed vigor, his own orgasm fast approaching.

Your bodies moved as one, your hearts racing in sync. With each thrust, he grew more desperate, more frenzied, his breath coming in gasps and moans. And then, with a final, guttural cry, he erupted inside you, filling you with his hot, sticky seed. He felt your pussy clamp down around him, milking every last drop as you shuddered through your own climax, your walls pulsing with the force of your pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, panting and spent, your bodies entwined and your hearts racing. Then, with a sly grin, Coriolanus whispered in your ear, “I’m willing to help you out like this whenever you want.”

Other series:

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 22

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: addressing what happened, here comes the comfort, then fluff wc: 2k

Chapter Selection

Jason led me up the stairs and down a long hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind us with a soft click. The room was clearly not used often; he was a tidy person, but this was a whole other level of tidy, and there were no personal touches around the room that immediately jumped at me as being his. He gestured to a pair of armchairs by a bookshelf, and I collapsed into one, shaking.

He scooted his chair closer to mine, sitting so our knees were almost touching. “Doll? Why are you so upset?”

“... Do you remember last night?” He nodded. “... Then why aren’t you? I broke your trust, in several ways last night. You should be furious with me…”

He held a hand out for me, and I slowly let my hand slide into place in his. “No, you didn't. You proved exactly why I trust you. And I’m not angry. … I … I knew the longer I waited to tell you, the more likely it became that something like that would happen. … I didn’t mean to let it go so long, honestly, it just … never felt like the right time. I’m so sorry you found out that way, I know that was … incredibly uncomfortable…”

“Wha- … Jason, you have nothing to apologize for; I am not entitled to this information,”

“No, you are. You have been dating me without knowing who you were dating for months. From the day we met you have been in so much more danger than you knew, and I did nothing to change that because I wanted to pretend to be normal… You said you took my choices away last night, but I’ve been taking your choices from you for eight months. At least when I put my life in your hands last night, I knew who I was trusting. You have not had that once in this relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for that…” He sighed, squeezing my hand firmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, I just … didn’t know how. … I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you now … I have never felt safer than when I look in your eyes, and if you can forgive me I swear I will never keep anything from you again.”

“… Me forgive you? Jason, there's nothing for me to forgive, I'm the one who should be begging your forgiveness…”

“There’s nothing for me to forgive either. When I saw you in that alley I knew everything was going to be ok, in a way I never have before. Anything that happened to me from that moment on was only going to happen after you okayed it; I knew you wouldn’t let them hurt me, and … I needed that. Because, as much as they love me, their love can be a bit … aggressive at times. They know they’re right, so they don’t care if I’m resistant. I’m just … broken, so it doesn’t matter how much I say I don’t want something, they’re certain I’ll feel better once I submit. … But you don’t do that; you care what I want, and that makes it easier to do the hard things I have no choice in. … When you came, I could just relax. I could obey you, and everything would be fine…”

“... That was the pheromones, Jay …”

“No, the pheromones made it easier to slip into that headspace, but how safe I felt was all you. If you hadn't come, they would have held me down, kicking and screaming, to get the blood sample. They’d be right - the blood sample was necessary, but I’d have nightmares about it for weeks. But you… I knew you would be gentle, and you were. I didn’t have any nightmares last night... I have never been able to relax while getting blood drawn, but I felt perfectly at ease having you do it. I know you think you were taking advantage of me being in a compromised position, but you weren’t. The pheromones were whispering to obey, but that’s all it was. A whisper, a suggestion. I chose to submit, because it was you. I … said some truly humiliating things, the pheromones definitely overrode my filter, and I’m so sorry for how uncomfortable that was, and for how grabby I was, but trusting you is a choice I would make every time, pheromones or not. You are a safe person for me, my love. I trust you, and I love you, and I am so, so grateful that you were there last night. You … you see my broken edges, and you tell me I don’t have to sand myself down to make myself into something that can be loved. You are everything to me… You asked how I could trust you after last night; but how could I not? Everyone else thinks nothing of crashing straight through my walls, and calling it love, but you cry over stepping through a door I left unlocked for you. You are so kind, and gentle, and considerate, and I am so lucky to be yours.”

He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles one by one. I blushed bright red, squirming a bit. “... you chose to obey me like that? … That wasn’t the pheromones?”

“In the alley, I was resisting them. I had a handle on myself, I knew if I just focused on my breathing I'd get back under control soon enough. And then you were there, and I was still resisting, I wanted to convince you I was ok so you’d go home where you were safe. … But I realized that if they had brought you out, that meant they intended to use you to control me. I could either continue to resist, and they’d continue to push and shove, and it would take days to feel like myself again. And what's more, I’d probably hate every minute of it. Or I could lean in to it, just trust you to take care of me. Even though you didn’t know it was me, I knew that if I trusted you I would be safe, and it would be a lot easier to come back to myself. And I was right.” He squeezed my hands, stroking my knuckles with his thumbs.

“...You begged … you said ‘no needles’ …”

“I don't trust them with needles. They’re … efficient, but not particularly gentle. ... But you aren’t them. And you didn’t do anything wrong, doll. Promise. If I wanted to resist, I would have.”

“... You were so upset when I said we had to make you better…”

“Ah … yeah, that was … weird. … I guess my mind interpreted ‘make you better' as ‘you did something wrong', so … with the pheromones telling me I had to be good, I sorta freaked out…” he blushed brightly, looking away shyly.

“... You weren't freaking out because of the needle?”

“No, the needle was fine. You really did very well, actually…”

I sniffled softly, clinging to his hands. “I just did what Tim said…”

“You made me feel safe. Tim doesn't know how to do that.” He smiled gently, squeezing my hands. “... I just wish you had been there when I woke up. I thought … I thought you were gone.”

“Huh? No! No, baby, never. I just … I knew they'd stripped you, and you don't want me to see your chest yet, so …”

He nodded. “Damian explained. If it ever happens again though, I want to wake up with you beside me, ok? No matter what.”

I nodded, kissing his knuckles. “... Ok. … What next?”

“... Well, … are you … ok?”

I sighed softly. “What do you mean?”

“... It's been eight months, and I didn't tell you, … I'm Red Hood.”

“... Yeah…”

“... Are you mad?”

I slowly looked up into his eyes, gently squeezing his hands. “No, I'm not mad at you. … I'm very afraid that you won't come home one day, but I'm not mad at you. I love you…”

“I love you too. More than anything …” he gently squeezed my hands. “So … we're ok?”

I nodded. “We're ok.”

He sighed softly, kissing my knuckles again. “You're incredible…”

“Not really…”

He chuckled, cupping my cheeks. “Yes, really.”

Lois smiled brightly, shaking my hand. “Thanks for letting Jon spend the night; I know the boys have been looking forward to it all week!”

I grinned, shaking hers as well. “Of course! Damian gave you my phone number, right?”

She nodded; “yep! And you’ve got mine. Of course, if anything goes wrong you won’t need to use it. Clark’s planning to keep an ear out, just in case.”

I chuckled a bit weakly; Damian had received permission to tell me about the Kents. The idea of taking care of Superman’s kid was freaking me out a bit, but I had promised Damian, so we were proceeding as if this was perfectly normal. Besides, if Damian needed some normal childhood experiences, it seemed reasonable to assume Jon did too.

Lois gave Jon a hug goodbye before driving away, and the three of us headed upstairs. “Alright boys, how are we feeling about homemade pizzas for dinner?”

Jon grinned, following us through the door. “You make your own pizza?”

“Sometimes, it’s fun!”

They tossed their bags in the living room and followed me into the kitchen where we set up to make our pizzas. Jason and I had prepped several dough balls so everyone could make their own. We had three types of sauce, and every cheese and topping I could think of. The boys immediately got started rolling out their dough onto pans, adding what they wanted. I preheated the oven while they worked and decided what movie they wanted to watch tonight. Once their pizzas were in the oven, I prepared two more; one for me, and one for Jason. He was coming over after an early patrol to help me keep an eye on the boys, and I wanted his dinner ready when he got in.

The boys made a pillow fort while they waited for their pizzas, and for a minute it was easy to forget they weren’t normal kids. Damian’s guards, which already tended to drop quite a bit when it was just the two of us, seemed to be all the way down; he was smiling and laughing with his friend, and everything was perfect. I brought their pizzas over, taking a seat on what was left of the couch, and we watched the movie they had picked.

When Jason finally knocked on the door, I ran over to let him in. He smiled softly, kissing my forehead, and purred; “honey, I'm home~”

I giggled softly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Welcome home~ any injuries to take care of?”

He shook his head. “Nope, it was a quiet patrol. Most of the action doesn't pick up until after midnight.”

I grinned, kissing his cheek. “Good~ hungry?”

“Starving~” I grinned, pulling him to the living room.

“You sit, I'll get your pizza!” He grinned, taking his seat, and I came back with his plate, and a glass. The boys had already made their way through most of a 2 liter, but we still had 2 more for the weekend. Jason pulled me in close, positioning me so my legs were over his lap, and kissed my forehead.

“Sister, Todd won't be joining us at the arcade tomorrow, will he?” Damian frowned a bit.

I chuckled softly, leaning against Jason's chest. “I don't know, he might.”

Damian frowned more. “You will not need him; we're very well behaved.”

“I’m not coming for you, demon brat. I’m coming to keep lil’ mama entertained.” Jason wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my shoulder.

Damian frowned deeply. “... You can only come if you stop making those jokes.”

“What jokes?” Jason frowned.

“Damian has decided I’m sister, not mama.”

The boy nodded; “Mother would be furious if she heard anyone else being referred to as a maternal figure for me.”

Jason smiled a little and nodded. “Alright, alright. No more mommy jokes. …” He kissed my jaw, whispering; “but that’s not gonna stop me when we’re alone. You ok with that, mama?~”

I blushed brightly and nodded once, running my fingers through his hair. “... Eat your pizza.”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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[daisyblog]

“Tommy…meet my Dad!”

Young Love Masterlist Summary: Tommy, Mia’s boyfriend, meets Louis.

based on this request.

warning: mentions of family member passing away

(Mia - 13, Tommy - 13, Noah - 8)

“So tonight’s the night…I get to meet the lad that’s stolen my little girls heart!”. Louis voiced into the open spaces kitchen. Mia and Noah were sat at the kitchen island eating their lunch as YN pottered around trying to tidy away random items that had been left.

“Don’t be embarrassing Dad!”. Mia rolled her eyes as she reached to grab her phone to reply to Tommy’s text. “He’s already terrified to meet you…especially after what Uncle Harry said at the show”.

Louis took Noah’s empty plate away and placed it in the dishwasher. “Hey, give me a chance…I was thinking we order some pizza, have a film night…and then I’ll tell him if he hurts you I’ll kick his ass!”.

“Mum!”. Mia shouted in annoyance, wanting her mother’s help as she sent Louis daggers. Louis chuckled to himself as he stood tall and large smirk on his face.

Noticing his dad was teasing his older sister, Noah joined in. “Mia’s got a boyfriend, Mia’s got a boyfriend!”.

“Shut up Noah!”. Mia had become irritated by the whole situation.

“Right that’s enough!”. YN’s assertive voice entered the kitchen with a point to prove. “Noah…stop teasing your sister…and Louis stop trying to scare Tommy before he even arrives!”.

Mia sent a sarcastic smile to Louis, pleased that her Mum was on her side with this.

“On that note…I’m going out!”. Mia popped her used dishes in the sink and began to walk away.

“Be back by six for dinner!”. Louis shouted in her direction. “Can’t wait to meet Tommy!”. Louis continued to be amused by his over exaggerated teasing.

YN stood with her hands on her hips, a look of disappointment written on her face. “You better behave yourself tonight!”.

“I always behave!”.

---

Just after 6pm, the sound of the front door opening perked Louis up as he lounged on the sofa. He could hear a mixture of two voices, one deeper than the other. He knew it must have been Mia and Tommy. It was new unfamiliar feeling for Louis. He’d always thought this moment wouldn’t happen for a long time, but before he knew it, his little newborn baby girl was now a teenager.

Mia appeared by the doorframe of the living room, where Louis was still sitting. Louis noticed the young boy standing behind his daughter. He was a head taller than Mia, his curls were loose on his head and his eyes darted with nerves.

“Where’s Mum?”. She was quick to ask noticing her mother was no where in sight, and knew her father would use that to his advantage.

“She’s upstairs helping your brother a minute”. Louis calmly explained, as he still sat and stared at them both. “Are you coming in? Or are you gonna stand there all night looking like you’re about to shit yourselves!”.

Mia glanced back at Tommy, who let out a small smile at Louis humour. They both walked quietly into the room. Whilst Mia sat comfortably on the other sofa to Louis, Tommy sat on the edge of his seat next to her. His nervousness was filling the room.

