#and you too mrs spears

[grim-has-issues]

i believe i am part of the 80% casualties

[dig-jules]

the way they planned to have saavik and spock have a kid that is so vile that is so disgusting i wish i had never seen that thank god nimoy was like no but the fact they ever even THOUGHT about it eeuuughhh ruins everything for me

[ourlordapollo]

Wendy Williams is so Harley Pokémon coded.....

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[ventique18]

If Maleanor were alive, she'd probably the type of mom who'd be both doting and a bully to her son. She'd normally just call him Malleus, but when you're hanging out at their place...

Maleanor: "MY BABY BOY, how was school today? Did you eat well? And 🌸 darling, do dig in this feast. It's not always we get visitors as sweet as you."

Malleus: "Mother. Yes I did, thank you for your concern."

Maleanor: "Wonderful! My SWEET BABY ANGEL needs to grow up strong and healthy like his mama."

Malleus: "Mother. I appreciate you, however I would request that you address me normally in front of my peers."

Maleanor: "My, is my cute little duckling trying to put on his big boy pants now? Trying to impress your adorable sweetling, are we?"

Malleus, under his breath: "This crazy old hag..."

Maleanor: "WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME? YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT--"

And then they start arguing over dinner. The father of the household, meanwhile, acts as if nothing's happening and speaks to you as he spears through a juicy steak.

Raverne: "I heard you have a direbeast for a pet. Just how did you do such a feat?"

Raverne, dodging a chunk of turkey thrown across the table: "Are you a beastmaster, by any chance?"

Shaking in your seat, you give him a polite smile as you wonder if you, too, could become as strong as Mr. Raverne in the future.

[noirve]

trying to gather my thoughts here, but i am OBSESSED with the way armand switches back and forth between vulnerable and threatening in this episode. his vulnerability isn't entirely calculated—he is genuinely insecure and desperate for love. however, he also uses that fragile image of himself to bend situations to his will. he definitely manipulates louis with it, but louis also kind of plays him in return: by adopting a more lestat-like role (jacob's words), he leverages armand's need for his love and acceptance to get things to go his way. i just love love love how they switch between who takes on the dominant role and the submissive role in their dynamic. i think louis feels he wields more power in his relationship with armand than he did with lestat because armand is "servile" to him, but armand is still pulling the strings in ways louis doesn't always realize or want to see. and i fall for that shit too btw, one moment i'm feeling bad for armand with his sad tender bambi eyes, a traumatized lonely being forever doomed to be a rebound, but then the next moment, he switches to threatening claudia as if it's nothing like.... everyone is just the worst lol. how dare you mr spears you had me fooled and you too mrs spears

[zepskies]

Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about his “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.  

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Vaggie: "Okay ha ha, very funny. Who stole me and Charlie's laundry out of the dryer again- Angel Dust!"

Angel Dust: "Wasn' me."

Vaggie: "Are you wearing my fucking skirt!?"

Angel Dust: "Ooooh~ it's a FUCKIN' skirt, huh? This one kept special for when Charlie jumps ya?"

Vaggie: "Que te la pique un pollo- NO."

Angel Dust: "Aw c'mon toots, we all know you have one~"

Vaggie: "Give me back. My skirt. You. Ass."

Angel Dust: "Speakin' of... is it really still YOUR skirt, Vagina, if MY ass is the one lookin' so utterly fine and fabulous in it?"

Vaggie: "YOU DONT HAVE AN ASS, ANGEL DUST."

Angel Dust: "Yeah? Then what's this beautiful thang here, hmm?"

Vaggie: "I don't know because there's nothing there for you to even POINT at, twig twink!"

Husk: "HA!"

Angel Dust: "Ugh fiiine. Since you're being nice an' usin' my preferred pronouns-"

Vaggie: "Twig???"

Husk: "Twink."

Angel Dust: "-I'll hand over the girlfriend-fucking skirt. The delicius heat from the dryer's mostly gone now anyway. Jus' lemme grab something to throw on over it first..."

Vaggie: "Seriously? THAT'S why you took it?? Dryer heat?"

Angel Dust: "Next best thing to hot bath at the end of a day's hard work, baby! A day's VERY hard, throbbing, aching work-"

Vaggie: "I will throw this spear at you. I WILL ruin your stupid hair."

Husk: "Fucking do it."

Vaggie: "YOU shut up too. You're the one who taught him this in the first place, aren't you?"

Husk: "WHAT? I don't put on your fucking skirts!"

Angel Dust: "Wha' about her non-fucking ones?"

Husk & Vaggie: "Shut up."

Angel Dust: "Touché~ Protestin' too much, me thinks~”

Vaggie: "Husk- we all know you're the one waiting for the dryer to finish so you can drag the laundry onto the floor and sleep on it!"

Husk: "That's bullshit- you've got no proof-"

Angel Dust: "Cat hair, Mr. Whiskers."

Husk: "The fucking hotel has a cat!"

Vaggie: "That smells like a bar and also sheds feathers?"

Husk: "FUCK."

Angel Dust: "Don't break yourself up over it, kitten daddy- If you hadn't shown me the joys of laundry shopping, I'd never have known how GOOD I look in this jacket."

Vaggie: "???? You- IS THAT CHARLIE'S!?!?"

Angel Dust: "Goes good with the skirt, huh? If you two had a kid, they'd fucking SLAY."

Vaggie: "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING HER JACKET"

Angel Dust: "Look- she's the only one in this fancy prancy hotel that's got the same measurements as me, at least in the shoulder, hips, and torso department! The only one who's clothes don't smell like dead deer and dusty old radios, anyway!! I'm kinda low on options here, okay?"

Vaggie: "WHAT ABOUT THE OPTION OF DON'T StEAL OUR STUFF?? THAT'S LIKE, THE EASIEST FUCKING OPTION YOU COULD HAVE!"

Angel Dust: "Orrrrr, you two could adopt me as you gay lovechild and give me some fuckin' hand me downs. Or money."

Vaggie: “OUR WHAT!?”

Angel Dust: “Fuck it, give me money an’ I’ll buy my own clothes, mom.”

Vaggie: “I. Am. NOT-”

Charlie: “-hey guys! Has anyone seen my….”

Charlie: “…uh, Vaggie? Why is Angel Dust dressed like our gay lovechild?”

Angel Dust: “HA!”

Charlie: “And did he just call you ‘mom??’”

Vaggie: “I give up. Anyone needs me, I’ll be in the laundry room, shoving myself in the dryer on the hellfire setting.”

Husk: “You’ll have to fucking drag Niffty out first.”

Vaggie: “What.”

Charlie: “What?”

Angel Dust: “WHAT”

Husk: “She was crawling in head first when I left after waking up- uhh- after getting something.”

Angel Dust: (shrieking) “AN’ YOU LEFT HER THERE???”

Vaggie: “Oh shit-”

Charlie: “Vaggie- go! Fly!! Go go go now Now NOW- EMPLOYEE IN THE INDUSTRIAL CLEANING EQUIPMENT THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!”

- meanwhile, in the laundry room-

THUMP THUMP THUMP

THUMP…. Thump………… thump

Alastor: “…”

Alastor: (reaches over to knock on dryer door)  

Alastor: “Having fun, dear?”

Niffty: (flopping limply half out of dryer) (battered) (scorched) (GRINNING) “Ow pain!”

Alastor: “Quite.”

Niffty: “Heheheh… heHEHEHEH.”

Niffty: (sets the dryer to max again) “More…. PAIN!!!” (shuts door from the inside) (grins from other side with her face pressed against the glass)

Alastor: “Fascinating.”

Thump…Thump. Thump. THUMP THUMPTHUMP-

Cherri Bomb: “…”

Cherri Bomb: “…Know what? You kids have fun. I’m just gonna go, like, break into someone’s house and murder them so I can use their washer and dryer. That’ll be less fucked up than….. whatever this is.” (hefts basket of bloody laundry and bombs) (waves over her shoulder while leaving) “Bye~”

[lupinsweater]

part one

Teacher!James Potter x Single Mom!Reader 💌 1.3k words

thank you to @moonpascal and @amiableness for beta reading for me!

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Things did not go the way you had imagined the next time you saw James.

You had already been running on empty for weeks before school started, but your newfound busier schedule added to your inability to sleep at night. Every morning, you woke up with a dull ache behind your eyes and a stuffy nose that usually cleared up by noon.

Between helping Charlie with his homework and trying to meet your deadlines at work, there was hardly any time to rest. You hoped that things would clear up on their own if you stayed hydrated, but you could only stave off your incoming illness for so long before you hit a breaking point.

The morning that you finally decided you were too sick to go into work came about a week after Charlie had started school.

