#fic Drabble

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

[nyoomerr]

(cw for omegaverse and Gender Stuff. sfw/mature at worst)

---

It’s been many, many years since Luo Binghe spent his rut outside of a nest. He may not have ever had a proper mate, but ever since his rise in power he’s had no shortage of rut partners, and the intensity of his ruts often throw his partners into heat. An omega facing discomfort will instinctively create a nest, and an omega in heat will not be too picky about who it is that comes inside that nest.

So: Luo Binghe is used to spending his ruts in an omega’s nest, even if the nest is different each time. 

He hadn’t realized how used to it he’d become until he was staring down the full force of his rut and realizing that no nest had been created for him; that no nest would be created for him.

Shen Yuan is not an omega, after all. 

Surely, though - surely he would be one, if he’d been born a part of Luo Binghe’s world rather than snatched out of that terrible scentless one? Luo Binghe has never been able to get it up for anyone not actively expelling an omega’s ‘come hither’ scent, but all Shen Yuan has to do is smile at him, or scold him, or pitch his voice up into that spoiled whining tone - 

Surely, Luo Binghe would not feel such fierce attraction to Shen Yuan if the man was meant to be a beta. If Shen Yuan had been born in Luo Binghe’s world, he’d no doubt have all the instincts of an omega, and so he’d surely have been pushed into pre-heat by Luo Binghe’s oncoming rut, and so he’d have built a nest.

Put like that, Luo Binghe has an obligation to help Shen Yuan out. Shen Yuan should be building a nest right now, but he doesn’t know that he should be, or even how to build one, and it’s Luo Binghe’s job as his mate to instruct him. Luo Binghe will show Shen Yuan how to do it just this once - he has watched many omegas build their nests over his lifetime, so he knows how it’s meant to be done - and then the next time Luo Binghe enters his rut cycle, Shen Yuan will know how to do it himself.

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe calls, and then when Shen Yuan raises an expectant eyebrow, very quickly corrects himself: “Yuan-ge.”

“Is your rut in full swing, now?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe swallows thickly as he catches the way Shen Yuan casts a nervous glance below Luo Binghe’s belt. 

Shen Yuan hasn’t been… hesitant, really, but he has been clearly nervous to spend Luo Binghe’s rut with him. Luo Binghe isn’t willing to look too closely at the feelings that inspires in him: both Shen Yuan’s nervousness, and the fact that Shen Yuan is still here in Luo Binghe’s rooms despite it.

“Not yet - I’ll still be fully conscious until tomorrow morning, most likely.” Luo Binghe answers, almost absentmindedly. He has to teach Shen Yuan how to build a nest, but now his mind is stuck here, on Shen Yuan’s nerves and how to soothe them. He has to soothe them, he has to make sure his mate is safe and happy, he has to remove the threat -

Luo Binghe forcefully shakes the thought away. His instincts have been prickling at him nonstop like this for the past several days; a side effect of knowing that his upcoming rut will be spent with a proper mate rather than a simple bed partner. 

Shen Yuan has already expressed his dissatisfaction about Luo Binghe’s foolish instinct-driven behaviors this morning when Luo Binghe had dragged him out of bed and into the kitchens so he could keep Shen Yuan in sight while still providing his mate with a good meal. If Luo Binghe’s instincts make him do something unnecessary that causes Shen Yuan to complain again, then Luo Binghe really won’t be able to take it. The panic that had flared through him at potentially offending Shen Yuan so close to a time when Luo Binghe needed him had been… distinctly unpleasant.

So: a nest. Shen Yuan’s nest, which will be built by Luo Binghe just this once, and which will both settle some of Luo Binghe’s uncertainty by giving him a point of familiarity and, hopefully, soothe some of Shen Yuan’s nerves. After all, even if Shen Yuan doesn’t possess omegan instincts, who isn’t soothed by a nice nest?

Luo Binghe clears his throat. “Before my rut begins, I wanted to show Yuan-ge how to build a nest.”

Shen Yuan raises his sleeves up to obscure half his expression, a habit he’d picked up after Luo Binghe had confiscated all the fans he’d been using to hide his face previously.

(Luo Binghe had not confiscated them because Shen Yuan had hidden behind them. Luo Binghe in fact finds Shen Yuan particularly easy to read when he’s trying to hide something, and especially cute when he thinks he’s getting away with it. 

Luo Binghe had taken all those dreadful fans away because Shen Yuan would not stop fanning himself with them, which - while indeed is the point of such an object - had been the cause of one of the bloodiest court sessions in the history of Luo Binghe’s reign, when Luo Binghe had caught the way some of his petitioners had been so clearly trying to get a whiff of the scent that Shen Yuan was blowing about with his fan.

It made no difference that Shen Yuan did not actually have a scent to blow around, outside of the smell of human sweat and the soft milky tones of the soaps Luo Binghe commissions for him. The insult of looking for Shen Yuan’s scent had been enough.

No more fans.)

“A nest as in… like, what an omega builds?” Shen Yuan asks cautiously. Luo Binghe nods, and Shen Yuan raises his sleeves higher. “And Binghe remembers that I’m not an omega, correct?”

Luo Binghe waves a hand dismissively. He does know this, even if he also believes that Shen Yuan should be an omega nonetheless.

“A nest helps to soothe nerves,” Luo Binghe says in place of his thoughts on what his attraction to Shen Yuan must surely indicate about Shen Yuan’s secondary gender. 

Shen Yuan watches him for a long moment, considering. “...Is Binghe nervous?” He eventually asks, and Luo Binghe is startled by the force of his defensiveness at being asked such a thing.

“No,” Luo Binghe says, voice carefully measured. He counts the spaces between his breaths - in for four, out for eight - and reminds himself that he isn’t nervous. He already knows Shen Yuan enjoys laying with him outside of ruts. Shen Yuan’s own nerves will be soothed by the nest, and then Shen Yuan will enjoy spending Luo Binghe’s rut with him, and Luo Binghe will be able to please his mate quite thoroughly.

“Hm,” Shen Yuan says. “Alright. What do you - er, what do I - need for a nest?”

Luo Binghe feels tension slip from his shoulders. Good, good; Shen Yuan will build a nest. 

“Yuan-ge should go grab his dirty robes, and one of mine if you want,” he instructs. “It will be most comforting if it’s mostly made up of your own scent, with only some of your mate’s, and it’s already going to have a lot of mine from the bed sheets themselves.”

It’s impossible to sleep on a bed without scenting it to some degree; the bed Luo Binghe shares with Shen Yuan will always smell more like Luo Binghe than anything else since Shen Yuan doesn’t have the scent glands to rub off on it to begin with.

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says, even though his nose wrinkles when Luo Binghe mentions the dirty laundry. “And while I do that, Binghe should start on the base of the nest, okay?”

Luo Binghe frowns. That doesn’t sound right. Shen Yuan is supposed to be the one learning how to make a nest, because it’s an omega thing to make a nest. If Shen Yuan isn’t present while Luo Binghe works on it, how can Shen Yuan learn?

Shen Yuan hums, reaching up to rest the palm of his hand on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck. Instinctively, Luo Binghe shifts so that Shen Yuan’s wrist rests properly on the scent gland there; even without Shen Yuan having a proper scent of his own, it’s a pleasant sensation. 

“Good,” Shen Yuan praises him, voice soft. “Now I’ll go paw through our dirty laundry, and you’ll go work on the sheets.”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe agrees, and turns to go and do just that. 

Luo Binghe starting the nest by himself turns out to be a good thing, in the end - he’s never built one before, only ever watching his rut partners do it, so it takes some trial and error to figure out how to create the shapes he wants with the sheets. Shen Yuan wouldn’t learn anything watching Luo Binghe place and replace the sheets and pillows like this, struggling to figure out how to get things to lay just right. 

Luo Binghe has to teach Shen Yuan the right way to build a nest, after all. He knows that what makes for a good nest can be subjective to each omega, but Luo Binghe has always had his own opinions about the nests that his rut partners have made. Surely, as an alpha, the opinions that Luo Binghe has had are the result of finding an objective common denominator from all the various nests he’s slept in. And if Luo Binghe can recreate what feels good for an alpha, then that would give Shen Yuan a good base to customize the nest to his own liking without much trial and error of his own.

By the time Shen Yuan joins him at their bedside, Luo Binghe is quite pleased with himself. It isn’t a good nest yet - it needs their robes for that - but it’s -

“Very good, Binghe,” Shen Yuan praises. Luo Binghe all but preens; it’s a good nest, so it’s sure to ease Shen Yuan’s nerves once it’s done. “Now show me what you’re meant to do with the dirty robes, hm?”

Luo Binghe takes the robes from Shen Yuan - there’s more of Luo Binghe’s clothes than Shen Yuan’s, but Luo Binghe supposes that perhaps the scent distribution doesn’t matter too much for Shen Yuan’s beta nose - and begins working them into the nest.

“This is for - an air current,” Luo Binghe explains haltingly. He’s never had to put into words why certain things make a nest good, but he’s sure that he’s right about some things being an objective common denominator, and that means there’s an explanation for why. “We get air from the window on that side of the room, so the air needs to be directed through the nest like this.”

“To give us fresh air?”