“Are you gonna introduce us Mi?”. Louis gave his daughter a sarcastic look.

“Dad…this is Tommy!”. The young boy gave Louis a polite smile. “Tommy…meet my Dad!”.

Before Louis had the chance to say anything, Tommy found his voice. “It’s nice to finally meet you…Mia’s told me a lot about you”.

Louis smiled with happiness, as he nodded his head. “I’m sure she has…but has she told you that if you hurt my girl, then I’ll kick your ass?”.

“Dad!”.

Tommy gulped heavily as he looked from Louis to Mia. “I…I-”.

“Louis! What did I say?”. YN appeared into the living room, giving Tommy’s shoulder a gently tap as she passed by. “Don’t listen to him Tommy…the only thing that’ll be kicked is Louis out of this room if he doesn’t behave”.

“Ooo feisty!”. Louis responded, staring at YN in amusement. He looked back Tommy, knowing the humour may have gone too far. “I’m sorry Tommy…I was just trying to scare you a little, I don’t mean it…I’ve only heard positive things about you”.

YN knew Louis would take it a step too far, and the fear was still in Tommy. “Shall we order pizza?”.

“PIZZA!”. Noah came running into the room, jumping on Louis without warning.

---

With dominoes boxes surrounding them, as they sat around the kitchen table, Louis wouldn’t like to admit it yet but he liked Tommy. He was polite, he was kind to Mia and he already fitted into their family dynamic.

“So Tommy, did you enjoy Harry’s show the other week?”. Louis asked with a slice of pizza sitting between his fingers.

Tommy placed his glass of orange fanta down on the table after taking a sip. “Yeah…it was really fun, I hadn’t been to a concert like that before…so it was different”.

“Harry puts on a show, fair play to the lad”. Louis complimented his younger brother.

“My brother’s girlfriend hasn’t shut up about me going…she wanted to go but couldn’t get any tickets”. He explained, trying to continue the conversation.

YN smiled at Mia as they both realised that Louis and Tommy were having their own conversation. “How many brother and sisters do you have?”.

“Uh…I have two older brothers, Adam and Ethan”. Tommy began to explain, Louis and YN smiled as he spoke. “They’re a bit older than me, so they’ve moved out…but they’re always coming back for my mum to do something for them”.

Louis picked up that Mia had become tense all of a sudden, and kept glancing to her side to take small looks at Tommy. The next sentence to fall from his lips, explained why.

“Uhh…my um…my dad passed away a couple of years ago…so it’s just me and my mum”. Tommy wasn’t sure why he blurted that bit of information out, but he felt it was necessary for them to get to know him.

The words hit Louis hard. He felt the twinge in his chest as he sympathised with the young boy that sat in front of him, showing them all a vulnerable side.

“We’re really sorry to hear that Tommy…I’m sure he’d be very proud of the young lad that’s sat here tonight”. Louis spoke with confidence as he wanted him to know that he liked him.

“Thank you”. A small smile was shared.

YN noticed the shift in the atmosphere, wanting to change that she thought of nice gesture. “Perhaps your mum would like to come over some tea one day, we’d love to meet her”.

“She’d really like that!”.

---

Louis was sat outside in the garden, a white stick between his fingers and smoke circling in front of his face. He was distracted by his own thoughts, when he heard the sliding door open and close. A body came to sit on the small wall next to him.

“You alright lad?”. Louis asked when he realised it was Tommy. “You better not be out here for a smoke”.

Tommy could hear the teasing in Louis’ voice, but he felt the need to reassure him. “No…no…definitely not…just wanted some fresh air”.

The silence between the two was surprisingly comfortable, neither said a word for a few minutes, just enjoying the natural sound of the world around them.

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad”. Louis’ voice was quiet, very calming.

Tommy gulped loudly as he began to pick at the loose cotton on his denim shorts. “It’s okay…it’s got a little easier with time”.

“I lost my mum and sister…in a short space of time, so I know how you feel”. Louis shared the facts, assuming Mia had already told him. “Although it gets easier, doesn’t mean you don’t feel all the emotions at times…so if you ever want to talk, I’m here!”.

“Thanks Louis!”. Tommy turned to smile at him, realising that he wasn’t as scary as he thought he’d be. If anything they had a lot in common.

“Anytime son, anytime!”.

miatomlinson

liked by lottietomlinson, tommybaker and 823,729 others

miatomlinson my mum calls him love, my dad calls him son❤️ View all 8,124 comments

tommybaker my girl❤️

louist91 I can still kick his ass!! ⌞niallhoran I can help! ⌞miatomlinson Uncle Niall don’t spoil it, you’re my favourite!

yntomlinson Aw young love🥰🥰

niallhoran Just how fast the night changes, ey?

lottietomlinson Cuties💖Can’t wait to see you xx

sophia_lewis So happy for you bestie💞

benstanton got the parents approval then mate😂

1dfan9 Mia using 1D lyrics in 2023 was not on my list!!

louisfan3 LOUIS MET HIM!! #protectivedad

1dfan7 EVERYBODY WANNA STEAL MY GIRL!!

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii @peterholland04 @lillisummers

[giuseppe-yuki]

👻 anais' halloween blurbos 👻

summary: it's well known that formula 1 was a cutthroat and and merciless sport. that's why, when murder and other shenanigans are legalized by the fia during race weekends to add a little drama in the paddock, all hell breaks loose. fans going missing, reporters being found dead, team employees writhing in pain for no apparent reason. it seemed like everyone would do most anything to win the sparkling championship trophy. luckily for a few select drivers, they have a little advantage with supernatural powers on their side.

or: supernatural!reader x driver mini oneshots (kind of purge!au (?))

warnings: mentions of death, gore, murder, hurting people, and curse words

total w.c.: 5k

picture credits from pinterest :)

I - fallen angel - yt22

II - vampire - op81

III - ghost - zg24

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

V - witch - gr63

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

a/n: a quick little project i meant to put out before halloween but i got a little sidetracked with my other fics... i'm going to pretend that it's still spooky season and totally NOT november :P

ALSO i feel obligated to say i don't condone doing anything in these blurbs irl- hurting people for any reason is NOT okay.

I - fallen angel - yt22

yuki always called you an angel. with your entrancing looks and ability to light up any room that you were in, it was hard not to compare you to an ethereal being. when you walk outside holding yuki's hand, you don't miss the stares of envious women and salicious men when the way the sun seemed to create a halo around your head, and air seemed to shimmer around you. little did he know, you were an angel. well, you used to be, until some petty arguments and pointed fingers resulted in you losing your wings and falling into the mortal world. now, you spent your life dedicated to tempt others to sin.

this worked perfectly, because while yuki focused on dominating on track and getting maximum points, you could use your full power and focus on other aspects- like making sure your boyfriend didn't get fucked over by unfair officials of the sport.

"do good out there, okay?" you say to your boyfriend, giving him a hug and a kiss on his recognizable japanese maple leaf helmet.

he smiles back at you, only visible through his flipped-up visor.

soon enough, it was lights out, and the drivers were sent on their way, throttling around the night track.

you settle in a padded chair that a starstruck engineer pulled up for you while monitoring the multiple tvs that lined the garage. most of them showed the live feeds of the drivers aggressively battling on track, using dirty racing to cut their way to the lead. you took pleasure in seeing yuki gain several positions as he overtook the battling fernando and liam. his engineers burst in rambunctious applause, but it quiets down rather quickly, notifying you that something was amiss.

you turn around to see the engineers crowded around a singular data computer. storming out of your chair, you snatch a nearby engineer's arm, roughly turning him around.

"can you tell me what just happened?" you ask with mock-sweetness, pointing your chin the whispering group of engineers that hid the computer screen from your eyes.

he gulps, knowing that you had the power to hurt him, especially with the fia's rules, and stammers out an answer, even if he knew you wouldn't like it.

"w-w-well," he stutters, "apparently, the stewards gave yuki a penalty for false start and forcing a driver off track. he'll have to- um- serve it when he comes in for a pitstop."

there's no way, you think, angrily. a false start and forcing a driver off track? what a load of bullshit. were they actually even watching the race? someone had to pay for this.

your heels clacked as you strutted through the linoleum floors of the fia building. the walls shook from the sheer forces of the cars on track barreling by, probably halfway through the race. stalking through the stale white hallways and up a flight of stairs, you finally find the room you were looking for- a dark wooden one that proudly held a silver sign that had the words 'stewards' carved into it neatly. you take a deep breath and turn on your full dazzling skills before knocking gently on the door.

an older gentleman, shirt marked with the telltale fia symbol and orange lanyard, opens the door. the perfect victim. he falters a bit when sees you, practically glowing, even in the hallway's dim lighting.

"c-c-can i help you miss?" he asks, face turning a bit red and hand instinctively reaching up to to loosen his collar. you tended to have that affect on people when you wanted to.

"yes," you drawl, purposely batting your long lashes at him. "i have a something to show you."

he shakes his head nervously, eyes glued to something that was definitely not your face. "no, no, no, i have a job to do-"

"oh, come on," you say, pouting, "it's just down the hall!"

you turn and strut down the hall, purposefully showing off your long legs, knowing that there was no doubt he would follow you out of the room. when you turn back around at the end of the hall, the steward, like you predicted, had naively followed you like a dog to a bone.

you don't even make sure that no one was close by before plunging a dagger straight into his heart. he slumps down on the ground, blood flowing out of the fatal wound. you blow him a kiss, before flouncing away back towards yuki's garage. that will teach the stewards a lesson before giving your boyfriend unfair penalties.

II - vampire - op81

when oscar met you, you seemed like a shy little thing with your timid personality and reserved smiles. he swore that you could do nothing wrong. i mean, how could you, when you were scared of such small things like sunburns or funnily enough, garlic bread? the first time he introduced you to the paddock as his girlfriend, he kept a good watch on you. if he didn't, he was so sure that they were going to eat you alive just to gain an advantage on him.

and that's also why, when he heard the news of yet another important paddock member going missing, he was so sure that it was you.

"fuck!" oscar shouts, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "i leave to do one five minute interview and she disappears!"

ignoring the stares of the reporters and cameramen who turn in surprise to his outburst, he yanks the clip-on mic off of his fireproofs and chucks it at his interviewer's head. if he found his girlfriend dead on the floor, bleeding out, it would be this stupid interviewer's fault.

he stalks off without a word, listing potential places that his girlfriend could possibly be taken in his head.

behind him, lando skips in the shadow of oscar's steps, grinning around the rubber straw of his water bottle that was clenched between his teeth.

"you better hurry, osc!" he trills, "you know what happened to ocon's little girlfriend when she went missing- she was found-"

oscar snaps back, interrupting lando. "yes i know, she was found at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster. you don't have to remind me."

it was a fresh memory in his head. ever since the fia allowed murder, during race weekends, all hell had broke loose. vip guests dropping dead, officials found with broken necks. whoever had murdered poor ocon's girlfriend had did a great deal of damage mentally on esteban, resulting in multiple poor finishes for him during race weekends. oscar never thought it would happen to himself.

frustrated, he roughly shoves lando away from him, pointing in the direction of the red bull garage.

"why don't you go blow up max's tyre like you did in australia or something!" he shouts, clearly annoyed by lando's constant pestering.

oscar doesn't wait for a response from lando before sprinting down to the mclaren motorhome. he checks each individual door to the bathroom, kitchen, and computer rooms when he finally stumbles upon a door with a blood red liquid seeping out the bottom. a muffled thud sounds from within, and he winces automatically.

he closes his eyes, praying that you died a peaceful death, before slowly turning the silver knob of the storage closet.

to his surprise, the the grey, pale, body of otmar szafnauer thumps out into the hallway, head rolling. the side of his neck is a bloody mess, probably the source of the pool of blood now seeping into the carpet and staining the edge of his racing shoes. there, stood primly behind otmar's repulsive body, is you, without a drop of blood on your pretty pink dress. you send oscar a bashful smile, revealing your fangs covered in the cherry-red liquid.

picking up your skirts, you step over the ex-alpine team manager and carefully close the door to the rather stuffy closet you were just in. he'll probably be found by the janitor in the next 24 hours or so.

you peck a quick kiss on oscar's cheek, unknowingly getting a bit of blood on his skin.

"i got rid of otmar for you, baby," you say quietly, fiddling with your fingers. "i hope you don't mind- i heard he gave you a hard time last year."