You’d spent the last week thinking about your interaction at parent-teacher night. Every day, Charlie came home excitedly sharing stories from class, and it was clear he had a special fondness for James, which only made it more difficult for you to stop thinking about him. You had spent the previous night tossing and turning, unable to stop coughing for long enough to fall asleep. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get any sleep and turned on the television until the morning rolled around. When it came, you phoned your boss and called in sick, trying your best to sound professional despite the exhaustion in your voice. Just as you were finishing your call, Charlie wandered into your room, dressed for school and eating handfuls of cereal from the box.

“Yes, I think it’s just influenza,” you said, clearing your throat in an attempt to hold back a cough. “Okay, that sounds great. Thank you again. See you next week.” Relief washed over you when you hung up the phone, but it only lasted a moment.

“Mummy?” Charlie asked, brushing his hands off on his jeans and setting the box of cereal down on your bedroom floor, approaching your bed. “Mrs. Wood isn’t here yet. Am I going to be late for school?”

You blinked blearily at him before registering what he was saying, and you reached for your phone to check the time. When you turned your phone back on, a reminder popped up on the top of the screen - TAKE CHARLIE TO SCHOOL. Instantly, you were wide awake.

You had completely forgotten that your neighbor who usually took Charlie to school for you- a sweet older lady named Mrs. Wood- had an appointment with her doctor that morning. She had given you a heads up weeks ago. You scrambled out of bed, pulling on a pair of slippers and grabbing Charlie in your arms, hastily carrying him down the stairs and out the door.

You helped Charlie buckle his seatbelt and situate his booster seat before hurrying over to start the car. An old Britney Spears album played over the speakers, and you went to flip it off, but Charlie’s protests stopped you. Reluctantly, you left it on for the drive, lowering the volume only as you approached the drop-off spot.

As you approached the curb, you could see James standing outside, greeting the students and chatting with parents. You groaned, running a hand down your face with embarrassment. Charlie reached down and fumbled with his seatbelt before it unclasped, and he wrenched the car door open excitedly, his little fingers fumbling with his backpack as he rushed to put it on.

“Mr. James!” Charlie exclaimed, running over to him. James’ face lit up as he saw Charlie approaching, and he dropped to a squat so he was eye level with Charlie. He offered his fist out for a fist bump, and Charlie returned the gesture. James pretended to stumble backwards, his eyes wide. Charlie giggled as James made a show of pretending to rebalance himself.

“Careful there, buddy! You’re stronger than you think!” James exclaimed, ruffling Charlie’s hair with a smile as he stood up. Charlie beamed at him before saying excitedly, “Mr. James! Mummy brought me to school today because she’s sick, and Mrs. Wood had a doctor’s appointment.” James’ gaze snapped up towards your car, and you smiled sheepishly at him as he approached. Charlie followed a few steps behind, watching James curiously.

“Fancy seeing you here,” James said as you rolled down the window. He closed the door that Charlie left open casually, giving you that lopsided smile. You couldn’t tell if your face was flushed, or if it was just a fever. “A little bird tells me that you’re sick.”

“She has in-flu-en-za,” Charlie said carefully, pronouncing the word slowly. James looked down at Charlie, biting back a smile as he said, “Ah, I see. That’s a shame.” He caught your eye, and you fought to hide your own smile.

“It’s not too bad,” you said, grimacing slightly as you looked down at your worn Snoopy pajamas and raggedy slippers. “I’m planning on sleeping as much of it off as I can while Charlie’s at school, and then downing a few cups of coffee so I can make dinner.” James frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. He studied you for a moment, his eyes trailing over you.

“You like Peanuts?” James said with a small smile. You stared at him blankly, your brain trying to process his question. His smile grew as he watched you struggle with the question. “You know, like Snoopy?” He tilted his head downwards, and you glanced down at your pajamas again. You were definitely blushing now.

“Oh! Yes. I love Peanuts,” you stuttered, trying your best to avoid James’ gaze, but getting more flustered as you noticed his patient, almost endeared smile. Charlie piped up again, “Mummy loves Snoopy! She has a Snoopy plushie she sleeps with every night.”

“Charlie!” You hissed, shooting him a warning look. James laughed, the sound warm and smooth, while Charlie just beamed at you, clearly pleased to have made James laugh.

“No, no, it’s okay,” James said with a chuckle. “I think it’s cute, actually.” He caught your eye again, and his smile softened. You swallowed nervously, which triggered a coughing fit. You doubled over, coughing into your elbow for a moment before straightening up, your eyes watering slightly. James looked at you sympathetically.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” James said when you finally stopped coughing. “You go get some rest. Charlie and I are going to have a great day of school, aren’t we?” James looked down at your son, and he nodded fervently in response.

“Yes! I want to go to class. I love you, Mummy!” Charlie said, placing a kiss on the palm of his hand and reaching his hand up to the window. You grabbed his hand with a smile, squeezing his small palm in yours.

“I love you too, Charlie. Be good today,” you replied. You snuck a glace up at James, who was watching the two of you with a soft, almost fond, smile. Charlie ran over to James again, and he guided him gently into the building, giving you a small wave as the two of them went inside.

That afternoon, Charlie came home with a small gift basket that contained a box of tea, a few cans of soup, and an envelope with your name scrawled across the front in slanted letters. There was a takeaway gift card stuffed at the front, and as you pulled it out you noticed the note behind it. It appeared to have been written on a small school notepad, and there were alphabet blocks that bordered the sheet of paper. On it, a few simple words were inscribed with the same handwriting.

“So you don’t have to cook tonight. -James.”

He had drawn a small cartoon of Snoopy next to his name.

[tr4gictea]

I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR REQUEST BUT I DON'T WANNA OVER BEAR YOU SRRYY

What about a teen gn reader who looks average (in term of strength) but could OBLITERATE a ruin guard in like,, one punch

How would the characters react to that???

genshin + weak looking but strong!teen!reader

❥Masterlist

Tags: slight fluff, mention of injuries

Including: Xiao, Dehya, Lyney

word count: 1,203

A/n: Heyyy, guess who's not dead! sorry I haven't been around for like a year or two things for me have gotten busy but things are slowing down for me right now so I'm gonna be focusing more on writing now! I hope you enjoy :D

You had always heard stories of adventurers finding new civilizations, fight cool monsters, and traveling around the world. You were gonna be like one of those strong adventurers and be marked down in the history books. Though your training and honed your skills to your very limit yet your body stayed the same, growing at its normal pace. Sure you could punch through a brick wall but, you also looked as if you spent your days reading inside. But after a while you had come to accept that you would remain average size until you joined the adventures guild.

The adventure’s guild always had interesting commissions, from the mundane to the deadly. You joined looking forward to getting super hard missions where you could explore a abandoned temple and fight the spirt that lives there! Or a commission about a missing person who has been kiddnap by dozens of treasure hoarder and you have to fight your way through them! As Katherine hands you your first commission you read the page telling you to deliver mint to some guy. 

You look up at kathrine with a “are you joking” face. She only smiles at you and asks if you have any questions. You insist to kathrine that you are a strong individual and you can handle your own. She shakes her head saying that this is the best commission for your skill level. You went back and fourth with Kathrine about the commission before she gave up and gave you some hillcurl camp to clean up on the west side. Snatching the commission out her hand you rush off to complete it. 

It wasn't the intense adventure you hoped for but it was better than nothing. So you head out to the camp and when you get there you spot three hillchurls, easy enough. When you finish off

the last hillchurl you heard the sound of gears churning behind you. 

“WATCH OUT!” a mystery voice calls out. Quickly turning around you are faced 13 feet tall ruin guard. It lifts up its giant geared hand attempting to slam it down on you, you dodge out of the way by jumping back. This is the first time you've ever encountered a ruin guard and there was something you wanted to try with it. 

Throwing your weapon to the side you take a running start at the ruin guard. You can hear the stranger yell at you to get back when you leap into the air lifting your fist up pull it down right on the machine’s head. It flies back into a rock wall 12 feet away from you. Landing on your feet you watch as the ruins guard light flickers for a second then goes dark. Turning to the mystery person you are met with a look of…

Xiao: Shocked but doesn't care that much

Xiao was patrolling the area around Yaodie Valley when he came across you fighting hillchurls. You had an adventurers guild uniform on but you looked far too weak to be fighting such monster, and at such a young age. But you looked to be holding yourself well so he didn't bother you. Until he saw out of the corner of his eye an old ruin guard started to shuffle and activate. 

He yelled at you warning about it but to his surprise, you dropped your weapon and took off running towards it. He was about to intervene when you sent the ruin guard flying into a wall. He stood there for a second spear still out and in his fighting stance but, confused as hell. How did such a weak-looking child punch that machine like it was a stuffed animal. 

