#eventual poly hinge

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood - table of contents

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader , biker!cody rhodes x black reader warning: blood and violence. drugs and alcohol. all of the aforementioned will be explicitly stated and described. explicit descriptions of sex, angst and eventual fluff. some chapters will be flashbacks, all of which will have an asterisk next to the link. others will be present time. minors please do not interact with chapters containing aforementioned explicit sexual content. authors note: ok lets try this again. second times a charm. every times a charm as long as i'm having fun! this is probably my oldest roman idea. going way back to before i even started writing for him. shout outs to @333creolelady for CONSTANTLY hearing me rant about this idea lol.

HISTORY

Bloodline Motorcycle Club was founded in the early 1970's and finds its home on the pensacola panhandle.

SOME WORDS

bloodlines are created lovingly. preserved violently. "let there be", and so they came. bursting into existence with a rage akin to the sun, and a daring persistence most similar to life itself. bloodlines are long, some short and others undying. connected through metal and chrome. through blood, bone and tissue. through the love that made them.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

(1) circa '09 * (2) accessories are meant to be worn (3) a funeral, and the second coming back (4) i’ll be your mirror * (5) the trouble was always here (6) the trouble was always here - part 2 (7) eighteen is dangerous * (8) muddy coffee & supermarket cake

ESSENTIALS AND MISCELLANEOUS

the hierarchy

[hellvcifer]

CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles ┆part 1

ft. pairings :: blitzø, stolas, poly!fizz/ozzie, poly!moxxie/millie // gn!reader wc :: 4.3k note :: i am still trying to flush out this sickness! it's awful but here's some more drabbles. ozzie and fizzy's is so long omg i have fizzmodeus brain rot and got carried away !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, dear, honey, bunny, babe, baby, pumpkin, sweetie), reader throws up, descriptions of throwing up, blitzø using insults as pet names, a little suggestive (blitzø and fizzmodeus)

꒰ BLITZØ ꒱

Moxxie held the phone away from his ear as he heard you trail into another coughing fit. “Can you please just tell him I can’t make it in today?” 

“You should really call him yourself.” He paced, worry etched into his brow. Millie glanced at him in concern. “If I tell him you’re sick–”

“Dont!” Your plugged nose filtered your voice. “Don’t tell him I’m sick…”

“What, why?” Moxxie paused, thinking about his boss and what exactly could happen if he were to say something. “Nevermind.” He shook his head. “What exactly am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell who, what?” 

“Gyah!” Moxxie jolted, phone flying out of his hand as he zipped to turn and face his boss. Blitzø entered, eyes scanning the room. “Uh, nothing, Sir!”

“As much as I would love to tear you a new hole and fuck it, Mox, I have more important matters. Like finding out where the fuck my assistant is.” He frowned, realizing you hadn’t shown up yet. 

“Oh, uh, right!” Moxxie glanced at Millie, searching for some sort of answer.

“Out!” She spoke up, hands slamming on the table as she stood from her seat. “Told us to let you know! Something about picking up a recent order made for an upcoming client.”

“Fuck yeah!” Blitzø grinned before glaring, “See Mox, that’s how you get shit done. Instead of sitting here on your ass, jerking off.” 

“What? But Sir–”

“Anyways!” He strutted past the two and waltzed into his office. “Don’t bother me, I’ve got important shit I’m doing in here!” His words were followed by the slam of the door. Moxxie and Millie shared eye contact before releasing a relieved sigh.

Blitzø immediately walked over to his desk, lounging back in his chair and kicking his feet up. The place felt a bit off without you around. Typically, you two would sneak off into his office to hang out or mess around when you didn’t have any client work. 

He opened the drawers and saw the makeshift mini-figures he created of Millie, Moxxie, and you. A huge grin appeared on his lips, tongue sticking out happily. He knows exactly how to pass the time until you get back in the office. 

Except, you hadn’t come into the office for the rest of the day. Which okay, sure, you’re probably busy. But, eventually the one day turned into two; and then three; and now four. He stared down at his phone, seeing the last text you sent him five days ago. He really meant to send something, to check up on you. But would you even care if you hadn’t reached out to him first?

His eyes widened, jaw falling slack at the thought. That is until he heard Millie call out your name in an excited tone. He smiled instantly and jumped his desk, nearly ripping the door to his office off the hinges. 

“Fucking finally you show up!” He leaned against the frame, a smirk appearing on his face with his brow raised. Until he couldn’t find you. “What the–”

Millie was huddled over Moxxie’s shoulder, looking down at her phone in his hands. Loona was chilling at her desk watching videos on her own phone. “Oh, sorry, Sir. We just got a text… That’s all.”

They got a text? And not him? He gritted his teeth. “Okay, what the fuck do you– I mean. I’m the boss so– Fuck! You know what! They’re fired! See how they get by without a job, that Ass fucker.” 

“Uh, Blitzø?” Millie tried to calm him down. “You’re not actually gonna fire–”

“Oh don’t you worry your little head about it, Millie!” He stomped into a pace in front of the white board. “I’ll find out wherever the fuck they’ve been hiding and make sure–”

Loona’s phone went off, interrupting Blitzø’s rampage. Everyone stopped to look at her when she picked it up. “Hey… Yeah… You need more? Already? Yeah that’s fine… I’ll see you soon.” She hung up. The silence in the room caused her eyes to slide over to the others. They all blinked at her. 

“Oh no! You’re not going to see anyone missy!” Blitzø wagged his finger at her. She stood up, weight shifting to one side as she jutted her hip out. “Not until we find out where my shit face assistant is hiding!” 

“Are you serious?” Loona frowned at him. “They’re at their apartment.” 

“What.”

“I’ve been dropping stuff off these past few days while–”

“Oh that sexy dick sucker is gonna fucking pay!” He stormed out, not even hearing the rest of what Loona was going to say. She huffed.

“I’m not dealing with that.” She sat down in her chair again and went back to her phone. As much as she didn’t mind helping you while you recovered, she wasn’t going to try to interfere with the relationship you had with her dad. 

You felt your body tense at the loud noise heard from beyond your bedroom. Someone had knocked on your front door. You churned it up to one of your neighbors or someone with the wrong address and slowly closed your eyes once more.

The incessant banging prevented you from falling back to sleep. Now, a familiar voice had tacked on to the noise and caused you to let out a groan.

“Alright Dipshit, I know you’re in there! Open up the fuck up!” 

Knowing he’d eventually bust the door off the hinges or break the window, you arose from your sickened bedding and shuffled towards the front door with your blanket. “Go away!” You shouted, followed by a few short coughs. That stopped his thumping. 

“Gross, why the fuck do you sound like that?” 

“Oh fuck you, Blitzø!” You really had zero patience. The past few days your flu has only been getting worse. Loona tried to help out with the few things she brought over but whatever sickness you had was stubborn as hell. 

It was quiet… You encircled your blanket tighter around you as you got closer to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing that he was no longer there. Damn. Guess that worked. Which was odd knowing Blitzø.

“What the shit is this?!” Shouting came from your bedroom, followed by shuffling feet and your door slamming open to reveal the person you thought had left. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Oh my Satan.” You rolled your eyes and walked over to your couch, feeling yourself become overly hot. “You can’t just break in when I don’t open the door!” You relinquished your blanket while sitting down. “I told you to leave!” 

“Yeah right!” He strutted over. “Just tell me the real reason you’re avoiding me!” Your eyes widened.

“What?”

“You may think your sorry ass was gonna get away with this,” He began pacing in front of your couch. “But I’ve got you all figured out.” He gestured wildly with his words.

“Blitzø.”

 “Texting with M&M… having my own Loonie visit you… not talking with me at all!”

“Blitzø!”

 “You really think it could go on without me–”

“I’m sick you dumbass!” You shouted and spurred a few coughs from you. He paused, slowly turning towards you. He finally took a real good look at your form. Runny nose that was rubbed to dry, bleary eyes, sunken cheeks. 

His eyes widened. “You mean… You didn’t just play hooky to avoid me?”

“No!” You shook your head. “Satan no, I would love to be at work right now.”

Blitzø sighed and glanced at your bedroom, seeing the trail of snotty tissues he pushed through to get to your living room. “Well that explains those.” 

You tried to smile, though it came off wearily. “Not to mention, I’ve thrown up twice already.” He glanced back at you. “And that’s just today!” It was quiet as he peered at the floor. 

He walked over, sitting next to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes met his, seeing them drill into your own with a hidden desire of curiosity and… hurt.

“Because…” You glanced away. “Clients have been slow… And, when I saw the rush of appointments we had this week, I didn’t want anything to mess it up or… Be in the way.” You squeezed your hands around your arms.

You felt something gently encircling your waist before yanking you closer to Blitzø. You peered down to see the tip of his tail. He rested his head against your own, sighing. “Fucking idiot.” He whispered. And although it was an insult, you know that it was from a place of endearment.

You scoffed a laugh before poking him in the chest. “You’ll get sick.”  You tried to push him away. He merely brushed your hands away and pulled you closer to him. 

“Fuck it, a few days off of work doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Except I’ll be the one that has to take care of your whiny ass when you do get sick.” 

He glanced at you. “Damn… your raspy voice is making my dick so hard right now.” He wiggled his eyebrows a few times. “Wanna fuck?” He smirked.

Leaning in, you feel a flutter within your stomach.“Oh~ Blitzø.” You whined, eyes half-lidded. Your cheeks filled with liquid before releasing the contents of your soup from earlier. Chunks flew onto his lap and all over the couch. The horrid taste coated your tongue as leftover bile leaked down your chin.

Blitzø sighed, slowly pushing your heaving face away from his dick. “Yeah I probably deserved that.”

꒰ STOLAS ꒱

The bird prince had just finished preparing himself, placing his crown on and taking one last glance in the mirror. He would be meeting you soon and wanted to look his best considering you both would be spending the whole day together. His phone buzzed and he chirped with excitement. He made quick steps over to his phone with a smile. That is, until he saw your text.

Stolas honey, I can’t make it. I’m so sorry.  I think I’ve caught some kind of flu. Can we reschedule?

He felt his brows crease immediately, frown sinking its way onto his lips. “Flu?” He questioned. Well this wasn’t good at all. His fingers immediately began typing.

Hello darling, I’m so sorry to hear that… Perhaps we could be together even while you're sick. A little company while feeling ill always seems to help me.  Would you like it if I came over? I could help take care of you while you recover. I don’t mind really, I just want to make sure you have everything you need to feel better. Of course, we don’t have to if you don’t want to

He anxiously awaited a reply, pacing across his room in front of his vanity. Did he come off too needy? Maybe he should have just wished you to feel better and be on his way. But how could he when his loved one is feeling sick? He saw that you read the messages and were currently typing. The bubbles went away a few times and with each passing second, he felt his stomach twist with nerves.

I really want to see you…  But I would hate for you to get sick :(

His response back was almost immediate.

No problem at all darling, I promise. A little sickness won’t harm me. I’ll see you in a few <3

After reading his text back, you wearily smiled. As much as you wanted to tell him not to come, in fear of him catching whatever bug you had, you were desperately hoping to see him today. Things had been hectic in both of your schedules so it had been awhile since you two had seen each other. Let alone have time to go out and do activities together. 

And of course, Satan was a bitch and chose today of all days to curse you. Or should you say, this entire week he’s been testing your limit. It started out as a small cough and runny nose. It might have gone away faster if you weren’t so stubborn, but that little bit turned into a full blown, body ache and fever. 

You laid back down in your bed, placing your phone on your bedside table and sighing. It will be nice to see Stolas, that’s for sure. Having been away from him for so long was taking its toll on you. He really did recharge your draining battery. You closed your eyes, thinking about his caring nature and loving words. Oh to see him will possibly end this sickness instantly.

Stolas pulled his phone out and texted that he had arrived. He grabbed the bags from his car and waved his chauffeur away. The car drove off as he walked up to your door. He knocked a few times, hoping it wouldn’t be much trouble for you to answer. “Darling?” He called out but received no answer. The prince called your cell but again, no answer. He huffed, wondering if you decided on not wanting to see him. Or what if… You were really sick. So sick that you were dying! 

Stolas broke in immediately, feet trailing through your place as if he lived there. He found his way into your bedroom, opening the door and seeing you in bed. A long breath escaped his worried lungs, feeling relief when he saw your chest moving in a deep sleep as he walked over.

“Oh, my dear.” He placed a hand on his chest, kneeling down to the side of your bed. Stolas felt an ache grow within his heart as he gazed at your form. Sweaty, shaking, breathless. You appeared tired even as you slept. “My darling, why would you push yourself like this.” He could simply tell that you didn’t get sick today alone, but were most likely not taking care of yourself as you should have been.

His hand reached out, caressing your overly warm forehead before raking his fingers lightly along your scalp. The motion slowly brought you awake, eyes fluttering open to see your lover aside your bed. 

“Stolas.” You smiled dreamily before realizing he had arrived. You pushed yourself up. “Oh my goodness, I feel asleep!” Your eyes were wide as your outburst shocked him. Sitting up so quickly, you felt pressure bloom in your head and held it. “Ow…”

“Careful, dear.” He placed a hand on your leg, circling it to soothe you with some comfort. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry your sick–” He booped your nose. “–little head about anything.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll always be here to take care of you.”

꒰ ASMODEUS & FIZZAROLLI ꒱

“Hm?” You felt your blurred vision focus on the jester in front of you, headache making itself even more prominent the more you tried to will it away. 

“Agree with my choice for dinner after the show tonight!” He bounced in place, arms motivating his movements. 

“Oh, uh… Yeah sure.” You stood up and quickly walked over to your vanity, a shaky hand reaching out for the edge as you sat. Asmodeus and Fizz watched as your behavior was completely different from how you typically were before a night at Ozzie’s.

“Oh Honey~” Oz's sultry voice dug into your skull. “Something the matter?” He asked, cautious of your emotions. You shook your head, a strained smile appearing on your lips. 

“Not at all!” Heat rushed over your face, a sweat now brewing from an oncoming fever. “Just nervous for tonight. The new routine and all.” You glanced away.

“Aw, our little Bunny is all shakin’ up?” Ozzie walked over, his finger caressing your chin and tilting your face to look up at him. “That don’t sound right at all~” He smirked, though you could see the underlying worry in his eyes as they dipped at the corners.

Sleek metal arms squeezed around you and brought you into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Babe! If you forget a step or two, just look at me and I’ll help you out.” He wagged his eyebrows at you, tongue sticking out of his upturned lips.

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling the sweat begin to build up on your forehead. “Yeah, thanks, Fizzy.” He leaned in, cheeks squishing together as you both glanced at yourselves in the mirror. The clammy coating on your skin dug into your mind. You worried he might feel just how warm you were becoming due to your fever. You recoiled quickly. “Uh, I think it’s time!” You grabbed your matching cap n’ bells and placed it on your head.

