#and now i'm obsessed with that fic

[rust-painted-fingers]

love it when my muse decides procrastination is the best motivator -_-

[tusks-and-claws]

The Death of Peace of Mind

Miguel O’hara x female reader

Summary: "I miss the way you say my name/the way you bend, the way you break"

You think your fearless leader needs help relaxing, but another door is opened entirely

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, fingering, blowjob, pronebone, blood, biting, unprotected sex, paralytic venom, dominant Miguel, dirty talk, God there’s so much to list : )

Word count: 3.3k 

Can also be found on Ao3 here. Please give it some love if you enjoyed ;_;

-

"I know better than this, I shouldn't be… we shouldn't be doing this."

Miguel O'Hara sat at the edge of your bed, your room softly illuminated by a candle on the bedside table. He liked the dark. His back was to you, his broad shoulders slumped forward, as you had your back against your headboard. He was still in his suit, his mask off.

"Miguel…" you said, starting this conversation again for the umpteenth time. "You have needs, too, y'know." 

He waved a hand dismissively. "What are my needs when compared to all this?" He gestured to nothing. You weren't even at HQ. You were both in your dimension. A vacation, you had said. You could never get him to leave HQ for long. "I know what happens when I try to get what I want. When I go where I don't belong."

You furrowed your brow. "But you do belong here, I invited you."

"You know exactly what I mean." He spoke quickly. Trying to expel the words as fast as possible. 

Your arms crossed over your chest as you eyed him. He'd been through a lot, yes, but what Spider hadn't? How long was he going to keep ignoring himself for the greater good? What purpose would he serve if he tore himself apart? 

"You're right," you said, finally. 

"What?" He asked, peering over his shoulder to look at you, incredulous. 

"You're right," you repeated. "You can leave."

"I… well. I suppose I can leave. Do you… want me to?"

You suppressed a smile. "I don't really care," you lied. 

"You…?" He turned around at that, hands on the bed as he swiveled his torso to meet your eyes. "You can't be serious. I- I made the effort to make sure Jess could cover me so we could come here, I… it's a huge waste of time. You see that, don't you?" 

"I guess so." It was hard for you to break eye contact with him, but you managed to do it, and stared pointedly out the window. 

"You 'guess,' I can't-" he rubbed his face with his hands. "You're so frustrating, I can't read you, you-" 

Your face broke, betraying you, a smirk cracking your façade.

He narrowed his eyes, fully turning around now, bringing his knees up onto the bed to crawl to you. His claws came out, and they pulled at the threads of your comforter, threatening to tear holes. "Is this what you want? You want to make me mad?" 

You blushed as he made his way to you, his sudden intensity stirring you into silence. 

"Well?" He asked. "Suddenly so quiet." He reached you now, looming over you with both hands on the headboard on either side of you, his muscular thighs straddling your legs. His huge frame took up your whole vision, his presence overwhelming your heightened senses. Heat was radiating from his body. His scent washed over you. He was all clean musk and warmth and something deeper, something primal. It played to your baser mind, telling you to lose control and give in. 

You swallowed. "You have no need to stay here." You weren't done teasing him just yet. 

"But you have need, hm?" He looked down to study your form, releasing his hands from the headboard to touch the hem of your shirt. "Don't you?"

You held your breath, nodding.

"Say it." His tone was casual. Flippant.

Your breath left you as your lips parted to speak, the words far from you as your brain grew foggy. He always liked to hear you admit how much you wanted it, how much you wanted him. And he always asked you when he knew you'd struggle to form a response. 

"Yes." It was the only thing your brain made abundantly clear. Yes. Yes, you have needs. Yes, in this moment, he was one of them. 

"Yes what?"

How cruel. Under his gaze for this long, intense and bloodshot, you grew more flustered and delirious. 

"Yes, Miguel, I have need of you." You impressed yourself with the eloquence of your reply. 

"Oh? Oh, do you?" His hands finally moved again, snaking under the bottom of your shirt, the fabric of his suit keeping your skin from touching his. "That's kind of selfish of you, isn't it?"

You nodded, biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes as his hands moved to firmly hold the sides of your waist, thumbs stroking soft skin. He was being careful to not scratch you. Though his claws were retractable, you noticed throughout your encounters that he had a hard time keeping them hidden when his passions were running high. But part of you didn't care if he marked you up. Part of you wanted to keep something from him. Something more than awkward passing glances and intimate encounters that were few and far between. 

"M-Miguel?"

"Mm? What is it?"

"You don't need to be gentle, y’know."

His gaze flicked to meet yours as he raised an eyebrow. He seemed amused. 

"It's just that," for some reason, you felt the need to elaborate. "I'm strong, too. I can handle it. You've been so stressed."

"So… you want me to use you?" His voice was low and level. 

Use. The word sent a shock up your spine. He could see the emotions flashing across your face, the thoughts of him, of what he might do to you. Was this safe? Could he control himself? He'd have to. You'd just have to trust him. 