“No,” Luo Binghe snarls, his claws tearing into the robe he’s holding as he goes tense. Then he realizes what he’s done and forces himself to drop the robe, counting his breaths again - in for four, out for eight, in for -

“Ah, Binghe… the rut is coming in sooner than you expected, isn’t it?” Shen Yuan murmurs, bending down to pick up the robe. Luo Binghe watches him warily; of course Shen Yuan can pick up the robe, because this is Shen Yuan’s nest.

He still feels relieved when Shen Yuan hands the robe back to him. He hasn’t finished teaching Shen Yuan how to make a nest yet, after all. 

“No fresh air,” Luo Binghe says, firmly but without the growl this time. 

He chooses to ignore Shen Yuan’s comment about the timing of his rut. It doesn’t actually feel like his rut is settling in upon him, but he feels so - untethered, and yet pulled taught at the same time - and he isn’t sure what else it would be. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan agrees. “Air flow for what, then?”

“For -” Luo Binghe gestures with one hand jerkily, eyes firmly on where he’s still working the robe into their nest with the other. 

…Into Shen Yuan’s nest, he means.

“- for air flow in the opposite direction,” Luo Binghe eventually gets out. “The window will carry in foreign scents, no matter how tightly it’s closed. This is to keep that out.”

That much Luo Binghe does know for certain as an alpha; it isn’t uncommon for young alphas to start brawls with their neighbors just because their scent wafts in under a door frame. 

“Very smart,” Shen Yuan says, handing Luo Binghe another robe. 

Luo Binghe takes it, but the thought of adding it to the nest makes his teeth itch, and after a moment he hands it back. He doesn’t know if the nest is done, yet - he doesn't have the omega instincts to know - but he needs to come up with a reason to explain why and when the nest is done, because this is the nest that Shen Yuan is learning from.

Shen Yuan catches his arm, and Luo Binghe only barely doesn’t startle.

“Perhaps Binghe would know if his nest is done if he gets inside it?” Shen Yuan asks gently. 

Luo Binghe nods. Yes, yes - maybe his rut really is settling in early, if he can’t even think clearly enough to come up with the idea of getting inside the nest to check it on his own. 

He gets into the nest. He can’t - his memories of nests are usually when lying down, or when hovered over his rut partner, so he can’t compare this nest to the ones in his memories while sitting upright. 

He lays down. The nest is - 

“It’s done,” Luo Binghe says thickly. “It’s - I know Yuan-ge doesn’t like to hear about my past partners, but they’ve helped Yuan-ge today.”

The nest is better than any nest Luo Binghe has ever been in. He must have been right that observing so many omega’s nests would let Luo Binghe objectively build the best one, even as an alpha. 

“Can I come in?” Shen Yuan asks, peering down at Luo Binghe from the edge of the bed. He’s raised his hands to partially hide his face with his sleeves again, and for once Luo Binghe really has no idea what kind of face Shen Yuan is making. 

“Of course,” Luo Binghe says. “Didn’t this lord make the nest for you, so that you could learn how to for the future?”

“Mn,” Shen Yuan says, which is neither an agreement or a disagreement, but he does carefully join Luo Binghe in the nest. “Binghe was right; a nest does help with nerves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe says, feeling relieved. The prickling in the back of his mind - the instinctual urge to figure out how to help his mate feel better about joining Luo Binghe through his rut - fades. 

Shen Yuan shifts, turning to face Luo Binghe in the nest. He watches Luo Binghe for a long moment, and Luo Binghe watches him back, his heart beating rabbit fast in his chest. Is something wrong with the nest? It’s - it’s perfect, but Luo Binghe isn’t an omega, so maybe Shen Yuan noticed something that Luo Binghe didn’t, or -

Shen Yuan brings his hand up to rest on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, a mirror of the way he’d soothed Luo Binghe earlier. He still isn’t resting his wrist in quite the right spot, but Luo Binghe can’t bring himself to be upset about it. The fact that Shen Yuan tries, despite lacking all the instincts that Luo Binghe himself has, is enough to soothe Luo Binghe in place of any calming omega scent.

Still, Luo Binghe begins to move so that Shen Yuan’s wrist is resting in the right spot. Before he can, though, Shen Yuan - still watching Luo Binghe so very, very carefully - shifts his grip on Luo Binghe’s neck and squeezes.

Luo Binghe goes still. That isn’t - it isn’t the way an omega would scent an alpha. It isn’t quite anything, really, since Shen Yuan is a beta without the instincts to guide this type of action or the scent to back it up, but -

But it’s very, very close to the way an alpha might scruff an omega to calm them down. 

Luo Binghe’s breath hitches. His hands curl into tight fists around the front of Shen Yuan’s robes - robes that Luo Binghe had commissioned personally, because he’s an alpha, and because it’s an alpha’s job to provide for their mate in those sorts of ways. 

He gets an immense amount of satisfaction from doing so, too, just the same way he feels nearly gorged on pride and pleasure from caring for Shen Yuan in all sorts of other alpha ways. Feeding him, protecting him, showing off his martial skill - Luo Binghe loves being a good alpha for Shen Yuan. 

He finds himself nearly distraught at how much he loves being scruffed like an omega, too. 

“Ah, Binghe…” Shen Yuan tuts, even as he squeezes his hand tight on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, grounding him. “What are those wet eyes for? Did your Yuan-gege not already tell you? I’m not from this world, so what the hell do I know about any of this secondary gender stuff?”

Luo Binghe looks at Shen Yuan helplessly. He knows for a fact that Shen Yuan understands scruffing to be a thing done exclusively to omegas; Shen Yuan had asked about it after catching the way that Luo Binghe had been watching a couple showing off their fresh bonds at a tea house they’d visited. 

Luo Binghe had only watched because he’d wished it to be the sort of thing he could do to Shen Yuan. He - he’d only -

Shen Yuan squeezes again. Luo Binghe goes limp. There’s a tightness in his throat, similar to the feeling right before Luo Binghe growls but far more gentle. 

“I don’t know jack shit about this secondary gender stuff,” Shen Yuan says again, “so I’m just doing whatever I feel like, okay? As - uh, as in, I’m just doing stuff from my world.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says weakly. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Binghe being an alpha or anything else,” Shen Yuan reiterates. “So Binghe doesn’t have to think about it in those terms.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says again, even more quietly. 

“...But if you want to think about it that way,” Shen Yuan says cautiously, “then because I’m not from this world, I wouldn’t know any better.”

Luo Binghe takes a deep, shuddering breath. He knew, distantly, that his rut was going to be… difficult, this time around. He knew that his instincts would be working overtime at the thought of having a real mate, and he knew it would be hard to reconcile his own intensity with the fact that Shen Yuan is barely even a beta by this world’s standards. 

He also knew that the shape of his relationship with Shen Yuan would make this rut especially difficult, not just the existence of it. Shen Yuan, his Yuan-ge, his would-have-been-Shizun in another lifetime…

No, even without the titles, Shen Yuan has power over Luo Binghe in a way that no one else ever has. It had been a difficult thing to come to terms with to begin with - and Luo Binghe still feels shame at the way he’d bitten and snapped at Shen Yuan in a panicked attempt to feel like he was still in charge of the relationship after realizing that Shen Yuan had managed to leash him so thoroughly - and that had been when Luo Binghe was in a normal state of mind. Of course that internal struggle would rear its ugly head again when Luo Binghe entered his rut, when his alpha instincts became so much more intense.

He hadn’t expected it to take this exact shape, though. He hadn’t expected to be the one to start it, by building a nest that neither he nor Shen Yuan should ever need. 

Shen Yuan is still watching him, he knows. The grip on the back of Luo Binghe’s neck has loosened, giving Luo Binghe room to think. 

He wants very much for the pressure to return and make it so he doesn’t have to think about anything anymore.

“Since Yuan-ge isn’t from this world,” Luo Binghe says slowly, “I should… inform you about what is expected from my rut.”

“You should,” Shen Yuan agrees with no small amount of grace, considering that he’d already spent the last two weeks anxiously pestering Luo Binghe to get all sorts of details about how alphas behave during rut. 

“During my rut, I won’t be in a clear state of mind,” Luo Binghe continues. “It’s important that an alpha not hurt their mate even in that state, so -”

Luo Binghe breaks off. His jaw clicks as he figures out how to say the next part; if he can say the next part. He is an alpha, even if the dynamics of his relationship with Shen Yuan don’t match those of any other relationship he’s held. 

Shen Yuan moves his thumb to gently slide up and down the column of Luo Binghe’s neck, drawing Luo Binghe’s attention back to the way Shen Yuan is still lightly scruffing him. Luo Binghe breathes out carefully through his nose.

“To not hurt their mate, an alpha might be better off on the receiving end,” Luo Binghe manages to get out. “Even if - even if I cry about wanting to knot you, Yuan-ge can just squeeze with his hands.”

It’s a lie. Shen Yuan knows it’s a lie. No alpha ever would allow their partner to be the one on top during their rut. 

“Good boy, Binghe,” Shen Yuan croons, squeezing Luo Binghe’s neck again. “You’re a very good alpha, thinking about how to keep me safe.”

Luo Binghe’s throat feels tight again. He realizes, so distantly it might have been the thought of another person, that he is trying to purr like an omega despite not physically being able to do so. 

“Is there anything else you should tell your Yuan-ge about your rut?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe shakes his head wordlessly.