“Uh, Mr. Adeptus?” You said trying to get the man's attention. “are you okay?” Snapping out of his trance he circles around you checking for wounds, none were found except for some red on the fist. And without any word he disappears. 

Dehya: Worried but Amazed

While traveling to meet her newest client she stumbles on you collecting stuff off the ground while a ruin guard towers over you. You looked no older than 18 and even tho you had a weapon didnt look like you could fight. She shouts a you watch out and unsheft her claymore. As she is running towards you she sees you turn around send the metal heap flying into a stone wall with a singular punch. Stopping her in her track Dehya looks at the scene before her with her mouth agape.

“Hey kid!” she yells at you. “Are you okay?!” She began checking your body for injuries. That was quite a punch but she needed to check that you didnt break anything from that. 

“If i move your fingers like this do they hurt?!” She asked while bending your fingers slightly upwards.

“No ma’ma,” you resond 

“I've just never seen someone knock out a ruin guard with one punch! How did you even do that without break your hand?”

“I drink a lot of milk.”

Lyney: Excitement

Today was a day Lyney had all to him self, much to his dismay. Lynette was off on a solo mission and Freminet teaching some of their siblings how to dive. Lyney would have joined but those lessons were too slow paced for him and he'd end up getting board and leaving the group behind.

So now he was outside of the city walls looking for something that could entertain him. When he saw the slashing of a weapon out the corner of his eye and turned to see a teenager fighting a couple hillchurls. They looked skilled enough to take on a couple monsters but, defiantly not strong physically.

He was about to head out and look for something more interesting when he heard the gears of a ruin guard turn. He spun around to see you face to face with one of these machines. He saw you jump back nearly missing the hand crushing coming down on you. As he got out his bow to shoot the thing down he stopped himself as he saw you run and jump off a rock and landing a punch on top of its head sending it flying backward.

You turned to face him and his bow was still in his hand with a shit eating grin on his face.

"My archons that was amazing!" He exclaimed while throwing his hands up and trotted right up too you. "How did you manage to do that?" He was lifting your arms up and down like he was trying to find something to tell him how you knock the guard out in one punch. "Or is it just raw strength... Punch me."

"What?" He said that as if it was just a normal request.

"Punch me right here in the stomach, I wanna see something."

"Sir I just knocked out a whole monster and now you want me to punch you?"

"Yes, I don't know what's so hard to understand. you can take down an ancient machine with one punch but you look so... normal!" Rude. "I don't mean that in a bad way but I want to see how this is possible." for the rest of the day he spent it with you testing out your strength on different things. He should have more days to himself if it's gonna be like this one!

Requests are now open again :D

[novastarrs]

I Can Explain|| Clarisse La Rue

Paring: Clarisse La Rue x Demeter’s Daughter Reader

Summary: You find a bear cub while walking in the woods and bring him back to your cabin.

REQUEST ARE OPEN

——

Nature has always been your favorite thing in the world. No matter if it was plants or animals, you were attracted to it and they were attracted to you. When you were six your father walked down stairs after hearing rustling in the kitchen, assuming it was just you trying to get a snack.

Imagine his surprise when he found raccoons in the kitchen with you petting them like they were dogs. As you got older it made more sense on why you loved nature because your mother was Demeter meaning animals adored you to death and your couldn’t say no to them.

This is the reason you found yourself in a sticky situation.

While walking in the woods you ran into a baby bear and couldn’t find its mother and you couldn’t just leave the little guy so you know what you did?

You scooped him up and ran to your cabin, how did no one notice a little fuzzy bear in your arms? You had no clue but you weren’t complaining.

Once you reached your cabin you locked the door and when your girlfriend tried to open it, you panicked.

You knew for a fact Clarisse wasn’t going to rat you out to Chiron or Mr. D because she loved you way too much for that but she’s already given you a talk about taking in animals after the flying squirrel incident.

Naturally you did what felt like the best solution…you threw a blanket over your new friend and ran out the door and quickly closed it before Clarisse could see inside and your temporary roommate.

A surprised look formed on her face but as quickly as it appeared it was gone as she smiled at you. Not a cocky smirk like she normally gave people to keep up her bad girl persona but a real smile that was reserved only for you.

“Hey, buttercup.” She said walking over to you and pressing a quick kiss on your lips, looking at you with so much adoration that you basically melted.

She never failed to make you feel shy under her gaze.

“Hi.” You said shyly, leaning your back against the door and holding onto the handle tightly.

Clarisse was the daughter of Ares and the children of said man noticed everything and she definitely noticed the nervous look on your face and the way you were gripping the door knob.

“Are you ok?” Clarisse asked crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow and you had to stop yourself from looking at the way her muscles flexed as she moved.

“Yeah, I’m great!” You said immediately, looking at her with big doe eyes and an awkward smile.

She knew you were lying but she didn’t push you for answers, knowing you would come to her when you were ready to her what’s on your mind.

“Anyways can I come in? I want to tell you about the new kid.” Clarisse tried to reach behind you to open the door but you shook your head.

“NO!” You shouted surprising both of you since you never raised your voice, clearing your throat you continued. “Uhm, my cabin is super messy. Let’s go to your cabin instead.”

Without waiting for her to respond you tried to usher her down the steps of the balcony when a crash came from inside your cabin and Clarisse didn’t miss the way you tensed up or how you avoided looking her in the eye.

“(Y/N), who’s in your cabin?” She slowly asked, grip tightening around her spear that she carried everywhere and you had to stop yourself from snorting at the accusation it was a person.

“No one.” You replied just as another crash came from the room.

Technically you weren’t lying, a person wasn’t in your cabin but an animal most definitely was.

Rolling her eyes, Clarisse moved you aside gently and barged into the room. Her spear glowing with electricity ready to fry the person her girlfriend was trying to hide.

You quickly followed her and your jaw dropped at the sight of your decapitated stuffed animal that was in the jaw’s of your new friend who was currently messing with the stuffing that was carelessly floating in the air and covering the floor.

Clarisse just stared at the sight in front of her for a moment before she slowly turned her head and raised an eyebrow at you but you just smiled.

“I can explain…”

[merakiui]

Meraaaaa I seek comfort 🥺 Aftercare with Azul; the morning after he fills you up with both of his hectocotylus (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠) Darlin being sore and unable to move her legs due to the ache of being speared open the night before! The sore tingles across her neck, shoulders, and collarbone from his bites and marks. Waking up and still fatigued cause he just went so so rough last night.

Azul would be so smug about it but oh so sweet and caring! Share your thoughts on what he might think and do for darling > < ) Mr. Azul Ashengrotto taking time off from work to take care of his little wife ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

>w< aaaaa zuzu looking after his wifey after a long night of breeding rough sex,,, I think it boosts his ego by a lot when you depend on him for things, even if it’s something like needing him to support you (i.e. carry you) when your legs are too sore and weak to walk. That sort of temporary codependency is so alluring. <3 he wants you to always depend on him. Let him spoil you!!

He’ll spend the day waiting on you, doing everything and anything you might need or want. He’ll start a bath for you, wash your hair and body himself so that you can focus on relaxing, attempt to cook a delicious dinner (he’ll do his best, and if not it’s an ordering food sort of day), and he’ll massage you gently, hoping to ease any tension. He’ll ice all of the spots that are sore; he’ll kiss the bruises and sucker marks on your skin as he cuddles with you, praising you so sweetly. How well you did, how much he loves you, how he’s sorry for being rough. He won’t admit it, but he secretly adores seeing you marked up like this and so clingy to him. It feeds that possessive part of him… but he’s just so soft,,, so obsessed with wifey!!!

The day is mostly spent in bed, and perhaps that’s for the better. You get to rest and relax, recovering from last night, and it persuades Azul to give himself the day off. He’s the boss, after all. He can take as many lazy days as he wants, even though he’s awfully stubborn when it comes to that. ;;; I like to imagine the both of you lay in bed and you drift in and out of sleep all while your favorite movies or shows play on the TV. :D

[mmani-e]

I've finally finished my Danganronpa AU personal project! I personally call it

DANGANRONPA: DEMIX

See Demix 1 here

And yeah, all the swaps as you can see above, and these guys in the middle are the replacements for Monokuma and Usami respectively:

Check out under the cut for some design insights on my take AND closer pictures of each pair:

Finally finished my personal AU project. I hope it's to everyone's liking!

I can go on forever about these designs but I'll limit myself to one-two sentences on some facts about the designs.

Mikan: Mikan's face tattoo was commissioned on her against her will so that she can never hide her nature as a Yakuza, but her leg tattoo was done on purpose, and she and Nagito have matching tattoos on their legs, his is just hidden most the time.