You released a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, meeting him in his bloodshot eyes. "Yes. Please."

He grinned, bearing his pearly fangs in the flickering candlelight. The fog in your head grew thicker at the sight of them. Would he bite you with them? How would they feel against your skin? How would they feel piercing you? Would it hurt? Would it-

The feeling of his bare forefinger, claw retracted, gently teasing your slit quickly shut you up. When did he move his hand under the hem of your shorts? You were so deep within your own clouded thoughts, you hadn't even noticed. He caressed you there before carefully plunging his finger into your heat. The feeling was immediately maddening. You bit your lip to keep yourself from asking for more, for another finger, for his mouth, for his- no. You were following his pace. This was what you wanted, yes, but it was mostly for him. You somehow knew that he needed this more than you did, though he'd never admit it.

The whole time, he kept his reddened eyes on your face, studying every reaction. "You're wet, you're so wet…." His voice was quiet. "So, this is what does it for you, huh?" He pumped his finger at a steady pace. You could hear the wet sounds he elicited with his efforts. You braced yourself on his hulking shoulders, preparing for him to quicken at any moment. But he was agonizingly slow. His free hand gripped the headboard above you as he leaned down to whisper into your ear. "Me, your leader, using you." There was that word again. You lightly arched your back into him upon hearing it, trying to keep yourself calm for now. Falling apart could come later. "I try so hard to hold it all together. But you… you threaten me. The looks you give me, your smiles, your smell, estoy cachondo, fuck." Your eyes widened. He only spoke Spanish when his emotions were heightened. He was unraveling. 

Good.

He slipped his digit out from inside of you and circled your clit with a slick fingertip. The feeling was intense and electric, and even though you were still half-pinned by his muscular thighs, your upper body curled into him. "Seeing you like this…" he swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. "Rendering you helpless… It's revenge for how you make me feel when you look at me the way you do. If I can make you feel half of that… that might be enough. You're going to come for me. Feel what I feel." 

You nodded fervently, unable to speak under his attention, his words, his touch. That delicious, warm feeling was building up and coiling in your core as he kept expertly circling your clit, until the coil finally snapped and you came, lifting up off of the bed and throwing your arms around his neck as you whimpered. Miguel continued as you rode it out, reveling in the newfound wetness that came with your orgasm, until you finally settled down, your heart still thumping in your chest. You released your hold of him, your arms weak, your gaze heavy. He seemed to match your labored breathing, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. You had hardly even touched him and he seemed as much of a mess as you were. 

He stared at you like that for a brief moment, seemingly awestruck at your reaction to this newly opened door. 

"God, I need… I need your mouth around my cock." He flipped unceremoniously off of you to lay on his back at your side. "Come here." Before you had time to react, he had a hand on your head, guiding you downward. Despite the forceful movement, he fondly scratched at your scalp with bare fingers, his hand shaking just enough for you to notice. You positioned yourself so your head rested on his hard abdominals while you admired the display he brought you down to see. His hard cock pushed against his nearly metallic suit. The sheen of the fabric left almost nothing to the imagination. You could see his thick shaft, prominent veins like rivers flowing over a landscape, all leading up to the bulbous head. He twitched eagerly as he sighed, trying to calm his heart. 

You reached your hand up to touch Miguel through his suit, and his reaction was bodily. He hissed a breath in through clenched teeth. You played with his hard length, running the flat of your palm up and down the underside of his shaft, until he couldn't take it anymore. He seemed to be able to dismiss parts of his suit at will, and he did just that, creating an opening so he could spring free. It was always an impressive sight, sizable and thick. His golden skin slightly red with anticipation at the head of his cock, soft dark waves of short hair at the base. Reaching up, you gently held it. You couldn't quite wrap your whole hand around it. He exhaled at your touch, skin on skin. The hand he had in your hair gently pushed your head until your waiting lips met the tip of his cock, and you accepted it, closing your mouth around it.

Miguel threw his head back, slamming it against the headboard and shaking the two of you on the bed. The sound startled you, but you knew the headboard would've taken more damage than Miguel. He gave no indication that he was hurt, and so you kept going, sucking on the tip of his cock and being as noisy as possible so it would overwhelm that heightened hearing of his. And overwhelm it did. The soft, wet heat of your mouth was nearly too much for him. And as you started to take him deeper, he reached his arms up and behind him, taking the headboard into a vice grip. You could hear the wood splintering. 

That should've worried you, you should've cared about your furniture being destroyed. But you didn't. You couldn't, not with Miguel O'Hara melting underneath you. He could destroy a thousand bed frames. So long as you could touch him, could hear him moaning, could watch him as he barely held his composure. This would always be worth it. 

You took him further into your mouth, humming around his length at the pleasant,  full feeling. You were slow, holding him there, savoring the taste of him and the weight of him on your tongue.

"M-move-" he croaked.