There’s more that he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the words for it. He might never have the words for it. Already, this feels like too much. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says. “That’s okay. You can tell me more next time, okay?”

Luo Binghe nods weakly, clutching tightly to the front of Shen Yuan’s robes. Next time, next time - 

Yes, Shen Yuan is Luo Binghe’s mate, no matter the world he came from or the way it prevents Shen Yuan from actually bearing a proper mating bite. There will be more ruts they spend together in the future. 

“Next time,” Luo Binghe agrees, and leans into Shen Yuan’s touch.

[villainbait]

Surprise Encounters

Pairing: None (Sylus x reader distantly implied) Rating: G Tags: coffee shop, secondhand embarrassment, canon sylus behavior, playful stalking, flirting, jealousy, crack, fluff Summary: Sylus stalks you to a new coffee shop in Linkon City, but it seems you two weren't the only ones who wanted to try it. Word Count: 1.1k

Someone was following you. 

It had been a long day at work and now there was the definitive sound of someone’s steps dogging yours as you approached the cafe. It wasn’t the one you usually enjoyed visiting, but you were in a hurry and going to duck in for a quick pick-me-up before heading out on yet another mission. Wanderer activity had been increasing lately, which left you exhausted most days so you were counting on this coffee to work miracles for your fatigue.  

Picking up the pace, you do your best to weave through the crowd and lose the person, happy to find you no longer hear the footsteps by the time you reach your destination. Your phone suddenly rings and you look down to find it’s Sylus. You don’t even bother answering it and reject the call. A text message accompanies the rejected call and you sigh in exasperation but before you can open it, you hear the dulcet tones of the current source of your annoyance behind you. 

“It’s not very nice to ignore a friend, kitten.” His voice is far too close to your ear and you pull away with a frown. Before you can retort, you see him glance at the cafe with a curious expression. 

“This isn’t your usual cafe, either.” 

“I’ve been busy,” you huff and look around nervously, before tugging on his sleeve and pulling him quickly into the cafe. The only reason you didn’t make a scene in public, you told yourself, was because you were worried your connection to the N109 Zone would be severed if Sylus was caught. Just because you wanted to punch him in his smug face sometimes didn’t mean you wanted to see him get hurt or worse. It still baffled you that the most wanted man in the world could simply chat with you on the street like this and not a single person knew. 

“What’s the hurry, sweetie?” he playfully murmurs as you march both of you up to the counter, but he’s more than happy to oblige as you both order. The baristas are charmed by Sylus but you don’t seem to notice, too busy bantering with him. 

“The hurry is that you seem nonchalant for a man in your situation.” 

“And what situation is that?” he replied smoothly, taking his card back from the blushing barista with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know,” you gesture vaguely as the two of you move to the end of the counter. You’re not sure if you want to lean away when Sylus puts his face close to yours but your pride won’t let you even if you did so you meet his gaze head on. “Oh? I don’t know that I do, so why don’t you say it?” He remarked, knowing that you wouldn’t give him away. At least not today, in this sunny little cafe where his defenses are low and there’s too many civilians. 

The little bell above the shop door jingles but you don’t notice it at first, your attention still focused on Sylus who hadn’t moved away despite his teasing. Still, with how he had leaned down you could see over his shoulder and you stopped breathing as a familiar face appears in your line of view. 

What was Zayne doing here? 

Sylus realizes mid-sentence you’re no longer paying him any attention and starts to look around and see what you’re gawking at. 

“No! Don’t turn around,” you hiss and jerk him closer to you, using his bigger body as a shield. He doesn’t mind that but his curiosity burns, one eyebrow raised. Opportunistic creature that he is, he slips an arm around your waist before you can protest.

“Why do you need me to hide you?” Sylus’s grin was anything but comforting. “Are you trying to avoid someone? Do I need to take care of it for you?”

The expression on your face must’ve been comical for Sylus chuckled. “You should see how you look right now. I want so badly to know who it is you’re hiding from.”

Zayne had made it to the counter now and you shifted to stay out of sight, still using Sylus to shield you if the other man looked over this way. The barista has the worst timing and offers your drinks at the same time Zayne steps towards the end of the counter. The two of you lock eyes. Time freezes. Zayne's gaze slowly slid from you to Sylus, whose arm was still slung low across your hips but it was too late for you to do anything but accept that. 

Sylus, meanwhile, doesn’t seem fazed and takes the cups one by one, handing yours to you and thanking the worker with a dazzling smile that makes her flustered and blush. “Hope you and your girlfriend have a great day!” she chirps cheerfully.

That immediately snapped you out of your shock and you turned with a disgusted frown. “I’m not-“

“Now, now there’s no need to be hurtful, sweetie.” Sylus interjects. “She's just trying to be nice. Besides,” he leans in close, his saccharine tone dropping an octave. “If you correct her, she might think she has a chance.” He swivels his cup to show you the number written cutely on the side of it and for some reason it makes you jealous and grumpy. 

Zayne’s order comes up quickly after and he inspects the number on his own cup before showing it the two of you. “Is this a new cup/service they perform here for every customer?” He remarks dryly, but there’s a hint of mischief in his expression. He shows the same number on the side of the cup and you have to hide a smile behind your hand. Sylus looks like he swallowed something sour and pulls out his phone. An awkward silence lingers and you almost wished a wanderer would appear in the cafe to save you from this situation. Still, you had to try to salvage the moment and you searched for something to say.

“Why don’t we sit down?” You try brightly and Sylus’s fingers dig into your hip but he doesn’t look up from whoever he’s texting. 

“Sure, and you can introduce me to your friend.” Zayne said calmly, but you’re panicking internally. “I thought I was your only friend, so I’m glad to see that isn’t true.” He was teasing you and you blushed. The two men turn to each other and Sylus tucks his phone away, business concluded. 

���Sylus.” He held out his hand. “Zayne.” They shake hands and you all find a small table to sit at.

They both focus their attention on you and you realize as your stomach churns nervously that this was going to be one interesting afternoon.

[hollythius]

too scary? ﾉ chuuya nakahara x reader

synopsis. reader wants to watch scary movies. their boyfriend wants to get too touchy on the couch.

length. drabble

ﾉ CHUUYA NAKAHARA

“baby doll, this is boring,” he groans into your neck. you’re half laying on top of him, half sitting in his lap. a soft, fluffy blanket keeps the warmth of the popcorn bowl around you. he makes attempts to nip at the exposed skin of your neck, but you avoid him every time, eyes laser-focused on the movie.

“chuuya, stop it. watch the movie,” you pout, but his ministrations don’t cease. you can feel his smirk as he licks a stripe down your neck, beginning to bite the soft flesh of your shoulder. “chuuya!”

“what, babe? don’t like the movie?” he grins, and knows he’s won this little battle. you turn in his lap, letting the movie turn into background noise as you finally kiss him. he melts in your arms, face red and eyes lidded with lust.

“this is much better, i think.”

[such-a-daydreamer]

*flutters eyelashes*

Me when I oc x cannon but it's platonic and I also get to expand on pre-existing lore with my random ass world building.

Check under the cut for a fic drabble of this scene and the oc info

My Gf Oc Manny!!♡♡ :3 (I want to be him so bad the gender envy hits HARD grrrgrrgrgrgrgrrrgrgrgrgrr)

He is a closeted gay man and cursed so every cryptid in a 20 mile radius wants him dead.

Now onto the story explaining the comic scene!!!!!!!

Lil' warnin, but there be blood!!!

✄----------------------------------------------------

The three men wander the halls in silence, they each know the importance to stay quiet in times like this, and each man has decades of experience in stealth.

The hospital -a real classy choice- is full of spiderweb decor, and each room has decayed into an unrecognisable square full of debris and metal skeletons.

Stanley wishes he stayed in the van, while Ford's mind is occupied with suspicion regarding their new "travel companion."

"So, Manny," Ford breaks the silence with a directed whisper. He doesn't miss the way the other two flinch despite his soft volume. "Since you're the "renowned expert" when it comes to cryptids, I'd like to ask you about this particular case."

Stanley feels the tension crackle between them, and suddenly regrets standing in the middle. Then again, if they decide to jump at each other's throats, he'd better stay put. Not that he'd like to break up a fight in the middle of a possibly-haunted run-down hospital, but he's done worse in worse places.

"It's a curious case." Manny mumbles out. "I've never seen a ghost report like this before, but considering it seems to be a location-bound spirit, I'm not exactly surprised. They tend to get more bizzare the longer they "ferment."

"Location-bound?" Ford repeats.

Manny gives his rival a sideways smirk. "C'mon now, this is basic ghost knowledge. You tellin' me you don't know?"

"I prefer to sort them through catagories, is all." Ford dismisses the subject in favour of staring at his EMF reader.

Another round of tense silence goes by, yet the three of them have come across nothing. Stanley is beginning to think this is just a huge waste of time.

Manny holds a similar sentiment as he pauses to shine his UV light around one last time.

"Welp, if nothing has come to get us by now, there's probably nothing here. This place is a bust, let's wrap things up." He points his finger up and swirls it before pointing to the exit.

"What, just like that?" Stan grumbles out as he lowers the flashlight. "Ya couldn't have made that decision any further back?"

With the light now pointed at the floor, it leaves everything above their waists in a dark abyss. The only other light source is from the UV lamp Manny holds.