Fizz was saddened at your reaction, peaking at Oz to see if he felt the weird tension coming off of you. As much as he wanted to push for more, he worried that he would upset you. But he couldn’t just let you go without doing something. “Hey.” Fizz grabbed your shoulders, turning you towards him oh so gently, his voice softening. “Are you really okay?” His eyes dewed as his lips pulled into pout. 

Your head tilted to the side, bells jingling as you did. “Yes, yes! Of course!” You released a heavy breath, stomach churning. “I’m fine! Totally fine!” Your voice cracked at the end of your words. You stepped closer to the door, escaping your dear Fizzy’s hold. “I’ll get into position now!” You opened the door, beginning to wave at them with your fingers. “Bruise some knees and make them cum, my lustful babes!” 

Finally you were free from the room, air so heavy you felt as if it weighed you down. Breathe. Just breathe. You began climbing the ladder to the catwalk to get into position for the opening act that was supposed to start shortly. Your stomach rolled a few more times with the movement, causing you to clasp a hand around your mouth. You felt the bile raise into your throat with a burp but swallowed it back down. The taste barely coating your tongue. 

Don’t. Puke. Just put on the show and everything will be fine. You grasped the stripper pole in front of you, hearing the introductions begin. Your platform would be lowered down anytime now. Your knuckles tightened around the metal. Breathe. You closed your eyes. 

A jolt sent a shake through your legs as you felt yourself beginning to descend. Slowly, the glowing eyes of the audience came into view, spotlights on you as the music blared loudly. 

“The one! The only!” Fizz spoke into the mic, arm outstretched in your direction. Breathe. Smile. Show time. He screamed your name, you flashed a strained grin and began your routine, singing your solo part. 

It was going fine for the first few minutes. Your duet with Fizz and the routine felt as if it was muscle memory. Until he grabbed your hand and began to spin you, a few times too many than what you had practiced. When he had finished, he sprung onto the opposite side of the stage and continued his performance. But you, on the other hand, were left in a dizzying mess.

You stumbled, trying to hold your bearings as much as possible. The flashing spotlights made things worse the more you tried to focus on not throwing up. Unfortunately, that made everything more difficult. The lights centered on you, awaiting your final high-note. Ozzie watched your hunched over form, his faces frowning in concern.

Fizz peered at you, his smile faltering when he noticed your hand clasped over your mouth and the pained expression you displayed. He took a few steps closer but you bolted off stage, exiting fast behind the curtain. The two remaining snapped to look at each other before Asmodeus flashed away in a heartbeat. 

Fizzy glanced at the crowd, his worrisome face disappeared to the silly grin he always held. He addressed the situation and transitioned to the next act seamlessly, covering for you as if that whole mishap was supposed to happen. He left the stage quickly while the next performance took over. Making his way in the direction you ran off in, he was able to locate you and Ozzie in the bathroom next to the dressing room. Concern etched onto his face as he saw you.

Oz had shifted to his smaller form, hand caressing your back as your head hovered the toilet bowl. “Ahw, it's okay baby. Let it out.” Sweet velvet tones caressed you in comfort as tears streaked down your face. Fizz’s heels clicked over before he sat down on the other side of you. His metal limbs cool against your heated skin. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wanted too–” You hiccuped. 

“Hey, hey, calm down, babe.” Fizz spoke gently, petting your head as you leaned into him. “You should have told us you weren’t feeling well.”

“Froggy’s right.” Oz added. “The show means nothing if your health is at risk.” He tilted your face to look at him. “You mean everything to us. You come first.” Your eyes watered at his words, lip quivering. 

“I-I wanna go home.” You sputtered, a hand reaching out to each of them and squeezing tightly. Fizz leaned his head against yours, tail pulling you closer to him.

“I’ll nurse you better, Baby.” He smiled. 

“Sounds like,” You hiccuped, followed by a sniffle. “A fun new roleplay we can try.” You quipped with a smirk.

“And we can wear cute nurse outfits!” Fizzy kicked his feet, tongue blepped at the thought. 

Ozzie stood, shifting to his larger form and grabbing you both in his arms, lifting you. “After Bunny is feeling better, okay you two?”  He shook his head, though an endearing smile remained as he ducked through the door, ready to take his lovers home and get you on your way to recovery. 

꒰ MOXXIE & MILLIE ꒱

“Uh… Babe?”

“Yeah?” Moxxie called from the bathroom, his mouth garbled with the spit from foamy toothpaste.

Millie felt your forehead with the back of her hand, noticing your abnormal body temperature almost immediately. “Our little Pumpkin is burning up right now.”

“What?” He spat the extra fluoride into the sink and ran out into the bedroom. He saw you still in bed, body curled up and face scrunched in pain. “Oh, crumbs.” He quickly got closer, sitting on the mattress and copying his wife’s actions. His brows dipped in concern as he stared down at you, his other hand going to your shoulder and rubbing softly. 

“We’ll have to call in.” Millie bit her lip, brows furrowing. “We can’t go to work and leave ‘em here alone.”

“You’re right, Sweetie.” He stood back up. “I’ll call and look for some ibuprofen to help with the fever.”

“I’ll fix up some tea.” Millie leaned over, her lips gently placing a kiss on your clammy forehead before she walked away into the kitchen.

“Wait!” You tried sitting up even though there was an immense amount of pressure in your head. They both looked at you worriedly. “Don’t stay home…” Millie came and sat next to you, her hand rubbing your back as you held your head in discomfort. “I can take care of myself, okay?” You looked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, honey.” Her eyes stared at you, taking in every bit of your face. “We know that. And before you were with us, that may have been what you’re used to. But ‘round here we take care of each other.” She leaned in, forehead kissing yours as you both closed your eyes at the contact. Moxxie sighed at the scene, his hands hovering his heart. 

He walked closer. “And we’ll always be here.” He kneeled on the bed, scooting closer before kissing your cheek. “We’re taking the day off. No matter what you try to say to convince us not to.” He smiled gently before grabbing his cell and returning to his task from before. 

You melted at both of their actions, the care and comfort they offered so endlessly being a new feeling to you. Typically, you’d get sick and fight through it on your own. Sleeping in bed and rotting until it finally flushed itself from your system. But this was a completely different feeling, one that you’re slowly getting used to and relishing in the affection.

Moxxie called your boss and through a shit ton of convincing, he was finally able to get Blitzø to agree and let the three of you have the day off. It was basically the entire staff for I.M.P. that wasn’t going to show up for the day, so obviously he was pissed.

Millie walked in and handed you some tea while Moxxie came over with some medication in his hand. “This should help with your fever.” You were able to take them easily and sipped your tea. 

“Need anything else right now, Sweetie?” Millie asked. You shook your head, slowly handing the tea back.

“I kinda wanna just sleep right now.” You muttered, glancing at the covers over your legs.

“Mind if we join you?” She smiled softly, her voice quiet to not make things any worse. “A little cuddle session always makes you and Moxxie feel better.”

“I don’t want you two getting sick.” You glanced between them. “As much as I would love to.”

“Well, technically we already slept together last night.” Moxxie began before crawling under the covers and getting situated on his side of the bed. 

“That’s right!” Millie followed his actions, scooting you over so you were in between them. “If we get sick, then we’ll be sick together.” She snuggled right into your side, her tail looping around you and Mox and squeezing tightly. You felt another warm sensation crawl across your skin though this time, it wasn’t due to your fever. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut, feeling your lovers’ arms circle around you.

An odd sound was heard from the ceiling before a hefty lump landed onto the bed. Everyone's eyes shot open to see a familiar person.

“Sir!?” Moxxie called out, voice raised. 

“Fuck this shit!” Blitzø got up and stormed out of the bedroom. “I thought yall would be porking it up in a sexy threeway!”

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[madnessr]

Reunited Chapter 1

Summary: 300 years had passed since 1725, where three vampires had lost the only thing that mattered to them. Now in the year 2025, they are reunited with the one person they cannot lose again.

A poly Lestat, Louis, and Armand x Reader relationship

Warnings: Slight gore, cursing, mild angst

Word Count: 5k

Here it is guys! The first chapter to this series. Please let me know what you think, your comments make my day!

Masterlist

The Queen Mary, a ship built alongside the RMS Queen Elizabeth, was constructed to express service between Southampton, Cherbourg, and New York. The intention was to provide competition to super-liners built by European companies in the late 1920s. However, by 1965 the Queen Mary was no longer profitable and soon retired in 1967, retiring in December on the shores of Long Beach, California. 

All of this happened 31 years before you were even born, the notorious ship now growing roots against the harbor, nourishing a reputation for being hunted and cursed. Attracting self-proclaimed ghost hunters and other psychics to try and connect to the ship's past. 

But winds were changing, and in early January of 2023, the descents of Cunard White Star, the original owner of the Queen Mary, announced a revival. A luxurious experience reliving the thrills of the 1920s, promising to carry the Queen Marry across the oceans once more for a final and elegant vacation for anyone who wanted to set sail on history, departing from California and arriving in Italy. 

Social media and dedicated Queen Mary fans went wild over this news, claiming this could be the next generation of the Titanic, while paranormal enthusiasts couldn't wait to explore the ship for longer than just a night. However, you, along with many others, saw the announcement for what it actually was, a job opportunity. 

Inflation being at an all-time high since the 1980s, you, along with 63 percent of Americans who are also living paycheck to paycheck, could use the extra cash, a place to stay was a given, no matter how small the staff rooms would be on the ship, you wouldn't complain. Having nothing to lose, you handed in your resume along with hundreds of others. You felt confident in your chances of being accepted, making a note to highlight your previous career in the American Symphony Orchestra as a cello, and when worst came to shove, you also were a waitress at one point. 

The Queen Mary was not set to sail until 2025, leaving the hiring staff an entire two years to sort and select applications. Leaving you and many others in a state of radio silence. So, you promptly forgot about it. Moving on with your day-to-day life, you continued working ungodly hours, living off unfair wages, and living one day at a time. Until you had the wonderful delight of experiencing your boss, someone you furthermore supported through extra shifts and on days off, made a choice to fire you. 

Or, as she said, "Needing to let go of such a valuable employee due to the current economy." A load of bullshit if she asked you, but she didn't, and with your belongings sitting in the classic cardboard box, you made your way back to your apartment. 

Unlocking your door, letting your feet kick the old wood on its rested hinges closed behind you. You dropped the box carelessly, letting yourself sit on your second-hand couch with your head in your hands. 

You had faced many challenges since moving to America, leaving your family in Austria to make it big in the symphony orchestra only to be eventually let go by an abusive boss. Leaving you as a waitress at Denny's for the past two years. Of course, your family didn't know; how could they? 

You had left them. Had promised and gloated about your upcoming success just to end up in a shabby apartment in a dangerous area and now unemployed too. You were tired and have been for the past two years, but today was your breaking point. Like a cold shower, realization gradually washed over you, forming a heavy puddle in the pit of your stomach. You had failed. 

You wouldn't return as the prodigy you had hoped to be; you wouldn't return wealthier than when you left. Damn it, you couldn't even sustain yourself anymore; the only way you'd be returning is with a walk of shame. How were you supposed to look them in the eyes again? People who unconditionally believed in you, people you made promises to like prayers. 

You were ready to finally give up, throw the white towel, raise your flag, and surrender. You could already hear your grandmother, rotted in old sexist views, present you as an example to your younger siblings. You could practically hear her nasally voice, "Women have no place pretending to be anything they aren't." She always said that; it was almost her slogan. Whenever you had a new idea, when you aspired to be in all kinds of careers, from pilot to singer, she denied every single one. She wanted you to be a wife; nothing more or less was suitable. 

The dawning realization hit you that not only did you fail, but you proved her right too. Your young siblings looked up to you and watched you prove her wrong as you lied to them. Yet, you still pretended to be successful, that you were a part of symphonies, and that employers were constantly looking to recruit you. So not only would you return as a failure, but a liar too.

In your well-deserved moment of self-wallowing, you heard the rusty sound of your mail slit open, watching a letter fall to the floor. You stared at it, silently praying that this wasn't the icing on the cake, and your landlord decided to hand out eviction notices. Then, slowly pushing your lethargic body onto its feet, you hobbled over and picked up the letter. 

Ripping the envelope open carelessly, your eyes scanned the paper. You had been hired as part of the staff regarding the Queen Marys voyage, glancing at your calendar briefly, nearly two years after fucking applying. Due to a staffing issue provided by a system failure, you were hired as part of the waiting staff and, on occasional afternoons, a part of the on-sight orchestra. 

A dry laugh escaped you, flipping off the air as you grinned tiredly. "Not yet, grandma, not fucking yet.." 

The sound of seagulls singing, the smell of seaweed, drying kelp rotting on the shore, and the salty mist of ocean air surrounded you as you passed the crowd. It was boarding day, and you and the rest of the staff members were instructed to board early. But how was that even possible when you had to survive a sea of people instead of boarding a ship. Kids running around, clerly excited, young adults in their groups babbling about the cruise, while you and another worker, Ella, stuck out like a sore thumb in your 1920s-style work uniform. Considering that was when the ship was built and set out to sail, the owner of the Queen Mary only deemed it fitting that the boat preserved its history. 

Along with all the "excuse me's" and "pardon me's," your eyes caught on to a peculiar pair of men. Both sporting shoulder-long locks, one a cheerful blonde and the other a content-looking brunette. Their odd fashion was comparable to yours if they wore formal uniforms. But the clothes looked so ideally suited to their bodies, not an inch of fabric out of place. You just assumed they were history enthusiasts and wanted to match older decades. You caught the gaze of the blonde man, whose laughter and smile stilled as he watched you. A chill traveled down your spine as the eye contact was far too intense for your liking. Ella grabbed your arm carefully, guiding you through the crowd so you two would stay aware of the situation. Finally, you managed to get to the elevator, showing your employee passes before being able to board. 

You glanced out through the glass elevator walls, once again catching sight of the two men from earlier. Yet this time, six pairs of eyes stared at you; a look of shock and utter disbelief fell across their features. There was this incredibly odd, almost indescribable feeling of deja vu washing over you like those handsome faces were familiar. Finally being out of the rush of guests, you had a moment to stare. A man with black hair joined them, his strands of dark locks reaching further down than the others. He looked stoic, calm even, but his gaze connected with yours when you looked at him. He smiled, a gentle soft one that you barely even noticed. But it made you feel something—content. Like the man rarely ever smiled but had done so for you. Before you could fall further into your ridiculous daydreams. You looked away, feeling creeped out as the doors opened, letting you walk up the ramp and board the ship. 

The ship's interior was a work of art all on its own. The lobby, displaying a decorative wall resembling a fountain behind the reception desk, stretched from one corner to another. Several seats and booths were set up to serve as the reception worker's primary domain. Being guided through the halls, past the main entrance seating area. You passed a golden elevator; there was something old-time about it, displaying a large panel to indicate which floor it was on at the top. A large, almost clock-like arrow guided its passage. 