You turned your gaze towards his face, raising an eyebrow. He was straining. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, fangs displayed in clenched teeth. You could see the prominent cracks in the wood.

"Move your shocking head, amor."

His hands came down to tangle with your hair, grabbing handfuls so he could move your head for you. You happily let him, and he bobbed you up and down on his shaft as you opened your throat to him. 

"Oh, fuck, yes… that's it. Good girl. You're- you're taking me so fucking well." 

Your eyes started rolling into the back of your head fondly. Good girl. He'd never called you that before. You'd be good for him. You'd be so good. 

The sounds coming from you were the very definition of lewd, as were the strands of thick saliva that connected you to him. You closed your eyes, continuing to breathe through your nose, when you felt something prick your scalp. His claws. In and out, in and out. He was struggling to keep control of them.

"Ay, coño, I can't fucking do this." His voice barely a whisper. "You're gonna," he paused, swallowing. "You're gonna make me lose control, you know that?" Despite his words, he kept going, kept moving your head, even started to thrust his hips up to fuck your throat more thoroughly. His moans turned into what could only be described as growls, and the sound of them hit you like an electric shock, making you want him even more. If that were even possible. 

His claws kept scraping you, threatening to fully unsheath. But Miguel never let them. He finally let your head go, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it in exhaustion. You stayed on his cock for a moment longer, carefully lifting your head away and disconnecting from him with a wet pop.

He groaned to himself through his hands. 

"Miguel…? You alright?"

"No." He finally said, "no, I'm fucking not."

You cocked your head in surprise at the response, opening your mouth to question him further until you were cut off by him quickly grabbing you and positioning you underneath him. He was pinning your legs again, but you were faced down this time, your cheeks pressed against the soft sheets as he pushed you into the mattress. He finally let his claws out, and with one swift movement, tore your shorts and panties into ribbons. In that moment, you were glad he couldn't see your face. You were grinning like an idiot. Finally. You're finally seeing the side of him that you always knew was there. That you desperately wanted him to let out. Your previous encounters had been tame compared to this. He'd been holding back. 

"Because now," he grabbed your waist with both of his large hands, holding firm. "Now I know that you like being treated like a little fucktoy. I know that you'll be good for me and that you'll listen. What a rarity." He started to line up the tip of his cock with your entrance. "And if I thought you took up too much space in my head already, well-" he chuckled, pushing his tip into your pussy. "I'll never have peace of mind again."

He thrusted into you, and you were immediately seeing stars. With each pump, he took himself nearly all the way out of your warmth before plunging all the way back in. You could feel every delicious, hot inch of him. So deep and so filling. He fucked you into the mattress so thoroughly and so hard that you were convinced a crater was forming underneath the both of you. You felt the sharp points of his claws pricking your skin but not quite puncturing you. Your head swam as you grew dizzy. 

He released your waist, left hand steadying himself on the low headboard, which was bound to break again. His right arm snuck up underneath your right arm, reaching around your collarbone to grab at your left shoulder, pulling you up so you were close into him. His chest was flush with your back. You reached up to hold onto that arm for dear life, as he brought his mouth down to your ear. 

"Wanna bite you so bad, amor," he growled. "You smell so shocking good. Drivin' me up a fucking wall."

"Do it," you said, your voice strained.

"Wh-what?" His pace wavered. "You can't mean that."

"I- fuck- I do. Bite me, Miguel. Please."

"Are you," he exhaled a shaky breath. "Are you sure? It's a paralytic venom. I've- I've used it on Spiders before and we can withstand it a bit, but, shit… I need you to know what you're getting into." 

"Do it," you said again. 

His entire body shook against you. "Unbelievable…." His voice sounded reverent. "Hold on tight."

You listened, gripping his arm harder, shutting your eyes. His mouth came down to meet the crook of your neck. He inhaled, letting your scent wash over him, before carefully sinking his fangs into your skin. The pain was sharp and fast, and was quickly replaced with a wave of warmth and laxity. Your muscles loosened, allowing him to easily pull you in even closer. He moaned against you, his thrusts quickening, his cock feeling like it was hitting your cervix. With every smack of his skin against yours, he buried himself to the hilt. That incredible, intense feeling was building within you again, deep inside your core.

"Fuck," he hissed into your skin, releasing his jaws and lapping at the light trickle of crimson blood. "Good girl, good girl, I've got you."

He held you and didn't let go, caging you against his huge form, fucking you until that feeling turned into a huge sunburst that sent spots across your vision. Your body trembled involuntarily as you clenched around his cock. 

"Yes," he encouraged, "yes, come for me. Give it all to me. I've got you, bebé."

You smiled against the venom, and he was right, it wasn't too potent in your system. It was just enough to comfortably loosen your muscles. You came down from your high as he kept pumping into you, his pace merciless. His body started to shake again, his right hand's grip on your left shoulder tightening. 