Nagito: He is usually seen with a spear and prefers the weapon over the sword, but he is more famous for his natural skill with the blade. That said, he resents the blade and wishes he could be recognized for the things he actually works hard to do, like throwing spears or protecting Mikan and her family.

Ibuki: I kept her design very similar to her base design because she pretty much just looks like a student, and I don't want to change anyone's personality so there's no reason for her to not get highlights. But I gave her some more symmetry in this design and gave her a cute little semi ahoge I guess with a hair tie, bc she doesn't naturally have one.

Imposter/Gamemaster: Yeah I made the big brain choice to keep him with his colors as "Byakuya" because it made for a more striking visual, and more recognizeable as the impostor. Also I made him too tall because I wanted to give him big legs lol.

Hiyoko: Her four cats are named Heart (scraggly cat), Mr. Pearls (sleepy cat), Big Red (Giant cat), and BB (black cat) bc canonically the four dark devas are named after shonen manga, I named her cats after pokemon games, which she canonically likes playing. Also chickens are her favorite animal, despite her love of cats.

Kazuichi: Kazuichi's not a natural born prince, through shenanigans it turns out he's extremely distantly related to some royal line in a microstate north of germany called "Nordsumpf." Their main exports are cars and Kazuichi is still new to being a prince.

"Kyoko": She'd try her best to act like Kyoko, but she's a little too meek and openy affectionate to pull it off properly. Also her knockers are way bigger than Kyoko's, so there's an immediate discrepancy to the trained eye.

Also in my au of DR1, Kyoko is the ultimate affluent progeny and Makoto is author/serial killer.

Hajime: His hair is actually extremely long back there, he just keeps it tied up. On shows he lets it all out and a wears red contacts, his stage name is "Izuru."

Sonia: Sonia became a team manager because she was escaping an assasination attempt, strolled into a junior laegue soccer game, took over for the coach and started just barking orders and the team won. They were the worst team in the whole league and after that she just sorta stuck around them and won them the championships.

Gundham: Gundham was orginally meant to wear the japanese flag… but there was too much white in his design so I cut it. He has names for all of his gymnast moves and he announces them very loudly when he does any of them.

Peko: I tried to give Peko a unique sort of "zombie survivor" kinda vibe so while she's clearly a mechanic first she can also just fucking kill you by braining you with that monkey wrench. Most of the time she's cool though, she's just like horribly dependent on other people to tell her what to do, so she attaches to Kazuichi because he's the most immediately available authority figure.

Fuyuhiko: He's got that sort of machismo that makes him not like to admit he loves dancing, but the moment he's complimented on it he'll really appreciate it. Also he's still part of a crime family, but it's just not as strong as Mikan's.

Akane: She really looks sporty still, but don't worry she's definitely "lucky," she's just much more focused on the future than her bad luck in the moment… which can be very bad, actually, and can make her come across as kind of aloof.

Nekomaru: Why is nurse Nekomaru not as common a thing. Just think about it, it's perfect. Nekomaru here got inspired by the bravery and hard work of the nurses that treated him and boom he became a nurse, nobody tougher than healthcare professionals after all.

Mahiru: Mahiru as a nurse is honestly a really really really fun concept but I feel like I wasn't very ambitious here, and I can't really show it through the drawing but one of my early drafts had her look more like a european chef a la gordon ramsey bc I headcanon her as a scot.

Teruteru: Decided to give him a raincoat which my sister pointed out to me could also be a trenchcoat, which is just PERFECT for a creep like him. It just writes itself man, though seriously he's mostly a landscape photographer who specializes in pics of the countryside. Still a huge perv tho.

Usowa: Name is a combo of Usagi and Chowa, the word for Harmony. She's less like a chaotic force of nature like Monokuma and more a manipulative and hardline teacher who coaxes the students into doing awful things by playing into their insecuritoies with motives, and which then causes them to kill, allowing her to punish them, "weeding out the weak and undisciplined among their ranks." She replaces Monokuma.

Kyojuma: Name is a combo of Kyoju (professor) and Kuma. He's a pretty silly guy with an easy temper to poke at, but he's good at heart and tries his best to be a more sort of "fun" teacher than the rules lawyer Usami kinda was. He just wants to help his students, too bad Usowa showed up and decidedly does NOT like his approach.

[sinnabum45]

Edgeworth's type 👀

Links to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (Palestine flag). End plain text.]

[Image description: colored comic of Ace Attorney characters Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, and Will Powers. Phoenix and Miles are sitting next to each other at a table. Miles is wearing his usual suit. Phoenix’s tie is tucked into his breast pocket and is leaning onto the table with his arms. His heart is beating and he asks Miles,” So, Edgeworth. Who’s your type?” Miles looks mildly surprised. Miles looks to the side, embarrassed, and says,” …Don’t make fun of me.” Phoenix replies,” I won’t!” Miles answers with one hand to his cheek and blushing, “Mr. Powers is quite the man.” Next to him is a memory of Will Powers holding a spear prop after a show. He’s wearing a tank top and sweat pants. He smiles at Miles and says, “You’re here, Mr. Edgeworth!” The background is pink with sparkles. Phoenix is colored like a statue that is cracking.

Second image: sketches for Will Powers and Miles Edgeworth. Top left: Will looking at the viewer with an intimidating look. Top right: Will is facing the viewer and smiling while blushing. Will: "Mr. Edgeworth! You came again. I hope you enjoyed the show!" Bottom right: Miles is leaning onto Will for a kiss. Bottom left: They are both blushing and Will is rubbing the back of his head with his left arm. Miles is facing away and covering his mouth. Text: " Both have little / no experience." End description.]

I like to think of an AU where Phoenix is pining for Miles, but he's still too scared to ask him out. So, he asks some roundabout questions and Miles just answers truthfully since he doesn't know that Phoenix likes him. It's a whole mess 💀 (Sorry, Phoenix💦)

I also like AUs where Miles is in love with Will Powers! Miles is living all of the Y/N dreams LOL 😭 He definitely watches every show that Will is in and visits him afterwards. It's a very wholesome and sweet ship imo 🥺 (That one Wii promotional pic definitely didn't push me to ship them more)

No matter what AU it is, I will always HC Miles to have a celebrity crush on Will Powers 😌 (cuz it's basically canon-- 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️)

[calliopeslyrics]

the wonder of you

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of Ares!reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: none :)

summary: capture the flag is a big deal to you, too bad luke keeps trying to distract you.

_

There’s a scent of fear and something stronger in the air when you step foot onto the field, your armor clad body already sweaty under the sweltering summer sun. Everyone is mingling, talking amongst their teams though the snippets of conversation you caught were about anything but Capture the Flag.

Army….monsters….Kronos

There was something else on everyone's minds these past couple of weeks, the lingering anxiety over a war that was supposedly brewing unbeknownst to anyone in Camp Half Blood and Mount Olympus. The oracle had given a cryptic prophecy, though the exact words were lost within the translations from story to story depending on the camper you asked.

Some of the Hermes children had heard that there was a host body that was slowly resurrecting the titan king himself, slowly gathering bits and pieces of bodies in order to resurrect his body. Mr. D was quick to shut that rumor down, threatening the next person who spread another rumor with a month’s worth of chores.

Other children of Apollo theorized that the oracle was not speaking of a war but another sibling rivalry between the gods, the kind that had Zeus throwing tantrums in the form of thunderstorms and Poseidon flooding cities out of pure pettiness. The only son of Poseidon was also quick to shut that idea down, claiming his own dreamless nights as proof that the gods were fine and didn’t need help.

Regardless of who you asked, the unspoken worries were evident - a war among the gods was brewing. A shiver went down your spine at the mere thought of fighting a war with these campers - most of them too young to even drive yet but not young enough to wield a sword, to kill and die for a taste of glory.

A horn sounded and both teams roared in response, clanking their weapons against their shields in response to the horn. Beside you, Clarisse clanged her spear against the ground, the familiar crackling of electricity stemming from the tip. A gift from your father, the god of War, though lately his true colors had been showing.

Ares had been silent these past couple of months, hiding away from the prayers and pleas of his children for Gods know what. It wasn’t unlike him to be absent in his children’s lives but this type of silence was worrying, especially for the god who loved to taunt. The Aphrodite cabin had the same trouble, and the only common theory both cabins could come up with was that Ares and Aprodite were swindling together. 

But days turned to weeks and when the weeks turned to months, both cabins suspected there was something more sinister happening. Ares was never at the forefront of a battlefield, but he was always present when a fight was happening. And if he wasn’t showing up for the brawls within Camp Half Blood, you could only guess what bigger fight your father was preparing for in Mount Olympus.