The staff was then split up and shown to their rooms. The halls had a fancy, royally red carpet as the floor. Beautiful golden embroidery gives it a more meaningful design as you pass the countless rooms. Having been given time to settle yourself, you glanced at your room. It looked similar to a standard, single-bed hotel room. A door leads to a closet on your right, being reflected by a body mirror parallel to it. There was a sliding door made of glass on your left, leading to a simple bathroom. A regular-sized bed and a simple bedside table on either side are in the middle of the room. You had put your suitcase against the chairs, flopping onto your bed for a moment to breathe. 

A sharp, almost tapping or knocking sound was heard from your window. Making you snap your head up; nothing should be able to hit your window, considering you were on a ship, high above the waves. Standing up, you glanced outside, watching the night nearly overshadow all the waiting guests if it weren't for the street lamps and store lights. Shrugging, you turned around once more and were later ushered to the restaurant you would serve at with Ella. But, again, given the summary of what was expected of you, you wouldn't be a waitress tonight. 

The restaurant was built to look fancy. Circular tables have neatly, if not ironed tablecloths draped over them. Two plates, four pieces of cutlery, wine glasses, and a white cloth napkin folded in a triangle on each plate. Pointing to the grand chandelier in the room's center, casting the room in a delicate orange glow. Along one side of the restaurant stood a small stage, a few instruments being displayed along with a cello. 

Tonight, you would be entertaining the dining patrons from 6:00 pm till 7:00 pm as the ship's doors finally opened to the public. So, you took your place on stage, skillfully preparing yourself for your session. 

The ship boarded similarly to airplanes, where more exclusive—or affluent passengers got to board first, following up with different groups sectioned by letters. Eventually, the calming silence in the ship slowly became something more welcoming. A soft, joyful buzz of people waiting for their upcoming vacation, or rather journey with bated breaths. 

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less. You were getting good money and had yet to decide if you were even returning to the ship to sail back to America. So instead, you might just stay in Italy for a few weeks. 

There was something so comforting in the idea of just doing as you pleased. No one to find you, just wandering down a road and seeing where it would take you. You were a day-to-day kind of person, and you saw nothing wrong with that. But recently, your days have grown to become boring. 

So, as you heard the loud roar of the ship's horn. You smiled to yourself. You had officially set sail to hopefully new and more exciting adventures. 

Gradually, guests began to appear in the restaurant. So, you started playing a casual, soft jazzy tune. Chatter filled the room, almost like a chorus as you played. You found yourself enjoying the atmosphere; everyone in this room came here for one thing: enjoyment. 

For your scheduled hour, you did nothing but play and enjoy. Playing Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker, Waltz of The Flowers; to Saint-Saëns The Carnival of The Animals. You played it all, a gentle smile tugging at your lips whenever a note hit so beautifully. Sending shivers down your arms and goosebumps, you never failed to get when music was played. 

You hadn't changed one bit. 

Perhaps you would've grown shy while performing if you knew, but this moment had no significant meaning to you. You're just doing your job, simple as that. But what meant so little to you made dead hearts begin to leap again. What it meant for them to see you again, thriving, living, and mortal. Three-hundred unforgiving and torturous years did they spend without you. They spent years getting over your death, and while getting over you wasn't ever accomplished, continuing to survive was. Although blood lacked its taste, the night air its crispness, and music its charm. You stood there on a small stage. Single-handedly providing their miserable lives with color again. With meaning. Although they had long forgotten what it meant to be, or instead feel human again, this was the closest they'll ever get to being so vulnerable. 

Lestat, although having been the most stubborn about accepting your death, was now struggling the most to understand that you were, in fact, alive. Right in front of him, so reachable, so obtainable. But he didn't dare move, frozen in his chair as he watched you. He had dreamed of you every cursed second you were apart, and some part of him didn't want to accept this as reality. Countless nights did he awake in his coffin, arms that had been around you in his dreams now empty. He never minded how cold his skin felt, but nothing was more challenging than the loneliness you left behind. His grief denied him this moment, compared to Louis, who felt nothing but joy; he just couldn't, unlike Armand, who shared the same happiness and disbelief as Louis. 

He was certain you weren't really there. 

To wake up alone after this moment once more, after something that felt so real. So Lestat stayed where he was, silently grieving the only sun in his life that didn't hurt, and enjoyed the sight of you in front of him, alive once more. 

But before you knew it, and any of them wanted to accept, your time was up, and a young pianist came to take your place. You bowed, unaware of the three men who had watched your entire performance with bated breaths. 

As you left the scene. One thing was understood between the three of them; the world wasn't the same without you. They had been given one thing they never had themselves, a second chance. One thing was for sure, they won't lose you again.  

Now that it was seven pm, you were finally able to properly explore the renovated ship. Heading out onto the deck, the breeze gently ruffled your hair. A familiar coldness from the night air hugging you close, enveloping your entire being. You leaned over the railing, tall, half-drunk champagne glass in your hand as you chatted and joked with your newly acquired friend, Ella. A little younger than you, she was a college student who had dropped out of her recent major and decided to take a year off. To find what she really wanted to do. 

You couldn't really judge her for it; teens were forced to make such detrimental decisions way too early, in your opinion. But there was more to life than grades and results. 

A soft clearing of the throat could be heard behind you two. Turning around, you still saw one of the gentlemen from earlier. The one with shoulder-length brown hair tied neatly into a low ponytail and old-fashioned attire. You could tell that he tried looking more modern, but the way his dress shirt and waistcoat snatched his waist so beautifully, you refused to believe the man would ever wear modern-day, baggy clothes and sweatpants.

"Pardon my intrusion, ladies; I just wanted to compliment the wonderful cellist this evening." He mused, a crooked smile framing his face. Ella glanced at you, a playful, bowing smirk tugging at her lips before she nodded. "How wonderful; I'll leave you two be then. My break is over now anyways." She mused, quickly slipping away as you stood there. 

Turning your full attention to the stranger, you smiled welcomingly. This was your favorite thing about traveling. The number of strangers you meant along the way, the people, the stories, the lessons. People never seemed to become boring to you; there always seemed to be something there that always kept you intrigued. 

But something about this stranger didn't feel comparable to all those previous experiences. This man seemed to feel so familiar. "Thank you." You mused you weren't shy by all means, but this man and his companion gave you the oddest of feelings. 

"Excuse me," you began. Then, fully capturing his attention with your words, "But have we met before?" The moment the question escaped your lips an expression painted his face you couldn't quite decipher. 

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, keeping a distance before you nodded. Inviting him to stand beside you, leaning against the railing and staring out at the dark sea. The lights from the ship give the only indication of the waves beneath you, the light softly reflecting against the surface. 

"I don't think we have." The man finally responded to your previous question, his eyes watching the light reflection paint the waves beautifully. "I wouldn't have forgotten someone like you." He hummed with a playful glint as he turned to you and smiled, his forearms resting against the railing. 

"Someone like me?" You asked, chuckling at how broad that phrase was. But, of course, that could mean anything, good or bad. 

"It's a wonderful evening." The brunette mused, occasionally glancing at you as you continued sipping champagne. You awaited his reply to your question but gradually accepted that he would leave your curiosity hanging. "It really is. Have you sailed before?" You asked, attempting a light conversation. The man couldn't help but chuckle as if your question had been silly. Now getting your attention, you stared at him, eyes requesting an explanation for his outbursts. 

As if sensing your confusion, he turned around. His elbows rested against the railing along with his back. "Yes, I have, many times, actually." You nodded, "To where?" But, you added, all kinds of travel interested you, so this wasn't strictly special. 

"You'd be surprised where you can go just by ship." But, although you nodded, traveling by ship was rare besides the vacation cruise or exporting cargo. Perhaps you just didn't know better, but you didn't feel like prying or exactly learning anything at the moment either.

"You know, Mr.—"you trailed off, not knowing the man's name. He smiled at the gesture, having no problem filling in the title for you. “Louis de pointe du lac.” 

You raised your eyebrow, finding such a long name an oddity. "Well, Louis de pointe du lac–" You began again but were again cut off, "Louis. Please refer to me as Louis." 

"Well then, Louis, it was a pleasure meeting you." You mused, not noticing the minor quirk of his smile as you said his name.

"Louis!" A loud voice called in a chiding and scolding manner. The man was obviously annoyed, he was the one with blonde hair styled similarly to Louis's. However, his anger seemed to dwindle when his gaze flashed to yours. He stared for a moment, before softly bowing. You raised your hand to try and prevent the man from literally bending to you, but he simply grasped it. A touch ever so gentle as he kissed the top of your hand, cold soft lips meeting your blazing skin. “Pardon me my chérie, I’m Lestat de Lioncourt, at your service.” 

After your shock finally calmed, you couldn't help but chuckle at the theatrics of this display. Bowing sheepishly, grabbing the edges of your uniform as you did, "Hello, gentleman, I'm Y/N L/N."

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat shifted your attention again, directed at the last man with long black hair in the group. "As lovely a name as ever, I am Armand." He hummed, making you realize the soft accents they had. Louis had an American accent, Lestat carried a faint French accent, and the man who had just introduced himself as Armand sounded European. 

"How rude of us to bombard you like this chérie, care to join us for dinner? I'm afraid the night isn't getting any younger you know." Lestat mused, an eager smile stretching at his lips as he chuckled. You smiled at the offer but shook your head in refusal. "Although I'm not usually the type to deny a dinner with strangers, I'll have to pass this time. I'm too tired to provide any enjoyable company this evening." You hummed, slowly stepping away from what appeared to be a disappointed blonde. 

"Perhaps another time." You added, smiling softly as you turned to the brunette. He shook his head playfully, "Don't mind him, have a good night Y/N." You nodded, waving a little as you finally left. Entering the ship once more as you made your way to your room, letting out a small sigh. The first day of anything was constantly exhausting in your eyes, but today sure gave you hope for more eventful journeys ahead of you. 

You completed your routine rather quickly, but it was still odd to feel the occasional sway or shift of the boat. It was very subtle, but you would notice if you focused on it. Removing your uniform, you let it against one of the vacant chairs before hopping into the shower. Luckily the bathrooms were made to look more modern than the rest of the ship; you were a stickler when it came to bathrooms. Being quick to shower, you dried yourself off and put yourself in some loose clothes. You would consider yourself someone who doesn't wear specific pajamas for bed; you would wear whatever was comfortable. 

Laying down after such an eventful day was pure bliss, even though you didn't do anything that was physically exhausting. Your feet still ached from all the walking, your lower back complained from the luggage you carried, and your mental state was even more drained. If there was one thing you were ready for tonight, it was to clock out until someone would bother you again tomorrow. Turning off your night lamp, you were quick to doze off. 

Although your sleep was quick to come, it didn't stay. You sleep in two-hour increments but eventually give up after five A.M. You get dressed, not in your usual work uniform, since you would only have to check in for work late into the day. So at the moment, you were a simple guest. Stepping out of your room, you walked past the halls and suites. But you halted at the loud crash of what you could only assume was furniture tipping over. The noises erupted from the room as if a band of wild animals had been let loose. 

You should have continued walking; this was none of your business. But the thought of it being a case of domestic violence or any other situation where your interference might've helped had you backtracking. You stayed silent, letting your ears strain to make up any conversation through the door. 

"Absolutely not!" A loud yet familiar voice boomed as glass shattering followed the commotion. 

"Why the hell not?" Another voice followed; this was a heated debate between two men. "What are you waiting for, Louis?" A moment of silence, like a glass of ice-cold water, was splashed onto you. You knew these men; this must've been Louis and the other's suite. At least, that's what you assumed. 

You could hear stomping, the screeching of a chair against the wooden floor, then again silence. "Three-hundred fucking years. Three-fucking-hundred! Now you're suggesting that we let her go? Live a human life, a vulnerable, fragile, dangerous human life?" The man's voice, who you pinned as Lestats argued. But the mention of humanity, as if implying that there was something outside of that spectrum unnerved you. We're they rehearsing for some play? 

"No, that's not it, Lestat, and you know that." Louis's voice spoke calmly, but there was a clear, agitated tone. For how long have they been arguing? 

"Leaving her mortal makes her fragile, yes. But turning her could leave her hating us." The accented voice of Armand spoke, making you sincerely wonder who this 'she' was. 

"You're risking everything!" Lestat couldn't believe they had this conversation for the last hour. After your sweet self had retired for the night, there was tension between them. It wasn't until Lestat lured a slightly drunk woman into their room and decided to celebrate his lover's reappearance with a bloody gore fest. Armand had partaken, not with much interest in the human blood-bag, and Louis was his sympathetic self as he drank. It wasn't until Lestat's small comment about how cute you'd look, all bloody and desperate for blood. Fledglings were always so needy once they got a taste, and he couldn't wait to indulge you. Then, of course, there was still the probing question of who would be your sire, your maker. 

But Louis had cut him off, stating that you needed to stay human longer. To grow accustomed to them and eventually to their life. Louis understood where Lestat was coming from; perhaps he would've been more rational if he wasn't so exhausted from their argument. He sat slouched in a soft, red-cushioned chair. Rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe his headache. He sympathized with you because he knew someone would turn you sooner rather than later. He just couldn't bear you going through the terrors he went through; he could still recall the way you had refused to turn the first time they had all met. They had foolishly allowed you to stay human for a little longer, where you had found yourself in a riot and subsequently lost your life in the raging mob. 

He would be a liar if he said he didn't want to turn you too. To have that security, they had an eternity to properly court you, but you were human. Weak and fragile, with so little time compared to them. 

Armand was the calmest in the situation. He, too, wanted nothing more than to hold you like he had always done, to share his gift with you like he had wanted to all those years ago. But you didn't want that then and didn't seem open to something so life-altering now. The risk of developing a bad relationship through actions rushed by their emotions was too risky, despite his creeping fear at the idea of you being human. If they were on a ship, there would be no civil unrest and certainly no outright threats that could actively harm you. 

His coffin has felt so empty without you; for once in his miserable immortal life did he feel at peace. All of them did, and although they all felt torn. They eventually decided to wait to develop a small relationship before changing you. 

You still stood outside, shaking your head at what you had heard. Utter nonsense, complete nonsensical sentences. Finally, you walked off, unaware that your footsteps had been heard. And three protective vampires were not too keen on the idea of someone knowing about them, about you. 

[cupcakeslushie]

Hi! I have a question about the kendra x donatello x timothy ship you’re making (which I am so hyped for tbh.) Is it a sort of a hinge/Vee poly ship where Donnie is involved with both Kendra and Timothy, but Kendra and Timothy are only platonically involved or will it be a triad ship where they’re all romantically involved with each other?

(Also I totally understand if you aren’t sure yet bc this seems to be an entirely new ship you’re creating, so it’s totally fine with me if you aren’t exactly sure yet or if whatever you answer eventually changes.)

They are all romantically involved!