“Too much for me to handle,” he rasped. “I’m gonna come… gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you croaked, finding your voice and gaining back enough control of your muscles to push yourself up into him. 

His tempo stuttered as he slammed his hips into you, curling against you as he came. His cock twitched inside of you, spilling hot seed in thick spurts. He held you there for a long while, savoring the feeling of being inside you, like he knew he'd miss the warmth once it was gone. Despite what he wanted, he let go of you and flipped onto his back beside you, placing a hand over his heart as his chest heaved. He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. Silently reaching for you, he pulled you in so you could rest against his chest, your head rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. He stroked your hair as you stared up at him, his face glowing in the yellow shine of candlelight. 

"That…" he started to say, then stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I…. I needed that." 

You smiled, nuzzling into him. "Thank you." 

"You're thanking me?" He asked, laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. 

"Yeah," you said. "I feel like I finally saw Miguel tonight. Not Spider-Man. But Miguel. And I really like him." 

He rolled his eyes but still smiled, petting your head until you fell asleep on him.

[temeyes]

timeskip!miya atsumu for my soul (cuz im sick bleugh)

[gurokatt]

The problem with being a cherik fan is everyone writing and drawing about their younger versions, but I'm here for their toxic old man yaoi. I need them to be greying/bald and bickering like and old married couple

[betweensaintsandmonsters]

okay okay vampire obi-wan and anemic human anakin who goes to be his meal at like a fancy vampire bistro that pays willing humans to "donate" blood (get bitten) and tastes like shit whomst obi-wan then tries to take care of (in all the ways he can from sunset to sunrise) first so his food tastes good (bc anakin keeps coming back) and then because he cares

sends cookbooks to his apartment, tries to get him to go to the doctor, sends him other little gifts when he sees thinks that make him think of anakin, obi-wan just like wants to take care of his boy because he's clearly not taking care of himself (he signed up to be vampire food so that much should have been obvious) and obi-wan just wants him well is that too much to ask?

they fight about this often. (first: "how did you get my address?" "It's on the form you filled out to be here" "invasion of privacy much?" then: "you could always just... choose someone else?" "and let another vampire suffer from your lack of self care? absolutely not."") ("i don't know why you're putting so much into this? "i must have nothing else to do.") ("if this bothers you so much... just let someone else feed off me." "no.")

anakin stops showing up to be dinner for a few weeks and obi-wan gets worried. but he's not sure how far he's allowed to go in his worry, they're technically just... predator and prey (though obi-wan wouldn't describe them like that) it's just that no one tastes like anakin (that's definitely it) and nobody sasses him like anakin, and nobody is anakin and anakin is missing and clearly if he's been gone this long he can't possibly be okay

(and obi-wan is right, anakin isn't okay. he's in the hospital with an arm that might need to be amputated (but it was obi-wan's favorite place to drink from since he won't touch anakin's neck for reasons he WON'T explain)

(if you asked obi-wan why he didn't bite anakin's neck to begin with, he'd heavily imply there's no reason, but when pressed, it would be that anakin let's out this breathy moan when he's bitten, and it's music to obi-wan's ears, a symphony to his soul, he doesn't think he'd survive it if that was right in his ear, he'd have to kiss the boy then and there, have to keep him, and he can't do that, so his neck is off limits. it is IMPERATIVE anakin does not know this)

and he's lost a lot of blood and he's suffering and not alone because ahsoka and padme keep visiting, but he doesn't know how much he misses obi-wan until he isn't seeing him)

so one night obi-wan goes to anakin's apartment to see he isn't there and hasn't been there in weeks based on sent, and panics because what if he drove his beautiful boy away, or what if someone went after him, and obi-wan can't go in bc vampire rules say he needs permission and also it's good manners.

eventually anakin comes back to him, sans one arm, apologetic because "i know that's where you liked to bite" as if that could possibly be the reason that obi-wan is as upset as he is when he comes in. "i'd understand if you need a different meal," he says, as if that's all he is when obi-wan refuses to bite him because for the first time, he looks fragile and that's heartbreaking

so anakin leaves and obi-wan is gobsmacked, flabberghasted, realized anakin waited to have this conversation as close to sunrise as possible so obi-wan couldn't follow him out of the bar, but he doesn't realize that his vampire would absolutely run into the sun for him (except quin and satine 1000% don't let him "that's not how you get your man, he doesn't want a pile of dust, where's that going to get you, man, think for just a fraction of a second")

so obi-wan send anakin more little gifts, things he can puzzle out one handed as he gets used to being an amputee, trinkets he might enjoy, notes that are meant to make him smile, or that say he'll find somewhere else to feed on the boy if that's going to get him to come back when nothing else has worked. all he wants is to let anakin know that he's he's appreciated, make him feel wanted and loved.

eventually anakin sends him a note back with his phone number and then texts him to come over. he makes obi-wan stand on his stoop for an excruciating amount of time and he gets a lecture about personal space, and respecting people's wishes and "it doesn't matter that you're 300 years old, some people just don't want anything to do with you!" and anakin tries to say all of this with a straight face, before he cracks because he misses obi-wan and it is an act, and he's been in love with this vampire since he decided it was his job to take care of one human that wasn't taking care of himself.

then anakin kisses him and gives him a goofy grin and asks "what are you doing just standing there?"