"Scared, are we?" Ford asks, but there's an undeniable mocking tilt to his tone.

Manny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, the UV light in his hand makes the side of his shirt glow.

"No, it's just that I've got something you don't."

"And what's that?" Ford crosses his arms in a similar fashion.

Manny does a little flourish with his hands. "Magic."

Stan and Ford scoff in sync.

"I knew I shoulda stayed in the van." Stan begins to make his way back to the exit while the other two continue their squabble in the growing dark.

"So, this "magic" lets you know when ghosts are about?" Ford asks, partly curious, and partly to jeer at him.

Ford isn't poking fun at Manny because he doesn't believe in magic, it's just that if a spell to detect ghosts were in use, Ford would be able to tell. So far, Manny doesn't have anything on him that could be used for such a spell.

"Not just ghosts, but yes, it does. And it's totally real, by the way!" Manny spins on his heel to follow Stanley out before he pauses abruptly.

"Actually, nevermind. I think we've found our ghost."

Ford follows Manny's gaze down the empty corridor. The shine of the UV light does little to illuminate their surroundings, unlike the flashlight Stanley had.

Ford feels his blood run cold.

"Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking." Ford replies evenly.

"Really? Because you just broke the EMF reader."

Ford looks down to the cracked device in his hand. Alright, he'll admit this to himself and no one else, but he is very much panicking.

"The ghost didn't trigger the EMF reader, so it's not like we'll be needing this anyway." Ford throws the broken pieces to the side with a little more force than he intended.

"Uh... true, I suppose." Manny shines the UV light around the hallway before spotting drops shining against the cracked tiles. "Okay, we've got a lead, at least."

"And all it took was my brother to find it." Ford grits out under his breath.

Manny lifts his hands in a placating gesture. "I know you probably don't want to hear this right now -and certainly not from me- but let's try to calm down and keep a level head, alright?"

Ford shoots him a deadly glare, but Manny simply holds his gaze with a worried expression. Out of both of the twins, he likes Stanley more, so Ford isn't the only one concerned.

The trail leads to a room, a suspiciously empty room. The far back wall glows brightly under the shine of the UV light, and that's the only thing worth noting. Ford is reasonably upset once he realises Stanley isn't here, but trudges onward into the room anyway.

Ford stares at the wall curiously. He places a hand on it, and it feels completely normal. Dissapointed once again.

"I wonder why only this wall glows under ultra violet light..." Ford murmurs to himself as he raises a hand to place on his chin.

"Up."

"Pardon?"

Ford turns to Manny and sees his horrified expression. Before he has time to register that, something wet splatters against his glasses.

Manny lifts the UV light upwards just as Ford lifts his gaze.

"Ah, I see... Up."

There, strung up by limbs of what can only be assumed to be blood, is Stanley. He looks furious.

Behind him, flat against the roof, glows an almost cartoonish depiction of a human. They laugh, but there's no sound. Slowly, it removes itself from the roof and takes form. It shines hauntingly under the UV.

What first started as a light sprinkle, is now a full on downpour of blood as it looms above them. The stench of it makes Manny gag, but Ford just narrows his eyes at the being while it approaches slowly. It continues to laugh silently; that's the only thing that irks Ford.

"How do you suppose we kill this thing, Manny?"

Manny jolts a bit in surprise at being addressed, then strugles to form a sentence for a moment as he takes a step back.

"Wha- me??? I dunno, usually with ghosts I can just exorcize them with my medallion and be done with it, but that isn't a ghost." He points at the liquid mass that Stanley's struggling to escape from.

Both men would be worried about Stanley possibly suffocating from the stream of blood that covers the lower half of his face, but it doesn't seem to be covering his nose. Which, as relieved they both are, is still concerning.

Could it be using Stanley as bait? What is it planning? Whatever it is, no one's keen to find out.

It continues to move forward, almost sussing the two men out like they are to it. Ford mentally checks his inventory for a weapon that would do the most damage to a creature made of blood.

Predictably, nothing comes to mind.

He lets out a frustrated growl. "We have to do something."

Ford decides to take the inititive, seeing that he's the more capable one out of the two. Not that he's being presumptious of Manny's abilities, but the fact of the matter is that Manny is staring at the creature like a deer in headlights and Ford is inches away from trying to pummel a liquid.

Which also isn't good, but it's better. Ford will take better than nothing.

Flicking open one of his books from inside his coat, he searches through it until he finds what he's looking for.

"I believe this might be a failed resurection spell."

Ford pauses on an old partchment page in a plastic sleeve, the words are written in a dead language, but to Ford, it's like reading english.

"The closest I can find to-"

Ford doesn't get time to finish before he finds himself being shoved to the side. There's a split second where he sees Manny, then he doesn't.

A stream of blood slams Manny through the wall and leaves him lying in a pile of debris in the corridor. A pained groan proves that he's alive, so Ford returns his focus to the task at hand.

Despite the UV light now being broken, the mass of blood continues to glow.

"It would appear you've made your final assesment." Ford says to it while pocketing his book. He's read all he needs to, anyway.

It looses it's human form in favour of creating large waves to try and crash against Ford, but it underestimates his speed.

Manny stumbles back into the room with his madallion in hand. He raises it and the metal glows blue, acompanied by a low hum.

The blood spikes, then looses form. Most of the blood falls to the floor with Stanley, who wastes no time to put distance between it and himself.

Multiple souls writhe and scream as they try to escape the blood, but eventually they fade back into the mass. Manny lets his arm drop as he joins the other two men.

"There should be some sort of tether, we need to destroy it." Ford explains.

"There's a heart-" Stanley starts as he tries to wipe himself clean. He makes zero progress. "-Inside that thing somewhere. It kept movin' the damn thing around though, so I couldn't get a grip on it."

"That's fine, Stanley, thank you." Ford turns to Manny. "Do whatever you did before, and I'll shoot its heart."

Manny, although dazed, manages to nod and turns his attention to the growing ball of blood.

"Do you still have your flashlight, Stanley?" Ford asks as he pulls out his trusty gun. The line along the side of it's triangular barrel glows blue as it whirrs to life.

"Even if I did, it would've been chock-full of blood."

"Alright. Just stay behind me, then."

Begrudingly, Stanley complies. He wishes he could do more to help right now, but he has neither guns nor magic. He would offer to punch the thing, but he's been doing that for the last ten minutes and done no damage.

Once the ball reaches its previous size, jets of blood shoot out from it. Stan and Ford manage to dodge them but Manny gets clipped on the shoulder.

He stumbles back against the wall with a pained hiss. Yet he still manages to lift his hand up to activate the medallion. Ford takes aim.

The blood spikes again, more violently this time, before a large jet of blood slams against Manny.

"Dammit-!"

"Manny!"

Ford takes a shot in the dark, hoping to distract it.

The lazer passes through it with a sizzle as blood get evaporated. The light from the lazer briefly illuminates the inside of the blood enough for Ford to see the heart.

It stops the constant stream against Manny to turn its attention towards Ford. Manny falls to his knees and coughs violently.

"Sixer." Stan calls out to his brother with a warning tone.

"Manny, I'm counting on you here!" Ford takes aim again.

It takes the form of a human again and its expression is livid.

It lunges at Ford with its mouth open too wide for a human in something like a scream.

The being stops a mere inches away from Ford, its hands ghosting around Ford's neck before it writhes. Blue spikes jut out from it as it tries to keep form.

It takes a moment, but Ford can feel something on his shoulder. He glances to his left and sees Stanley with a handful of his coat, his stance tense and ready to run. Ford hasn't seen an expression this serious on his brother's face in a while as Stanley stares down the entity.

Ford returns his gaze forward.

For a split second, he sees the heart reveal itself.

He shoots.

✄----------------------------------------------------

Uhm!!! I like them all a lot :3 Mwah mwah mwah kisses to all. If you read allat then THANK YOU!!! I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!!! Lmk if you'd like to see more of this stuff idk

[vamp-stamp-fics]

Jet hates his face. He can't stand to look at it. He always looks away from mirrors when he's in the bathroom or ignores his reflection completely whenever he walks past water.

He doesn't believe he's ugly, no far from it. Jet knows he's not from the way girls smile shyly whenever he talks to them. The way they giggle with flustered faces whenever they're in his presence. Smellerbee always rolls her eyes whenever he indulges a little in flirting with girls whenever they pass in a town.

No, Jet hates his face because he looks just like his mother.

His beautiful, caring mother. The one that would always kiss him goodnight after telling him stories of spirits or star-crossed lovers. She was a hopeless romantic jet remembers that. His mother who would coddle him and rock her in his lap after he came home crying, another one of the village boys picking on him for how small he was. Jet used to be quite scrawny and weak if his freedom fighters could believe that.

His mother, the one that protected him from the seething hot flames the best she could the day the fire nation came to their village. while his father did his best to hold the soldiers off. And when he failed to do so, held jet tight to her as she told him to run as far as he could and to never look back. Even promising him she'd be right behind him.

He didn't keep the promise of not looking back as Jet heard the wailing screams of his mother dying. Tears blurring his view of her as the last thing he saw of her was her eyes. Only to see her killer on a Komodo Rhino in front of him with a hatred he'd never seen before.

So now jet covers mirrors. And if he can't do that, he breaks them. Letting the glass shatter as his fist covers in blood. Not only does jet hate that he looks like his mother, but he has the same hatred in his eyes as her killer. Hatred for the fire nation and what it did to him, to his own people and others.