Tim and Kendra already dated years ago, so it’s kinda easy to rekindle that romance once Donnie and Kendra realize they actually really like each other. There’s some growing pains. Donnie will sometimes feel like he’s jealous, and Kendra will feel like an unnecessary cog in a machine that was functioning perfectly without her. Timothy will worry that he’s not giving the two an equal amount of affection.

Just those kinda common pitfalls. But Timothy is very good at making them all talk, and pretty soon it’s easier to navigate a new dynamic.

[untitledfanfictionblog]

One Single Thread

One Single Thread by jadedace, @bipolareffigy T, 55k words

Logan Howlett & Carlysle Vanessa Carlysle/Wade Wilson Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson eventual polyamory, vee/hinge relationship, soulmate AU, body swapping no smut but there is a smut sequal/epilogue

There's a whole bunch of stuff with it being a soulmates au, and people temporarily swapping bodies with their soulmate's best friend.

What you need to know, is that this fic has Vanessa and Logan going on a road trip to try and rescue Wade who has disappeared (on his whole unfortunate turning into deadpool origin thing.) And they end up best friends.

Damn it's good to see a good poly relationship in a fic, with metas being best friends.

Ironically, this fic made me ship Logan and Vanessa hard, but I've decided that's ok, there's enough room in my heart for Logan/Vanessa and Logan & Vanessa. Both is good.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

I AM BITING MY FIST AND SCREAM ABOUT HAND HER OVER II. WE NEED PT2🤲🏻🤲🏻🤲🏻

Let's say what happened after pt - since Koko has money & connections, Inupi & his wife were able to escape safely (or maybe not)

Omi's relationship with his wife crashed really bad after what happend. As a big bro,he always took care & protected who was younger - so he felt very ashamed and guilty that he wasn't able to protect his little wife. He know deep inside that what his wife said wasn't true,she didn't blame him but feel that she doesn't deserve so caring and attentive husband and cries a lot. So he do what he should - make sure she know that he madly in love with her and his number one priority

Well, about Mochi. I am afraid of my imagination, so leave it to yours

I think I'm going to leave Mochi's as is! It seems pretty obvious what happens, no thanks to Sanzu.

Hand Her Over II Part 2: Hajime Kokonoi/Takeomi Akashi x Fem!Reader

Hand Her Over Megapost

wc: 2.1k

tw: angst, Koko is in a poly relationship with Inupi and reader, Inupi is the "hinge" in the V, angst, fluff, angst

masterlist

Hajime Kokonoi

Inupi sits on the couch, furious.

"It's gone too far," he breathes, holding you close. "Mikey's gone too far."

"I know," Kokonoi echoes, looking down at his feet. He can't be on the other side of the room with his lover. He can't even support the two of you like he wants to. It's a shame; he's not sure how things got this bad, but...

"Listen," you add, sitting up straight. "If Mikey can't control himself, we might be in more danger than we originally thought. I'm not sure we can run forever."

"We could," Inupi murmurs, looking over at you with a sad stare. "But it would cost us."

Kokonoi sighs. He shifts his head onto his hands and tries to think. Where did Mikey stop, and where did the real world begin?

"America." Inupi and you inhale sharply. "I have contacts in America that will help for the right price." Koko stands and twists his long hair around his hand briefly. A bad habit he has to get rid of eventually. "I'll send you both that way and then ensure your tracks are covered."

"You're not coming with us?" The question makes Kokonoi flinch. He could never travel with either of you without Mikey knowing. There was too much hinging on his importance to Bonten. Which is why he can't tag along.

"No," he finally admits. "I... I won't be able to go with you." You burst into tears. Kokonoi's heart wrenches in two; he loves you. He really does. And he loves Inupi. But there's no way that he can go with you two without putting you in danger.

"I'll make sure you two won't have to lift a finger while we're apart." Inupi pulls you into his chest, where you sob. "And..."

"Koko," Inupi breathes. "You don't have to stay."

"I do," he repeats, standing firm. "I'll stay behind to make sure the both of you have the best chance at staying alive and safe." Your tears don't stop, not even when Koko presses a kiss to your forehead and wipes them from your eyes with gentle thumbs. "Take care of Inupi."

You clutch him even closer, and that in itself is a comfort to him. He's felt loved before, but your reluctance to let him go makes him feel adored. "Inupi, take care of her."

"I'm giving you a month to come get us." Inupi stands just a foot away, but it couldn't be any further. Koko already feels the distance in his heart. And it's a raw ache, the type he knows he might never recover from in this lifetime. Inupi joins in, hugging Koko tightly and inhaling his scent one last time.

"Don't forget about us."

"Impossible," Koko laughs, though his eyes prick with tears. "I would never forget about my favorite people in the entire world."

Kokonoi wouldn't be a good partner if he didn't see you two off at the airport. He holds your passports with an iron grip, praying you two would turn around and stay and fight with him. But when he hands them over, Kokonoi understands he's to face his fines creation - Bonten - on his own.

"Call me when you make it," Koko murmurs, adjusting Inupi's scarf and your jacket. "I'll be waiting by the phone."

"Get some rest," you urge him, touching his cheek gently. The ring on your finger will stay there; it's still a symbol of the promise Koko made to your family to provide for you and keep you safe.

"And don't linger by the window," Inupi adds, his own hand sporting a golden band - from Koko, but to anyone outside of the three of them, it'd look like they were a married couple. Koko nods.

"Your flight will be leaving soon." Inupi ushers you away, and Koko watches wistfully, touching his own fake passport in his pocket. I could still go with them. Kokonoi looks at the ticket counter, eyeing the various people clicking away at the keyboards and weighing baggage.

"Wait," Koko whispers, looking back at your retreating figures. "Wait!" You hear him first, turning around to stare at him hopefully. Koko hurries up to the two of you, his hands shaking and his mouth forming soundless words. Inupi frowns as Koko stands in front of you both, his eyes trying to drink their fill of the couple.

"D-don't..." Kokonoi isn't sure if he can say it. "Don't..." You both stand there expectantly, and Koko can see the desire in your eyes. You want him to go with you. And maybe...

"Don't--" Koko's phone begins to buzz angrily. He stops, sucking in a harsh breath. "Don't forget about the time change." Your shoulders slump. Inupi grunts. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, seeing the name scroll across the top. Your teary hiccup is the last thing you muster before pulling free from Inupi and walking toward security. Inupi, ever the cynic, exhales and turns around, but not before muttering,

"You'll always choose him, won't you?"

When Koko picks up the call, Inupi turns away, scrubbing the tears from his eyes.

Takeomi Akashi

It's not like Takeomi to come home drunk in the middle of the day. But he staggers over the threshold, holding himself up by a thread. He hadn't been this bad since Shin died, and yet--

Something shatters when he opens the door, and Takeomi swears. When he looks behind the wooden frame, he sees a little project of yours lying on the floor in a million pieces. Whatever it had been, it's destroyed beyond repair.

"I'll... I'll... fix it," Takeomi mutters, closing the door behind him and gripping the wall for the strength to stand up.

"Not again." An exasperated sigh comes from the kitchen, and Takeomi slides down the wall, trying to take his shoes off. "I'm caring for you every day," you gripe, stomping to meet him in the foyer. "You're a lazy, drunk old man."

Takeomi burps, forgetting his efforts to untie his shoes and leaving them on as he sprawls on the floor. You approach him, face set in a grim line.

"Shoes," he slurs, pointing at his feet. "Can't get 'em off." You silently fume, but your fingers pluck at his laces, untying and undoing all of the work he'd done on them before.

"You come in drunk every day," you hiss angrily. "I have to... clean up after you, and for what?"

"Thanks," Takeomi whispers slowly, feeling your hands tug his shoes off. "Thanks, beh-beh. Shoes were really tight. Hurt." You stoop low and pull him up off the floor - your strength never ceases to amaze him - and he stumbles along with you to the bedroom. He hiccups a few times as he drags his feet, but Takeomi's mind is working at a mile a minute. It's his body that isn't responding properly.

"Y'know," he begins, wiping his mouth. "I could... we should do that thing people do when they're... together." You slide him onto the bed without responding, your eyes averted from his face. "We could... should... watch some TV and trash talk... shitty people."

"No TV," you murmur, taking off his tie and tossing it aside. "You need to watch TV like you need another hole in your head."

Takeomi laughs, pointing at each hole - two ears, one mouth, two nostrils... he has five already! "Maybe I need an extra one to round it out," he replies, leaning back on the bed and sighing. "Could use another one for all of these thoughts." You don't reply again, shifting him onto the bed fully and covering him with the sheets.

"Sleep it off," you command Omi, and he obeys, pretending to fall asleep immediately while making loud snoring noises. You grunt, putting a pillow over his face, and he laughs as he takes it off.

"Funny girl." You shake your head, the look of displeasure still on your face, and get up from the bed all in one movement. So graceful.

"I'll be in the kitchen. Shout if you need me." Takeomi opens his mouth to shout, but you add, "If it's an emergency."

"It is," he whines. "It's an emergency when you're not here."

"I'll be in the kitchen," you say again. "Five-alarm level emergencies only."

"What about six alarms?" You roll your eyes and give him a playful swat before leaving the bedroom. Takeomi debates on whether he should shout your name for the hell of it or just keep quiet and let you work on whatever you did when he wasn't here. He opts for the latter and lays back in the bed. His head is thumping with the blood that's pumping behind his eyes.

"Ugh..." Right now, Takeomi wants to swear off drinking for good. The hangover is never worth it. Takeomi exhales sharply, then resigns himself to sleep, like he should.

He wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. It's hot in the room, and... his hand feels around in the darkness. You're not there.

"Baby?" Takeomi gets up out of bed slowly, trying not to trip over himself or anything else he may have left on the floor. "Babe?" His throat is parched, and he feels like death... but he needs to ensure you're okay first.

Something tugs in his gut when he hears a soft sob, and he opens the door fully before stumbling into the light of the foyer. He holds his breath and peers around the corner, finding you at the kitchen table, holding your phone to your ear as you cry.

"No, no," you choke out. "It's just... I know everything is weighing on Omi. He comes home drunk most afternoons, and I..." You break off, then sniff. "I take care of him because I know everything was so stressful, and I love him. I just don't think he loves me anymore." Takeomi clenches his jaw. Here you are, worried to death about him when your assumptions couldn't be further from the truth.

Takeomi enters the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn't heard what you just said. He yawns, wiping his face, then sees you wiping your eyes quickly and whispering, "I'll call you later" into the phone.

"You alright, Omi?" you wonder, standing up from the kitchen table. Takeomi shrugs, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle.

"Throat's sore as hell." He takes a few swigs, then turns to you.

"I can make you some tea if you want," you reply, smiling. Your nose is still red, but Takeomi can forgive that.

"I need a hug and a kiss." He opens his arms for you, and you oblige, leaning into his embrace and tucking your semi-wet face into his skin. "And a kiss?"

At his reminder, you lift your face, close your eyes, and pucker your lips. But Takeomi doesn't kiss you. Instead, he wipes your wet eyes, staring down at your puffy face in adoration.

"Why do you cry, my sweet?" he whispers, and you open your eyes. You look so sad, so forlorn, so dismayed. Takeomi's heart stops at the sight. "Are you upset with me?"

"No," you affirm, shaking your head. "Never."

"Then why are these tears running down my baby's face?" Takeomi wipes the fresh ones and clicks his tongue as you press your face back into his chest. "This won't do," he coos at you, stooping to pick you up. He scoops you into his arms and carries you to the bed, holding you against his chest even as he sits down on the comfy king. He positions you so your head is on his chest and you're straddling him; his hands run over your back and caress whatever he can touch.

"You know," Takeomi begins, regaining some sensibility. "I once had an awful time with my brother. Couldn't take care of him for shit. The guilt ate me up for years." Takeomi swallows hard. "Thought I had gotten past it." The unspoken fact that he still hadn't gotten past it didn't need to be mentioned. You knew already.

"Anyway, you shouldn't beat yourself up over all this." Takeomi strokes your hair carefully, leaning back onto the headboard. "This one was all me."

"Omi," you whimper, but he shushes you.

"I can handle it." His shoulders slump. "I'll take the blame for this. But you're my number one priority."

"But you'll drink--"

"No," Takeomi asserts. "It's not helping." You pull away from him, leaving his chest a wet, cold mess. You sniff and look up at him, holding his face between your hands.

"We should see someone about this. About everything."

"I'd do that for you." He takes your hand and kisses each fingertip, savoring the feeling of the unique fingerprint rubbing against his skin. What would he have done if you'd been taken away from him like Shin? "For us." He tilts your chin up with tender fingers. "And I still love you." And he kisses you like he means it.

[oldestenemy]

intro / info / hi who the hell are you post

it's, honestly about time I made one of these.

hi, i'm stevie (though i'll answer to many other things if you knew me elsewhere on the internet or Here But A Different Blog), my pronouns are zie/hirs or they/them, i'm closer to 30 than 20, timezone is EST, and almost all i do all the time is think and write about The Character (and there are, so many of them to think about).

other internet presences include: writeblr, bluesky, and ao3

this blog is almost entirely chaos, sometimes i tag things, typically when i remember it's a post about doctor who (time travel is in fact not bonsai) or wizard101 (stevie is still stuck in the spiral) or the lost boys (piles of vampire bs) or disco elysium (one day i will return to your side), everything else kinda just gets thrown into the bucket. i started it because i missed having a dedicated fandom blog, and i was perhaps clogging up my writeblr with it.

my askbox is basically always open, as are my dms, be warned i am like the MOST introvert of all time but if we share an interest or a character thought i will genuinely not shut the fuck up <3

beyond that, my fanfiction also gets posted here, so as to keep my original work separated on my writeblr (though i love both pretty much equally <3) and you can see some brief overviews of those projects undercut.

(series, wip) Forever Onward, Scion - Wizard101 - my ongoing monster of a Wiz series following the Scion of Bartleby from the Wraith of Sylvia Drake through until the end (currently at the beginning of Empyrea as of 11/2024), canon divergent in many places but not too drastically until the end of arc 3-arc 4, focusing on the trauma of losing yourself to becoming a hero whether you wanted to or not, on the things you lose by existing for the will of other people, and the fact that when you are molded to be a weapon--learning to lean on others is a hard skill to hone. Eventually it will have a spinoff/companion series following the Rebuilding of the Dragonspyre Academy of Magic, which will serve as a postgame/epilogue.

(complete) we are the same (you and i) - Wizard101 - wizbat! this is smut, it's also character study, and angst, I do not know how to do anything else <3. Set immediately post!Empyrea, canon compliant but technically AU to Forever Onward, Scion. After the fight in the cave on Mandalla to "Restore his essence" the Wizard is not about to let Bat abandon them and run back to Empyrea, they have unfinished business, and unresolved tension.

(wip) In lieu of Thinking - Wizard101 - ongoing compilation of Eurydice Nightshade/Duncan Grimwater works, technically canon compliant with most of Forever Onward, Scion, though divergent from roughly Karamelle forward. I thought too hard about the parallels of the Wizard and Duncan and their respective traumas and now here we are.