III - ghost - zg24

you were dead. no, literally. you passed away 5 years ago- beheaded after you fell off of a high building you suppose, going off of how you could pull your head off your neck if you wanted to, and the fact that you always had phantom back pains. it worked out quite beautifully that you were dead already when the fia announced its new rule.

as opposed to the girlfriends of several other select drivers that tended to play a rather active part in gaining the best advantage for their boyfriends on track, you tended to be a little more laid back. however, one thing you could never excuse was when people talked shit about your boyfriend, zhou.

zhou grips your hand tightly in his as you both walked down through the paddock. you loved how his fashionable clothes glittered brightly under the lit lamp posts that lined the walkway. the sun had set, which meant the night race was starting soon. the crowds of fans in the paddock had somehow gotten thicker, and the hired security that zhou had gotten struggled just the tiniest bit holding the horde back.

like you always do when you get nervous, you flicker in-between your solid and ghost form. your boyfriend clocks this right away, especially since that this meant his hand, which was holding firmly holding yours, passed right through you. he stops, looking at you concerningly.

"hey, you alright?" he asks, brows furrowed. "i can-" before he can finish his sentence, an apple flies out of the crowd of fans and bounces off his shoulder, landing at the place where your translucent foot is supposed to be.

the fan that threw it begins to shout obscene remarks directed at both you and zhou, before being dragged away by security.

an anger flares through you. who did she think she was? throwing an apple at your boyfriend's head? that had to count as a murder attempt.

you flicker more rapidly between your states, to which zhou takes your hand.

"hey, it's fine," your boyfriend says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "forget it- my security will deal with them. let's go to the garage, okay?"

you nod slowly, letting your boyfriend lead the way, but oh, you don't forget.

you wait, in your ghost form, in the metal supports of the grandstand. drifting aimlessly, you pop up here and there to scare the crap out of some random fan, when you finally spot your target. the fan from earlier tirelessly climbs the lengthy walk to the grandstands. she's decked out in alpine merch, which makes you scoff. why criticize zhou's team when the very team she was rooting for wasn't doing so well either?

you watch as she settles herself at the very top seat of the grandstand, waving her little alpine flag. what a pity. if only she wasn't so rude. when the cars roar around the corner and she stands up to cheer, it isn't hard for you to reach out your hands and push. a look of recognition registers in her face before she falls backwards off of the high-up stands. she screams, but who hears her over the loud engines as they make their way around the turn? except you, of course. she lands on the ground with a sick splat, likely breaking her back and neck the way you did when you died. you float for a moment over the carnage before floating away to your rightful spot in zhou's garage. serves her right, you suppose.

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

the second pierre found out about your special "ability," he didn't hesitate to take advantage of it. sending you to spy on the other team's cars? check. going to pester the invasive reporters who only cared about spreading yet another rumor? check. monitoring around him to make sure there wasn't any people trying to attack him in the paddock? check.

you didn't mind of course- anything to help your boyfriend one step closer to his end goal. you hated seeing him coming home, again and again, dejected over the progress he's made, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he raced.

today, a night race, gave you an opportunity to give your boyfriend another chance at points. with the sky being pitch black, it made it easier to navigate around without being seen.

in the garage, under the harsh incandescent lights, engineers and alpine employees mill around, checking data and making any final adjustments to the car. before long, pierre gets the green lights to drive up to the starting spots on the track. just prior to pulling on his helmet and climbing into his shitbox of a car, he pulls you close.

"remember what we talked about, okay?" he whispers into your ear, playing it off as a tight hug.

you nod, pressing a kiss to his freshly-shaven jaw.

"of course, baby," you respond earnestly.

when the car rumbles awake and your boyfriend steers the car towards the starting grid postions, you take off running as well. taking a flying leap behind the car, you shift into your bat form and fly up, up, up, into the rapidly darkening sky.

you sit patiently on a tree branch near the track, watching carefully with your sensitive night vision. like you planned, when you spot the telltale black carbon-fiber and vibrant red bull car pull in towards the pitlanes, you dive bomb down back towards the garages. it takes a second, maybe even quicker, to find the engineers poised with the fresh tyres ready for max verstappen's pretty little rb20. you don't hesitate to sink your pointy teeth into their unprotected necks, one by one. the venom in your saliva works quick, and by the time max pulls into his pitstop spot, his pit crew all lay on the ground, incapacitated.

huh, that worked suprisingly well, you think, soaring away from the crime scene. maybe you should try that again in the next prix.

V - witch - gr63

with the fia implementing the barbarous rules at every prix at every calendar, you would think people would be more scared to come. however, it seemed like the audience doubled, if not tripled ever since the rule was announced. something about 'the thrill of it,' lewis had said when you asked him. so, like the crowds of fans lingering in the fanzones, the vips and sponsors visiting the paddock club increased significantly, eager to get a look at the track action and drama between drivers like it was some drama movie.

so, the only thing that made sense to do was to profit off of it, of course. with your magic and brewing pot at hand, you could do most anything to the pompous rich pricks who wanted nothing more than an in to the thrilling secrets of the bloodthirsty sport of formula 1.

"what are you wearing tonight, darling?" the vip asks, flaunting her massive diamond ring in your peripheral vision, obviously fishing for complements. it shined tauntingly in the colored overhead lights at the exclusive paddock club event. jazzy music and the clinking of glasses drown out the pretentious conversations of yet another pair of billionaires talking about their newest private jet acquisition or supercar purchase.

you fake a half-hearted smile at her, smoothing down your own outfit.

"i'm not really sure. i just pulled it out of my closet, i suppose."

failing to get a proper response from you, she smooths down her own glittering dress haughtily and brushes her carefully styled hair behind her ears.

"well, i'm wearing all ysl. the heels themselves cost at least 1.3k!" she exclaims, pointing to the rather painful-looking heels holding up her feet.

just then, your boyfriend appears next to you, lips wide in a smile.

"hello, darling," he says, handing you a drink from the bar. it's a small glass of margarita, coincidentally matching the one in the pompous vip's hand.

"it's not poisoned, i promise," he says to you, making you roll your eyes. the vip, hearing this, laughs.

"so exciting, isn't it? with all the fia's rules, i can't wait to finally see some more drama on track tomorrow," she says giddily, as if george wasn't in grave danger every day, on track and in the paddock because of people like her. dropping her voice down to a scandalous whisper, she continues, "i heard, some fan fell- or was pushed off the grandstands last night!" she giggles, waving her hand. "honestly though, i would probably jump too, if i had to sit in those grimy seats."

you and george both exchange looks of disgust, but she doesn't catch it as a well-dressed gentleman walks up with a grin, giving her a polite hug.

"ah! ricca, how nice to see you again! i haven't seen you since- what, our little outing to bali a month ago? wanted a little bit of racing action now huh?" he asks, swishing his whiskey on the rocks. he turns after finishing his sentence, as if just realizing you and your boyfriend's presence. his gives the both of you a demeaning look, as if you were the ones butting into the conversation instead of him. however, after a beat, his eyes grow wide, and it is obvious when it clicks in his brain where he has seen george.

"oh my!" he proclaims, clutching his chest. "you're that- that racing driver! what's your name again? lando norrin? ferdinand alonso?"

that really said a lot about the reason these socialites were here. who the fuck was ferdinand?

your boyfriend, like the kind-hearted person he was, pastes on a smile and gently corrects the man.

"er- no, sir. i'm george russell- driver for mercedes."

"as i thought," he states with no shame. he then loudly clinks his drink with the young lady, ricca's, glass, and they both down their respective liquids.

you literally could not take it anymore.

"let me take those onto the bar for you," you offer helpfully to the affluent pair. "another whiskey and margarita?"

they have the decency to thank you tipsily before shoving the empty glasses in your hand. you turn back to george, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"i'll be right back," you whisper.

squeezing through the crush of the crowd, you station yourself in an mostly empty table in the corner of the room placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window. the empty glasses in your hand clink when you set it on the table, the last dregs of the drinks swirling at the bottom of the glasses. a quick wave of your hand summons fresh ice cubes in each glass, and a practiced flick of your middle finger and thumb sends a stream of margarita and whiskey out of thin air into its respective glasses. from your pocket, you retrieve a vial of silver liquid that you brewed just about every grand prix. with a hint of nightshade, wings of a spanish fly, and ground up pearls, it made the drinker do whatever you wanted, really. after carefully pouring half into each drink, you throw the empty vial into the air, where it is promptly teleported to your vial cabinet back in george's driver room.

perfect.

before heading back, you take one last look through the glass that presented the night sky and darkened track below. the track still had streaks of black from the burnt rubber from the race only a few hours ago.

it was a wonderful sport really. it was a shame that implemented these barbaric rules that forced your hand. but if that's what you had to do for george, then you would do it.

it didn't take very long for the potion to take effect. you could tell from their slurred speech and slow movements that one could pass off as being drunk.

deciding to waste no time, you pull out your quill pen and paper out of a hidden pocket in your dress. it levitates in the air, visible to only you.

with a nod to george, you both go through the usual spiel- bank account numbers? passwords? credit card numbers?

the vips list off the information as if it is public knowledge, unknowingly allowing your quill to copy the numbers and sensitive information into your notebook.

when you are satisfied, you slip the notebook back into your pocket.

"alright, i think we're done here, georgie," you say to your boyfriend, ignoring the two figures that sway, silent, next to the two of you.

george pouts.

"aww, i was really having fun with that!" he whines.

"well," you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "do you want to stay at this god-forsaken place where you might be stabbed by "ferdinand" alonso for no reason or do you want to go home to our comfy flat?"

he shrugs.

"i guess you have a point," he says unhappily.

taking his hand, you lead him out of the still-packed event, but not before slipping another vial of blood-red liquid into their drinks- mind-wiping serum that worked perfectly every single time, except the fact that it also had a tiny side effect of excruciating pain that lasted a few hours.

eh, they deserved it for not even knowing your boyfriend's name.

tomorrow- if they even survived- they would wake up to see their bank accounts drained. you suppose you should send them a thank-you letter next time for single-handedly sponsoring the next merc upgrades, even if they didn't know it.

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

at this point in time, you didn't care anymore. you dared one person- a fan, an official, or opposing team member to try again to break into carlos' driver room. they never seemed to learn their lesson of how loyal and protective you were of your boyfriend. one bite with your teeth are sure to dismember an arm and one swipe of your paw could brake even the most sturdy tire drills, as demonstrated with the last haas mechanic that tried in vain to murder carlos.

it might not seem like it, the way you were curled in carlos' arms on his couch. you practically had your face buried in his red branded hoodie, half-asleep, while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. it's so soft and comfy, you can't help let out a soft snore as you drift off.

carlos laughs, chest rumbling, patting your head with his free hand. "i thought you were supposed to be on guard, protecting me, mi amor!"

opening your eyes a tiny bit, you pull yourself even closer to carlos, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"i am on alert," you defend, but it doesn't help your case the way your voice comes out muffled from being pressed against his hoodie. "i am always list-"

footsteps.

you hear a pair of scuffled footsteps from the hallway outside of carlos' door, thanks to your exceptional hearing. it slowly drags closer and closer to the only door out of the room, a slow patter of sneaker on pavement that is only audible to you.

without wasting a second, you leap up off the couch and shift into your hellhound form, baring your sharp teeth towards the door, poised, ready to attack whatever poor soul that had decided had your boyfriend was an easy target.

behind you, carlos slides off the couch slowly, recognizing something was wrong.

a knock sounds on the door, making him flinch and eliciting a warning growl from you. however, when both you and carlos don't move an inch toward the entryway, the door slowly slides open.

you muster up all the power you have to leap straight at the attacker, making sure to aim for the neck. but before you can pounce and go for the kill, carlos roughly yanks you back by the scruff of your neck.

"woahwoahwoah," he says to you, pushing your foaming mouth away from the cowering man in the doorway. "it's fine- it's okay!"

you snap at the man once, making sure to purposely show off your canines, but back off a little into the room. if carlos said the man was safe, you wouldn't go against his words.

carlos scratches his head, briefly apologizing to what you realize was his head race engineer, riccardo adami, explaining the precautions he had to take in light of the fia's new rules.

riccardo laughs nervously, but proceeds to let carlos know that he is wanted in the media pen.

carlos holds your hand in his when you stroll down the lighted walkways of the paddock. you flounce your way past the plush couches next to the walkway and the little cafe/bar that served absolutely bomb coffee and cocktails. honestly, you missed the times before the fia's stupid fucking rule where you could drink cocktails with alex's girlfriend or gossip with yuki's girlfriend without fearing that they would poison your drinks or strangle you behind the mclaren hospitality just to help their boyfriends. you guess you still could if you really wanted to, though. maybe you'll do the poisoning and strangling if really needed.

lost in thought, you miss the fake smile the interviewer gives you before dragging your boyfriend off into the media pen.

throwing yourself onto the said couches from before, you convince yourself that he'd probably be fine, but you make sure to keep an eye out and train yourself to listen to any concerning sounds within all the chatter and crowds.

to your surprise, the interview ends quite early, and you have hardly taken a sip of your iced coffee (even though it was, like, 8pm a the track) before carlos storms out of the media pen.