And the thought of the only reminisce jet has left of his mother being tarnished by seeing her face with hatred in her eyes, would kill him sooner than what was to become of him in ba sing se.

[angelxd-3303]

To say that Nimona had made it an uphill battle for Ambrosius was a tragic understatement. Ever since she'd reappeared in true chaotic fashion, the 'Golden Boy' didn't think he'd ever received more dirty looks. With Nimona incessantly pressing herself between him and her 'boss', Ambrosius was left wondering if this was how others had seen him. Back before...yeah...

Even now, weeks later, Nimona was cuddled into Ballister's side while swatting Ambrosius with her tail. It was a scarlet whip like appendage with an arrowhead tip, and Bal grasped it to keep her from smacking him again. Nimona huffed, shifting into an otter and snuggling into Ballister's lap. The brunet ran his fingers through her fur, sighing deeply.

As annoying as it was to be pushed away from his boyfriend, Ambrosius had to admit that he was grateful for Nimona's protectiveness. The way she defended Bal, even when the whole world stood against him.

'Including me.' He thought bitterly, looking away. He and Ballister had talked about the whole thing, of course. They'd spent many days after the collapse of the wall sitting in Ambrosius' apartment crying and holding each other through choked apologies. Once it got out that Bal had been living in a broken down tower, Ambrosius had spared no expense in fixing it up so they could move in together. Since everything that happened, he wanted nothing more than to get out of the city. Now they sat in the newly renovated tower living room, scrolling through Netflix to wind down for the evening.

There were times where Ambrosius wondered if he'd ever regain the kind of relationship he had with Ballister before. Did he completely mess it all up?

"Hey, can you grab the popcorn Bambi?"

Ambrosius' breath caught in his throat. He hadn't heard that nickname since they were kids! He and Nimona both whipped around to stare at Ballister. The brunet was transfixed on the TV, clearly unaware of his slip-up. A fond smile spread across Ambrosius' face, and he stood up. As he walked around the back of the couch, Ambrosius placed a gentle kiss to Ballister's temple.

"Sure thing, Thumper."

Ambrosius strolled into the kitchen, chuckling at the rapid footsteps behind him. Nimona grabbed his arm, jerking him down to her level.

"What the hell?? Bambi?! Thumper?! Wha-?!" She sputtered. Ambrosius laughed, setting up the popcorn machine.

"Heh, yeah. Kind of an inside joke." He replied. Nimona gestured impatiently. Ambrosius smiled softly.

"Well, when we were kids, Bal had a hard time... pronouncing things. He didn't have access to a lot of the education that I did, and he kinda found other ways to say things."

"So he started calling you Bambi?"

"Well, it's easier than Ambrosius, right?" Nimona shrugged.

"I guess so." Ambrosius chuckled.

"The teachers at the Institute all thought it was so cute that no one corrected him. I gotta admit... it's nice to hear it again." Nimona tilted her head as Ambrosius leaned back against the counter.

"Yeah?" He nodded.

"I...I feel sometimes like everything I did to him has ruined our relationship. Like we'll never be as close as we were. I guess hearing it kinda..." He struggled to explain.

"Reminds you that the foundation is still there." Nimona finished. Ambrosius looked up at her, surprised. She raised a brow.

"What? I wasn't born yesterday. I'm older than both of you combined." She deadpanned. Ambrosius chuckled, pouring the popcorn into bowls.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." As they returned to the couch, Nimona leaned in to whisper:

"You know I'm never letting you live this down, right 'Bambi'?" Ambrosius gave her a fake look of annoyance, face splitting into a grin as they sat down.

If Ambrosius noticed that Nimona let him sit next to Ballister on the couch, he didn't say anything. Counting it as a victory, he pulled Bal into his arms and cuddled him close.

'I've got to be the luckiest man alive.' He thought, as Ballister melted into his arms just as he did before. Nimona leaned into his side with crossed arms, not without giving him a light smack with her tail.

[crispywriter]

here's a few fics in my drafts that will probably never be completed - i loved the concepts, the ideas behind them, but i struggled to either get the juices going or couldn't fully form the plot!

there's four drabbles (last one is nsfw) included! enjoy 🍊

*~*~*

Bad Idea?

Getting on this train was a bad idea.

A very stupid, utterly mad, bad, bad, bad idea—it's so terrible, in fact, that not even the ten million dollar rumour that got you aboard this godforsaken, assassin-ridden hell-on-earth locomotive, is worth it.

In truth, you really should have known better than to take a rogue mission. You're hardly a rookie, and as if it couldn't have gotten any more obvious that something extremely fucking suspicious was going on, you'd fallen into a seat beside a guy bleeding from his eyeballs about fifteen minutes ago—icing on the cake, really—and found yourself running to an isolated seat in the back of the last (gratefully empty) carriage to hyperventilate.

"Perfect. Fucking perfect." You mutter to yourself, chewing at your fingernail and bouncing your knee in time with the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Why can't you ever let whispers just stay whispers? Why not just get off at the next stop and save yourself all this trouble? Why do anything remotely sensible at all?

You're almost too lost in your own spiralling thoughts to notice, but the familiar swagger and the arse on the man who walks past you catch your eye and your mouth opens in tandem with the drop of your heart. You speak his name before you can catch yourself, tilting half your body into the aisle and almost tipping yourself out of your seat in the process.

The last time you saw Tangerine was at the Bartok party when he fucked you over a desk and left you both extremely satisfied and deeply confused. He was soft then—he tapped your cheek and kissed you soundly, only texting you once after to tell you he'd wired over half of his earnings for those documents you were supposed to collect. As he turns to look at you now, he's unlike you've ever seen him—red in the face, spattered with blood and bruises, glistening with sweat and tension. Shit.

"You're fucking kidding me." He says, sniffing and wiping his palm across his mouth and chin, eyes fixated on you.

"What happened to you?" You ask, your voice so much softer than you mean it to be.

"Missed the train."

You frown. "You're... on the train."

"Made it back on, didn't I?" Tangerine doesn't come any closer to you, just stands there in his blue suit slowly clenching and relaxing his right hand. He's wound so tight you can see all the veins in his neck and forehead pulsing under his blood speckled skin. "What're you doing here?"

"Came for the case." You answer honestly. No point in hiding it—you knew you wouldn't be the only one.

"Shit out of luck there, love." He shakes his head, sucking his teeth. There's blood in his moustache—dried, like someone hit him a while ago and he tried to wipe it off as best he could but it's stuck in that thick thatch of hair above his lip. "Case is gone. White Death's waitin' in Kyoto. You're fucked if you stay."

Hold up. "The White Death?" Your heart kicks into overdrive and you stand up, holding a finger in the air. "The fucking White Death? What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Lemon and I—we took a job, deliver his son and the money." Tangerine sniffs again. His blue eyes are bloodshot and wet, but he's fully focused as he stares down at you. His jaw flexes as you get into his space, shifting a little to rest a hand on the back of the seat closest to him. "Like I said, case is gone, the kid's dead. Bleedin' from his fucking eye sockets."

"Oh, shit, I saw him." You shake your head, chewing at the inside of your cheek. "You should get off the train, Tange. It's not worth fucking about with the White Death, you know better than that."

His fingers curl into the cushion of the seat and he exhales sharp through his nose. "Can't get off without Lemon, can I?"

You step a bit closer, gently touching your fingertips to his chest as you mean to nudge him back on his way down the length of the train, but the second you make contact with him his hand flies from the seat to curve around the back of yours. You startle slightly, flushing hot at the sudden contact. He's so high-strung, you can feel the stress radiating off him. "You look like shit." You whisper, staring up at him.

"You look beautiful." Tangerine tilts his head down so he can continue to look at you, his messy curls falling into his face as he does. "I'll hurt you."

You bite your lip and take a deep breath, drawn in to him by some unseen force that just keeps pushing you closer—daring you to test, to touch, to take. "I like a bit of pain." You say, hand sliding out from underneath his.

Your fingers are on his belt before he's even thought to move, but his hands come up to grip your face in an instant. He drags your mouth to his and kisses you hard, rings digging into your jaw as he holds tight, his blood metallic on your tongue as you open up for him.

🍊

Clotheslined

It's always by accident.

You're barreling down some skinny alleyway in the middle of Chefchaounen Morocco—the most beautiful little town you've seen yet, by the way, at least your mark had some sense to die in such a pretty tourist destination—barely grazing the soft blue walls as you attempt to outrun three extremely pissed off bodyguards, when an arm shoots out and your momentum refuses to allow any room for slowing down, so you end up flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

"Jeeeee—Jesus fuck!" You wheeze, clutching your middle as you attempt a ragged breath, eyes rolling back to the sky.

You wonder how one of the guards managed to outrun you with your head start—or if perhaps there were four instead of three and one's been parkouring the rooftops in order to cut you off as you wind down the narrow streets, but one glance up into the face of a very surprised looking man tells you this happened to be coincidence and also definitely not what either of you were expecting.

"Oh, shit!" The man above you curses, one large hand covering his agape mouth while the other reaches down for you. "Shit, that's completely on me, love, didn't mean that one at all. Thought you was—ah, wait, I do know you."