(wip) Time Marches On - Kingdom Hearts - A Kairi-centric fic set post!KH3, focusing on her training under Aqua and the discovery of Vanitas in a flood-unversed form, similar to Sora's shadow heartless at the end of KH1. Follows Kairi's ongoing work towards becoming a keyblade master, and her reasons (as little as she understands them) for continuing to pursue that despite constantly being pushed to the sidelines for her own "safety". Mainly genfic but possible eventual VaniKai because I Do In Fact Have Brain Worms About Them. Implied SoRiku.

(wip) Through Another Lens - The Lost Boys - Michael Feeds AU, not original, very much a dime a dozen, but it's a momentary change that i LOVE because the whole story hinges on whether or not he can manage to stave off the bloodlust during the beach party and he can't. POV swaps between Michael and Sam, following the lost boys desire to get out from under Max's thumb, Michael's desire to not lose his family, and Sam's desire to save his brother. Again, primarily genfic, though possibly David/Michael or David/Michael/Star. Established TLB as a poly mess because in my heart that is what they are.

(complete) A Jagged Reflection - Doctor Who - a return to my Doctor/Master roots with a lovely post!Fobwatched Master deciding to lay into the Doctor for dragging him around as a companion instead of releasing him from the Chameleon Arch the second they found him. And for the Doctor's ever present habit of dropping anyone who does not fit their own view of Good. Of Right. Of self sacrificial nobility.

(complete) If Knowing Made it Better - Doctor Who - more Doctor/Master, this is specifically based on a RP I had running with my friend Kate many many years ago. John Smith/Tentoo getting ripped out of his universe due to an issue with the Metacrisis split, seeing that Koschei has been traveling with the Doctor, and losing it on him--because the last time John saw him, it was when he was dying in the Doctor's arms.

[applesontheground]

🕯️mama didn't raise a quitter ⛓️

happy multi-may! i'm a little late but i'm watching Joy Ride 3 with my homies tonight, so the timing was important to give you guys another installment of these two bastards barely managing during a threesome. this isn't a hard sequel to push and shove, but the love bite that the reader received in the aforementioned are called back to at one point. that's really it, though, so it's not terribly necessary to read the former if you haven't!

also, since they asked for a tag when i finally posted this: @bisexual-horror-fan @tinalbion @lucifers-horror-harem ♡♡♡

NSFW | Word Count: 3,254 | Bo Sinclair x GN Reader x Rusty Nail

contains polyamory/threesome, slight dubcon, hinted age gap, ogling, unhealthy dynamics, teasing, GN penetration, handjobs, slapping, possessive talk, be warned: the hinge poly comes off its hinges

🎼: x

You didn’t quell either of them so much as you simply acted as a buffer. These wires still had their moments of crossing – Bo saying one thing too much that made Rusty lose his temper, or the vice versa that was twice as dangerous.

Sometimes, it felt more like a custody battle than an open relationship between the two of them. It was such a chore some nights to talk one man into staying the night with the other, still falling into the standard of wanting you to themselves. Rusty didn’t care to challenge taking Bo from Ambrose, and Bo was some days far too conservative to open the bedroom to another person. You weren’t sure what it would take, but you also knew you weren’t going to keep trying to encourage it if neither of them would go for it.

It had to fall into their hands eventually.

Rusty liked to get out of town, but just like with the sleepovers, dragging Bo with the two of you was like herding trigger-happy cats. You finally got him by pointing out no one in the right mind would travel to Ambrose during bad weather. As he got in the truck, a begrudging passenger simply because he didn’t feel like arguing, he made sure to still give the cold shoulder while adjusting in his seat.

It only lead to him rubbing against you with his rain-spotted arm on accident while doing so. You glanced up, smiling when it got his attention and gaining that friendly wag of the eyebrows in return. Soon, it became a downcast look over towards the shirt that was open one button too low. Even in the wake of summer rain in the South, it was still insanely humid. It kind of made the two common weather afflictions even worse, the edges of your hair curling twice as much in the damp air and causing you to sweat alongside being soaked from the storm.

“Ever heard of keeping your eyes forward, Bo?” Rusty chided, putting the truck into motion while prematurely smiling at what he knew would follow. The other man spat, “You should do the same, not worry ‘bout me for once.” He looked to you for rebuttal, and not wanting to sink your heels into anyone’s camp you merely pecked a kiss on his cheek, remaining silent. It was hard to play the field some days because quiet only did so much. Rusty didn’t mind quiet, but it sometimes hit a bad spot in Bo that made him desperate for an answer.

The rest of the ride was a calculated effort to keep the affection divvied out, leaning on Bo’s shoulder but also having a hand on Rusty’s thigh in the process. Sure, this got exhausting, but you were adamant to keep the peace because you loved both men. Even if they didn’t particularly mesh with each other, you found yourself having trouble with sleep without the demanding snuggles from each dude nowadays. It got suffocating, but in the turmoil of these two you found that you were reaching an almost codependent point where you needed it that way to stomach the constant bickering, and the constant roughness around the relationship’s edges.

Still, a quaint diner that sat in the middle of open field – right by the tree line where the trek to Ambrose would start through the forest – was decided on after Bo found the open horizon a little daunting. He played it as “needing to stay close in case the brothers need me”. Rusty and you obliged, the soft spot for his close-knit family coming along with him rather easily. If only Rusty and Bo could find common ground like they do with Les and Vincent, you silently mulled.

Truck stops were uncommon the closer you strayed to Ambrose, which made the fact that Rusty even ran into you kind of a strike of weirdly placed luck. It had almost been a year since that happened, and even a couple months was all the two of you had before finding Ambrose and getting caught in Bo’s waxwork web. The closest analogy you considered was like finding an Easter egg in some fresh April grass, but as you took a sip of your coffee you glanced to Bo scanning the room, one arm sliding over the back of the booth as he pretended to stretch, getting a better view of the people at the counter all while still trying to appear idle with his observation, you found that pastel colored jewel rotted to a color a tad darker in your head.

Still, it made you smirk, the hand that wasn’t holding your mug going over to drag gently along the edge of his ring while you did your own quiet people watching.

You would assume Rusty had an aversion to light with how low he wore his hat, even indoors. You teased that it looked like he was sleeping half the time, trying to play it off by hiding his face any time more than two people were in the room with him. You smirked at the sight of it, blowing in his direction even. He slowly turned his head, and you giggled, “Just making sure you aren’t nodding off.”

“You know I can’t sleep with this many people around, [Y/N].” Rusty drawled, “Really wouldn’t mind if you didn’t get off on embarrassing me.” You hummed at that, almost understanding as you then eased, “Sorry, Rusty. I can find a way to make it up to you if you’d like.”

Bo snorted, but he ignored it and asked back, “Being a little negotiator. Old habits always seem to die hard with you.”

“Did you need more coffee, [sir/ma’am]?” Your eyes were torn away from him, all three of you eyeing the waiter standing by the outside of the booth. Looking down at your quarter-full mug, you then replied, “Oh, sure.” As he poured, you piped up just as quickly, “Thank you,”

The second that smile came over your face, it was like blood in the water. You couldn’t help it; you worked as a waitress for one of your first jobs, so the urge to be overtly kind was often potent at restaurants. Still, he then smiled back a little too widely – something you didn’t react to until he walked away. Your bright expression deflated, and you saw either man on your shoulders from your peripherals. They had their arms folded on the table, acting nonchalantly for the same reasons of saving face, being cordial.

When he wasn’t looking, though, they both were quick to give him a fair sizing up. “…Y’don’t like it either?” Bo’s hand slid from the back of the booth, landing on the shoulder furthest away from him as he caught the way Rusty was staring along with him.

Enveloped in the warmth and the phantom of cigarettes on both his flannel and his breath, he muttered to him, “Think we both need some retribution for bringin’ our [fella/gal/baby] out here just to be toyed with.” Rusty shook his head at that, hat worn lower as he scoffed, “You’re not being sly, Sinclair.”

“That’s right, m’not. I don’t pussyfoot it like the both of you.” His finger trailed up, gently grazing the side of your neck and only growing more friendly and lavish as he noticed the way it made your skin tighten, the bumps revealing under fluorescent lights. “I’m saying we should take this little heartbreaker home after this, where [he/she belongs / they belong].” You gave him a cautious glance, assurance that you knew your best spot was right in the middle of the two of them. Rusty caught the stare, and you shifted to give it to him, too. You even smiled a little in the same fashion. It was your trademark at this point.

“Don’t think it’s your fault, [cowboy/little miss],” Rusty hummed, and he adjusted in his seat as he mentioned, “But the boy’s got a point. Gettin’ a little too friendly with strangers.”

“And you know how dangerous that can get,” Bo reminded you from the other side, making your smile feign into something more sheepish as you murmured, “You both know I didn’t mean anything by it. Why are you so antsy?”

Rusty gestured briefly to the counter, “Waiter boy doesn’t know that, now does he?” Bo grinned, a rare bout of toothiness as he then snickered, “Probably thinks Rusty’s your daddy.” You bit your tongue at that; partially to keep from smiling and another part to keep a joke about how that wasn’t necessarily wrong to yourself. The older man leaned against the table now, crossing his arms and giving Bo a sharp glance as he brought up, “Sure, and you can be her shit-kicker boyfriend-“Your heart sat in your throat as you felt Bo’s movement lose its softness against your throat, slow down and finally curl back around your shoulder, “who don’t know how to act when in front of the parents. Fits you rather nicely.”

He then laughed, a rather wicked smile as he picked up on the shift in demeanor. You merely looked down at the table. It was your turn to do the soothing, rubbing the knuckles that were still around your shoulder with the hand that wasn’t currently set against his side, and he muttered, “Funny. You’re real funny, Rusty.”

“Well, I can be funnier when we get back. Give you my own retribution along with [Y/N].” Rusty then replied.

With how tense the booth became, you weren’t sure if you were even hungry anymore.

They could be heinous in broad daylight, but in the cover of the Sinclair home, the blinds in Bo’s bedroom drawn tight and thunder from outside quelling anything from leaving the walls with its own cacophony, you were in a familiar position between the two men rather fast.

It was a reverse from your last romp, Rusty now the one you were using for support while Bo was easing up from behind, not shy to jerk your hips to where he needed them, feeling the anger from earlier coming out in how quick his blunt nails were scratching your skin raw where your hips and thighs met. It was a welcome intrusion, painful in the way that made you relish in such a primal, gut-socking hurt as it dripped from the precum into your senses. His cock took its time prodding your entrance before finding the way, a brute force that was sharp enough to make you squeal.

Still, he looked up at the man on the other end of you, and suddenly his erection fell out, hipbone colliding with you and making you wince a second time. Before you could assure him it was fine and even plead for him to try again, Rusty’s hand slid over the top of your head, pushing your face down close to his lap.

“I don’t remember datin’ a quitter.”

“Ain’t dating you.” Bo reminded him as he tried to shift his focus back to you, one hand between your shoulder blades and pushing down so you were at an angle where you absolutely battered by his gaining motions. You tried to raise your head up again to moan but was subsided by Rusty putting his hand over your mouth, callouses itching your upper lip as he took a long look into your eyes, then back to the man behind you.

“Sure, if it helps you get along that's fine, but I still sleep in your bed. Let you sleep in mine ‘longside [Y/N] in the occasion you think about leavin’ home.” His hand fell from your mouth, thumb settled on your bottom lip as you tried to stare up at him from crossing eyes, Bo still not letting up despite failing to tune the other man out.

“Again, don’t remember asking you any of this shit.” Bo retorted, but he was trying to distract himself with re-entering. The second time, you were prepared and it felt twice as good when he slid inside again, your back arching as you began the fight to keep at least slightly upright, clinging to the back of Rusty’s neck, a dog to how husky his breathing had gotten as you were to the pressure from Bo.

You caught your window moaned out, “Bo, that’s good. Could you s-stop arguing and fuck me already, I-“ That alone was enough to get him to lash out, arms hooking around your torso, cradling your [breasts/pecs] with one arm as he pulled your back to his chest, fucking with a newfound, enraged pace. “Fine. Fuckin’ fine, but I’m getting’ you to myself, wanna see that pretty goddamn face. Here you go,” He said under his breath, teeth glinting in the dim light, but soon relaxing as you turned to jelly to see you easily fit snug against him, “There you go.”

He couldn’t fucking linger, once again snapping his gaze to look at Rusty, mouth slightly open as he cupped your jaw, eyes darting from the man on the other side to down at you mewling with a tipped back head, resting in the crook of his shoulder as the words all fell to the wayside now.

“Fuckin' crybaby.” He murmured in your ear, not shy with an open hand to tap your face, make you groan in both response and in the sheer pleasure from it.

Rusty chuckled as you couldn’t help the drool fall from the corner of your mouth, making another overwhelmed groan through a strong exhale, trying to catch your breath but your chest once again constricting at another quiet noise in your ear from Bo. “Well, [he/she/they] might be a little too worn down for me, boy. How’s about you and I go at it when you’re done doin’ what you’re doin’?”

“Hell no.” Bo snarled, but your eyes popped a little wider to feel the suggestion had made his cock throb in your walls, and you only clenched in response. Holding where his forearm was barred around your chest, you smirked to yourself, wondering where this was about to go before humming as a way to fall back into the jostling you were receiving, your [cunt/hole] starting to ache from all the movement.

“I won’t mark you up, know that ain’t your favorite. That’s just for [Y/N], ain’t that right, [little lady/cowboy]?” You hummed in affirmation, and it only made Bo huff along in bemusement, his hand trailing to touch the bite marks still showing against your ribcage, press a little just to hear you cry out again.

Rusty leaned in, making you whimper in submission to the imposing of his figure, but smile a little in the well-known excitement to get both in close quarters. “I know what you like, Bo. You like a hand ‘round that cock, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” He gritted, the first remnants of a final spray of precum making your thighs shiver against his. He had to catch his breath after those two words, once again looking away from the both of you as he tried to focus on how you felt. You were becoming lightheaded, out of tune with the two of them to stop the bickering and seeping with warmth. You were sure to fall flat on your face into the bed if Bo stopped holding you against him, being the full support and knowing it as his grip adjusted.

“I’ve slipped my finger in you before. Thought you’d pass out from how hard it made you. Came all over our pretty [boy/girl/baby’s] face, too.” He didn’t dare touch you while Bo had his hands on you, yet Rusty didn't have to as he suddenly sputtered in his movements as Bo saw it clear as day in his mind, and it took him to the edge.

“That’s right. Still gets you all worked up even if you won’t admit it. It’s alright, I enjoy the look of it, too.” Rusty eased him down, the younger man’s panting long and heavy in your ear, almost as humid against your skin as the rainy summer air you had been feeling not even an hour ago, warmth seeping into your body as he thoroughly drove upwards in fluid thrusts.