"you okay?" you ask your boyfriend concerningly as you take another swig of the still-full iced coffee in your hand.

carlos huffs angrily, running a hand through his hair, before grasping your free hand to lead you back to his driver's room.

"it's fine, let's just go," he says dismissively, straight-up dragging you behind him.

you pull him to stop with your strength, and glare at him with your arms crossed.

"no! carlos sainz, you tell me what happened in there," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. "well, that stupid interviewer just kept on asking me questions about my thoughts on the missing otmar, dead steward, the fan "falling" from the stands, and all that bullshit that i said didn't want to talk about. i told her i wanted to talk about the race, but then she just responded with a question about my reaction to max's pit crew being injected with some type of venom. i was so done at that point, i just walked out."

you frown. that woman sure sounded like a bitch. honing in your hearing to find the woman through the noise in the media pen, you hear what you assume to be the interviewer mention carlos' name.

"...no, and like i felt like he was so hard to work with," she laughs.

perhaps she was talking to a friend in the media pen?

"...yeah, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions- like what am i going to put in my article? nothing?" she says incredulously. "honestly," she continues, "i hope he dies next on the grid, so it'll make it easier for the next poor reporter who has do an article on him, because then, she won't have to go through the misery of interviewing him!"

a symphony of giggles from a group follow her sentence, a few muttering their agreement.

you turn back to carlos, purposely blocking off the noise of the media pen in your ear, and give him a genuine smile. pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, you comfort him, "i'm sorry that happened to you, baby. i'm sure it won't happen again- ever."

true to your word, you wait until carlos is proccupied with arguing with charles in the hospitality about one of the controversial on-track battles that took place earlier in the day when you make your move.

the sky is dark, throughly littered with sparkling diamonds, when you pad through the mostly-empty paddock towards the media pen. several fans and officials, seeing your demonic form, scamper out of the way in an effort to avoid your wrath.

you spot your target with your sharp eyesight immediately, walking wobbly in her high heels with a clipboard in one hand. several of her reporter friends huddle next to her, their laughs echoing through the darkened paddock.

time to enact your plan.

stopping a meter behind them, you use your sharp claws to draw a circle on the ground. with three taps of your paw and a breath of fire into the middle, the pavement slides away to reveal a portal into a fiery pit. you're not too sure where it leads, but you don't really plan on finding out either.

silently scampering over to the group, you clamp your jaws down the legs of one of the people that you heard agreeing with the interviewer. you ignore the group's screams before roughly dragging the woman towards the pit. she falls, and it's not long before her yells are covered up in the rumble of the flames.

even when the group scatters in different ways, it doesn't take long with your supernatural speed to catch up to them and drag each person into the pit. you purposely save the main interviewer for last.

when she lies at the edge of the pit, arm bleeding profusely from the wounds from your teeth, you shift back into your human form.

"don't fucking talk shit about my boyfriend ever again," you snarl.

with a shove from your arm, she falls backwards into the deep fire pit with the rest of her "friends."

if carlos was hard to work with, you bet whatever demons down there were so much more harder to work with. oh well, that was her problem.

[twst-aceofhearts]

Caretaker

a/n: Riddle's expression ohmahgosh 아아..~ 너무 귀여우 진짜~ asldkfj pure fluffyyyyyy

pairings: Riddle x Yuu

words: 1595

taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe

It started out as a nice time! Yuu was helping out Heartslabyul’s dorm leader by taking care of the hedgehogs with him for the unbirthday party later in the afternoon.

That was until all the hedgehogs started climbing on top of Riddle. They kept chirping for an ounce of attention. 

Yuu couldn’t help but let out a few giggles, begging to laugh at the display which caused his face to start turning red. Is he angry or embarrassed…?

“This is not a funny matter!” He attempts to scold them, the hedgehogs trying to climb on top of his head.

“You’re all causing such an unnecessary commotion! Stop climbing on me this instant!” A lot of the adorable creatures continue hanging off his hair. A lot of them crawl down to his shoulders to cling onto him even harder. He ends up succumbing to the tiny beings’ hold, now glaring at Yuu with an annoyed huff.

“What do you want me to do? They keep giving me those stupidly adorable eyes everytime I try to take them off of you. I can’t resist, Riddle. They’re too cute.” Yuu sighed with a small pout.

His face becomes a tomato red, looking away while mumbling something incoherent. Yuu thought they heard a “Shut up!” in there somewhere.

“Rude,” Yuu’s feigned pout increased. “...say ‘cheese’~” A small smirk pulled at the corner of their mouth, pulling out their phone and snapping a picture of the miserable-looking dormhead. Blackmail to send to Ace and Deuce.

Riddle lets out another audible groan. “Why on earth must you take a picture of this? Delete it this instant-!” He’s still not looking at Yuu, he refuses to, completely embarrassed and flustered.

“Mmh…do you want me to delete the picture or get them off of you?”

“You’re going to make me choose?!” He turns to Yuu with a deadpan look. “Get these hedgehogs off of me! This is humiliating enough…” He glares at them, muttering something under his breath.

Yuu pocketed their phone, beginning to scoop the hedgehogs off of him, placing them back into their cage.

Riddle lets out a breath he’s been holding on for a while. He glares at Yuu and gave them a small frown. “Not a single word of this to anyone.”

Yuu gave a sheepish grin, closing the hedgehog cage and flipping the latch. “I make no promises.”

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have invited you to tend to the hedgehogs with me.”

“Aw come on, don’t be like that Riddle.”

“How else am I supposed to be? You took pictures of me in such a humiliating state!” Riddle huffed, completely exasperated.

“I’m not gonna do anything with it-!” Yuu paused. “...except make it my wallpaper-”

“Delete the picture,” He says sternly, narrowing his eyes. “I can always tell Trey to stop making you [insert favorite dessert]. So I would advise against keeping it.”

“No fair…”

“Just delete the photo please. I have an image to uphold,” He sighs again, looking a bit more relaxed now that the hedgehogs are away from him. Even so, he has a light blush across his face.

“...no.” Yuu pouted in defiance.

“What? What do you mean no-?” He raised an eyebrow. “Delete. The. Photo,” he growls through gritted teeth. “I don’t think you seem to understand how humiliating it is to be covered by hedgehogs of all things.

“I don’t want to…”

“Too bad,” The redhead walks over, planning to snatch Yuu’s phone from them. “Give me the phone so I can delete it myself.” He reaches his hand out for the cellular device.

Yuu, being a menace, held it over their head, using his (lack of) height to their advantage. [a/n: sry I had to ㅠㅠ]

He lets out a huff, crossing his arms. He gives them a glare, “You know I can just use magic to take the phone from you, right?”

“Yeah, but then that’d be stealing—it’d be against the school rules.”

“You took pictures of me without my permission. Isn’t that also against the rules?” He scoffs and reaches his hand out for the phone again. 

“...touche.”

Riddle sighed and rolled his eyes, “Why do insist on keeping such a horrible photo anyway…?”

“It’s not horrible. I like it—seriously, I really do.” Yuu’s tone softened, their voice dropping a murmur.

“...You’re joking, right?” The blush on his face grew, spreading across his cheeks. He looked at Yuu, trying to see if they’re being serious by the tone of their voice.

“...I just said I’m serious—”

“Well, I don’t get why you like it so much. I…I look…undignified…” Yuu could tell he thinks if Ace or someone else saw the picture, he’d never hear the end of it.

Yuu clenched their jaw and swallowed before replying, “That’s..kind of the point? Only I get to see you like that.”

“You…-huh?” His eyebrows furrow, a flustered mess simultaneously though. “W-Why would you want to be the only one to see me like that..?”

“...personal…reasons.”

“What personal res-” He pauses, putting two and two together, flushing an even brighter shade of red, almost blending in with his hair color. “Are you trying to say that me being..uh-... embarrassed…is somehow attractive to you…?”

“W-what? Psh, no…where’d you get that idea from–?” Yuu looked down, unavailingly hiding their red cheeks.

“You-” He points an accusing finger at them. “You…think…my embarrassing-...moments are cute..?” He looks like he wants to hide under a rock right about now. 

“W-well, I wouldn’t put it like that—” Yuu was equally, if not more flustered now. How the tables have not turned.

“How would you put it then?” He crosses his arms, still looking away from Yuu. 

“It’s…endearing.”

“E-endearing?” He seems to have finally composed himself, then turning to look back at Yuu. “...I’ve never heard anyone use that to describe me before…” He looked away again, a small smile on his face this time.

“There’s a first for everything,” Yuu shrugged, managing to fan the warmth out of their cheeks.

“I suppose there is,” He lets out a soft chuckle. “The day you find me adorable though, is the day I eat a tart with ingredients other than strawberries.”

“...technically strawberry tarts are made with other ingredients, you know. The crust—”

“Stop speaking,” He gave Yuu a deadpan expression, pointing a finger at them.

Yuu pouted, but they shut up anyway.

“Better,” He gave Yuu the tiniest of smiles. “I’ll…let you keep the photo. On one condition.” A soft smirk appeared on his face—the first and last they’ll ever see. 

Yuu raised an eyebrow, their eyes sparkling. “Really? What?”

He motions for Yuu to come closer. “Just come a bit closer first~”

“...you sound like you’re up to something. Who are you and what have you done to Riddle?”

“Hush, just come here,” he laughs lightly, motioning them to come closer once more. He’s blushing slightly again, his smile genuine now.

When Yuu gets over to him, he tilts their chin with one hand. He gets a little bit closer, leaving only a bit of space between them. He smiles, a bit more mischievous than before.

Yuu furrowed their eyebrows. “I knew it…you’re up to something…”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Close your eyes,” he chuckles softly, sounding more teasing than before.

“Why…?”

“No questions. Just close them,” he sighs, giving Yuu another smile. “Please?”

“...Fine. But if you collar me or something, I will be really upset.”

“Don’t worry, no collars involved,” He laughs again before bringing Yuu’s chin up to look more at him. Now that Yuu had closed their eyes, he leans in, planting a light kiss on their cheek. His lips lingered there for a few moments, before stepping away. “You can open them now.”

Yuu’s eyes fluttered open, their cheeks flushing slightly as their hand stuttered, reaching up to graze the spot where he had kissed.

“Cute,” he states it matter of factly. “Now that wasn’t so horrible, was it?”

“...what…what was that for…?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s payback for taking embarrassing pictures of me,” he smirks, letting out a quiet laugh. “Also because I wanted to see you all flustered,” he chuckles again, turning around to take out the hedgehogs of the cage once more. 

Yuu watched him pick up a hedgehog, a small blush on their face. They pulled out their phone, holding it in their hand hesitantly for a moment, before making up their mind.

“...Hey, Riddle. Can you look over here and smile?”

Riddle turns to Yuu, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “What for?”

“..seflie,” They mutter, a bit shyly.

“Oh..fine, only this once,” He sighs, but he’s smiling as he walked back to Yuu. “Ready when you are,” he closes his eyes and holds the hedgehog with two hands.

The little hedgehog in his hands is snoozing away, not caring about the picture. Doesn’t matter, it still looks cute.

After Yuu took the picture, Riddle opened his eyes and looked at them. “Can I see?” He looks curious and a bit embarrassed about how it came out.

“Hold on…” Yuu muttered, switching their lockscreen to that very picture, before flipping their phone around and showing him.

He nods and looks at the picture, his eyes scan the picture before he smiles. “I look…tolerable,” He laughs lightly and moves a hand up to mess with the back of his own hair. “Well, at least you have a more…decent version of me on your phone now, don’t you?”

“Yes… I like this one a lot better.”

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider

[deyisacherry]

Nexus died, he died as a villain and he died as if he was,,, nothing.

Nothing at all for anyone except Sun.

And I can't understand how after having given us a character who ALWAYS, ALWAYS was there for his family and was managing to meet the expectations of not only his family but the fandom, he was massacred in such a way that he went from mourning and depression FOR NOT FEELING GOOD ENOUGH to... what?

A joke. A villain with a rushed plot, cruel and butt of jokes.

Because it's fun, right? Haha, emo, haha, edgy teenager, haha, he only became evil because Solar died... of course.

The character who loved, protected and cared for his family and was WILLING TO GIVE HIS LIFE, deserves to be treated as a joke even after the pain he went through. That's totally logical.

And of course it was only because of Solar's death! Because he's a liar! Nobody had expectations about him! He wasn't a replacement! Nobody was forcing him to be better or equal to Old Moon! Nobody in the family stopped trying to interact with him because he wasn't Old Moon! Nobody made him feel like he couldn't achieve anything! Nobody told him that if necessary he should die again if it meant keeping his family safe!