The sound of Chiron’s monotonous voice pulled you out of your worried thoughts. It was the same as every year, with him repeating the rules of Capture the Flag and putting emphasis on the no maiming rule with a pointed glare. Your team murmured in response, unhappy with the calling out of who was responsible for last year’s punishment. Though it was partially your fault for targeting the new kid from the Apollo cabin, Chiron’s rules were the last thing on your mind.

You’ve been having vivid dreams for the past couple of days - dreams that felt so real you were unsure if you were living through them or not. No one knew of them, not even Chiron or Mr. D. You weren’t sure why you were hiding these dreams from everyone, perhaps in fear of what exactly your dreams entailed or in fear of what will happen after they’re revealed.

A battlefield stood before you, barren yet the wind that blew past you sounded eerily like the clanging of swords against shields. If you listened closely, you could hear commands being shouted in ancient greek. The ground was stained with the blood of men who were born and died long before Camp Half Blood was founded - when wild men and beasts fought on the same land.

The land before you came alive, the ground soaking with blood as the sound of shattering bones and groans of agony echoed throughout the space. Somewhere above you a vulture circled the air, hissing in warning. Everything within you was warning you of something - a monster of some sort, maybe from the depth of Tartarus.

Bones rattled around you, bodies with missing bones and parts forming into a legion. Skulls found a spine which found femurs and humeruses. One by one, soldiers stood in formation until an army of the undead was complete. A soldier clad in armor stood before you, armor polished and muscled body - a general of some sorts or maybe someone higher in command. 

Primal fear coursed through your body as he glowered down at you, shadows casting over his face. You knew who he was, what this person was capable of doing. Scars littered this body, deep slashes and shallow cuts adorning along the arms and legs of the soldier but the face was completely clean - as if no one could come close.

The lord of bloodshed, the curse of mortals incarnate, the god of war - Ares.  

You kneeled before your father, bowing your head slightly to the ground in greeting. He barely glanced in your direction, an acknowledgement and dismissal. ``You’re not ready,” he said gruffly, smoke puffing out of his mouth. You scrunched your nose in distaste at the cloud of smoke, the smell of burnt cigarettes lingering in the air. 

Ares was never much of a talker, more of a man that spoke with fists and blood than words. Violence was his specialty, as it was with you and Clarisse and all of your half blooded siblings. But still, the bluntness of his words never ceased to have you stewing in a bad mood for the next few days and you found that you’ve inherited his harsh way with words.

“You’ve ignored me for so long, what make you think I’ll listen to your opinion of my readiness?” You scoffed, a little too boldly for your father’s liking. You stayed on your knees, though you raised your gaze to the god of war. His jaw clenched and his hand curled into a fist at the disrespect, but he didn’t strike. 

Ares ignored your question, hardened eyes gazing past you. His focus was somewhere else, analyzing the battlefield with the gaze of an experienced general. Centuries of war and bloodshed flashed through his face - regret, anger, pain flickering in his eyes.

You’ve never seen your father experience such emotions in a short amount of time. He was always hot headed, with a clenched jaw and sharp tongue that often got himself in more trouble than he could handle. But he was never remorseful, never apologized for what he said or did or hurt. 

“I know when my soldiers are ready,” he said, voice laced with the sternness of a general. You tried to mask your face with a mask of boredom, though his words stung. Soldiers, not children. Even after being claimed you could never get your father’s approval, not even after all this time.

Still, you were your father’s daughter - you’re stubborn and hot headed and brash. Backing away from fights was not your strong suit, so you stood up on your own accord and straightened your back. “I’m ready,” you said confidently, maybe too confidently for someone who loses sleep over nightmares. 

Ares barely gave you a passing glance, a half scoff escaping his lips. More smoke filled the air and burned your lungs, but you didn’t complain. Ares didn’t like whiny losers.  “You’re weak - worthless,” he grunted, the grip on his spear tightening. The muscles in his arms bulged at the slightest movement, and it took every part of you to avoid staring at the deep gashes along his biceps. “Not even close to reaching your potential.”

You scowled at his words, at the cold bluntness in his tone. Never in your life had someone speak to you that way, with such little interest.  “I’m not sure I’m following…” you said, daring to glance away from your father. The vulture at his feet stared at you, its beady eyes staring deep into your soul and very being. 

“The greatest warriors didn’t need an extra push from their parents to be as great as they are now,” Ares  said gruffly, . The soldiers behind him didn’t even budge from their positions, unfazed of the dispute before them. Maybe their physical forms were present but they needed directions in order to move, as if they were nothing more than puppets for your father to use as he pleased.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. You didn’t like how Ares was speaking to you, like you were benched for your lack of participation. Sure, you haven’t gone on an extreme quest to gain greatness in a while but you’ve been beating your own record at target practice with all the weapons available. 

“Achilles was training under Chiron before he fought in the Trojan War,” you pointed out. You remembered Chiron’s bedtime stories to the younger campers, of all the heroes he’d trained centuries ago. The Athena cabin had hosted a trivia night a couple months ago, and the Ares cabin had gotten a decent amount of points in the Ancient Battlegrounds and Armory topics.   

Ares rolled his eyes at the mention of the Greek hero. It was clear his grudge against the Greek army still hadn’t faded away even after all these years. “And then he refused to challenge Hector because he was too cowardly to fight,” he added snarkily, disgust evident on his face.

You searched your brain for more heroes, more stories that had victory in some sort of way. Death, failure, cursed forever, there weren’t many, and you hated your ancestry for that. “Didn’t Heracules have multiple trainers?” you crossed your arms. You had also recalled the countless stories of Greek heroes Chiron had drilled into your heads. 

Ares clicked his tongue, as if he suddenly remembered the name. You are sure that he didn’t even remember your name, though you tried not to think negatively about the deity before you. “Ah, was that before or after he slaughtered his family and cowardly ran away from his actions,” he tilted his head, glaring down at you with the same beady eyes as the vulture. He shared the same wild look in his eyes, the patience to wait for death to strike his prey.

A shiver ran down your spine, though you held his stare. You wondered if he could sense the confusion and hesitation within you,or if he counted it as fear. If they both made an adrenaline course through your veins, did it really matter? 

Did this conversation even matter? Slight annoyance surged through you, at this useless dream your father decided to join. He’d been silent for so long only to come back and talk about how worthless you are. “Why are you telling me this? What’s the point?” you asked, exhaustion evident in your tone. You supposed having a war of attrition with the god of war wouldn’t go well on your part. A small part of you knew that your father thought the same.

For once, Ares didn’t scoff or roll his eyes at your question. He seemed surprised at your question, as evident by the slight raise of an eyebrow. Maybe he wasn’t used to being questioned, or maybe he expected more of a fight from you. “Every hero has a weakness. It’s inevitable.” he said sternly. 

You faltered. Was that what this was all about? Weakness? A small pang of hurt echoed in your chest - did Ares think you were that weak? Was he so concerned about your mortality that he had to warn you to be extra safe?

“I don’t have a weakness,” you huffed, crossing your arms stubbornly. You prided yourself in handing out more punches than receiving them, especially when sibling rivalry peaks during competitive seasons. “Achilles had his heel and pride, Heracules was a coward, Jason was unloyal. But I’m not like them - I’m better-” 

“You’re not,” Ares interrupted, his spear crackling with power. You stared at the sheer power your father held, even in his mortal form he still exuded raw power and authority. If this much power made your body tremble, you could only imagine how Zeus was. “But I don’t want you to be exploited,” he said. 

You faltered at his words. Ares cared, in his sick and twisted way, about you. He didn’t want his own kin to share the same fate as the reckless heroes from the past, not when he has greater expectations. Something like pride swelled within you - the same pride that killed Achilles. “I won’t let anyone close enough to exploit my weakness.” 

“Keep it that way,” Ares nodded in what seemed like approval. You wondered if he would ever utter the words I’m proud of you in his lifetime, or if this was as close as you would get. You didn’t bother asking, not wanting to push your luck with your father. 

With a click of its beak, the vulture took to the sky, circling you from above. Ares turned his attention to the army of dead soldiers and gave them a salute. The soldiers saluted back and turned to their heels, slowly walking back into the very dirt that had buried them for centuries.

The smell of smoke and burning flesh burned your nose and lungs, but you could still sense Ares somewhere. He wasn’t gone yet but he was leaving, just like that. Panic swarmed your head, he couldn’t leave not when he’s been missing for weeks now. “Wait! Don’t go!” You called out, taking a step forward. Your foot stayed stuck in the dirt, keeping you in place as you struggled to walk towards the god of war. “Please! Don’t leave!”

The desperation in your voice must’ve been evident because Ares turned around, giving you an almost sympathetic look. It looked equally as intimidating as his war face, canines on display and wild eyes staring right at you. Perhaps it wasn’t a look of sympathy but of mercy, the kind you give to a soldier choking on their own blood on the battlefield before ending his misery. 