The breathing broke down into quiet moans, something you knew he could let out in a louder fashion if he wanted. He looked down, almost turning into you to hide in your hair as your hand trailed up, stroking his brown curls and even turning your head to kiss him, your walls spasming against his body as he fell flaccid, cock still settled inside of you. He was covering your nipples with his arm, a subconscious act of possessive nature.

You were regaining the critical thought in your mind, and now curious. Still pressing feather light kisses against Bo’s face, your eyes then darted back to Rusty. He wasn’t interested in you anymore, per se, and that was a new thing. Something you found you didn’t mind, now leaning out of the way and smiling at him so he could see the confused, slightly shaken man behind you.

You didn’t think he could have eyes for Bo, too, but here you all were. Like a pressure to keep them cordial was slipping out of your responsibility, you murmured, “Want me to get out the way, Rusty?”

Bo flinched a little, but Rusty perked at that and hummed, “That’d be nice of you, [babydoll/pretty boy].” You couldn’t help it, Bo letting go finally and you nearly crashing into the other man, pressing another adoring kiss to his lips before scrambling out of the other man's lap. Bo was still reeling from the last rut, but you gave support in arms around his waist, tucked close over one shoulder despite being out of sight.

It was exhilarating to see them face to face, and you whispered, “No shame in this, Bo. He’ll treat you well, figure out what makes you scream. Believe me.” His eyes were downcast, unable to keep from getting a little hard in record time, face flaring in a flustered color. You encouraged it, smiling against his throat, “That’s it. Look at you, I didn’t know you could get hard that fast.”

“Quit,” He finally chided, but he was holding your leg that framed his with a ferocity refusing to reveal itself as nerve.

“Not asking you to like me, Bo. Just askin’ you to work with me for a change.” You knew where Rusty's hand had found itself, Bo’s entire body growing tense but quickly shivering with an almost frightened level of ecstasy after the initial hold went around him. You did your best to quell the ferocity, kissing up and down the column of his neck, feeling Rusty’s other hand come around to brace your other leg to his hip.

“Both of us can’t get enough of you,” You whispered, and Bo tried to make his voice gruff at that to groan, but it cracked: he merely hummed in another bout of desperation, head tipping down as he spat, “Swear to god if you tear my dick off-“

You couldn’t help it, laughing and hiding your face against his bare shoulder as Rusty paused and Bo smirked at him. Rusty almost wanted to laugh, merely tipping his head in a bemused acknowledgement before the younger man finally let his hands slide up his counterpart's thighs, and he then added just for good measure under his breath.

“Don’t remember datin’ a quitter.”

[autistic-ghost]

Something that I would eventually like to explore in writing is the both Vaggie and Emily - particularly in a poly relationship and especially if Charlie's the hinge rather than them being a triad- because it looks like the show is establishing Emily as Vaggie's narrative foil .

It would be so fun to play with, especially the dynamic if vaggie is normally like very chill with Charlie's other partners but Emily makes vaggie extremely insecure because she is everything Vaggie desperately wishes she could be, taking an extremely proactive role in the winner's afterlives and advocating for them and- after the little extermination reveal - advocating for better treatment of the sinners, and maybe this insecurity that Vaggie isn't doing enough is multiplied by the fact that Charlie and Emily are in a long distance relationship at the start of the story so vaggie doesn't actually know Emily personally - she gets snippets of her character retold to her through Charlie's love-sick gushing, so the version of Emily that Vaggie knows is, quite literally, perfect.

And then maybe she falls because she's just a bit too loud about the sinners, cares too much, too radical, not unlike a certain duck-loving Morningstar we all know and love, and vaggie is left in a predicament. Charlie's girlfriend has fallen which has massive political implications, possibly removing her from the hotel for large periods of time so vaggie is left to try peice Emily back together after the most traumatic moment on her life and Emily trusts nobody - how could she?

Sooo yeah that's the current plot, I'll have to look up the ship to make sure no one has done anything too similar and make sure I'm not coping anyone by mistake cuz unlike growing pains which is pretty much just crack taken seriously this might be a concept that has already been done, possibly multiple times. Could be taken to an extremely angsty direction where vaggie breaks up or nearly breaks up with Charlie cuz of her own issues, maybe even issues that she kept so hidden that Charlie didn't even realise that Vaggie was hurting. In terms of perspective, Charlie's limited 3rd person would be really interesting to play with because both Charlie and the reader are slowly learning about what's going on with vaggie, but it would then lack a lot of impact of vaggie and Emily slowly getting to know each other and both of their character s arcs cuz Charlie would be out of the hotel and stuff, so it would probably be vaggie s limited 3rd person. I know I can show other perspectives but showing two characters perspective's makes it hard to keep that element of unreliable narrator so I tend to avoid writing it even though I've seen it done extremely well (maybe that's a reason I should attempt it but oh well) in terms of tone and angst it'll definitely be one of those that gets worse before it gets better, I have an idea for a scene where vaggie locks herself in her room and Charlie sits with her back against the door while Vaggie completely breaks down, and eventually Vaggie opens the door possibly hours later and a sleeping Charlie falls back onto the carpet and there's a cold mug of coffee next to her- I might even go full on hurt/no comfort style tragedy, but I'm not sure if I can pull it off and have it actually be cathartic (think Hamlet)

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood - the hierarchy

PRESIDENT

serves as first command and representative of the club

VICE PRESIDENT

serves as second in command and assumes the position of the president when said president is absent.

SERGEANT AT ARMS

serves as the protector and enforcer of the by-laws as well as the safety of all members

ROAD CAPTAIN

serves as ranking officer when the president and vice president are absent. facilitates and ensures the safety of the club on the road and organizes the formation of members while riding.

SECRETARY

ensures and maintains all club related reports and records, assumes role of the treasurer in their absence.

TREASUER

ensures and maintains all financial related reports and records and assumes the role of secretary in their absence.

TAIL GUNNER

rides at the tail end of the riding formation by facilitating and ensuring the safety of the club alongside the road captain.

[tmnt-tychou]

Four Against One, Chapter One

So I've had people ask me about writing something like this, since I don't mind writing poly. Originally, the concept was a bunch of comedy shorts about Mona trying to date all four turtles at once and it goes about as well as you expect it to.

But then more ideas piled up and I kept changing the concept and the feel of the story. And I finally settled on this. Please keep in mind this is just a fun side project for me to explore this ridiculous idea. Do not take it seriously. I assure you, I am not taking it seriously. I'm just feeling this out and seeing where it goes.

This happens in Bayverse, in the same world as "When Leo Met Mona" only in this version, Leo did NOT meet Mona. At least, not at that time. They don't meet her until after she is mutated.

So...enjoy if you're into this sort of thing. If not, feel free to skip. As I said, this is not a project I'm taking too seriously and I will not be hurt if this isn't for you.

Also, while this chapter is clean-ish, this will eventually be an M-rated fic.

*****

The four brothers walked carefully through the rubble. Police offers were everywhere, the blue and red lights from their cars lit up the night behind them. The turtles were escorted through the building—once an ordinary lobby, now completely in shambles. Equipment had been thrown to the side, doors ripped off their hinges. Blood was smeared on the floors and walls.

This was the second time ever the New York police department had called on the turtles for help. But this time, they had no idea what they were in for. And the further they walked into the building, the more they felt like they were in over their heads.

And officer escorted them through a door in the back that led down a flight of narrow, concrete stairs to reveal an entire sub basement below the office building. Down below, it was far worse. Everything was trashed, smashed, smeared in blood. Bodies lay strewn about. Pieces of human bodies and hulking forms of...something else. Something reptilian.

“Dude, that...are those...mutants?” Michelangelo whispered harshly. There were several. Lizard-like creatures, far bigger than the turtles, laying dead with throats and bellies slashed open. Some partially eaten. Human and mutant bodies alike were everywhere. The smell of death was already beginning to rise.

Police Chief Rebecca Vincent stood among it all, the only thing orderly in all the chaos. As the turtles approached, she gestured to the nightmare around her as if they would have answers for her. But all any of them had were questions.

“What happened here?” Leonardo asked in a low tone.

The chief huffed. “That's what we're trying to figure out. This was some sort of secret lab where they were mutating animals into giant creatures for God only knows how long. Tonight, something happened. Several of these animals got out. We're still trying to piece together what happened. But we're already getting calls about monsters loose in the city. A good portion of them, it turns out, fled into the sewers.” Raphael growled. “No, of course. Of course they went into the sewers. Where we live.”

“Your home turf,” Chief Vincent agreed. “We were hoping you would help us locate them before they hurt anyone.”

“Locate them and then what?” Donatello asked. “What do you want us to do with them?”

Vincent shook her head, obviously overwhelmed with it all. Everyone was still trying to wrap their heads around this absolute madhouse of a crime scene.

“Dr. Falco, the man responsible for all of this, managed to survive. He's insisting we take them all alive.” She held up a black duffel bag. “In here are supposed doses of mutagen. He said this will push them through to the second phase. It will make them smaller, more manageable. In theory, it will increase their intelligence. Even, he insisted, allow them to learn how to speak. It was like he was trying to make mutants just like the four of you.”

The brothers looked at each other.

“So you want us to mutate them and bring them back to you?” Leonardo asked carefully.

Vincent handed him the bag of mutagen. “At this point, I honestly don't know. Do what you can. If you can bring them back alive, then we'll figure out what to do with them. If you can't...maybe it would be better for everyone in this city if you killed them all.”

Four Against One

Chapter One: Animal Instincts

Mona tossed and turned in bed, finding she couldn't sleep. It was unusual to have this problem down in the sewer. It was so dark and quiet at night. It was like sleeping with the weight of the whole city like a thick, warm blanket on top of her. It never took long before she was out.

But tonight, she just couldn't do it. Something about her body was keeping her active, making her muscles restless and her mind spinning. It was maddening. After a good three hours of flopping from side to side, Mona pulled herself up with a huff. It felt like she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. Might as well get up.

It was dead silent. Dark and dormant with a few lights stationed here and there for anyone who needed to see where they were going in the otherwise pitch black lair. The idea was to wander in some of the main rooms for a bit until she got sleepy, but light from deeper in the lair caught her attention. Someone else was awake.

The light was coming from Donatello's workshop. Of course, if anyone else was awake, it would be him. He was a self-professed insomniac and liked to keep odd hours whenever he was pulled into another project.

Mona approached the open entrance way and leaned on the frame. A barely audible true crime podcast played from the phone on the table. Donatello fiddled with a piece of rusty machinery as he tried to take it apart. She watched him for a moment, enjoying the quiet zen of seeing him work. He always gave out such a calm energy. She hoped being in the wake of his aura for a while would lull her enough to go back to bed.

Yet, as he worked, she found herself more energized as she watched the muscles of his arms. The flex of his biceps as he tried to pry one stubborn piece from the other. It made her restless all over again and she could no longer hold still. Her legs moved, carrying her in further.

“Hey, Donatello,” she greeted.

He paused and looked at her curiously. “Uh, hey. Can I help you with something?”

She sat herself in the extra chair that floated around his workshop. “I can't sleep. I was hoping I could stay up with you for a while. Unless it's a bother. You can kick me out if you need to.”

He gave her a calculating look. Not the first one she had received from him in the nearly three months she had known him. It was like he was trying to learn her; figure her out.

She was trying to learn them all, too. These four mutant turtles with their mutant rat father that had been living down in the sewers undiscovered for over twenty years now. She, too, had no idea of their existence until they had saved her from a monstrous mutation that, in her opinion, was a fate worse than death.

Her current situation was better than being a hulking beast lurking in the sewers, but it still wasn't ideal. Born human, she was now mutant; still reptile in form with a broad snout, green skin, and a long tail that irritated her on nearly a daily basis.

Unable to be a part of the human world any longer, she lived in the sewers with these other mutants. Very sweet and intriguing mutants who opened their home to her when she had no place to go. She would be forever grateful for their hospitality, but this wasn't her home and these mutants weren't her family. Three months in, she still felt like a guest, like she should be moving on soon. She wished she could. She hated relying on others; taking without being able to give back. Eventually, she would take too much and they would be done with her. In the meantime, she tried not to be a bother.

“No, you can stay,” Donatello said. “I don't mind at all.”

“Thank you.” The words were weighted, as they always were. Thank you for tolerating me for another day, even though I am a stranger. Even though I am useless to all of you.

He went back to fiddling as she curled up in the chair, feet tucked beneath her. Trying to take up as little as possible in a room that wasn't hers. Trying to be invisible, soundless. She didn't want to disrupt. But only a few minutes in, she started rocking back and forth on the chair as she looked around. The rhythmic tick, tick, tick of the chair caused Donatello to look up at her.

“Sorry,” she said, when she realized what she was doing. “I'm really struggling. I don't know why I can't sleep. I feel very mmm...kinetic tonight.”

A smile pulled at the side of his mouth. She had a different vocabulary than his brothers. Her choice of words amused him at times.

But his lack of response made her nervous. She stood up. “You know what? Maybe I'll go watch TV or something. I don't think sitting here bothering you is the answer. I'm sorry to come in.”

When she moved to leave, he stood up. His height towered over her. His broad shoulders took up space. For some reason, Mona found herself hyper aware of those two things about him.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. He seemed almost surprised himself to offer it. “I'll go with you.”

Gratitude flooded her. A feeling where a thank you didn't seem to be enough. But she said it anyway. “Thanks. I'd really like that.”

Donatello grabbed a flashlight and led the way to some of the catacombs at the back of the lair. They tended to be much dryer with less runoff. Not that there was much runoff anywhere. The summer had been usually dry this year.

Mona was getting more and more familiar with the different tunnels in the area. She even knew how to get to the surface if she needed to. But the surface scared her. She had been a few times, but she didn't like to go out too long. When she was exposed, it felt like she was showing the entire city what she had become, and she was still coming to terms with it herself.

“You're not a bother, by the way,” Donatello said suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts. “I've noticed you apologize a lot whenever you need something or you're taking up our time. None of us mind helping you.”

“Yes, all of you are amazing,” she agreed. “You guys have been so, so great. But I feel bad. I've been here a while. Even now, I'm taking up your time. Time you would have had if I wasn't here bothering you. I've always been one who's paid my own way. I wish there was at least more than I could contribute.”

“You contribute,” he insisted. “We all love that you cook for us, we appreciate when you clean. You've patched us up when we're hurt, you've stayed up with us when we're sick.”

“So I'm your mom,” said said with a hint of dissatisfaction.

Donatello frowned. He didn't like the sound of that either. “No, it's not like that. You just...the lair just feels nicer with you in it. You also give us something pretty to look at, so there's that.”

“Me?” she asked stupidly.

He smiled and gave a shrug.

Her gaze turned to watch ahead of them by the light of the flashlight. She never thought of herself as that pretty as human. Good enough to get by. Maybe even cute on her best days. But as a mutant lizard...she tried not to look at herself in the mirror for too long. She had sometimes wanted to apologize to them for having to look at her.