And of course it's ridiculous that he spent so much time with Solar! Because Solar was by no means the only one besides Earth who knew him and accepted him for who he was AND NOT for who he used to be! It's ridiculous that he considered the only one who, despite his own traumas with his own Moon, was never afraid of him, rejected him, or judged him as part of the family!

He was not at all vilely betrayed by a guy who HAVING THE OPTION TO KILL HIM, decided to "help" him, "cure" him. He was not at all judged for not trusting him when he acted suspicious. And he definitely wasn't betrayed with the excuse that millions of people were being saved while he had to watch as the only person he could ever feel HIMSELF with disappeared in his arms.

After all, EVERYTHING he did and had to go through, after seeing him with the family for basically a year... was simply taken to fill the missing space of a villain for the plot, completely throwing away every thought, advancement and development he had gained over time. Turned without any logic to follow up into a cruel person who doesn't care about anything. Even with the brief moments of clarity he had, even with the small moments in which we saw how much pain he kept for never having felt enough for the family.

Even after all, he died as a villain. Because it's logical, right? It's logical that the only one who didn't have a chance for redemption among ALL the villains we've seen on this show, was Nexus.

And it was all "his own free will"

Because what a big lie to say that it was DARK SUN who manipulated everything. Surely he didn't start messing with New Moon after he GRABBED MOON'S ANKLE AND YANKED HIM TO HIS DIMENSION. Surely he wasn't the one who slowed down Eclipse so he wouldn't work on bringing Solar back faster. He definitely wasn't the one who took advantage of Nexus being in the worst mental and emotional state (even though he felt regret) and took him away, and showed him the dragon, and the negative star power.

What a lie to say that if it weren't for Dark Sun, Nexus would never have become this way. That if it weren't for him, this large percentage of "patterns" (denied by Atlas) wouldn't keep happening.

Because it's more logical to say that it was always his decision and fault.

Nexus became a villain because he wanted to and not because thousands of reasons forced him to hate himself and hate everything he knew.

Nexus was worse than any other villain, even though he was the one who caused the least damage among all the others. He's the only one who didn't deserve redemption.

That is, without a doubt, the only valid opinion.

/very sarcastic.

Whether Nexus will come back or not, at this point I don't care anymore. If they will bring him back as something worse I'd rather not see it. If this is his final death, it's my last sign to take a break from TSAMS and LAES.

I said it, I repeated it many times(?) I'm tired of it. The massacre of a character I really adored happened even before his death.

And this is not for debate. Nor is it hate to the writers/VA's. It's my point of view and reaction to what they did with Nexus.

Probably, I hope, the last post about it.

[paingoes]

Aegean Seas

Destroyer AU

long awaited roleswap AU. featuring royal delta and (defective!) living weapon paris

delta still has some psychic ability in this AU, but only a moderate amount. its nothing to write home about.

paris doesn’t have any powers, just an incredible capacity for violence. 

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whumper, carewhumper vibes, institutionalized slavery, blood, biting, choking, electrocution, choking, suggestive language, background lady whump, clowns, hidden injury, past abuse, past trauma, PTSD triggers, emotional whump, scars, body image issues, war mention, alcohol, non-con touching (nonsexual), conditioning, magical exhaustion, seizure, kinda fluffy?)

“You don’t have to look so upset about it.” Delta twirling the pearl earring around within the pierced fin. The golden bangles of his wrist clicked together lightly at the motion — and all the silver and sea-glass ornaments he wore jingled in time with the movement of the airship. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he said it, and they were not the only ones in the cabin, but he understood it was meant for him.

“I’m not upset,” Paris said. At least, not as much as he could’ve been. 

Far below, the cerulean sea reflected the sun so that the water itself was blinding. Foam was gathering along the coast — a sure sign of rough waters. On the horizon, the embassy building jutted out from the cape.

~

The ship lowered itself in a hover just by the surface of the beach. Paris slid the exterior door open. He hopped the remaining few feet onto the sand right before the craft finally landed. By way of reflex, he extended one hand back to Delta, who took it without thanks as he stepped down.

The other members of the court soon followed, a handful of advisors and scribes sent to keep the time. With a home advantage, all support had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Paris shifted carefully in between them, eventually settling a few steps behind Delta and a bit off to the right, which he knew was the best sightline he’d get without drawing too much attention to himself.

The path up to the embassy was lined with basalt — and a pretty long walk uphill, considering how many of its visitors were geriatric. At the peak, he again pulled the entrance doors open, taking a cautious look in through the entryway. He felt the familiar weight of the blade tucked up into his sleeve, though he had no real expectation of using it. He held the door open for Delta alone, but deigned to let the rest of the congregation pass through in the same way. He stole a last glance out at the countryside before he pulled the door shut tight.

At the front, Delta’s eyes flitted up in the same clouded concentration he always fell into before the meetings. He refused to take notes, so dedicated to committing absolutely everything to memory. He played all the information back like rolls of film. He waved vaguely at the prompting of his advisors, but it was clear he was somewhere else. 

He only came to when they reached the center. It was a large room, polished, and most everything in it was the soft color of sandalwood. The painted monarch sat perched within the straight-backed chair. His own court spread out in a half-moon around him, all their papers all ready to go. Paris only caught a glimpse of them through the doorway, but the glimpse alone was enough to make him spiteful.

“Watch the entrance,” Delta whispered to him just before they passed through the entryway. Paris nodded and stepped off to the side of the door. 

Soon he was alone in the large hallway. The building was old and its halls were echoing, though not quite as bad as the castle. He leaned back against the wall, wishing he’d brought the cigarettes with him. He passed the butterfly knife idly in between his hands, having no better way to occupy the time. He’d gotten good enough at it that he didn’t even need to look while he did. His eyes still scanned the corridors in the way they’d been trained, sizing up each impotent official or underpaid clerk whose heels tapped down the linoleum tiles. There was no real threat. Nothing ever happened.

The jingling bells warned of her approach before she came into view. He sighed, slipped the knife back into hiding. Jo popped out from the doorway. She was quicker than he would’ve thought, skipping out a few paces before she even turned to see him. When she did, her painted face contorted into an express of unadulterated mirth. She giggled — and the bells of her hat jingled again as she flipped over to stand on her head.

“I was wondering where they were keeping you this time.” Her voice was raised in faux cheeriness. 

Paris watched her carefully — he couldn’t not. The rapid movements set all his nerves on edge. He was sure she knew that. He was sure it was why she did it. He didn’t answer.

She rolled over into a backbend and let her hands guide her up. When she was upright, she was not more than a few inches from his face. She was shorter than him, the difference exaggerated by the heels of his boots and the flatness of her stupid pointy shoes. She rose up on tiptoes to meet his eyes. He could see the glitter against her sclera. 

“No dogs in the house of law, eh?” She stretched one leg up over her head. Her movements continued so fluid and so completely uninfluenced by anything she was saying, as if they were completely different hemispheres of her brain.

“I heard that when the neophytes drop out, they give ‘em a new name and put ‘em out on the street. Painted silver! They spend the rest of their days doing tricks for spare change. Is that true?”

No one ever dropped out. He didn’t answer. She did a back walkover, her speech uninterrupted.

“Or I heard what they’re really doing now is selling all the new grads to Crimson’s West Front,” she paused for dramatic effect, “There’s a famine there, you know. They need new meat!”

She cackled. He stiffened slightly, because that part was probably true. Even if they weren’t getting eaten, a lot of the kids did get bought out for the war effort, and were given no arms when they arrived. They were getting pushed into the meat grinder, literally or figuratively.

She seemed disappointed with his lack of outward reaction. As she rolled onto the floor again, she laid there on her stomach for a second, kicking her legs back and forth.

“You don’t have to worry about that though. I bet he’s nice to you,” She grinned impishly, pushing herself up into another handstand. “I hear he’s nice to everyone.”

She erupted into a laughing fit at that. His eye twitched. He felt the weight of the blade in his sleeve. She looked over to see his expression and her smile widened. She cartwheeled towards him, again landing only inches apart from him.

“People on High Street got a name for him. What was it again? The something wonder? You’ve heard it before, right? You had to. You spend enough time with that whore to-“

He threw her into the ground before she could finish, the last synapse snapping within him. 

The sudden violence got a forced, clipped laugh from her. She did a back roll before he could strike again, sitting up on her knees before she swept one of his legs out. He dropped, but it didn’t slow him down. Nothing could have. He still drove his fist full force into her jaw, once, twice, about as many times as it would take to break it off. 

She didn’t let him get that far. Jo was stronger than she looked and just as quick as he was. She was not downed easily. When he pinned her, she slipped. When her nails reached up to scratch out his eyes, he bit down upon her fingers hard enough to break them. Her blood gushed into his mouth. It was familiar. He didn’t even stop to spit it out.

She elbowed him in the face at the same time she drove her knee up into his stomach — all sharp angles. It was hard enough to knock him off of her and onto his side. Blood poured from his nose. It splattered on the floor right beside her own. She crawled forward on her bloodied fingers, trying to get even. He forced himself back upwards, lunging at her again. He became vaguely aware of a commotion behind him.

“Stop,” Delta said tiredly.

Paris did not stop. No fucking chance. Not now. She was still moving, still breathing, still fucking laughing. His hands closed around the undulations of her throat. 

“Stop,” Delta repeated.

Blood dripped thick and hot from the both of them. Johanna twisted beneath him, her eyes shining like stars. He wanted them barren. He wanted her to stop moving.

“Stop,” Delta said it with no more emphasis than the first two times, but he’d closed the distance between them now. The prongs of the choke collar dug into Paris’s neck, cutting off his oxygen. 

He backed up on his knees, leaning backwards into the touch, the only way he could loosen the chain. But for all the slack the proximity created, Delta only pulled it higher, tighter. No air reached him, even when he’d stopped, even when he had stilled. It kept going. The panic gripped him immediately, tempered only by experienced. Delta wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and as soon as he started to think that he would, the chain released. Paris gasped shakily, collapsed down onto his hands and knees. One hand pawed desperately at his throat. Small beads of blood had formed there in the collar’s outline.

He felt the pressure of the chain being picked up and winced, but it did not tighten again.

“Sorry about him.” Delta frowned. “And…sorry about your…clown.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s had worse.”

And sure enough, Jo sat up again, the wounds he’d given her already half-healed. Her stupid fucking hat jingled as she shook her head clear. The sound was enough to re-trigger the prey drive. He lunged.

Sharp and course electricity ran straight through his body, aborting the attack before it could even begin. All his muscles locked up. He’d built up a tolerance for the dryer sparks, but being tased was rare. It was a different story. He knew the shock only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds dragged out like years. Delta didn’t even say anything, the tips of his fingers retreating from the raw skin of his neck. 

“Here girl,” the monarch snapped their fingers. 

The clown stood up in her wet clothes, skipping happily back into the employ. Paris kept his eyes trained on the empty space in front of him, the blood spots on the floor. He heard their footsteps retreating. The hallway was silent. One of Delta’s fingers was still hooked around the circle of his collar.

“Clean it up,” he said. Paris nodded. The chain went slack and he was alone in the hall once again.

~

“She started it-“

“She is a jester,” Delta cut him off. “She was doing her job. If she didn’t have that healing factor, you would have killed her.”

His eye twitched. Killed her. Kill her. It flared up within him again, without any target. He dug his nails into his wrist to keep from something worse. The anger burning so hot inside of him he thought he might just be sick from it. She’d done it on purpose. She’d got him on purpose, but it shouldn’t have worked. 

“You weren’t there,” he said, the ache of defensiveness rising in his voice. “You don’t know what she was doing.”

“Did she draw on you?” Delta asked, sounding bored. He already knew the answer.

Paris’s face flushed anyway. He gave no reply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Some small satisfaction crept into his voice, then faded quickly into irritation. “You didn’t have any impetus. Nobody was in any danger until you snapped. And now they know that if they so much as wave a flag in front of you, you act like a rabid fucking animal.”

“I was defending you, you ungrateful fuck!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Delta looked up in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Paris amended quickly, retaining at least some sense of self-preservation. He covered his mouth with his hand in a a belated effort to silence himself. It wasn’t enough. He’d been on thin ice before, but that could not be tolerated. They both knew it.

“Why are you like this?” Delta asked. He didn’t say it as an insult. He asked like he really wanted to know.

That only made it worse.

~

The inner courtyard of the Aegean palace was dense with marble and wildflowers. He always thought the statues looked out of place among the foliage, the vines creeping up the legs of the gods as if they’d already been forgotten. The last of the day’s light was held up in the violet clouds. Beneath them, the walls were doused in the cool blue of dusk. The air was warm and wet.