You squint as you take the help he offers, almost instantly recognising the moustache and pinched eyebrows as a fellow man-for-hire, Tangerine, helps you get to your feet. "What... What the hell are you even doing here?" You splutter.

There's certainly no time to make small talk. Three separate pairs of footsteps are echoing around you, getting closer by the second, and you know if you dally a moment longer you're totally fucked—but your lungs are working against you—your chest burns from both the chase and the impromptu meeting with the hard stone ground and you know you're not going anywhere, at least for the next few minutes.

"So sorry, but can you hide me?" You can hear shouting. Shit. Shit. Shit. Not good.

Tangerine studies you a moment, sucking his teeth and frowning, then he looks about, seeming to only just notice the pounding of footsteps and the shouting in between that grow louder with every passing second. "Why?" He asks slowly, "They after you?"

God, you always forget how annoying this guy is.

"Hm. Yes, yes they are." You nod, gesturing to a cut out doorway that you could absolutely stand in unnoticed if Tangerine simply stood in front of you. He's much bigger, much broader, than you are. And he looks like a tourist in his pretty beige linen shirt and brown leather jacket. It's goddamn thirty degrees out. "Just for a minute, yeah? Real quick."

You're propping yourself up in the doorway before Tangerine even answers, one arm slung over your stomach as you finally start to be able to breathe normally again. The assassin shrugs and paces toward you, casually turning his back and leaning himself up against the stone frame jutting out from the door. Just as you suspected, you're completely covered by him, hidden well enough that the three guards will hopefully run right past the two of you without a second thought, and you're actually pretty surprised he even agreed to help you if you're being honest.

"Dunno why I'm doing this." Tangerine is right on the same page as you so it seems. He turns his head to one side right as the footsteps seem to turn down the street you're hiding in. "You're trouble. I've seen the shit you do. Always fucking things up for everyone else."

Well that's offensive.

"Excuse you. It's not my fault some fucking idiot decided to point me out as I was leaving. I didn't think anyone saw me." Your jobs are always simple, the targets always just unguarded enough to make the task deceptively easy, and by the time they're dead you're already out of sight—have already disappeared into the crowd or into another building and no one's any the wiser. "And what do you mean I fuck it up for everyone? It's not my fault people can't do their goddamn jobs properly. If I get there first I get there first. Nothing more to it."

The thundering footsteps are so loud now you know they're about to pass. You suck in what air you can and remain still, one hand slipping into your bag for a knife, back pressed against the cool stone of the wall behind you. Tangerine your saving grace, looks relaxed in front of you. His shoulders dropped, head cocked slightly to one side, like he's only admiring the sight of the magical blue alleyway you're in, not stowing away a fugitive... And the guards run right past.

One... Two... Three.

"Christ." You tip your head back, close your eyes and sigh, hand withdrawing from your bag. "Thank you."

"Any time, love." The man steps away from you, scrunches his nose and lifts one hand slightly, "Actually, no, not any time. Don't even know you, do I?"

"Know me enough to insult me, apparently." You roll your eyes, dusting off your trousers from where you got slammed into the dirt.

"Why're you on the run?" He asks.

"Why'd you clothesline me?" You retort.

"Fair enough."

🍊

Unnamed Fix-It Fic

You happen upon them by accident.

Well—they just about slam into you, completely unaware of their own surroundings as they wrestle each other.

"The fuck are you doing—you bellend!" One of them is shouting.

There's a short girl standing over on the opposite side of the pair and she's also yelling, her tears making her words indecipherable—there's so much going on all at once that it's only by complete chance you see the glint of the gun between them under the neon blue and pink lights of this particular carriage.

God, you just wanted to have a nice, peaceful solo trip through to Kyoto, no jobs, no distractions, and every goddamn lunatic this side of the world seems to be aboard this bloody train.

You give an exasperated sigh and eye the two men, perceiving neither to be a particular threat to the other because honestly—they both look ridiculously confused as to why they're grappling for control of the weapon in the first place, but it's clear someone's finger is going to slip and you're not all that keen on watching one of these two stranger's get their brains blown out right in front of you—much less in front of a little girl, so you time your next move to perfection.

It's probably an equally stupid idea to curl your fist directly over the shooty end of the gun, but the sheer gall of your action has the two men freezing in place, a sudden shocked, heavy silence falling over the entire carriage... Oh. Shit, you should probably say something.

"Violence is never the right choice, boys." Wow, very profound indeed. "Someone's going to get killed and that's just... not... not okay with me, alright?"

You can't even look at the two men in the eye but you can feel their confusion coming off them in waves. Your cheeks burn with embarassment—should've just let them fucking murder each other—and you choose to look up toward the small person standing in the aisle just a ways away instead, and the look she's giving you turns your blood to ice in your veins, even makes you retract your hand from the gun.

There's something sinister in her stare that stops you from looking away, but there's a weird pull on your skin and you feel something stuck in your palm, so your attention diverts. It's a sticker—a character from Thomas the Tank Engine, labelled across the bottom as Diesel.

"Diesel..." You say softly, peeling the sticker from your hand and holding it at the tip of your pointer finger, looking back up again and immediately noticing the absence of the glaring girl.

The two men are done being speechless now and the one with half a suit on points his handgun down in the direction you assume the girl disappeared in.

"I was trying to fucking tell ya," He looks manic as he shouts at you in thick cockney, veins bulging at his temples, blood spattered across his face. Oh, fuck, he's gorgeous. "That little bitch killed Lemon, you prick. Only wanted her to pay for it."

"That girl? Killed your brother?" The other guy—American, older, more clothes on but far less expensive and covered in blood—pushes his hair from his face, shaking his head. "Not a chance. She's tiny!"

"She's the fucking Diesel!" The hot one almost roars, snatching the sticker off your finger with his free hand and shoving it into older guy's face. "They're crafty bastards, you dickhead. If you'd just listened to me—"

"You know," You interrupt, folding your arms across the chest, tone familiar as if you know what the fuck they're even actually arguing about, "I did get some bad vibes off her. Seems the manipulative type."

The two men are silent again, both staring at you. The older one looks slightly amused and the manic fella looks like he's about to tear you a new one.

"And who the fuck are you then?" Suit says, "What are you even doing in here?"

"Uh, I think I'm the person who just stopped someone accidentally getting shot." You huff, cocking your head to one side as you regard the blood-covered man. "I just wanted to see the whole sodding train, not my fault I ran into you two. Fighting like idiots."

"Ooh, harsh." The older guy winces, pressing a hand to his chest like he's been wounded by your fifth-grade slur. "I didn't even say anything."

"Clearly not since you were fighting instead of—" You throw a hand over your face, sighing as you remind yourself that you're on holiday, goddammit, be on holiday. "If we're done here, I'm going to continue exploring this lovely train and no one can stop me."

"Hold on a minute, love," Manic Man catches your arm as you push past him and the other dude, "Can't let you go wondering about alone. There's something nefarious going on on this here train, and I ain't about having some innocent civilian's blood on my hands, now am I?"

"Civilian?" You quirk a brow and look up at him, eyes darting between his blue eyes, the gash across his forehead, his weirdly attractive pornstache— "I'll have you know I'm fully capable of taking care of myself, sir. Is this because I'm a woman?"

"Well that's a little misogynistic buddy." The old guy chimes in, immediately taking your side for obviously no other reason apart from pissing this wanker off further.

"Jesus Christ." Suit releases your arm and uses the same hand to pinch the bridge of his nose instead. "You know what? I'm fucking done here. You're both doing my head in and can go fuck yourselves. How about that?"

You scoff and fully nudge past the pair, adjusting your jacket as you straighten and make storm your way down the aisle, kind of pissed because this carriage is clearly Momomon themed and it's super cute but these two wackos have completely ruined it for you.

... You still grab an abandoned plush from a seat on your way through though.

**

You just needed to pee.

Instead of finding an empty bathroom you open the door to find two men lying on the floor inside, both covered in blood, one writhing around while the other sits upright but slumped over. You wonder if it'd be possible for just one thing to go right tonight. Maybe you should just play the role of a civilian afterall? Make this whole scenario the train conductors' problem...

"You okay?" You push aside your better judgement and duck down in the doorway, ignoring the heebie-jeebies this presumably dead guy is giving you. "What happened to you?"

The man wriggling on the floor rolls his head around to look up at you, his face strained with obvious pain, hands clutched at his abdomen where most of the blood is concentrated. "He shot me."

"Who?" You gesture toward the slumped over fella with a thumb, "This guy?"

Shot guy nods, groaning as he pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall of the small bathroom cubicle, right up next to the dead dude.

"Ooh, okay honey, watch yourself now—" You reach out toward the injured man but don't really move from your place squatting at the door, so your attempt at helping is pretty useless. "—How did you even get shut in here? You're lucky this one's dead or he might've tried to fini—"

You cut yourself off with a yelp and fall backward onto your ass as the dead guy gasps and stretches his jaw open in the longest, largest yawn you've ever seen in your life.

"Okay." You place a hand on your racing heart, eyes wide as you stare at the resurrected man. "Not dead."

He finishes his yawn and then shakes his head a little before he glances around, making eye contact with you and then with the man he shot, who looks equally as surprised as you are. "I'd ask if I was in hell, but I don't remember shooting you, darling."