"are you inviting me in?"

"i guess i am. you're stuck with me though, i'm your problem now."

"darling, you've been my problem for a long time, and i wouldn't have it any other way."

and eventually they fuck, and obi-wan bites anakin's neck, and here's his symphony played out in the most desirable circumstances. and they live happily ever after

(until anakin pesters him about making him a vampire "so i can be your problem, permanently" and they argue about it, but agree that anakin gets a life first "you've gotta be at least 40 before i turn you, i'm not going around looking like i forever robbed the cradle!" "you're not even 40! 25." "nope." "fine, 30 then, final offer." "and if I say no?" obi-wan's grin is feral, like he knows he's lost but he's still willing to play the game. "i know you won't" so does obi-wan)

[stubblesandwich]

[cuubism]

Enchantment

"Hob," Death greets, and Hob has never heard her voice go tentative like that - though it is, as always, still friendly and kind. "You called for me?"

"Hey, hon," Hob says, or croaks, throat dry and overused. "Yeah, I did, but I meant it in more of a do you think you could help me get out of this situation sort of way, not like, you know." He makes a slicing motion across his throat with his free hand. "Off me."

Death chuckles, crouching before him. "Yes, I see that now. I admit I was concerned, for a moment."

"To be fair, this is not exactly not concerning," Hob says, gesturing to his bound wrist, the frankly alarming amount of blood all over his body, and the situation more generally. "But what's one more dungeon rescue among friends?"

Death touches the binding on his wrist with light fingers, considering. Try as he might, despite having one hand and both legs free and considerable experience in picking locks, Hob has not been able to get it off. It must be magical in some way. "You did not call for Dream?"

Hob sighs. "Listen--" he starts, and Death snorts.

"Didn't want to be responsible for the leveling of the entire street?"

"Dream has not exactly--" Hob shifts and winces, that cuff is starting to burn under Death's touch-- "proven himself capable of moderation."

"And he won't, if the past billions of years are anything to go by," Death agrees, with the fond exasperation of an older sister.

She leans in close, studying the metal chaining his arm to the wall. "You couldn't have known, but I think you've prevented more than that in calling me instead."

"What's that thing say?" Hob asks. "I couldn't make out the language. Looked old."

Death runs her finger along the runes encircling the cuff. Hob winces again as the burning sensation flares. "It's a spell. A trap for Dream. Drawing on your connection to him."

"What?"

"I don't think it would've been powerful enough to work as intended." Death's lips purse in displeasure. "But that doesn't mean it would have no effect."

"What effect?" Hob asks, sick at the thought of Dream snared in another trap.

"As soon as he touched the binding with the intent to free you, it would have hooked into his power; the more power he used to pull away, the tighter it would have wound, like a finger trap. It is an enchantment that..." Death hesitates, "draws on emotion."

"Oh." Hob scrubs a hand through his ruined, greasy hair. "Fuck."

"It is fortunate that you called me," Death says grimly.

"It's not going to hurt you, is it?"

"No. But I doubt this will be comfortable."

Hob braces himself. "How will you break it?"

"All things have an end," Death tells him, pressing her fingertips to the runes. Hob feels each touch through the metal like a brand. "Even non-living things die. I've found the loose thread of that end, and now I will unravel it."

She twists the cuff around his wrist counterclockwise, and Hob yelps, cringing back against the wall, not entirely sure she hasn't burned his hand right off. The enchantment flares brighter than the sun, then disappears, leaving smoke behind.

She undoes the cuff easily after that.

Hob's wrist is intact, though terribly burned. That'll take a while to feel any better, unfortunately. He holds it against his chest. "Thanks, hon. I owe you a pint."

Death laughs. "No, you don't, but I won't turn it down. Do you want a ride home? I'm heading that way anyway."

"That's disturbing to think about," Hob tells her. "But sure."