Paris went without prompting, without needing to be forced. He pulled the shirt off of his back, shivering a bit as the scars that already laid there were exposed to the open air. He knelt down by the post. The guard shackled his wrists to the side of it. He rested his forehead against the wood, curling and uncurling his fingers. It made it more tolerable.

He heard the whip crack against the ground as the guard made practice shots. Delta sat off to the side, one elbow propped up against the aluminum garden table, watching without much interest. He’d never get his hands dirty doing it himself. He wouldn’t even know how. 

That idiot guard didn’t know much better. The first strike came down unpracticed, landing diagonally along his shoulder and against the old scars. He pressed his head further into the post, preferring the pressure he felt there to the hot pain that was forming along his back.

It only grew. It layered. It would’ve layered already, in just a single beating, but his body had years worth of them just waiting to be reignited. The whip dredged up the old pain easily. It didn’t split the skin, but he could remember when it had. The thought alone made him dizzy. The pain quickly became all he could focus on. It kept going.

“Please stop,” he said, beginning to get truly nervous now. It’d been going on too long and was pushing up against the bounds of what he could tolerate. His hands turned over anxiously in the solid iron of the manacles. He couldn’t have gotten out even if he tried.

Delta held a hand up. The whip temporarily ceased. He stood up from the table, electrifying the air as he got closer. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Hm?” Delta asked, leaning down a little, “Stop?”

He could tell that he was feeling vindictive. Delta’s voice took on that soft, too-patient tone it always had when he was furious. 

“Paris, when I told you to stop, what did you do?” he chided.

“…Kept doing it,” he muttered miserably into the post. He hated when he got like this.

“So you do understand.”

“It hurts.” He kept his voice soft, somewhat whiny. It was calculated, but he didn’t have to force it. It didhurt.

“It’s supposed to. I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just listen the first time. You don’t have anyone to blame for this but yourself.”

There was no making him understand. Delta had no concept of what hurt meant — of how much was too much. His own body was unblemished. He’d never bled for anything. 

For as long as he was standing there, the punishment couldn’t continue. They wouldn’t dare swing the whip when Delta was in line of it, god forbid. He took the break for what it was, a few needed seconds for him to catch his breath. Delta seemed to catch onto what he was doing, taking a few steps back. He turned back to the guard.

“Finish up. Gag him if he talks again. He knows better,” he instructed. 

He paced out of the courtyard, retreating back inside the castle walks. He never liked to see the aftermath, either.

~

Delta had been sixteen years old on the eve of his first and only assassination attempt. It had been a failure, in the sense that he had not died from it. It had also been a failure in the sense that the assailant had not even gotten close. 36,000 volts ran straight through his circulatory system before the knife could even fall.

Delta had been uninjured — and in the end, unshaken. The King and Queen were not. They had no other heir.

Paris came as a knee-jerk reaction, dredged up out of whatever trench they’d found him in. He could play nice, when he needed to. He knew exactly what was on the line.

He was passable. The King bought him alone and unannounced. He’d complain for years afterwards that he’d been ripped off.

Paris had glanced up when he was first made to kneel in the throne room. His first impression was that Delta looked awfully calm for someone who had just survived an assassination attempt.

Delta was unimpressed by it, and had been unimpressed by everything since.

~

Almost everything. Kitty glowed blue in the light of the lounge. It was Delta’s favorite room. in the palace. It had been even since he was little. The walls were all made of glass, with thousands of gallons of seawater lying just behind them. Whole shoals of fish reflected silver onto the dark floor. The sequins of Kitty’s slit dress had the same effect.

She was wearing a collar. He didn’t know why he found this so funny. He guessed it could be considered a choker, if he wanted to be generous, but with the ears and the tail, “collar” was the first word that came to mind.

Hers wouldn’t choke her. If he wanted her to, he’d have to do it himself.

She draped herself over the arm of his chair. Kitty was growing into herself so beautifully. Her eyes still lit up at the sight of the fish swimming, just the way they had when they were kids, and he knew she wanted nothing more than to break straight through the glass to get at them. But everything else about her now shone with such a honed sophistication. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her eyes widening with concern.

“What?” He blinked. He hadn’t meant to.

But sure enough, a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose just as soon as she got close to him. Delta blushed, a pale blue hue rising up beneath his freckles. It came as a betrayal.

“You’re so predictable.” She almost smiled, pressing a pink handkerchief to his face before the blood could drip onto the soft sheen of his clothes.

The air around him crackled so badly both their hair stood on end.

~

Apollo tread into the kitchen with the golden fringes of his clothing catching all the light. He dragged the kitchen chair out and fell lightly into the seat. He made a soft sound of surprise  as he found Paris leaning back against the edge of the counter. 

“You have to stay up as long as he does?” Apollo asked. He leaned forward against the marble table, rocking the chair from side to side.

“I’m not supposed to sleep at all,” Paris responded flatly, only half joking. It was a bad look for him to be sleeping while Delta was awake, in the same way it was a bad look for him to be sleeping in. That left a very small window for him to get any rest at all. 

Apollo grimaced in sympathy. He placed the empty glass down on the counter. Wordlessly, Paris took it to refill.

“Oh, I didn’t- Is that even your job?” Apollo asked, a blush rising to his face.

Paris shrugged, pouring the last of the bottle out into the glass. He slid it back across the table. 

“You should let me fix that for you,” Apollo offered.

Paris yanked his hand back as violently as if he’d been burned. He thought it was invisible. It hadn’t healed that wrong. It still worked. It wasn’t an impediment. He clutched it to his chest protectively, shielding his wrist with his other hand.

Apollo gave him a knowing look. He stirred the drink idly. The ice made a soft noise as it clattered against the edges of the glass.

“They didn’t splint that for you in training?” He tilted his head.

Paris looked down. He tentatively loosened the grip on his wrist. It’d just been a fall. He’d gotten knocked backwards and he’d needed to stop himself from cracking his skull onto the floor. He’d done it wrong. The wrist had taken the brunt of the impact. He kept it in a splint at night — and when he was alone — but he couldn’t ever wear it around the trainers. He made use with the bandages instead, prayed everyday that medical didn’t come see him. In time, the bones had stitched themselves back together. Not enough, apparently.

Apollo was still staring at him.

“…It’s disqualifying,” he said softly.

“Ah,” Apollo leaned his elbow on the counter. He pressed one finger up against his lips. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Paris looked at him gratefully. Apollo took another sip of the drink, seeming to study the swirling patterns of the table’s surface. After a while, he added:

“He wouldn’t mind, though.”

Paris frowned. He didn’t think so either. That wasn’t the point. He couldn’t have his wrist be unusable for a full six weeks. He could not stand to be any more unusable than he already was.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He never would. The silence endured. Apollo shrugged, taking the drink back with him as he ducked out of the bright kitchen. Paris drew the sleeve of his shirt all the way past his fingertips.

~

ponyboy: heyyyyy

headrooms: holy shit

headrooms: i thought you fucking died

ponyboy: nope :-)

ponyboy: just busy yk how it is

headrooms: fuck

headrooms: dont scare me like that

ponyboy: sorryyyyy

ponyboy: how have you been

headrooms: im chill

headrooms: i got beat up by a jester last week

ponyboy: lmfao

ponyboy: dude shut up your job is cushy as shit

ponyboy: you wanna know what they had me doing last week????

headrooms: uphill both ways in the snow

ponyboy: i was pushing whole barrels full of petroleum and poison uphill in the coldest day of winter. they didnt even give me gloves until my fingers were already falling off!!!

ponyboy: hey fuck you

headrooms: lol

headrooms: are you good though like actually 

ponyboy: ya i mean

ponyboy: its definitely heating up here but we’re still holding a good position 

ponyboy: they kinda treat me like shit but they also dont want to lose me so im not being sent for the real suicide missions yet <3

headrooms: thats good i guess

headrooms: is vi chill

ponyboy: omg no shes been on her fuckin period lately 

ponyboy: bitch mode

headrooms: lmfao mine too

headrooms: i swear its the full moon

ponyboy: IT LITERALLY IS IDK WHAT HER PROBLEM IS

ponyboy: ughhhhhh

headrooms: i miss you

headrooms: like

headrooms: all the time

ponyboy: i miss you too !

ponyboy: ill let you know if im ever in your corner of the galaxy! i want to see you again so badly <3

Paris winced. If her people ever ended up in his corner of the galaxy, that was a bad, bad sign. Selfishly, he wished for it anyway.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly slid the phone back into his pocket. He was not quick enough to get rid of the cigarette. Delta paced out onto the balcony in a whirlwind. Little bouts of lighting lit up by his eyes.

He plucked the cigarette straight out of his mouth. His other hand smacked hard against the side of Paris’s skull. 

“Ow,” Paris winced, though it didn’t really hurt. Because he wanted Delta to feel bad. Or because he knew he wanted to hear it. Whichever it was that day. Whichever worked.

“Those are my fucking lungs,” he hissed. The guilt trip hadn’t worked. Paris shrugged.

“Sorry.”

The apology worked better. Delta’s body language relaxed some as he snubbed the cigarette out on the palace wall. He didn’t ask for the rest of the pack. Smoking was fair game, really. It was getting caught doing it that was the issue. 

“Who were you texting?” he asked mildly.

He hadn’t hid the phone quick enough. He tried to play it off.

“Just Lorry.” He looked down. 

“Oh.” Delta’s expression seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered automatically. His heart quickened right after. “…Why? Did you-“

“No,” Delta cut off that train of thought before it could really begin. “No news. I was just wondering.”

“She’s fine, then,” he confirmed. As much as she could be.

It was only then that Delta actually looked guilty. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t his fault. Lorelai had been purchased months before Paris had. It was a miracle he was even allowed to stay in touch with her. He knew most of the program’s graduates weren’t half as lucky.

He still wanted the cigarette. He leaned back against the wall, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth when it was gone. Delta didn’t leave after that, the way he’d expected him to. He pulled himself up onto the railing with a kind of stupid abandon.

The air carried the scent of salt from over the ocean. Down on the beach, two kids flew a white kite right above the waves, blissfully unaware of the peacetime’s fragility.

~

“Keep?” Paris asked, holding up the alligator skin boots. They’d been dyed a shade of ruby red.

“Absolutely not.” Delta shook his head frantically, “Toss. Don’t even tell anyone I had those.”

“I thought they were nice,” Paris muttered. 

He tossed them into the trash pile anyway. He crossed back over the length of the massive closet, pulling another bag off the shelf. This was absolutely, definitely not his job. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He liked anything that did not make him feel like a total waste of space.

His knees hit the ground before he really knew what he was doing. It was a better instinct, though, probably the least harmful out of all the ones he could not control. Delta looked up in surprise, only realizing what had just happened as the King stepped in through the doorway. Delta’s attention recentered on his father. They both acted as like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t you have a dispatch to be filling out?” Ulysses leaned against the doorway, surprisingly casual in the company of his only son. It was a reprimand, but his tone was still playful.

“I’m fuckin’ working on it, jeez,” Delta snapped. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” the King glanced around the room. Paris flinched a bit as his gaze passed over him, but it didn’t linger long.

“Oh!” The queen Andromeda appeared in the entrance before Delta could even respond, looking excitedly at the gown Delta held in one hand. “I’ve always loved that dress! You never wear it!” 

“Oh my god,” Delta said, “Can you leave me alone.”

She rushed forward anyway, squishing his face with one hand as she kissed his cheek.

“Mom!” He blushed terribly.

She smiled, knowing exactly how much she was embarrassing him. He shoved her lightly back towards the door and shut it quickly before either of them could protest. He slammed his head against it once it was closed.

“You can get up,” Delta rolled his eyes. Paris did, rigidly so, in the same mechanical way as when he’d gone down. He blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back to the present.

“They’re so fucking annoying,” Delta muttered to no one in particular, wiping his face off.

“Your parents are nice,” Paris protested weakly in their defense.

“He beat you with a 2x4,” Delta reminded him.

Paris shrugged. The King could’ve done much worse. He’d snapped at Delta that time — not on purpose. Never on purpose. It was only the nerves firing wrong, the signals getting twisted. He couldn’t help it. But it’d been grounds for immediate termination. Paris got off easy, and had moved on from it fairly quickly. Delta still held a grudge against his father for it. 

“Keep?” Delta asked this time, desperate to change the subject. Paris guessed he was glad, too. Something in him ached awfully whenever they were around.

“Keep,” he affirmed.

~

It was awful. They had to hold court later, had to hold it in ten fucking minutes, and his heart felt like it was about to explode if he didn’t kill something. He paced uncontrollably, snapping at the air no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Delta watched idly from the throne. Not angry. Just visibly unpleased with it all.

“Come here,” he called finally. 

Paris flinched. It was not a request. He tried anyway.