“I’ll be back when you win,” Ares promised. His spear crackled once more in response before he disappeared completely, leaving nothing but giant footprints in his place.

A hand on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts, and you jumped at the sudden attention. Beside you was your half sister Clairesse, her shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders to prominently display her tanned arms. Her muscles flexed with each movement, her casual movements turned into threatening actions.

“You ready?” Clairesse asked, her eyes practically glittening with excitement. She had also had some dreams, though hers were more promising. Apparently Clairesse had seen your father and promised him victory for today’s game. Ares gave her no response, but the determined look in your sister’s eyes gave you confidence for today’s game.

You nodded, schooling your face into a look of confidence despite the sweat that slipped down your face. Gods, you hated the heat more than the miserable cold that winter always brought. You tried not to think about Ares’ words to you - when you win. Another giant weight on your shoulders, as if this wasn’t enough. “Did Dad give you any sign this morning?” you asked, glancing over at your team. 

There seemed to be more campers this year than any other - a sign that Chrion took as the Gods accepting more of their children into their lives. While some demigods were excited to be claimed, others were weary of the sudden change of heart of the once negligent Olympians. You didn’t complain, though. The Ares cabin had been thriving with the influx of newly claimed siblings and as a result, your team seemed bigger than it was last year. 

Clairesse shifted her weight from one foot to another, the only hint of nervousness she’d show. You took her silence as a no and moved your attention to your armor, double checking each strap and handle to avoid the awkwardness of the conversation. 

The children of Ares were never good with their words, preferring to show their emotions through physical means regardless of how lighthearted the emotions really were. It was as much as a gift as it was a curse, and you could only blame your cowardly father for granting you emotional instability as part of your heritage.

Your armor was strapped tight, hanging onto your body as the worn leather burned in the sunlight. It was centuries old, scratches and slight holes denting through the front layer, though you doubted you’d need the protection. The center of your leather plated chestpiece spray painted red, as if your team’s intimidating aura wasn’t enough to indicate which side you were on. 

Across from you was the opposing team, their leather armor marked in blue as they stood in perfect formation. They were always the more organized team between you two, thanks to their team leaders that kept everyone in shape just for this moment. Amongst the crowd of young campers, you could spot Luke standing front and center, flanked by Annabeth Chase of the Athena cabin.

You could see the girl point to her temple, giving Luke a knowing smile and nod of approval at something he had said. Your heart fluttered at the sight of Luke in his armor, his helmet barely covering his face that you knew had a determined look. He always took Capture the Flag as seriously as any other child of Ares and Athena, always determined to prove himself again and again as the best swordsman and maybe something more.

As if sensing your stare, Luke glanced over Annabeth’s shoulder, a small smile creeping onto his face as he caught your gaze. You flushed at his gaze but blamed the heat. Luke was more of a headache to you than a friend, though he was one of the older campers that was more similar in age to you than anyone else.

You smiled back at Luke, cracking your knuckles in response and pointing at Luke in case he didn’t get the hint.  Luke chuckled, his helmet shaking slightly at your threat. A sense of pride filled your chest at making Luke break the character of the serious camp counselor of the Hermes cabin, a feat only few could claim as a success. 

As usual, the Aphrodite cabin was in charge of leading the opponents frontline men away from the flag, taking them as far as they could before raising suspicion. Those who could charmspeak or change appearances were spread out within your ranks while the others followed their head camper’s lead towards your fake flag. 

Your cabin, the Ares cabin, was on the front lines, as always. Armed with magic weapons and a madness that could only happen during the heat of battle, the children of Ares were always theIf anyone could get past the Athenan and Hermes children. The brutes of Cabin 5, you called yourselves with pride. 

Clarisse glanced over at you, smirking at you as everyone got into position. Her spear crackled with electricity, the prominent tip glowing in warning and promise of pain. “Don’t get cold feet now,” she teased, her voice full of confidence. Her eyes seemed to glow with excitement, the mere thought of knocking down campers without repercussion always gave the children of Ares more of a reason to look forward to this event - this time even more so.

Today was a big deal, both to the reigning champs of the previous years and the reigning losers of your team. Today, you’d turn the tide, claiming victory over capturing the flag for the first time in three years. Your cabin needed to win, you needed to win. The Ares cabin needed to prove themselves worthy of your father’s attention once more after that embarrassing loss the year before to the huntresses of Artemis. 

You remembered the way your father ignored every prayer and offering sent to him, how the Ares Cabin became the laughing stock of camp once your siblings started to lose at even the most basic camp games. Capture the Flag, sparring exercises, even sharpening your weapons seemed to be a harder task than usual.

You knew your role, it was the same one as last year and the year before that - find Luke and prevent him from advancing. It was easier said than done - children of Hermes were always the first to race across the map, quick and nimble on their feet. And you knew Luke would lead his group towards your side of the forest, using his winged shoes to give him the advantage of speed.

The sound of a horn sounded for a second time - the final warning before the game would start- and you sucked in a small breath as you heard the distant rumbling of your siblings and teammates racing to their positions. While Clarisse and the rest of the more aggressive demigods cut a clear path to the blue team’s site, you’d take a detour towards Luke’s site and keep him distracted until your team claimed victory.

Easier said than done.

Without a second to spare, you sprinted towards Luke’s direction, following him into the entrance of the forest. He was already way ahead of you, zig zagging through the trees and brush as you ran behind him, laughing mockingly at your speed. The fluttering of his winged shoes trailed ahead, almost a distant sound until you could catch up - another rub in your face at your slowness.

Luke’s red Converse was the only thing you could spot, a red blur that left you constantly looking around. Gods, he was fast. One second he was straight ahead then he was cutting left through the lake, his voice echoing from one side of the forest to the other.

You huffed at Luke’s speed but continued forward, your feet carrying you as fast as you could go towards the red shoes. Your armor bounced against your body, clashing against your own sword as you gained speed towards the bright red just up ahead.

Right as you approached the lake, you frowned. There was silence, an eerie emptiness surrounding you as if there was no one around. You held your breath, waiting for the flapping of the winged shoes to appear for you to follow once more, but the only other sound that accompanied you was the water gently crashing upon the shore. It was as if Luke was never there, the sand and rocks beneath your feet undisturbed save for your footprints.

A branch snapped somewhere behind you and you whirled around, sword in hand as you scanned your surroundings. There was no way Luke led you to a separate area, an alternate plan to the one your team had created. You grit your teeth in annoyance, blaming Annabeth Chase for thinking of a way to counter your plan. 

Another branch snapped on your left and you turned around again, your sword humming to life at your growing annoyance. This couldn’t be Luke, he wasn’t the type to stalk and hide his opponents. Whoever this was, they were treating you like prey, as if you were the lesser one in this fight. If you couldn’t get a hit on this person, your heating sword would at least throw this person off your trail for a bit.

The next thing you knew, you were tackled to the ground, rolling into the lake with the attacker. Their arms wrapped around your back, holding you tightly against their body as you thrashed against their hold, cursing in Greek with every breath you could get out. You exchanged a series of punches and kicks with your attacker, both of you hitting the hard ground with each tumble you took until you finally landed into the water. 

With a grunt, you lunged at the person, revenge the only thing on your mind. You toppled over the person, gripping their neck and giving it a threatening squeeze with all your strength. You didn’t care much for the rules, not when this punk - whoever they were - decided to embarrass you during your hunt.

“If I knew this was how you’d react to getting tripped, I would’ve done it sooner,” the culprit crooned, and you sneered at the amused tone of their voice. This had to be one of the Stoll brothers, you’d know that annoying tone anywhere. With no gentleness, you tugged their helmet off, not caring that your nails were basically scratching at their face. It’d be the least of their worries once you’re done with them. 

Instead of meeting the gaze of one of the annoying Stoll brothers, you stared at Luke Castellan - your biggest headache in all of Camp Half Blood. With a scowl, you tossed Luke’s helmet at his face, ignoring the way your heart pounded wildly at his carefree smirk as he caught his helmet with one hand.

Gods, if he were some other camper they would’ve gotten a beating from you just for talking to you like that. But Luke? He was the exception, always. You don’t know when he started to be the only person you could tolerate, maybe it was when he first beat you at the sword fighting arena, maybe it was when you landed a blow to his face the first time you fought and he laughed at the bruise that formed days later. 

All you did know is that he was just another person that annoyed you and maybe even a friend.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for that move, Castellan.” you warned, letting your hands drop to your side as you rose from the water. He only gave you a roll of his eyes and grinned at your words, as if he knew that he’d always be off the hook when it came to you. Without another word, you searched for your sword, hands searching along the shore at your feet for your blade.