With a shift of his shoulders he seems to recall that he's also in pain and winces, lifting large hands to his shirt where he pulls the buttons open. There's a smattering of glinting metal you recognise as bullet shards stuck on what you're guessing is a bulletproof vest.

"Fuck." He sighs, obviously relieved, "Fucking vest, man."

You don't really know what to do. You're just sitting there on the floor of the train wondering how you managed to catch the only ride tonight full of people with murderous intent, eyes stuck on the blood dappling the white shirt of the man before you.

He pulls said garment open wider and tugs out a pendant attached to a gold chain and pauses. You watch the relief drain from his face and in its place an expression of pure dread grows. He holds the pendant tight in hand and then looks up at you, his dark eyes penetrating your very soul. "Where's my brother?"

"Your... brother?" You blink, fretting your hands at the hem of your shirt. "I-I don't—" the intensity of the previously dead man's stare is making you extremely nervous. "May—maybe, I don't know, what's he look like?"

"Facial hair, tattoos, wears rings—" The man describes, still observing you with fierce dark eyes, but his face has softened some. Probably saw the anxiety on your face and felt bad. "—Walks around looking like he's pissed at the entire world—"

"Oh!" You stick out a hand, the tips of your fingers barely brushing at his knee. "The rude guy with the pornstache? I did see him, actually, he was fighting with this older gentleman—longer blond hair, weird—there was a girl there too, dressed in pink."

"He was with the fucking Diesel?"

"I—I don't—why does everyone keep talking about diesel?" You ask. And you're genuinely curious... Diesel fuel? Diesel engines? There was that sticker...

"Is he hurt?" The resurrected one interrupts your wondering thoughts and you bring your gaze back to him. He's leaning a little closer to you now, like he's really anticipating what you're going to say.

"Oh, no, not really. Had a few gashes on his face but nothing terrible." You say earnestly, somehow wanting to please this stranger for some unknown reason. "He could've been—I think I might have saved his life, actually. He didn't... didn't say thank you, though..." You trail off and glance down at your hands awkwardly.

"Thank Christ." He seems relieved at that, but his body stays tense. Then he seems to remember the guy bleeding from a bullet wound beside him and turns his attention there instead. "Sorry for shooting you, mate. Thought you was bad news. Should've known better there—I'm usually very good at reading people."

The injured man just waves a bloodied hand in dismissal and says something about only caring about his son's safety and you want to ask, really, really you do... but you know if you ask you'll just get involved and you're currently attempting to convince yourself that talking to these two doesn't qualify as doing just that—you're on holiday. No jobs allowed.

"Well," You grab hold of the wall beside you and haul yourself to your feet, tugging your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time. "I'm happy you two have worked things out, and that you're alive and all, but I've got to get going."

"Getting off at the next stop?" The resurrected one asks, grunting with effort as he slowly stands up too.

"Oh, yeah, we all are aren't we? Next one's Kyoto—last stop." You gesture vaguely somewhere outside the windows, smiling up at the man—he's a lot taller than you thought.

His whole face drops at that and he sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Shit. Better be gettin' on then, I reckon."

"Right, yeah." You don't know why you agree in the tone you do, like you've got shit to do too. Find another toilet, maybe.

The big tall man shuffles toward you and you step back and aside to let him out, knocking into a solid body when you do. You turn your head to apologise and see Suit standing behind you, blue eyes wide and wet and whatever apology you had forming on your tongue dies in an instant.

"Lem?" The bloodied man breathes and you duck out of the way just in time to let these two—brothers, didn't he mention before—embrace each other in the most passionate, moving way you think you've ever seen outside of a movie. "You—you fucker!"

They pound each other on the back and the overwhelming manly affection between the pair is so overwhelming you begin to feel like you're intruding, so, you turn and slip away, praying as you walk back through the train that the next toilet you come across doesn't have a not-so-dead body inside it.

**

Mission Find Another Bathroom turned out to be a raging success, a success that came crashing down all too quickly the moment you tried to leave the little room.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" You press the tiny touch screen by the door repeatedly but the door still won't open. "You've got to be fucking kidding me with this—"

You hesitate a moment before you decide to slam your shoulder up against the door a few times and it still doesn't budge. Fuck. This day couldn't possibly get any worse, could it?

You bang a palm against the solid door, screaming out your cries for help as loud as you possibly can, but you've been up and down the train a few times now—there's next to no bloody passengers aboard anymore. It'd be a miracle if someone were to find you now—

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" The door slams open and your blond-haired, shabbily dressed miracle bursts into the bathroom, his jacket wrapped around his arm as he screams and scrambles into the tiny space.

You barely have time to throw your body out of the way, watching with wide eyes as the man pushes past and goes straight for the toilet—his frantic movements allowing you to catch a glimpse of a little scaly friend wrapped around his forearm.

Oh, so now there's a snake on board too. That's cool. Totally cool.

"What the fuck are you still doing here—"

You're halfway through the next train car over before you're slamming into the two men from earlier, bloody suit and the resurrected one. You're shuddering, trying not to picture a snake with its fangs buried in old guy's arm.

"I'm getting off at Kyoto!" You practically whine, throwing a hand out in exasperation, staring hard at manic man.

"Have you not fucking noticed there's not a single other goddamned person left on this thing?" He looks so tired. Bless him.

"You're still here—" You argue anyway, gesturing wildly back in the direction you'd just fled from, "that American too, he's here, he had a fucking snake on his arm—"

"Look, love, there's some really bad shit about to go down on this train. You're not going to want to be here when it does."

Ah, naturally. Can't ever just be a nice vacation, can it? So much for tucking away the assassin for one bloody weekend.

"What's she gonna do, Tan? She's stuck in this shit with us now—ain't no where left to run." The taller, darker one says, placing a broad hand on his brother's (?) shoulder.

"I know that, don't I? I'm trying to figure out what to fuckin' do with her." Suit sighs, tucking both hands into his trouser pockets.

You huff. "Do I get any say in this at all?"

"No, you don't—" Bloody-face starts.

"We'll do what we can to keep you alive, darlin', but no promises." Risen-from-the-dead interrupts.

🍊

Stakeout - nsfw

"If you light one more godamm cigarette in this car I will cut every last one of your fingers off." You don't even need to look over at Tangerine to know he's got his fingers hooked around the box of ciggies in his jacket pocket.

He groans and tips his head back, the impact of it hitting the headrest behind him a dull thump. "Oh, fuck off. I'm bored, aren't I?"

You're in one of Lemon's nice cars on a stakeout. Rather—you're stuck with Tangerine in Lemon's nice car on a stakeout.

"You're bored?" You scoff, adjusting your position in the seat for the hundredth time. "Remind me again who's fault is it we're here in the first bloody place?"

The speed at which Tangerine whirls his head around is astounding. His neck definitely pops a couple times. "You're blaming me now?"

"Uh, yes, I am. I think it's pretty obvious that you're the one who put us both here, Tange." You turn your head to look at the man beside you, unsurprised by the classic look of irritation marring his handsome face. "Maybe if you'd stopped running that fucking mouth of yours Lemon would have offered to do this instead. But no, you just had to call him a—what was it again?"

Tangerine actually has the audacity to look pleased with himself. "Dick-train sucki—"

"Right—" You interrupt, "—dick-train sucking bastard. Real original too, Tange, since the trains on Thomas the Tank Engine aren't even phallic at all!"

He's completely silent for a beat, his angry blue eyes staring hard at your face as if he's trying to come up with something equally defensive and witty. "They kind of look like cocks—"

"No, they really don't, Tange. They're literal steam engine trains, for Christ's sake. Not remotely penis-like at all and you know it."

And again, silence. Slow, simmering silence. You can almost feel the air between you boiling with Tangerine's impending rage—and you feel a little smug to be honest, because it's not all that often you can get him riled up so quickly—but you turn anyway, despite your better judgement.

(started writing sex scene in the middle of attempting the pre-plot)

"Get your pussy out." He says and you blink, twisting your head around to look at him.

"Excuse me?" Your eyes widen as you stare, gaze flickering all around Tangerine's very serious expression.

"You heard me." He lifts a hand and gestures two ringed fingers toward your crotch. "Pussy. Now." A pause, and his moustache ticks up coyly. "Please."

"You cannot be serious right now." You cross your arms over your chest and press your thighs closer together. "Fuck right off."

Tangerine tuts, reaching over and resting one of his large hands on your knee. "You've been putting ideas in my head, love, ain't no stopping what you've started now, is there?" He gives a squeeze and you find yourself almost instinctively releasing the tension in your muscles, your legs parting just slightly to allow Tangerine's strong fingers a firmer grip.

"We're on a job, Tange." You mutter, shuffling down in your seat and unintentionally allowing Tangerine's hand to slide up further. "And I'm wearing trousers for Christ's sake—"

"I'll get done with you soon enough." You can hear the smirk in Tangerine's voice without looking at him. "Or, then again, maybe I won't."

"Yeah and Lemon will kill us if we don't get this goddamn photograph..." You sigh, lifting your own hand up to rub slowly at your temple.

"The bloody adulterers went into a fucking hotel, babe, they ain't coming out anytime soon." Your partner pats your thigh and leans into your space, his pointy nose digging into your cheek as he plants a kiss to your skin.