He's going to have to do some cleanup here later. But for now, he'd just like to get out of this blasted place.

~~~~

"Hob Gadling."

Dream appears in his living room a few hours later, when Hob is ensconced on the couch with his laptop, trying to figure out how he's going to clean up this whole mess without alerting the authorities. Dream looks stricken, and Hob feels abruptly bad about not calling for him, even though that had been a fortunate bit of foresight, in the end.

"Hey, love." Hob sets the computer aside, and Dream comes over to him, sitting lightly on the couch at his side. He takes Hob's bandaged wrist in his hands. "Sorry about all that."

"Sorry?" Dream echoes, voice tipping up a note in what Hob can only read as the infliction of a wound. "I would have come for you."

"I know you would." Hob lays his hand over Dream's. It adds uncomfortable pressure to the burns but he doesn't let go. "I just didn't want--"

But it wasn't really about maintaining the peace at all, was it? It wasn't about Dream's overreaction, not deep down. It was only about Dream.

"Didn't want you hurt," Hob says quietly. "Not again."

Dream's jaw tightens. "Do not decide what risks I should take."

"They wanted you, did Death tell you that part, too?"

"She did. Do you think so low of me as to expect that would change my decision?"

I don't think low of you at all, Hob thinks. "That's not what I meant. Death just seemed the more... practical... choice at the time," he says, which is a weak argument, but Hob stands by his decision. Dream is safe, not trapped, and that's what matters. Outcome over intent, he's learned.

"Practical," Dream repeats. "Yes. I see my presence is unneeded. I will--"

Hob catches him by the wrist before he can stand. "Don't. Please."

"Considering you are no longer in peril, and do not wish for my help besides, I fail to see what purpose I am serving here," Dream says, still tensed like he means to jump up.

"No purpose needed," Hob says. "I just don't want to leave it like that. I know you're upset. And I know, I know, I would have been upset too if you were in trouble and didn't ask for my help, so don't even bother saying that--"

"You would?" says Dream.

Hob looks at him, both eyebrows raised. Yeah, obviously.

Dream raises a single eyebrow in return as if this is not, indeed, obvious.

Funny, Hob thinks, that silent communication. Hob is a talkative person by nature -- too talkative, more often than not -- but Dream is not and so Hob has learned to read him like this. The confusion in the way his brow pinches tighter, the way his body settles just so back into the couch, listening again, no longer on the verge of flight.

Surely he knows. Surely there's no way he doesn't know.

"I'd want you to call for me," Hob says. "I wouldn't want to leave you trapped."

"This was a trap," Dream says.

Exactly. "Did Death describe the enchantment?"

"Try to escape and tangle yourself further," Dream says. "Yes. I understand."

Do you? Hob thinks. Do you know why it would have worked on you?

They haven't actually gotten there yet. Hob can feel it approaching, though, with the inevitability of the moon reaching its perigee above the earth. He hasn't felt the need to rush it. Each careful step Dream takes towards him is a gift.

"There are many such traps in this world," Dream says, studying Hob.

Each careful step is a gift, and Hob hates the thought of that progress being used against Dream, those painstakingly untied feelings employed to trap him all over again. He can picture Dream tangled and bound and trying to pull away from him, and he hates it so much that he makes probably the exact opposite decision he should make, takes Dream's face lightly between his hands, tosses their careful timeline out the window and kisses him, right there and then.

Dream makes a surprised sound against his mouth, which means he really must be telling the truth about not looking in on Hob’s dreams because Hob has not been subtle in his dreaming. Dream wraps careful hands around Hob’s wrists, once again bracketing where the cuff had burned him. Holding Hob to him. His kiss is sweet with just a nip of fire, which is what all moments with Dream have felt like since his return, really.

Dream leans against his cheek when they part, hair brushing Hob’s temple. “When my sister told me you had called for her, it— I believe you would phrase it as ‘gave me a heart attack.’”

“I’m sorry, love.” Hob runs a hand through his hair, and Dream leans into the touch. “I would never do that to you, okay? Even if I did choose Death – which I won’t, but – I wouldn’t just disappear on you without saying anything. Alright?”

“Very well,” Dream agrees, though Hob doesn’t think he really believes it. Truly believing in Hob’s relentless commitment to life is a tall ask for Dream at the moment, but it’s okay, Hob has plenty of time to convince him.

“Believe it,” he says, and kisses Dream again.

[fuckinart]

(they'll never understand) How could I ever understand? No, I don't have to understand. I don't wanna understand. So I will never understand. (we could have everything)

[somegrumpynerd]

Been reading @topazshadowwolf's How Nightmare Became Dadmare and I have been so sucked in by this silly little family I had to start doodling

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Commission for @arialerendeair and their dreamling figure skating fic. I highly recommend checking it out it's amazing, beautiful, sweet, and... and I ADORE it!

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Enabling you to yap about some headcanons you have for the chain (or any animal facts that you have in store. You always have some fascinating facts)

Time and Lullaby were childhood best friends that grew apart as they got older. They start to reconnect again later in life, when Time joined the war effort against Ganondorf and the Gerudo.

(and then he dies)

Time and Malon have a little girl together 🫶

stealing this from @crazylittlejester but Time’s joints are kinda messed up after transforming so often (esp when he was y’know still growing) so his joints will pop out really easily and get really sore