But that comment...was he serious? He was a reptile, too. Maybe to him, there was a different beauty standard. She herself thought all four turtle brothers were cute as hell. It had taken a while to get used to them—to wrap her head around the fact that talking giant turtles existed—but after that, it was easy to enjoy being around them. To learn their quirks and personalities, to discover how sweet they all were. To learn all the turtlely things about them and find out each one just endeared them to her more.

If Mona was really honest with herself, she'd had to admit that she was crushing on them all a little. Though she assumed it mostly came from the fact that she had hardly had any interaction with anyone else aside from the brothers and their father. That and she had never been treated as kindly as this family had treated her. She was growing to love them, but at the same time pitied them for being stuck with her growing affection for them merely because they had been kind to her.

“You've gone quiet,” Donatello spoke after a few minutes of silence. “I'm sorry if I said something bad.”

“You've never done or said anything bad since I've known you, Donatello,” came the soft response.

He paused and shined his flashlight on her. She blinked in the strong light, unable to see him other than the reflection of his glasses.

“I keep trying to read you, Mona Lisa, but I always feel like I'm missing something.”

She shrugged. “I don't know what that is. I'm just your average girl who was kidnapped and mutated against her will, faced off against a bunch of scary monsters—both human and mutant. And then found this sweet family of adorable turtles and their rat dad. And now I live here in the sewers. Tale as old as time.”

The light was still on her, as if she was being interrogated. “You don't talk much about before your mutation. Who you were; if there's anyone out there who might be missing you.”

“There isn't. There's not much to talk about. Just another poor twenty-something trying to work and keep the bills paid and the lights on. I'm afraid I'm not an interesting person.”

“I find you plenty interesting, Mona Lisa.”

Mona held a hand up to her eyes to block out the light. Trying to see his face; to see if he was being serious. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Of course.” Donatello's answer was pragmatic as he lowered the light.

In truth, she often flirted with all the brothers. And they usually flirted back. Sometimes even Leonardo—on the rare occasions she could get more than two words out of him. They were growing on her, always endearing. She liked having their attention. It made her feel special. Having Donatello's attention right now, hearing the soft, playful tone of his voice, made the core of her gently tighten. That was new.

“You're quite good at it,” she flirted back and they settled back into walking. “Very charming.”

He didn't respond, but she could feel him smiling. All four brothers would get flustered whenever she complimented them. It was cute. They were all so big, strong. They could be dangerous if they wanted to be. But they all melted with flattery and affection. Mona was happy to be the source of both of those things. It was one of the very few things she had to offer.

The tunnel narrowed and they had to walk close. Mona's shoulder brushed his arm so many times it seemed like he was seeking out the contact on purpose. Likewise, his knuckles touched the back of her hand now and then, silently asking. They liked to be touched, she had noticed. But this was distracting. She settled it by taking his hand. Three-fingered with thick, scaled skin. She didn't mind touching him. She never minded touching any of them.

When she did, something in Donatello relaxed. He was quiet, but silently pleased with this. Mona wished she could be so relaxed and pleased. She still felt like energy was running through her. Even though his thumb rubbing the back of her hand soothed her a bit. Donatello's presence was always soothing; calm.

They walked in companionable silence as their route turned them around and they headed back into the lair.

“Better?” Donatello asked as they entered the comfortable, familiar tunnels.

“Yeah,” she lied. “I think I'm going to try to sleep now. Thank you for spending some time with me.”

He still had her hand; still ran his thumb over it like he wasn't done feeling the texture of her. “My pleasure.” His voice was a soft whisper. It stirred her body in a way she wasn't prepared for. “Hug?”

Michelangelo asked for hugs the most. Donatello was a close second. She never minded as she slipped her hand out of his and then raised her arms. The very tall turtle stooped down so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He slowly straightened, carrying her off her toes. She loved when he did this. A joyful noise squeaked out of her and she gave a few happy kicks before he set her back down.

She felt a little flush after being pressed to his firm body, but tried not to focus on it.

“Good night, Donatello.”

His voice remained soft and raspy. “Have a good night.”

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

Early the next morning, Leonardo paused when he walked into the dojo and found that it was already in use. Usually, he was the first one up and enjoyed at least an hour of quiet time before the rest of the family began to stir. But today, the light was already on. Mona Lisa sat lotus style, eyes closed and back straight. She opened her eyes as Leonardo silently entered.

She must have noticed him pause. “Sorry, am I going to be interrupting your personal time?”

She was. Leonardo liked having his quiet mornings alone. But that morning, he didn't particularly mind her company. She was usually a quiet person and he appreciated that about her.

“You're fine. Do you mind me joining you?” he asked as he sat himself in a similar position.

“Please do. I'm not having much luck on my own.”

Leonardo didn't say anything. He had learned merely by waiting, he could always get more information out of her.

“I couldn't sleep last night. I'm feeling a little frayed. Like there's this energy in my body that won't stop churning. I thought maybe some meditation would help, but I don't know what I'm doing. Am I supposed to be thinking about something? Or am I supposed to empty my head and think about nothing?”

A slight smile pulled at the side of his mouth. “I guess it depends on what your goals are: to quiet the mind, or to contemplate something that's been on your mind.”

She furrowed her brows in consternation and he found it to be quite cute. “What do you think about when you meditate? Or is that too personal to ask?”

“I try to think about my goals. How I want my day to go. How I can be a better brother and a better leader to my team. How I can improve on my skills and myself. Admittedly, my brain likes to wander to my mistakes and dwell on them. I try to spin it to the positive. Learn from them. Do better the next time.”

“Damn,” was Mona's response. “That's a good answer. I'll try some of that.”

Leonardo smiled a little more. There was something about her that was gentle, but amusing. He enjoyed her energy. As he settled into his own meditation, he was reminded of that as she remained a quiet and calm presence beside him. But she was still a presence. Normally, he could tune out his sensei and even any of his brothers if they were meditating beside him.

But her. Something kept calling him to her. Meditation for him was like sitting in a comfortable darkness. With Mona, she was like a soft glow next to him. Not loud or distracting, but definitely there. He opened an eye to look at her. She wasn't moving or making any sound. She looked relaxed; she wasn't even breathing loud. So why did his head keep turning in her direction? Was it her smell? He could definitely smell her. She smelled very nice. She smelled...attractive? Was that the word he was looking for?

He didn't say anything and let her be. For Leonardo, that morning's meditation was spent trying to keep his focus. He did not have much success. Still, it felt like it wasn't too long before Splinter came in for his own morning meditation. And after twenty or so minutes, the other turtle brothers trundled in.

“Ooh, look who's up,” Michelangelo greeted. He crouched behind Mona and gave her a light one-armed hug around the neck. “Morning, Mo-Mo. Ooh, you smell really good today.”

“Hey, Mike,” she greeted back, still not moving.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“Having quality time with Leonardo.”

Leonardo glanced at her. She had one eye open in his direction, smiling as if she just told a joke. “Jealous,” Michelangelo replied and moved to find his own space on the floor where he began doing stretches. “When do I get my quality time?”

“With Leonardo? You'll have to ask him.”

“I wasn't talking about Leo. You know what I meant.”

Mona just grinned.

Raphael came in next and he too paused at the extra person before sitting in front of her and beginning his own stretches in preparation for training.

“Hey there, Big Eyes. You come to train with us this morning?”

She snorted. “Probably not. Not interested in getting my ass kicked today.”

“Nah. I'd go easy on ya. You using a new shampoo or something? You smell good.”

“Right?” Michelangelo piped up. “She smells super good this morning.”

Mona subtly sniffed her shoulder, then her hair. Then down the front of her shirt. “I'm not sure what that is. I don't smell anything.”

“Did you go to sleep at all?” Donatello's voice asked as he walked behind her.

“Not really,” she said guiltily. “Just wasn't my night.”

He crouched behind her and touched the side of her neck with the back of his fingers. “You're a little warm. Do you feel okay?”

“About the same as last night. Like I need to be awake for something. I just don't know what that something is. I think I'll make myself stay up all day and then hopefully I'll crash good tonight.”

Donatello paused and then overtly breathed her in.

“She smells good, huh?” Michelangelo grinned from where he stretched in a complicated pose.

“That's not how you usually smell,” Donatello mused. “Interesting.”

“What do I smell like? I don't smell anything.”

No response. Mona specifically looked to Leonardo, as if they were all keeping a secret from her and she knew he would be the one to speak the truth. But the blue-clad turtle shrugged. She did smell different, but he didn't know how to put it into words.

“Alright, time for training,” Splinter announced as he finished with his meditation and stood. With a sharp clap, the turtles immediately stopped their chatter and stood in a straight row before their sensei.

Mona stood as well to get out of their way.

“Can I stay and watch?”

Splinter eyed her while at least half of his sons were openly nodding. Before, she had always been politely told the dojo wasn't a safe place to be during training and the reasons were obvious. Very large mutants with very dangerous weapons would be whipping around at high speeds. Mona had no training to keep herself safe. But she couldn't learn if she wasn't allowed.

“Yes, you may,” Splinter agreed. “But you will adhere to every rule.”

She straightened. “Yes, sir.”

“You will sit where I put you. You will not move while there is any activity on the mats. You will pay attention to what is happening. If you break these rules, you will be asked to leave. This is completely for your safety.”

She nodded emphatically. “I can do that.”

“Very well.”

Splinter offered her a pillow to kneel upon close to the wall. Far away from any fighting. He stayed with her while the turtles warmed up. They pulled out their weapons and began performing complicated katas. To Splinter, it was obvious they were showing off for their audience of one. He let them. When they were sufficiently warmed up he called for them to stop and they obeyed.

“Weapons, here,” he pointed to a spot next to him and the brothers complied, setting their weapons down. “From the wall.” Splinter nodded to the collection of weapons adorning what was aptly named The Weapons Wall. “Donatello: daisho. Leonardo: tonfa. Michelangelo: kama. Raphael: naginata.”

Without their weapons of choice, it was obvious to the master that his students weren't as comfortable. But but they were also ninja and should be able to make a weapon out of anything. He allowed a few moments for the turtles to get used to the weight and swing of their new weapons. Raphael was enjoying the reach of his long, bladed staff and kept poking Michelangelo in the shell with it. The smaller turtle parried back with his kama; two short handles with curved blades. Like miniature scythes. Leonardo spun his double tonfa expertly, but it was clear he didn't like that they were more a defensive weapon and had barely any reach. Donatello looked the least comfortable with his allotment as he handled the sword set and awkwardly strapped them to his body in a way he could reach both swords. The shorter sword stayed in its sheath in the front while he swung the long sword around in a way that told he was used to handling a staff.

“Pair up,” Splinter then ordered. “Raphael and Donatello. Leonardo and Michelangelo.”

The designated pairs faced each other. When their sensei gave the order, the fighting began. It started a little slow at first with each brother getting into the feel of their weapon. Usually they were a lot more devil-may-care when playing with weapons. But they were aware of their audience and didn't want to look clumsy.

But Splinter didn't care who was watching. He was there to make sure his students were always on their toes. Once the sparing fell into a more comfortable rhythm, Splinter left his post at Mona's side. He noticed her posture was rigid, back straight. Her thick, heavy tail thumped on the mat. There was an energy from her that made him almost want to raise his hackles. Strange, but he was more focused on his sons. Though he felt almost a relief at moving away from the lizard mutant.

The turtles were a whirl of movement and blades. A dangerous place to be of anyone untrained. Splinter, however, walked among the battles effortlessly untouched as he dodged bodies at least twice his size. Every once in a while, he would hit one of them with the blade of his hand. Sometimes the attacks were dodged or blocked. Most of them hit their mark.

“Be aware of everything around you,” Splinter barked. “Not just your opponent.”

And yet, he too was only focused on his sons. Though something niggled at the back of his mind. Mona Lisa was at the periphery of his senses. Her tail still slapped against the solid floor. It swished back and forth in agitation. These were not normal behaviors for her. Somewhere in the primitive part in Splinter's rat brain and voice whispered Predator.

He glanced back at her and the primitive part of his instincts took over for just a second. A second was all it took. Splinter jerked into Donatello, who glanced back in time to nearly get sliced from Raphael. Leonardo became distracted by Donatello's stumbling as Michelangelo surged forward. And everything fell apart as turtles and rat all collapsed gracelessly on top of each other.

For a second, everything was silent, save for the swishing sound of an anxious tail.

“What happened?” Raphael demanded.

“Dudes, she's doing the predator eyes again,” Michelangelo hissed.

All eyes turned to Mona Lisa, who had obediently remained where she was. Her posture still stiff, tail swishing like an interested cat. Her normally human-like brown eyes had changed. The whites turned yellow, the pupils now long, reptilian slits.

Leonardo stood up, fists gripping his weapon as if to protect himself. They had seen her do this before, shortly after she had first changed. “Mona,” he said carefully.

She looked up at him. “Hm? You guys okay?”

There was a visible sense of relaxing from the group of prey animals.

“We're okay. Are you...okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be okay?”

Donatello took a few steps forward, but still kept his distance. “Your eyes...”

She blinked at him several times, then stood. Swiftly, she removed herself from the dojo.

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

Mona ran to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slowly going back to normal, but the evidence of what they had looked like was there.

“No...no, no, no,” she whispered. “Why is this happening again?”

She saw Donatello appear in the reflection behind her. “Let me see,” he said softly.

She turned with a sigh. She didn't want to. She didn't want him to stare right into her soul with those intense golden eyes of his. Always calculating, always taking in so much of her with every look. His hand held her chin as he studied her. He didn't need to touch her to look at her eyes, but he always touched. And she wanted to lean into it.

“They're pretty normal now. Do you know what happened? Were you feeling scared or threatened in the dojo?” he then asked as he pulled back.

“No, I was just watching you guys.”

“You looked kind of intense, babe,” Michelangelo said from the doorway. The others were lurking in the hall. “What were you thinking about?”

A flush warmed her face. She had been watching alright. Watching the display of speed and strength. Watching how their muscles moved, how their bodies glistened with sweat. The silhouette of them, the masculine energy they brought with them. It excited her, though she hadn't felt any changes in her body.

“I don't remember thinking about much, I was just watching.”

She must have still looked a little wide-eyed because Donatello put his hands on her shoulders and spoke in a calm voice. “Let's take a blood sample just to be sure.”

Now all that was on Mona's mind was worry. The mutation had been rough, traumatic. It had left her a different person, both physically and mentally. Even after the second mutation, she still dealt with some changes. Ones she thought she had mastered, but if she was changing again...

She was hardly paying attention as Donatello stuck a needle in her arm. So far, there had been no possible way to change her back to her original human form. But if she was regressing back to what she was before...it was her nightmare.

“I don't see any further mutation,” Donatello announced as he looked at her blood through a microscope. “It's still the same as it was. The cells aren't changing.”