Besides your quick temper, the only other gift you had gotten from your father was a sword that grew hot with your mood. It was efficient when you were in a bad mood, which hardly happened when you were teasing Luke during the games. He was your weakness, and a small part of you hated yourself for having one in the beginning. 

The greatest heroes never had weaknesses, you told yourself. You reminded yourself of your conversation with Ares -  Achilles, Hercules, Jason. They were arrogant and disrespected the gods. You were better than that, better than all of them combined. You had to be.

“All’s fair in love and war, right?” He smirked as he rose from the water, carefully wringing the water from his soaking curls. His armor and clothes clung to his body, giving you the exact shape of his arms, his chest, his everything. You bit the inside of your cheek from saying stupid and turned your attention to your missing sword.

It must’ve fallen from your grip while you were tumbling along the shore, humming somewhere beneath your feet. You felt the warmth of your blade and let out a small sigh of relief when you finally retrieved it, your blade slowly cooling with your mood. You’d have to clean it once you got back to your cabin, you thought more to yourself as you shook some of the water off of your sword. Maybe the Hephestus cabin can help with that, you thought bitterly.

“Too bad I don’t love you then,” you replied smoothly, wringing the water out of your hair. You tried to ignore the soaking feeling of your clothes sticking to your body and the added weight to your armor. Love was such a strong word, the most similar to your most commonly said word hate. Was all truly fair in love and war, even after everything your own father had gone through for the goddess of love?

Luke stayed silent, as if he didn’t have a response for once. You both let the drip, drip, drip of the water fall from your clothes, filling the silence. For once, you didn’t mind the quiet. There was something comforting in it, like you both didn’t need to say anything in order to keep each other company. 

“You realize we’re the only ones here because our teams are trying to get us together, right?” Luke said, hands on his hips as he wrung the water out of his own clothes. You tried to ignore how close his shirt was to his torso, clingy desperately onto his toned chest and arms. Luke’s own cheeks flushed, whether from the fall or your attention you didn't know, but you didn’t comment on it.

You shrugged, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. You’d suspected that your teammates were up to something when they started to push for you to take a path on your own instead of leading your own unit like usual. But when Clarisse brought up that you wouldn’t need the campers to find Luke, you agreed. It seemed like a good point at the time but looking back, you could definitely see why she was so pushy to get you to go on a separate route where only Luke would be.

“What are you trying to say?” You asked, raising a brow at Luke. You busied yourself with the straps of your armor, checking the already tied straps for imaginary tears and rips along the fabric. Your hands shook at his words, at the implication of what he’s saying, at what your teams are plotting for both of you.

There was no way Luke caught onto this plan before you, not when he’s busy tending to claimed and unclaimed children most of the day. Not when he’s the first person to rise in the morning and the last to go to bed, going as far as to wish you goodnight while you finish your nightly workout. Not when his spot is always beside yours during the campfire sing-a-long and volunteers to be your partner during sparring lessons.

There was just no way, you told yourself. Luke is a headache, and nothing more.

As if he was reading your thoughts, Luke gave you a knowing look and you rolled your eyes at him. He was so annoying, with his stupid smirk and disarming laugh, but a small part of you didn’t mind that it was always directed towards you. 

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” he asked with a huff, cheeks reddened at your obliviousness - or was that from the heat? The more you teased and talked to Luke the more the lines blurred between you two. Did friends always make your heart skip a beat, especially when they made eye contact with you?

You shrugged, not trusting your own voice to carry an air of nonchalant when you didn’t even feel relaxed. The last thing you needed was to give Luke another reason to poke fun at you until you turned red.

“Go out with me,” he said softly, eyes full of hope. His teasing tone was gone, even his smirk was completely wiped. For a moment, you saw Luke’s true feelings, his mask wiped from his face for once - completely vulnerable and utterly smitten for a daughter of Ares.

You hummed in response, your own heart pounding wildly at his words. Was this what you wanted to hear after months of pining and teasing, of lingering glances and touches? You knew the answer, you knew what you wanted to say so badly. 

But the game came first, you needed this win before you could do anything else in your life. There’d be no point in trying to live your life if Ares didn’t acknowledge you again. “Go out with me, what?” you asked, desperately trying to stall for time. Your team should’ve gotten the flag already, so why are they taking so long to come back?

“Please,” he breathed out, wasting no time by playing along. Your heart skipped a beat at his willingness to ask so softly and sweetly. Luke was too good for you, always the first one to lend a hand and the last one to ask for something in return. 

You didn’t know how to phrase the words I’d like to. Everything within you was made to destroy, crafted with bloodied knuckles and never ending bruises. You were not sweet by any means, hardly like the smooth talking Aphrodite cabin or the eloquently spoken Apollo cabin. You were everything everyone hated about Ares, more fluent in violence than anything else.

But if Ares could find solace in the laughter loving goddess even if his scarred hands were harsher than her softened ones, you supposed you could find solace in Luke Castellan too.

Somewhere in the distance, people screamed in victory and a horn sounded. The thundering sound of weapons clanking against shields came closer and closer. Among the trees, you could spot a blue flag held up high as surrounding campers cheered and barked in celebration. Your team had gotten the flag - the Ares cabin had redeemed themselves once more.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched your half siblings celebrate in victory. Among the already forming crowd was Clarisse, electric spear in the air as she let out a war cry. The campers with red painted armor followed her cry and raised their own weapons in the air, the sound of dozens of demigods yelling out echoing throughout the forest.

“Ask me that tomorrow,” you said softly, fixing your gaze back to Luke. The softness in his features were replaced with confusion, his brows furrowing and a small frown tugging at his lips instead of his smile. It took almost all of your willpower not to laugh at the sudden change of his expression.

“Tomorrow?” he sighed in disbelief, defeat in his eyes at your statement. You nodded, amused at his deflated look. He looked so small like this, his personality completely different from the carefree and easy going guy that strolls through camp. It didn’t suit him, you wanted him to smile again, to give you that love stricken face you mistakenly took for teasing. “Don’t play with me, just answer the question.”

“I believe you’ll be busy with kitchen duty tonight,” you said with a smile, nodding towards your team. Clairesse was still waving the stolen flag in the air with the echoes of cheers surrounding her. Right behind your team, Annabeth looked defeated, rubbing at her face as she talked to Percy Jackson about who knows what. The son of Poseidon glanced over at you and Luke and gave you a thumbs up, as if he were also part of this plan. You didn’t doubt it.  “So ask me again tomorrow.”

Luke smiled at your statement, newfound hope gleaming in his eyes as you made your way to your siblings. They roared in excitement, lifting the flag and some hitting their helmets against yours in celebration.

You laughed for the first time in a long while, a new sense of freeing happiness and excitement washing over you. There was something new in the air, at least between Luke and you, and it was a four lettered word that started with the letter L. 

[trappolia]

NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR ── dan heng x gn!reader x blade, former dan feng x gen!reader x yingxing, 2.4k

you dream of blood.

the golden ichor that seeps through the jagged cracks of an old, divine blade. the deep red that drips from your wounds as a cruel reminder of your mortality, an ever existing shadow that haunts you through all the ships you travel through.

you dream of love.

a golden hairpin that catches your eye while walking through the bustling streets of a marketplace. the red paint that smudges on a lover’s lips when you exchange kisses. strokes of black ink upon parchment, reading words more poetic than one can ever have the courage to say aloud.

it is dizzying, in the way all dreams are. you are sitting under the moon and sharing a drink with someone you consider your friend, family, lover, and the next you are driving your spear through his chest. there are no blades of grass on this ship, no grassy fields for you to hide in, and the tendrils that you feel swaying, rustling, in waves past your ankles, are the chains of the sins you bear as someone they call their beloved.

the crew of the astral express are a welcome distraction, kind and warm as they offer you their companionship in their own personal ways. you help march 7th pin up photos in her room, laughing as you reminisce over your past travels through silly selfies and scenic photos. you sit with himeko during breakfast over a cup of coffee (yours brewed by yourself rather than the gorgeous redhead, thank the aeons) and indulge in the peaceful silence, a sense of normality that the woman is more than happy to give you after all that you’ve been through. mr yang tells you stories of other universes, weaving the already existing threads of all the lives you’ve seen around you into something completely different yet the same— and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he lived a different life before all this.

but no matter what, you always find your way back to dan heng.

though you have your own assigned room, the simple arrangement of a flat pillows and a blanket on the floor of the archives is as much of a home to you as it is to dan heng. you’ve spent many a night in his room, poring over texts and books with him, more often than not passing out on his lap or in his sleeping area.