Time is the OG animal lover. Where do you think Twilight got it from?

side note— I love the idea of Malon becoming something More after her death. You can still hear her singing at night if you listen very closely, mysterious bad things happen to people who hurt horses, Twilight strangely never feels alone, that sort of thing :)

Warriors was very close to his mother. She passed away during the war, and he didn’t find out until after he returned home 💔

(my first thought is that she died from disease, which always runs rampant during war. but maybe, perhaps, Wars’ home village was razed by monsters 👀)

Warriors had two close friends during the war. One died in his arms. The other one betrayed him and directly led to him getting captured by Cia 💔

depressed Twi 🫶 anxious Twi 🫶 Twi with chronic pain 🫶

Hyrule gets chronic headaches and dizzy spells, esp when he overuses his magic :)

Hyrule’s dark world form is an opossum 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Legend enjoys knitting!! it’s a nice calming activity that helps him destress, and he really enjoys working with his hands :)

LEGEND MADE THE DOLLS FOR HYRULE. LEGEND KNITS AND HE MADE THE DOLLS AFTER HE WENT BACK HOME BC HE MISSED RULIE AND THEN HE IMBUED THEM WITH MAGIC AND HID THEM AROUND FOR HIS SUCCESSOR TO FIND

I also hc he has a lot of chronic pain 🫶

[captainkirkk]

I've fallen back into the Hunger Games because the entire premise of TGH is so fucking unhinged. I can't stop thinking about the death games but, beyond that, the victors who live past it - victims and child murderers and a celebrities and a hostages all at once. No one could possibly understand them except for fellow victors, people who are also incredibly broken

I've been reading Hunger Games fics but they're almost TOO dark. Which is SUCH a stupid thing for me to say considering I WANT them to address the trauma, I just cannot handle it

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

Me, vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass: I wanted a Koby-and-Luffy-Childhood-Friends AU and that turned into a Koby-grows-up-with-the-ASL-brothers AU and THAT turned into me imagining Koby still becoming a marine (Garp is THRILLED TO TEARS. Ace and Luffy give him a lot of grief for it but they're still lowkey proud of him) and one day, completely by chance, he stumbles across the Chief Of Staff Of The Revolutionary Army.

Wanted posters for the Revolutionary Army aren't passed around like the posters for pirates and criminals are, because it's actually very common for a would-be bounty hunter to get recruited to the cause if they seek them out, and the government doesn't want that, so only ranked officers are allowed to actually have them. And Koby, who recently made rank, did find himself staring for a very long time at the slightly blurry black-and-white picture of Sabo(?), Rank Unknown -- but a picture doesn't do a face justice, and he's been carrying that ghost with him for years, so he ultimately set it aside. Told himself not to wish for impossible things.

Only to, less than a week later, end up helping Sabo (Sabo, it's Sabo, holy shit it's Sabo) escape from a marine base. Koby will go to the gallows for this if he gets caught, but both of his other sworn brothers are pirates. He became a marine knowing that if he had to make the choice, he would chose family over duty. Granted, he didn't expect to have to make that choice for at least another few years, but here we are.

The two don't speak much -- there isn't time. Koby gives hushed orders and Sabo whispers clarifying questions and they breathe warnings back and forth, both of them stretching their observation Haki as far as it will go as they tiptoe out of the base.

This boy feels familiar. Sabo can't explain it, but he felt it the second he laid eyes on this young captain. The pink hair, the big eyes. It's worse now that they're standing right next to each other, Haki signatures pressed so close together it's impossible to ignore. This boy feels like feathers and steel, like something soft and warm and earnest wrapped around a core that is solid and steady and unfaltering. He is the waves that erode the shore, patient and gentle but inevitable in their quest for change. Sabo shouldn't be able to read the soul of a stranger this clearly, but he can, somehow. It feels good next to his own roiling storm clouds and piercing cliffs, it feels grounding, but he can't help the strange thought that there should be fire and forest here, somehow. There should be sunlight.

The boy feels familiar, and Sabo hates that he is the one following behind. Which is stupid, because he doesn't know where they're going and obviously the one who does should take the lead, but every corner they turn and patrol they dodge has the spaces between his shoulderblades winding tighter. He wants the captain tucked safely behind him, with Sabo in the lead where he can take the brunt of whatever danger they face. This, too, is strange.

They make it out of the base and down to the docs, where Koby gets Sabo set up -- the guards change shift in thirteen minutes, if Sabo waits there'll be an opening for him to steal a boat and get out of here -- and Sabo takes the opportunity to ask "Are you... sympathetic to the cause?"

The boy stills.

"You aren't on our books, is all. I don't recognize you as an officer. If this is you looking to join, I'm afraid I don't have time to vet you right now, but I can arrange for you to meet with a recruiter--"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" It comes out a hoarse, furious whisper. Koby wants to scream.

Sabo blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"Is that how you justified it? Oh, it's been so long, they probably forgot about me? Is that what you told yourself?" He needs to keep quiet, he needs to get back inside before he's noticed missing, they can't do this right now -- "Or maybe you just figured out of sight out of mind, right? Since clearly that worked out fine for you!"