Mona let out a sigh of relief. She felt Michelangelo give her shoulder a soft squeeze. She hadn't even noticed his hand was there until then.

Paper from the oldest printer Mona had ever seen was spat out and Donatello looked at the readings. “Here we go. Your hormone levels have shifted. That's why you've been feeling off. Estrogen and pheromone levels are up. Which means you're uh...entering a mating cycle.”

Mona blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words. “A what?”

“You're in estrus. Or in layman's terms, you're in heat.”

She snorted. “Fuck off, Donatello. Humans don't go into heat.”

He snorted back, unused to being told to fuck off. Especially by a woman. “You're not all human. Not anymore. Some of the animal tendencies from your reptile DNA may take over from time to time. It's already happened before with you.”

“Yeah, but I have a human brain. So is it even a thing?”

“It's a thing. And it kinda sucks when it happens.” Raphael said with arms folded across his chest. This gesture wasn't aggressive. It was more of a self-soothing motion. Like he didn't enjoy the topic of discussion.

Mona looked even more confused. “It happens to you guys, too?”

Hesitant and disgruntled murmurs from all four turtles.

She suddenly looked unsure. “Is it happening right now?”

“Nah. Ours comes in the spring. This late summer shit is new to me.”

Donatello was typing on the computer. “It says on this article that Komodo dragons—your main source of reptile DNA—mate during the dry season, which is usually late summer. Uh, we have had a pretty dry summer lately.”

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

“Is that an invitation?” Michelangelo asked cheekily.

Mona shot out of her chair and quickly moved out of their reach. “No, that was not! Do not...” She gestured in warning at them. “Just...DO NOT.”

“We're not going to do anything to you,” Leonardo said calmly. “You're safe here. I promise you.”

None of the turtles made a move toward her, which she appreciated. Her mind was racing as she tried to get a handle on the situation. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her restlessness. The way she had been hyper aware of everything the turtles did lately. How her gaze would zero in on their strong necks when they swallowed, on their mouths when they licked their lips. How she kept staring at their bodies; the defined arms, the shape of their torsos. The delicious way their thick thighs filled out their pants.

“Now I see why you got excited,” Donatello continued as he looked at his computer screen. “In the wild, male Komodo dragons will fight each other to win females. Watching us spar made you—”

“It sure as hell did not!” she shot back, cutting him off. Her voice had gone higher than normal. “That is not what is happening here! Oh my God. I—I have to go.”

She immediately left with Raphael calling after her. “Where you gonna go? The lair's the only place you've got.”

Leonardo was the first to follow after her, mostly just to make sure she wasn't going to do anything drastic. As it turned out, Mona only went to her room and firmly shut the door behind her. She was quiet for the first few moments as the turtles gathered outside.

“Mo-Mo, baby, it's okay,” Michelangelo called to her door. “It's not that big of a deal. We've been dealing with it for years and we always get through it.”

Her door opened and she was suddenly in his face. “Really?” she asked, looking desperately hopeful.

God she smelled good. Intoxicatingly good. He tried to ignore it, even as his body warmed. “Yeah, you'll be okay. I mean, you're going to be cranky and so horny you'll want to bang anything with a pulse, and sometimes things without, but you'll get through it. It only lasts like two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Her pitch rose another octave. “That's longer than a period! What the hell?”

“Well, that's our cycle,” Donatello said. “Komodo dragons seem to have a really long mating season. Yours might be longer.”

Leonardo elbowed him to shut up.

“I'm just saying,” the tallest brother insisted. “It's good to have all the facts.”

“Another fact is, Mona, that we're here for you,” Raphael said, trying to smooth the conversation over. “We'll help you through it. Whatever you need.”

He hadn't meant it in a sexual way, but Mona's eyes suddenly went wide and he realized his poor word choices.

“Oh my God, no!” she cried and promptly slammed the door in their faces.

“She's going to be okay, right?” Michelangelo wondered.

A moment later, the turtles could hear the unique sound of her angrily screaming into a pillow.

*****

Tag List: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @androidships007 @snackugaki @red-phoenixxx @leosgirl82 @dilucsflame33 @happymoonangel @fluffytriceratops

[irkimatsu]

Some short of vent? Idk, just wanted to share. I constantly get anxious and genuinely sad when thinking about husk and angel. I’m nowhere near close to Angel’s beauty and I’m quite boring, but fuck how much I love husk. If he existed, would I ever be enough for him? Why do I cry over fictional characters? I’m not sure. I just- wish someone could tell me that he would love me. I wanted to share this bc I think that you feel the same, due to your masterlist post saying that you will take angel and husk’s dynamic would be only friends, so I felt close to you and willing to tell you. Thank you for hearing me out

Oh, you have absolutely come to the right blog, anon; I've been worrying about this since January, have even posted about it before. If Angel is Husk's type, then how could I possibly be? I'm not beautiful, not outgoing, not confident, not accomplished, I'm not him I'm not him... I've considered plenty of times before, writing fic where Reader compares themselves unfavorably to Angel, but I'm terrified of it coming off as character or ship bashing. I love Angel! I'm sure canon will get me to warm up to Huskerdust eventually! ...but for now... I want Husk to myself...

I want to believe that Husk would want quiet nights in, just talking and enjoying each others' company... that he'd be okay with someone who's a little broken and not nearly as good at hiding it as Angel, who needs regular assurance... I'd give him that assurance in return! I love him as a person, I want to know more about him! I don't care what his status might have once been, I care about him! I love his voice, I love his love for music and travel, I love how now matter how hard he tries to hide it he so deeply cares... I love him. Could that possibly be enough...?

I don't want to make Angel jealous; I always write him as a graceful loser. He had a crush on Husk, but it didn't get too far before he noticed Husk getting attached to Reader, so you know what, new plan, even if Angel can't have him to himself he can still make sure his new friend gets laid. I don't want a rivalry, I don't want to fight over him...

Hell, sometimes a poly arrangement with Husk as the hinge can work, but other times... I want to know Husk can be happy with me, just me. If I had to share with Angel, it would take so much for me to believe that I'm not just a backup choice... if he had to choose just one of us, who would he pick? That question would destroy me for the entirety of the relationship...

You're not alone, anon. I know he's fictional. I know nothing I do will stop whatever canon has planned for his love life, and quite honestly I wouldn't want to stop it. I know he's not mine, not really. But sometimes, it's nice to think about being enough for someone, you know?

I don't know enough about you to say anything too specific, but I do think it's possible for Husk to choose you or me over Angel. It doesn't have to be anything against Angel - just factors of timing and chemistry. Angel will of course stick around as a supportive friend, Husk still cares about him that way, and he'll wear a kickass dress as part of the inevitable wedding party. It'll be fine. We're not completely out of our minds to think we could have Husk to ourselves, if only for a little while...

[silvery-bluish]

24 and 25 for arsinoe!!

Questions from here!

Thank you for the ask <3 dropping this under the break

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Before they got Emotionally Mugged by Danny, I was actually planning on running them Chentegastep poly V, with Ric being the pivot/hinge. It probably would’ve been a Lot Chiller than their current romantic situation’s Extremely Shakey Foundations lol. They spend most of Retri hanging out with Chen anyway still.

25. What is your favorite thing about your OC?

I’m actually really attached to their tunnel vision empathy. It gets— messy, but messy in ways I find Interesting to rotate, y’know? The people they care about they’d go to extreme lengths to protect, and they have the potential of being So Damned Soft with them, but strangers? Or just casual acquaintances? People they’ve already dismissed as unimportant? They’ve got blinders on and are not taking them into account because that frees up bandwidth for the people that DO matter.

(Eventually they’ll figure out how to get enough out of crisis mode to ease back on this, maybe, but they’re still stuck on ‘Daniel is an outlier adn should not be counted�� right now)

[inkykeiji]

clari!! hi!! i was wondering, would bmb have taken a different path if tomura didn’t go through an episode? i wonder abt how different reader and dabi’s dynamic would be if that were the case! would they still be romantically involved? would the three of them engage in a relationship eventually?

hi hi!! c:

ah, yes! it would’ve totally taken a different path, because literally so much of the story & plot itself hinges on tomura’s building breakdown—as it continues to build, it also continues to move the narrative forward, and affords dabi and reader both more chances to be together and alone, but also brings them closer together in an emotional way, since someone they mutually care about is going through such a rough time and they’re unsure how to handle it (so tangled!). additionally, while the first threats tomura receives are real in the sense that they actually happened and actually exist, the threats that follow are all hallucinations in his head. if he wasn’t sick, then those hallucinations wouldn’t have happened, and dabi would’ve probably been taken off of his glorified babysitting post (or had his duties significantly reduced much earlier in the story), which in turn would have impacted the speed at which dabi + reader’s relationship intensifies and evolves since they wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time together.

without tomura’s hallucinations and overestimation of the threat, there isn’t much of a reason for dabi and reader to be spending much time together. in this case, tomura would’ve mostly let the threats go when their line of investigation ends up leading to nowhere—he is still protective of his baby and he gets paranoid easily, so dabi would still have some babysitting/bodyguard duties, but nowhere near anything within the fic itself, so again, dabi and readers relationship would evolve and grow at a much slower pace.

however!!! with that being said + under these hypothetical circumstances, it is very possible that the police would’ve sent more ‘threats’ had tomura not exacerbated the situation entirely on his own accord, in which case then dabi + reader would’ve spent just as much time together as tomura worked tirelessly at figuring out what the hell was going on, just without the added stress and pressure of his illness. in this case, their dynamic would’ve stayed largely unchanged and they most likely would’ve all ended up in a poly relationship at the end—dabi might’ve even been recruited to help tomura fully figure this out instead of ill tomura trying to do it all on his own because he trusts no one and is extremely paranoid, thus making him incredibly overprotective (even more so than usual) of his baby and requiring dabi be within arms reach of her at all times, even including when they’re locked away in the safety of the penthouse. if this had happened and tomura hadn’t been so sick and instead was willing to recruit dabi to help him work through it all (at least any time reader was at home and safe in the penthouse), then dabi and tomura’s relationship would’ve blossomed and bloomed as well, and they would’ve fostered a closeness that was different, deeper, and more substantial than the type of closeness they had fostered in their younger adult years, before reader had entered the picture.

there are many things that i need to edit, flesh out, add, fix, and revise within the story before i’m ready to novelize and publish it, so it’s entirely possible that you may see some of these elements within the novel version when it is finally released (*/ω＼*)

thank you for your question anon bb!! <33

[hirokiyuu]

12 OR 20 Nem/Sym (Nem/Sym/+Sol?) Sorry this ask is a bit of a mess but those two numbers have very similar Nem (mortified) potential, just kinda different in somftness. Also idk if you wanna go full ot3 but it might need a third person around? And I think Sol would have A Time With It.

12. things you said when you thought I was asleep + 20. things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

"But she is quite lovely."

"Yeah," says Sol, voice fond as their hand continues to stroke over the top of Anemone's head; against all odds Nem doesn't freeze up. "I think so too."

"Mm." There's a touch on her ankle, light as a feather, one single warm fingertip against her skin. "I do hope...."

A pause. Sol's fingers card through Nem's hair; somehow, somehow, Anemone keeps her breathing steady. "I do hope one day, we might close the gap between us," says Sym, softly. "I don't enjoy making her uneasy in her own home. But...."

"It's up to her," says Sol.

"Yes."

The finger against her ankle lifts. Despite everything, the space where it lingered feels cold in its absence.

[polyghostfacehours]

listen man whenever you have the time you GOTTA write some ghostface!randy like i wanna go into that dynamic so so sooo bad (also what if like….. poly!ghostface x reader but this time ghostface!randy is a thing) (or just the three of them) (idk smth ab ghostface!randy got my mind reelin)

AAAAAAHHHHH HEEEEELLLLL YEAH.

So firstly, some of these things will be out of character since Randy would have to be a significantly less sweet and reasonable person to become a GF. So here, have some of my take on a Ghostface!Randy HCs lmao!

Ghostface!Randy Headcanons

So Randy's has 2 main reason for becoming a Ghostface.

The first is retaliation against society. He's tired of just being the film geek that no one takes seriously and is pushed around and picked on.

The second is to get to live a horror movie. The virgin usually lives in the end, but how would it go if the virgin takes revenge on his sex having friends who bully him constantly?

He'd have some incel-y vibes tbh. He feels a bit entitled to sex, but in is angry at the world im the sense that he feels like an outcast that's always left out of the loop and looked down on for being awkward and nerdy.

Billy would see this in Randy. The darkness swirling in his head every time he and Stu dog on each other. So he begins to bring it out of Randy.

Unlike Stu, who he views as his best friend, Randy will absolutely be nothing more than a tool to Billy. He'd pretend to understand him, but rest assured if worst came to worst he'd pin everything on Randy if need be.

Stu gets competitive with Randy, both for Billy's attention and as a Ghostface. He'd want to show up Randy at all times and then tease him about it Randy.

It's one heeeellllaa toxic friendship, where Billy and Stu clearly have the advantage in the relationship. An imbalanced power dynamic for daaays.

I could see Randy actually being the least off-kilter and most in touch with his empathy of the three. Therefore, I could see him being remorseful and even trying to get out of it, with little success.

If you go with the HC that Stu was peer-pressured, then hooo boy is Randy even MORE so. Because whereas Stu was still an active participant in planning and ideas, Randy literally had no say in what they'd do.

Randy might eventually plan Billy and Stu's death if it becomes too much for him and he needs to get out of it. Like using his horror movie knowledge that he knows they're following to twist the metaphorical (and physical) knife in their backs.

Randy during a kill is very frantic. He's liable to get jittery and make mistakes, but will get kicked into overdrive if he fears the victim might get away. Like he might accidentally go buck wild and dissociate. One moment the victim is alive and running out the door and the next moment they're on the floor with 30 stab wounds in their torso.

He gets very shaken after a kill and unlike Billy and Stu who may get aroused from the adrenaline rush, Randy might actually have a panic attack once he's alone.

He's originally on phone duty, until Billy forbid him from it once he got too long winded and argued too much with the victim. He's supposed to be scaring them and moving them around the house, not talking about the inherent homoeroticism in Nightmare on Elm Street 2

If a poly relationship between you 4 happened, it would be a either 2 triads or a mix of a triad and a hinge. You, Billy, and Stu would be a triad, and you, Stu, and Randy would be another Triad. Billy and Randy just aren't into each other like that, so they wouldn't be in a relationship with one another. Another possibility is you, Stu, and Billy as a triad and then you as a hinge for Randy; this would be the case if Randy and Stu don't grow closer during their Ghostface escapades.

Jealousy would be a huge issue for Billy either way, as he wouldn't be fond of Randy taking one or both of his S/O's time away from him. Ditto for Randy, as I don't see him and Billy being able to cultivate any sort of meaningful relationship or understanding. I don't see this poly relationship lasting long with Randy in the picture tbh. It's just not a healthy dynamic.