“I don’t…want you to…” he protested weakly.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.”

Paris reluctantly approached, kneeling beside the throne. Delta tilted his head, the tiara slipping down a bit as he did so. A soft blush rose to Paris’s face. He pulled his shirt off, then lowered further onto the floor, laying down flat on his stomach. He rested his head against his arm, burying his face. He heard Delta rising up from the throne and settling cross-legged onto the floor beside him.

Delta made that same soft, dissatisfied noise he always did when he saw the old whip scars all along his back. Not his work. The lashes he gave didn’t leave a mark. He didn’t like it when they did. Paris winced.

They were ugly. Paris knew that if the King had caught a single look at the lattice, he’d have never been bought in the first place. Because it was defacement. Because they were ugly. The thought echoed in Paris’s brain every time he caught a glimpse. It was pure vanity. He was a weapon, he knew it didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have even cared about that kind of thing. But he did. He hated them. 

“So tense,” Delta murmured from above him. His hands kneaded into the ridges along Paris’s spine – that strange, analgesic touch. Paris could feel his muscles softening involuntarily, the tension in them forcefully removed.

The urchin spine slid into the center of his shoulder blades. He bit his arm to keep from gasping.

It wasn’t the toxin alone that did it. He knew that because he’d pricked himself with it once, just out of curiosity, and he had felt almost nothing at all. It was the way he used it. 

He didn’t always hate it; sometimes it was almost nice. It was nicer when they did it alone, when he wasn’t forced to take it, exposed on the floor of the throne room. It was viscerally unpleasant to experience against his will. He did not like Delta having that much control over his body. He didn’t want to calm down.

The spine entered again, and he calmed anyway.

It went on like that until all the rigid tension seeped out through his skin like poison, then a while afterwards too. It was gentle, despite everything. He could’ve cried.

“Better?” 

He nodded, though he really just felt hazy. He didn’t think he could even hold a sword anymore. The calm felt intrusive. He was sure he couldn’t move at all, almost limp in the aftermath. He didn’t need to, though. Delta pulled him up a little, trying to straighten him out. He found his position again, on his knees. 

He pulled the shirt back on, roughly. His arms had gone numb; it took so much more effort than it had to take off. He shifted, readjusting so that he was facing the rest of the room this time. It took so much effort just to sit upright then. He felt high.

“Good boy,” Delta said, about a half second before the doors opened. He was only saying it to be mean, but in the moment, Paris couldn’t bring himself to care.

~

Delta yanked his hand away from his face just before Paris could snap it off. Paris hissed in frustration, falling abruptly to the ground. He pounded his fists against the tile. It was all he could do to not fucking kill him. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” He hissed out through gritted teeth. It was wrong. He was making it worse for himself. He had no fucking right to be talking to him like that. 

He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was going to scream.

Delta watched impassively.

“It’s getting worse,” Delta said. There was real concern in his voice. 

Paris pressed his forehead to the ground, curling up. Anything else. 

“I know it’s getting worse,” he growled.

Delta started to bend down, which was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“Get away,” Paris warned. For fucking once, Delta actually listened, taking a few cautious steps back.

It took ten whole minutes for him to get back to a state where the prey drive wasn’t waiting two inches beneath the surface. He sat up wearily. Exhausted. Fucking embarrassed.

Delta’s eyes were wide, but then, they always were. The rest of his expression revealed nothing at all.

“You need to figure that out,” he announced quietly.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Paris buried his face in his hands. “You know I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“That isn’t going to matter to them and you know it.” His voice was soft. Almost sympathetic. “And don’t talk to me like that,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Delta…” Paris whined into his hands. It was an undisguised plea. As if the way he was talking was what mattered right now.

“I’m serious. Don’t.” The plea went unanswered. If anything, his voice hardened. Paris watched with some small horror as all the patience seemed to bleed out of him. As if he could afford to lose a single ally.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Figure it out,” Delta said with such sincere urgency that it seemed like now was his turn to beg. He stormed off, unwilling to let anyone else get the last word in.

Paris picked himself up off the ground and put his fist through the nearest wall.

~

No matter what happened that day, he still came crying in the night like a little kid. 

Paris flinched a bit as he was awoken, but not for very long. He guessed he should’ve been used to it by now. Delta stood over him, tugging at his sleeve impatiently, wordless. His eyes shone like beacons in the darkness of the bedroom. His hair was down. He looked so young when he was like this. His look was all pleading.

Paris sighed, letting himself be roused from the bed. He just barely had time to grab the sword before he was dragged out into the hallway. He followed Delta all the way up the stairs, all the way up to his bedroom. He could hear the water trickling well before he entered.

His parents really did spoil him. Delta’s room was probably the most expensive part of the entire palace. Water rushed down from the ceiling in an artificial waterfall, landing into the koi pond that took up a whole quarter of the room. All the rest of the room was crystalline, opalescent. Absolutely cluttered with anything that would shine.

Paris didn’t roll his eyes at the giant seashell that held Delta’s mattress. He’d seen it enough times that it had lost its novelty. He didn’t expect anything less.

“Watch the door,” he begged.

Paris nodded. He knew the drill. He sat down on the floor by Delta’s bed while the sheathed sword rested in his lap. He wouldn’t need it. He knew he wouldn’t need it. Delta was just scared.

Delta crawled up into the bed, arranging himself carefully for the meditation. The low drone of electricity began to fill the room. Channeling again. All the stars had aligned for it.

“παρακαλῶ,” Delta muttered beneath his breath. “παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ…”

The incantation began shortly after that. The hair on the back of Paris’s neck stood up. He kept his eyes on the door. He didn’t like to watch.

He’d learned to tune out the rambling, for the most past. He knew Delta didn’t like it when people overheard — and he only let Paris do it out of necessity. It was fine. He didn’t understand any of the Greek. It was only the rapid, manic way he spoke that really scared him. Hushed and quick and ancient. It felt right to avert his eyes for it. It was something he had no business witnessing.

His eye twitched a little bit as he realized just how loud the incantation was growing behind him. The room was getting brighter. He got the awful feeling he always did when he felt lightning was about to strike. It was getting bad this time. It was getting worse than he could ever remember it being.

He turned around.

It was about as bad as he imagined. The light burned and radiated off of him, bright enough to be blinding. Delta was definitely seizing beneath it all. His eyes were shut tight like the power was painful. His hands clutched at the blanket. Paris realized with horror that the bedding was turning blue from all the blood that then dripped from his mouth and his eyes. 

“Fuck,” Paris muttered beneath his breath. 

He should have known better than to wake a sleepwalker.

He regretted it as soon as he touched him. For a minute, he thought he’d really gone blind. The pain exploded in his arm as he was thrown back against the wall. His own body seized with the residual electricity. He gasped, crumbling down into a heap onto the soft floor.

“What the fuck did you do?” Delta coughed up blood onto the floor. Blood or tears poured from his eyes. In all likelihood, it was both. He wiped at them idly, not seeming to be in any particular hurry. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get all of it off with his hands.

He stumbled up from the bed — and immediately fell onto the floor. He crawled the rest of the way over to the koi pond, scooping the water up with his hands to remove the rest of the blood. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he repeated, even angrier now.

“You were seizing.” Paris gasped. His arm hurt badly enough that he thought it might be broken. He couldn’t tell. He was still mostly blind.

“I told you not to interrupt,” Delta pressed his forehead onto the stone. He couldn’t even stand.

“You’re pushing it too far,” Paris said. It was all he said. It was all he needed to.

“Shut up,” Delta warned.

“You’re pushing it too far,” he repeated, sing-song.

“Shut the fuck up!” Delta stood up again. Paris knew he meant to hit him, meant to fight him, and suddenly that was what was happening. 

“Oh god damn it, you fucking moron.” Paris blocked his fists with his arms. It hurt a little bit, but not nearly enough to incapacitate. He pushed Delta off with zero effort, which only seemed to piss him off more.

Delta growled, stumbling to his feet. He marched over to the bedside table, pulled out what Paris recognized belatedly as a fucking muzzle.

“Wait.” He tensed up, still not having risen off the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, chill-“

Delta fell messily to his knees, trying to secure it onto him. This time, Paris actually did fight. He caught his wrists. He hated that thing so much. It was the middle of the fucking night, he’d never be able to sleep with it on. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been trying to help.

“Stop,” he pleaded while he still had the ability to. “Come on. Stop. Please.”

Delta sighed in defeat. He dropped the muzzle to the floor — and let himself fall to it a few seconds later. He mumbled something in Greek.

“I’m tired,” he muttered into the carpet. His mouth was still bleeding.

Paris stood up, with a lot of effort, but he was still in better shape that Delta was. He picked him up with his uninjured arm. It wasn’t difficult. Delta was light. He wouldn’t have won the fight he’d tried to start. Paris pushed him back onto the bed, letting him collapse there.

“On your side,” Paris reminded him. Delta readjusted onto his side so that the blood wouldn’t asphyxiate him.

“Fucking goodnight, I guess,” Paris muttered, picking his sword back up from the ground. He picked the muzzle up too, placing it back in the drawer. Should’ve just thrown the damn thing out.

“Stay?” Delta asked.

“Yeah, think I’m good on that.” Paris started to walk out the door. 

“Stay.” It was an entreaty, now. Paris groaned. He walked back, collapsing onto the other side of the bed.

“Not all night. You cry in your sleep. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this.”

“So do you,” Delta muttered in reply, already half-asleep.