Koby waves a hand up and down Sabo, a gesture meant to encompass -- this! All of this. His fading grin and his fancy coat and his fucking wanted poster.

"Chief of Staff. That's impressive. I'm not surprised you're some big shot, it suits you. Are you having fun, Sabo? Is your grand adventure treating you well?"

"I don't know what --" but Koby can't let him talk, because Koby can't breathe, because Sabo is here and he's alive and he's acting like Koby is a stranger to him and if Koby doesn't spit out the words he's suddenly choking on then he's going to collapse into screaming sobs instead and they can't afford that right now.

"Let me guess, secret identities? Code names? It's all so hush-hush, so cloak-and-dagger, you were sworn to secrecy? I don't care. I don't fucking care what reasons you used to justify letting us think you were dead! For ten years! It was selfish, Sabo. It was cruel. And I--" He gasps. Coughs. Sucks in a heavy breath until the salt of the sea breeze settles in his lungs and he can tell himself the wetness on his face is ocean spray. "We mourned you. Ace and Luffy are still mourning you. Dadan and the bandits and Makino and Gramps. Everyone, all of us -- we have all been carrying this grief and you just--!"

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay quiet. "If this is the life you want, then okay. Okay. But don't you stand there and pretend I'm a stranger to you, and expect me to play along. Don't you do that to me. Not to me."

[tea-earl-grey]

i had an itching for comfort media so i went back to watch some s1 voyager episodes and s1 is soooo much better than i remembered. the later seasons appeal to my tastes a bit more but all the characters in s1 are so earnest and hopeful even when they butt heads and disagree and i'm just sitting here like "oh god they don't know what the next 7 years have in store..." i doubt it was that purposeful on the writers' part but it's so compelling how all of the characters have pretty open insecurities and are clearly people with lives and dreams beyond Voyager and bit by bit that's chipped away in later seasons. yes everyone becomes more confident and competent but is that really who they are or are they just losing themselves along the journey? (unfortunately the Doyalist explanation is just that the writers stopped putting focus on like. half of the main cast but shh i'm here for Watsonian analysis.)

like it's particularly noticeable with Janeway. she's definitely always been written as a strong leader but i forgot how much in early seasons we get to see her insecurities and vulnerabilities, how different she acts from when she's acting as captain to when she's alone, how often she questions her morality and whether she has the right to make decisions for her crew (and how often others questioned that right). then in the later seasons (around s3 and definitely by s4), she almost never questions her moral decisions, she rarely shows doubt, she plans heists on Borg cubes without a second thought, she dispenses her justice to the Equinox crew without really considering their position, she regulates others' autonomy (especially with Seven and the Doctor) without seeming to realize how easily that can go wrong. and don't get me wrong i love this development and think it's incredibly realistic for Janeway to deeply internalize her role and authority as a Captain and for it to permanently change her sense of self. Endgame is the perfect closure for Janeway's character because her future self exerts that same authority that she's been practicing over herself (also Janeway gets to live out her martyr complex one last time). i just wish the show was a little bit more self-aware that it was writing Janeway (and other characters) like this because there could be so many more interesting character conflicts.

anyways rewatching early ds9 made me say "aww these characters don't know that one day they'll all grow together and basically become family" and rewatching early voyager has me saying "uhohhhh these characters don't know the unhealthy relationships and neuroses they're going to uncover and develop". toxic found family for the win.

[coffeeghoulie]

Eternal Heatstroke

chapter 5: til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away (i'm yours)

The last leg of the Re-Imperatour doesn't go quite as expected. But that's alright.

The incredible @ghuleh-recs drew art for this chapter, and I cannot believe I managed not to gush about it for four weeks. (well, I did tell one irl friend. but anyways) Thank you so much, Liss, it is amazing and I've been staring at it for weeks.

The band spends two sold-out nights in Los Angeles. Papa pulls the ghouls aside, a meeting hours before set-up for the first Ritual, gathering them into something like their pre-show huddle.

"I got word from the Clergy. These two are to be filmed," he informs them. "I want you at your best the next two nights. I know it is short notice, but I have faith in you. Perform your best, play it up. Make it look good for the cameras, sì?"

The ghouls all nod, grinning at one another.

Despite having come out of their shell, Aeon's still quiet when they want to be. They perform, play it up, soaking up the audiences' attention, but most of all, they watch.

Read the rest on ao3, or start from the beginning.

[wikiangela]

last line tag game

tagged by @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @dangerpronebuddie @bidisasterbuckdiaz @diazsdimples 💖

posted so much bucktommy lately, have a lil buddie snippet now haha (tbf this is the last thing I wrote before the bucktommy fic that's now posted lol)

He can’t think about anything but Eddie, though, keeps stealing glances and, god, Eddie is so close Buck can feel the heat from his body, but not close enough to touch, to press his shoulder into Buck’s, and it’s driving Buck a little bit crazy. He needs to be either further away or closer, he can’t decide which one he wants more.

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @your-catfish-friend @tizniz @daffi-990