( “they come as a pair,” march 7th once told the trailblazer when they asked about the two of you. “himeko said that arrived on this ship together. whatever they went through in the past, they made it through because they had each other. but that’s just what i think.” )

it’s true, in a sense. what would you have done without dan heng, travelling through all those ships that always met the same end? you wonder if you would’ve lasted long enough for himeko to find you and bring you to the astral express.

probably not.

dan heng feels responsible for you. he doesn’t say it, but it’s obvious. you once confessed your insecurities to him on a dark night, back when the two of you were still getting used to having a proper roof above your heads without fear of the ship getting attacked or waking up to security banging through the door.

( “what if they think i’m useless because i’m always clinging onto you?” you had asked him in a small, weak voice.

“…they don’t seem like those sort of people.”

“but what if?”

dan heng had looked at you, his expression tired and soft all at once as he sighed.

“then they’ll have a problem with me too.”

“why?”

“because,” he brushed his fingers over your gaunt cheekbones, worn from all that you’d been through. “i’m just like you. if something took you from my side, then i might as very well be useless to them.” )

there’s a known truth between the two of you, one that you never speak of; but you both know that it’s a fact. if you hadn’t been involved with dan heng — with him — you’d still be at home in the xianzhou alliance. you’d be blissfully oblivious to the convict on the loose, the exile who has returned home. you’d be living your life— a normal life.

but you aren't.

instead, you dream of him.

it should be impossible. bracers are not meant to be shared between a trio, and whatever gift you had been planning to share between the three of you was lost upon the exile. and yet, even without the ancient magic of the vidyadhara, he somehow manages to make his way into your dreams, haunting you like a ghost.

some nights, you dream of those arms that had always held you with such certainty, an impenetrable shield even when bloodied and battered. other nights, you dream of those hands driving a blade through dan heng’s heart, squeezing your throat until you take your last breath through a broken windpipe.

and every night, when you wake up from those dreams in dan heng’s arms, you feel that pain welling in your chest, settling for days as it finds comfort in its new home, made up of your aching lungs and your shattered heart. the days and nights blur together like this— haunted by a man still living and breathing, though not quite human, in the nighttime, and traversing through the worlds like a ghost searching for meaning in the daytime.

you don’t remember how it ended up like this. or do you? it all feels like a dream, all the details and images blurring together to be forgotten by morning. but it isn’t morning, and you can’t wake up from this reality. your head throbs. a concussion? who cares.

you can’t afford to let your guard down on this ship you once called home. you’re here for a reason, and though that reason is your top priority, you can’t afford to be caught either. the cloud knight that found you and dan heng — sushang — doesn’t seem to recognise either of you, and neither does the strange tradesman luocha, but you still can’t take any chances. panic blossoms in your gut, unsettling as you grip your weapon in your weak hands.

ah. that’s right. you’re fighting. reason grounds you with the fuzzy memory of your enemy standing before you— an ambush, because whatever forces are at work here clearly play just as dirty as the antimatter legion and that damned aeon they serve.

a fight you can’t lose, no matter how badly your head is throbbing right now, because you still have to find the others, have to save them from— from—

“ren,” your grip on your weapon loosens as the dust clears, revealing the man standing before you.

the enemy, your brain screams, though it can’t even make you move away. the word that slips through your lips is familiar, and yet not. your head hurts thinking of calling him by his true name, the name you called him before he turned into this.

blade, is what kafka called him.

ren, is what it means in your mother tongue, the language spoken in moonlit nights as the three of you sat under the stars, the silence broken only by a whisper of their names.

the name comes out as a quiet, pathetic croak, staring wide eyed at his figure. he’s frozen just as you are, his broken blade aimed straight at you with an arm that wavers just the slightest.

it’s like a domino effect; your walls crashing down the moment you see his mask slip for the smallest moment.

“yingxing!” your voice breaks as you call out to him again, almost desperately (it does not occur to you that you've let your memory slip, called out for a man long dead). your feet are moving from under you before you even realise it.

blade lunges forward, his sword drawn.

a desperate cry of your name wretches itself out of dan heng’s throat in a way that makes your heart ache, but it’s too late now. his warning comes only seconds after you’ve begun to run straight to danger, death, a threat to your life seemingly unseen to you as you surge forward like a blind lover, but you can see him.

the sharp angles of his face, the familiar bracer on his calloused hand, the searing heat of his vermilion eyes. he’s so close— close enough to kiss, close enough to kill, close enough to be reality rather than an illusion forged by a dream.

his blade is not what meets you. instead, it’s his hand. dan heng’s panicked screams is barely audible over your hammering heartbeat, your pulse quickening as blade’s calloused fingers wrap around your throat. he’s stronger than you — you would know even if he hasn’t been haunting your dreams all those years — and so he can easily snap you in half the second you’re in his clutches.

but then you’re pressed against him, back to his front. blade pulls you as close to him as humanly possible until you’re both flush, sharing the same, saccharine oxygen after years of breathing stale air through stone lungs. despite the sharp end of a sword held over your throat, you allow yourself to close your eyes, reveling in this single moment as if you’ve lived an eternity where the three of you had never once hurt each other. though he had an eternity without a single regard to how you’d hurt each other. in these stolen moments, you let yourself be stupid, oblivious, selfish, just to breathe properly for the first time in what feels like a millennium.

“let them go,” dan heng hisses, breaking you out of your reverie.

“no,” blade’s eyes narrow. there is no mocking in his expression, no sardonic smirk or cruel taunts. his walls are still up, none of that broken emotion that you’d only seen for a split moment when your eyes first met, but he lets himself drop the bravado. between the three of you, there is no such thing.

you whisper a soft cry of his name, making dan heng’s grip tighten on cloudpiercer as he moves to snatch you out of blade’s grip, but your former lover only growls.

“come any closer, and i’ll cut them.”

his voice is scratchy, worn like the calloused hands that are wrapped around your nape, squeezing almost painfully. a distant memory flashes in your mind, of these same calloused palms washing your back after a long day, cleaning the blood and grime.

these same hands could be stained with your blood, if he so wishes.

“you won’t,” dan heng hisses, and you hear something in him break like glass shattering on the floor. “you can’t.”

he sounds so sure of it, that this man will not slice that blade over your throat and take your life just as he had taken dan heng’s in so many eternities.

you’re reminded of the fact that no matter how many times the hourglass has turned over for dan heng, no matter how muddled his memories become, he once loved this man just as you did— once relished in his presence and touch as it lulled him back to sanity, masking the weight of all the sins the three of you had committed over the lifetimes your strings of fate had been entangled.

blade moves as if to cut your throat, to finally take the first life, the first step in the nth round of this cycle of violence, but his sword only manages to press down just the slightest against the skin of your neck before he stops himself. his hand — the one adorned by that damned bracer — shakes as he glares at dan heng with a look that can kill.

“fuck,” blade mutters under his breath. the word is not meant for you, but you hear anyway. blade pulls back from you roughly, and a barely audible whimper tears out of your throat when he suddenly pushes you forward and into dan heng’s arms.

dan heng’s eyes widen, clearly just as surprised as you when blade relinquishes his hold on you. he catches you with unsteady arms, trying to keep cloudpiercer levelled at blade as if the man will suddenly lunge forward and take him from you again.

blade stares at the two of you for a moment, watching as dan heng clutches you to his chest like you’ll disappear if he let go, as you hold a palm to your neck where the thinnest line of red bleeds through. his eyes narrow, and the only other indication of emotion in his face is the slightest downturn of his lips.

“i’ll be back,” blade says, and then there’s that cruel smile on his face again, a taunting glint in his eye as he looks at dan heng. “i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?”

dan heng growls, his grip tightening on cloudpiercer, “you damned—!”

but then blade’s already making his exit, leaping off the platform in a manner that gives you deja vu.

( a memory flashes in your mind, the image of him jumping off your balcony as jing yuan knocked on your bedroom door to make sure you were still asleep while dan feng dove under your bed for cover, a mundane moment of peace and carefreeness almost forgotten from where you had pushed it deep into crevices of your mind. )

i’ve stolen your little eternity countless times before. what’s one more to the tally?

after a breathless moment that seems to drag out for an eternity, dan heng’s arms finally uncurl from your frame, his eyes tracing your figure to make sure you’re unharmed. his eyes drag over the thin cut across your neck in an adagio, his breath hitching as he sees you bleeding the same colour of blade’s eyes.

“he didn’t kill me,” you breathe out. you don’t know why it’s only settling now. the relief is clear in your tone, but it’s obvious from the violent tremor of your hands that it’s only to mask your own uncertainty. "he didn't kill me."

dan heng is quiet. you’re too scared to look at him, at the expression on his face. you just stare at your shaking hands, and watch as he rests his palm over your own to soothe the tremors.

“he always had a soft spot for you,” dan heng whispers, something breaking in the tenor of his voice.

© trappolia 2024