Paris shrugged. The waterfall was quiet and reassuring. He could stay for that, if nothing else. 

~~~

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @a-formless-whumper

[howi99]

The savior who couldn't save anyone

(Part of a bigger story related to the "A saint in Beacon" Au's. Which is, for everyone who forgot, a Fate x RWBY fanfic.)

Her mask fell, letting him see who protected the monster he needed to kill.

"I'm... Sorry... Jaune. I should have listened... To you-" She fell on the ground, her heart having been pierced by his dagger.

Nora laid dead before him.

His hands, covered in the blood of his friend was screaming at him. He killed her. He took the life of his last remaining friend.

"No..." He knelt beside her, trying to use his aura to heal her to no avail. "No no NO!" Taking in his arms, shaking her "WHY!? WHY WERE YOU HERE!? I PROMISED REN AND LIA TO PROTECT YOU, SO WHY WERE YOU HERE!?!" She couldn't answer, but he knew the answer. He knew the answer far too well.

Jaune was sweating, his breath uneven. Her blood was now covering his clothes, the clothes she bought for him. "Nora... Please..." He hugged her, crying as he felt her warmth leaving her. "I just wanted to protect you! Please, stay with me... don't go..."

"She only wanted to help you, you know? Seeing you suffer day after day, trying to save everyone by yourself..." A feminine voice said, almost as if whispering in his ears "She came to me for help and you killed her. As did all my disciples."

Jaune slowly stood up, looking at the nun who promised people their every desires. "You knew..." Tighten his fist "You knew she was vulnerable and took advantage of her. OF EVERYONE!"

"Fufu~ as i said, she came to me of her own volition. So did everyone else." She began walking the distance separating them, smiling a kind smile. "It was you who brought everyone pain and death, while i was saving them! Giving them love!"

Jaune, furious "YOU DIDN'T SAVE THEM!" Unsheathing his daggers "YOU USED THEM! TOOK EVERYTHING FROM THEM UNTIL ONLY A HUSK REMAINED!"

"Did i? I remember them clearly giving me everything they had of their own accord." Tilting her head, looking at him with a wry smile "YOU decided to brand me as an enemy. We could have worked together, bring salvation to this world!" She shook her head "A shame..." Her smile turned sadistic "I would have loved taking pleasure with both you and your friend! She had such a tender soul~"

"I'm sorry..." He took a last glance at Nora, her face now peaceful in death "Nora..." He shook his head "Rest, you deserve it..." He took his fighting stance, looking at Kiara with eyes of steel. "I'll never let you hurt anyone else."

___________________________________________

Nora was looking at the ceiling of her room, tears flowing from her eyes

"Master? Is everything alright?" Avenger looked at her, worried.

Nora, quickly drying her tears with her arms, looked at her servant. She didn't know his name, but she always felt safe with him near her.

"It's nothing" She said, shaking her head. "I just had a bad dream, that's all." She sat up, stretching her arms as the first ray of sunlight crept their way inside the dorm she shared with her adoptive sister Lia and her two other teammates, Jeanne and Pyrrha. "Nothing that can't be fixed with pancakes, right?" She smiled, trying to calm her servant down.

Avenger could tell she was lying. He also knew she wouldn't tell him, in fear of making him worry for her. "*Sigh* ..." He placed his hand on her head, scruffing her hair with a gentle smile.

Nora, trying not to laugh "Stop it!~ You are giving me an even worse bed head!"

"I'll go prepare breakfast, wake the others in the meantime, ok?" He said

Nora, nodding "Yeah yeah, i'll wake them up... After i changed myself. I want to be first at eating your stuff!"

[beef-brisket]

Charlie: Thank you Adam! Thank you dad!

She gave each one a hug. Lucifer noticed that instead of hugging Adam tightly, it was a soft, quick hug. But Adam looked more than fine with it. He looked relieved.

Charlie: I'll go let everyone know!

Lucifer smiled to his daughter as she left. He was alone with Adam again.

Lucifer: I've been wondering... what's with the whole touch thing?

Adam: ...Tad personal, don't you think?

Lucifer: Wouldn't know. Is it?

Adam: ...no, I guess not. It's just not something I thought you'd bring up. Or notice.

Lucifer: You tense at any form of touch, you're not that sneaky about it.

Adam: I don't try to be sneaky about it. I just don't usually show my emotions... especially my discomfort. I suppose after my holiday, I've gotten a little sloppy.

Lucifers eyes narrow as Adam laughs.

Lucifer: So. Why don't you like people touching you?

Adam: ...I was the first new angel in a long time, and I guess everyone was delighted. They'd touch me, push me around, tug on my clothes, pull my wings, and poke my face. They said I looked too human... I was a Seraphim... they've never made one look so... strange before. People theorized that Sera missed the first humans so she used their design for me. But I don't know how true that is.

Lucifer: You never asked?

Adam: We all know what happens when you ask questions, Lucifer. I wasn't going to risk it. I knew what I was. I always felt the Fathers holy powers and light inside of me. I was an angel. A Seraphim. And now I'm not.

Lucifer: ...so, you don't like touch because-

Adam: They never stopped touching me. Coming there, I was able to scare enough people to stay away from me. They'd even run away before I got close. It's fantastic. Unfortunately, some people here don't share the same fear... but I don't find myself hating it as much... I think I care about the sinners here. I don't mind them being close to me. Or sharing a drink with them. One even stopped touching me when I asked.

Lucifer: Who was that?

Adam: Angel. He's very sexual. But I know that's not the real him. He's very interesting. But he used to get into my personal space and make crude comments. I asked him to stop, and he instantly backed up and apologized. No one has ever done that. They don't back up unless I change forms, and they don't apologize until I'm eating their organs! Not that I mind, but it doesn't have to be so complicated! Angel showed me that.

Adam sighed.

Adam: I don't mind touch... I've just had a lot of people... take advantage when I was in Heaven... amd when I first fell. I'm not used to nice touches. So, I might still be tense, but I'm learning. I'm trusting these people more and more.

Lucifer: You nearly died for them, Adam... I never thanked you for that.

Adam: I didn't do it for thanks. I'm the manager here. I've been put in charge of protecting everyone at this hotel. It was my job.

Lucifer: ...you could have ran.

Adam: And be a coward? Please. He landed a couple of lucky hits. And so did I... besides, I'll be having the last laugh in a few days~.

Lucifer: Oh?

Adam: I'll be treating myself, Your Highness. It'll be the first man for dinner!

Lowkey want an au where Adam has Alastors' powers.

The tentacles

The eyes

The changing size

The shadows

The sass

The deal making

Him owning Husk and Nifty

The musical numbers

The radio control

The tentacles- have I mentioned that before?

The rivalry with Lucifer

Maybe he replaces Alastor entirely. No Alastor. Only Adam. It's always been Adam.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

Only Adam lol This is good! His Husk and Nifty could be Lute and Peter.

He doesn't have to smile all the time does he?

Yessss, and he plays rock instead of jazz lol And yes of course there is a rivalry lol

[the-swift-tricker]

i get a little sick of all the hot takes that are like "uh actually you were never meant to root for scott pilgrim" and usually their reasoning is scott being a deadbeat and dating a 17 year old when he himself is 22 which like yes very good that's fucked up but also that's kind of the point of the story? when we're first introduced to scott he's been dating knives for a week and they haven't even so much as held hands. then as the story progresses we find out the reason scott likes hanging around her is because she blindly adores him and thinks he's the coolest person ever instead of seeing him for what he is. a loser. he's lame as fuck. then he meets ramona. and as we continue on scott improves himself. and then he gets worse. and then he gets better. he cheats on knives. he realizes that was terrible and he also should've never dated her to begin with. he gets a job. he makes an effort. he fucks up again. but he tries. over and over and over again. and you know who else is like that?

ramona flowers.

she's hurt more people than she cares to remember. she abandons people who care about her. she runs when the going gets tough. she cheats on scott. she fucks up and tries again.

the main point of the story is that every one of the characters are painfully human. scott's friends suck just as much as him. kim makes out with knives when they're both drunk. oh yeah scott and his friends let knives get drunk with them.

knives gets used by people, she gets led on and taken advantage of, she doesn't know how to handle all the feelings that these knew experiences are leaving her with, she gets hurt. knives outgrows them all.

kim is a loser who still holds a torch for scott despite wishing she could move on. so she finally moves on. makes a serious change in her life and leaves. fucks up and tries again.

envy is the same way. she hurt scott and got hurt by him. thought she was better than everyone else and then had to come to terms with the fact that she was just like them. fucked up and tried again.

nothing justifies anything they do so all that they can do is own up to it, move on, and try harder. try again.

[nonbinarywannabepreggo]

Today we're comemorating our 6 months anniversary. I asked him to sleep with me. During the night, I woke him up to breed me on the same place he bred me intentionally and willingfully for the first time. At first he didn't want, but I gave him some time and went back to bed, and pulled his face against my titties. He started licking and sucking on them, getting a huge boner in the process. After a while of his accelerated breath between repositions, he took me to the kitchen floor. I couldn't help but reminisce about him dumping his load on my unprotected pussy. At the time, no IUD and my T was late. He came inside twice, flooding me with his baby-making seed. No plan B too, I had taken too many of those. We were out of water for 2 days, so no washing also. We stayed connected for a while, giving your seed a lot of advantage to take. We even took pictures, and they're available for you guys to see. I walked around just waiting for that to make my belly swell.

But today? A lot changed. You were making me feel like a mommy, and that made my pussy throb. You dicked me so hard I had to put a hand on my own mouth so we wouldn't wake up my daughter with my moans. You came inside so much, and I know you like that extra moist to fuck me again. At first, you were over me, my legs widespread, waiting for your cock to make me feel my sex: female. Right after I came the first time, your pounding only got stronger, even hurting me. And I love that pain and the feeling of you ripping my insides for your pleasure. You inseminated me succesfully, while I wondered about being lucky enough to be the 0,01% that does get pregnant with IUD. But it wasn't enough. I took a glimpse at your still rock-hard dick and knew it was time for me to serve my male superior with my bred pussy. Then I sat on his lap, forced his male organs inside, moving in wherever rhytm seemed to please him more. I ended up overdoing a little and got tired, asked him to go on top again, wich caused me to cum again. As his knees weren't colaborating, he promised to save that load for later.

He told me he wanted to play with my titties for a while, but was afraid I would take offense. As I become more and more certain that I am in no way inclined to detransition outside of kink, more and more I get into it in the bedroom. I actually need him to explore my feminility, and he's the only one I can do it with. I love to see his descent from a bottom twink to my pussy loving top. To see him desperate to acess and use my female anatomy to his gay pleasure. And to only imagine the next year, when we will get married and I'll go off of T and take off the IUD to let nature and your cum refeminize me to give birth to your children.

[mer-acle]

You’re gonna hate me for this, but the brain worms were brain worming and the most appalling scenario came to mind.

Athena knew Odysseus wouldn’t be happy to see her, why would he? But never did she expect him to react like this. First he’d simply been shouting at her, scathing insults about how she acted and about how much it hurt when she abandoned him for ten years. He called her a monster, which was ironic seeing what the so called man had done to her uncle, and how even he himself openly referred to himself as a monster. She didn’t consider him wrong, of course, she was quite the monster herself. She always had been. Athena didn’t even flinch when he slapped her, she simply stilled in shock. Though she assumed he’d be finished after that, she was wrong, he was far from finished.

“You hurt me and then come back after everything I went through alone like it’s nothing?!”

“Odysseus-” She started, reaching out towards him

“No! Let me speak, Athena! You don’t get to try and convince me that you’re in the right! You did enough of that when I was a child! Gods I wish I had never met you! You know that?! You ruined my life!” He spat every word with venom. Hatred burning in every syllable and it stung; not because he was wrong, but because he was right. What good had she ever done for him? “Quiet now that I’ve called you out Pallas Athena?” Odysseus taunted cruelly. He taunted her, emphasizing the epithet, the epithet that he knew the story of. Of course he would do that, she was just as awful to him as she had been to Pallas, but still, she lashed out at him against her own better judgement. The pain of having such a thing used against her overriding her better judgement.

With anger burning in her heart Athena attempted a strike at Odysseus with her spear which he blocked, taking full advantage of Athena’s blind emotional state to push back harshly against the goddess, sending her stumbling backwards and unintentionally loosening her grip on her spear. Before she could fully regain her bearings Odysseus slashed her hand, the sharp edge of his blade cutting across her knuckles causing her to drop her spear entirely. Athena hissed in pain and grabbed her hand, she could see the bone of her knuckle on her pointer and middle fingers, and it hurt, nowhere near as bad as her father’s lightning had but it was still painful. “Odysseus, please,” she said gently with hope that after having drawn some of her blood he’d be calmer, “can we talk about this?”

Odysseus growled, more like a beast than any kind of man, and picked up her fallen spear. He regarded his former mentor with the same look he’d given Poseidon before stabbing her right above her heart, and maybe ten years ago Athena would have been ashamed of this but not anymore; she screamed, doubling over and clutching where the spear was lodged into her body.

“Od-Odysseus…” Athena wheezed, looking up at him, her eyes pleading.

To her surprise, he faltered, his cold expression momentarily switching to one of regret and mild horror at his own actions, “… Athena.”

Red and gold dripped from both her new wound and her knuckles onto the ground, “Please, Odysseus… I- I am not mad… just- don’t…”

Odysseus seemed to be considering her words. She prayed that he would believe her, funny thing it is as a goddess to pray, she didn’t even know who she was praying to. Who does a goddess pray to? After a few agonizing moments (for Athena at least) of deliberation, Odysseus grabbed the godly spear by the shaft and twisted it harshly before ripping it out. Athena screamed again before falling back against the wall, leaning her weight against it to keep herself from falling to the ground, and fully expecting him to stab her again the same way he had to Poseidon but to her shock he threw the spear to the ground. “Why didn’t you come?”

He didn’t know. Athena had assumed this whole time that Odysseus knew what had happened up on Olympus, why she never came to free him personally, but he didn’t. Why had he never been told? Was Hermes told to not tell him? She wouldn’t be surprised if he was, Zeus liked to be difficult like that sometimes. Despite the pain she was in from Odysseus’ attack she found the strength to chuckle weekly, “Odysseus, who do you think convinced Zeus to let you go?”

—————

So, how many torches are you giving me for this one?

Wtf

This calls for 600 torches, two windbags, the lightning bolt and the trident

I am so not okay about this

[ficauthor]

Tale of two Stans never fails to make me sad. What do you mean these two overly dependent assholes both end up at the worst lowest points of their lives at the same exact moment? What the fuck!? How was it that of everything in their lives to coincide it's them being at their lowest that meet.

What do you mean their childhoods never gave them a chance to be individuals and so all of their weaknesses and blind spots caught up with them in the end. What do you mean that without Ford, Stan was destined to get himself into trouble? What do you mean that without Stan, Ford was destined to get himself in trouble? What the fuck!

What do you fucking mean that they depended on one another because that's all they ever knew.

What do you mean Ford never bothered to learn to read when people wanted to use him cause he had Stan? What do you mean Stan never learned to think ahead because he had Ford?

I'm so haunted by the fact that Ford was able to mostly keep his life stable for a few years but in the end his inability to truly read and connect with people got to him. Why did filbrick make him think he was only good for one thing so he pushed himself too far in a way it was easy to take advantage of? What do you fucking mean his fatal flaw is he's convinced he's never good enough and thus is easy to manipulate?

I'm gutted by the fact that Stan was never doing well by any means but he was surviving against the odds and doing better than terrible. Until his tendency to push things, to prove himself, got him in too deep. Why did filbrick convince him he was good for nothing so he pushed himself to find something he was worth? What do you fucking mean his fatal flaw is he's convinced he's never good enough and thus he's always pushing himself to the edge at great risk to his own safety even?

What do you mean their flaws as people are reflected and can only make full sense with the context of the other. What do you mean!

filbrick Pines how the HELL did you fuck up your sons in a way so poetic and fucked up its beautifully tragic?