You wriggle again, eyes flickering to the empty streets surrounding your car for a moment before you slump further down in your seat and lift your hips. "Fucking unbelievable—"

Tangerine chuckles lowly beside you as you work your pants down your legs, stopping for a moment to get your shoes off so the garment can come all the way down. You scoot back in your seat when you're done, thankful that the tinted windows and the cover of the night sky will keep you mostly hidden from anyone who happens to go walking by. When you've settled you look over at Tangerine and he seems to have lost his sweater somewhere in the backseat, the swell of his biceps stretching the material of the white t-shirt he was wearing underneath. He looks so hot like that, just in his shirt and trousers, gold chains glimmering in the dim light from the streetlights outside.

"Oh, no, love." He shakes his head as he hooks a hand under your knee and tugs you off-kilter in your seat. "I said pussy."

You flush hot from your cheeks to your chest, biting your lip as you hesitantly reach down and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties, lifting your hips once more to get them off. Once they're in your hand you clutch them to your chest, face hot and knees pressed together again as you frantically look around outside the car. The streets are dead quiet. You're fine.

"You're fine." Tangerine's husky tone gives your thoughts a voice, and your eyes snap back to him the second you feel his fingers upon you again. He looks hungry. His blue eyes barely glimmering in the low light as he shifts himself and leans forward, his hand shoving between your knees and locking around your left leg, tugging hard enough to spin you a little bit in the seat. "Come on. Put your back up against the door and spread your legs for me, love."

Oh.

Your breath stutters as you move in the way he wants, back pressed a little uncomfortably at the driver's side door, but it gives you the space to push your legs apart and present to him. You clutch your panties tighter to your chest and watch Tangerine stretch himself across the centre console—it can't be at all comfortable and yet he continues, practically folding himself over the space between you until he's close enough. You expect him to kiss at your thighs—your muscles tensing pre-emptively because his moustache always, always tickles—but he goes straight for your innermost parts, his tongue dragging right up the split of you, and oh, holy fuck, it makes you spasm.

"T-Tange—!" You gasp, unsure whether you want to close your legs or spread them wider to let him have more.

The fucker actually laughs, his breath fanning over your rapidly dampening pussy and making you squirm, then he looks up at you and holds direct eye contact as he lowers his mouth over you again. You flush even hotter, feeling his lips part as he kisses your sex, slow, tongue pressing at your clit a few times before he flattens it and just holds it there, rubbing up and down.

🍊

[kickis-conan-king]

I like to think that in a modern au, if Keith had any kind of social media, it would be a little bit like one of those accounts where you go “is this guy just really committed to the bit or is he just Like That?” Like his instagram account would be full of nothing but reels where he sets the phone camera down after staring silently into it, walks far enough away that his whole body is in shot and does like, ten backflips before the video just abruptly ends with him still in motion. Another video where he walks around town with a ton of little throwing knives and it’s just a montage of footage of him lodging them into billboards and signs and other random hard to reach places. A lot of his videos are taken in the dark at indiscernible locations with nothing but the flash too bright and distorting his face, his eyes flashing like a raccoons in the brightness, and those videos are the rare times he speaks in his vids but it’s always something like “if life has to include suffering then how come it’s minor shit. I’d rather be miserable in a big way that is kinda badass then go through one more awkward conversation with a barista.” His most normal videos are of his dog just zooming around (no commentary or caption) and just. Footage of his legs dangling from absurdly high places with beautiful views.

Lance just randomly comes across his account while scrolling through his Instagrams suggested reels and immediately becomes OBSESSED with xxjustkeith.xx4510fu. At first Lance thinks it’s a meme account, some kind of bit but then the more he watches the less sure he is. He kinda can’t believe someone That good looking would make anything other then thirst content. He spends hours scrolling the account. He starts to wonder if maybe this guy is a serial killer or something. Then he notices in one of the videos that…hang on…he recognizes that place. And that too. And holY SHIT they totally live in the same town!!! So under one of the videos he comments something obscure but that is undeniably From Their Town, basically calling this guy out on where he lives without doxxing him.

Keith immediately dms him like. Who the fuck are you and what do you want. Lance is like teehee hi uh. I think you’re insane 🥰🤪😉. And Keith is like meet me at x spot at x time for a fistfight. And Lance is like hell yeah brother, writes his last will and testament (a text to hunk) and goes to meet this unhinged hottie who literally said they were going to fight. So they meet up and like. Keith is how he is, kind of mostly just awkward and shy with an inclination for feral hobbies and knuckle first thinking and Lance is how he is all chatter and bravado and challenges and charm and so. The do spar a little bit but once they’re both breathless they just go get coffee and talk.

And after that in all of Keith’s videos there are snippets of someone chattering in the background, tan legs dangling just out of frame, a dude who does backflips with him, someone cheering or whining saying “let me try 😞 Keith hey. Let me try.” When he walks around throwing knives. A dude who is otherwise not mentioned anywhere or tagged in anything.

All the people who are fans of Keith account for its adventurous and surreal humor start speculating in the comments. Eventually Keith gets fed up and posts a video reply to the comments.

It’s in selfie mode. It a beautiful day, and him and Lance are side by side. Wherever they’re sitting it’s up high. A breeze ruffles their hair. Keith looks straight into the camera and says completely monotone. “This is Lance. He’s my boyfriend.” Lances silent shock gets cut off by the video ending (he did not know they were dating.)

[rapplesart]

Ok but like hear me out .

One of the dc crossover fanfics where Bruce adopts a kid (Danny phantom or Peter Parker iykyk) but instead of you know the bats finding them on the streets or having a whole hero cants and mouse thing or Barbara seeing them in the library they just go to the Wayne’s doorstep asking for money after being broke and having the idea in a half drunken state or joking about it .

Like for example Danny after being chased away from amity park and escaping his parents sits on the rooftop and talks with a gargoyles named Gary

„Yeah anyway that’s how I got here Gary, no clue what imma do know“ he says between another bite of pizza „like I’m pretty fucking broke and yeah maybe buying Pizza wasn’t the best investment in my situation but I was hungry I think I deserve a treat after all that .“

Gary stays silent as the two of them look over the city . Sirens echo in the distance, a few roofs in front of the, a black shadow appears between the gaps of the buildings, disappearing into the shadow just as fast as it appeared. Must be one of the bats Danny thinks .

He sets the piece of pizza back down into the carton in order to take a swig of the wine he stole from Vlads gift basket before his great escape. The man puts puts them on the counter for Mandy to find on a weekly basis now as part of his latest attempt to woo the woman. Jack adored the baskets when they first appeared, exited to have his best friend care about him and his wife.

Danny didn’t really plan on drinking it, he just brought it because it was the closest thing to grab. It was there so he took it . Now, sitting on the rooftop realising how fucked he truly was he decided he might as well be drunk for this too.

„And it’s not like any safe and sane workplace will take a random kid without paperwork. I probably need to do something illegal to go by now , Jazz would be so disappointed „ another swig from the wine .

It was fruity and dry and scratched his throat and Danny honestly didn’t enjoy the feeling but it made his wine just a little bit fizzier than before and it helped in a strange way.

Gary remained silent .

„sure there are a lot of Wayne foundations in Gotham that give out stuff , I did my research once I arrived after all, but they’d call cps and cps would either give me back to my parents or just straight up hand me over to the government so that is not an option „

Another bite of pizza . It was delicious a stark contrast to the wine

„It’s not like I can just go to Bruce Wayne and be like ‚yo got some money?‘ the guy would probably think I’m robbing him and call the cops and yeah, you get the gist of it Gary“

Another few beats of silence .

„But the dude is like crazy rich right? And he has his name on all of these foundations , and people say he’s an airhead so maybe I can just go to his house or something and ask for a donation. I mean it would be for a good cause , feeding a hungry homeless teenager is a good cause isn’t it ?“

„Yeah sounds like a pretty good cause Danny“ Damny answered himself as Gary by lowering his voice . The way one might get more into his head than he thought .

„You know what , I think imma just do this. Let’s just ask the rich guy for money he probably won’t even notice that he’s being scammed and if he does he probably has enough money nöt to care „

[nyoomerr]

A drabble about Bingge realizing his children’s beloved Head Imperial Tutor has the same soul as the ‘nice Shizun’ from that other world he once visited could be fun.

“Local man must compete with his own children for the attention of their very cute teacher!”

ahhh i love scenarios like this!! pitting bingge against his own kids is always so fun lol, hope you enjoy!

---

When Luo Binghe manages to find him, he isn’t even looking properly. He’s still spending his free time trying to find a way back into that weird mirror dimension, not scouring his world for anyone. After all, why would he look here? He already knows exactly where the Shen Qingqiu of his own world is; every bloody, rotten part of that body and soul is accounted for. Luo Binghe wants the other Shen Qingqiu, the one he’d gotten only a taste of, the one that had been so unfairly given to his doppelganger.

Perhaps, Luo Binghe thinks, watching through the doorway into the classroom his younger children use for self-study, he should have bothered to spend a bit more time looking at home before trying to force himself back into the mirror world.

“Ah, what are these tears?” One of the tutors is asking, tutting as if in disapproval even as he so gently wipes the face of one of Luo Binghe’s children. “You’re getting much better with your arithmetic, there’s no need to cry over a mistake now.”

The child hiccups, her little hands coming up to pull on the tutor’s robes, clearly trying to worm her way into his lap so she can wipe her face on his shoulder instead of on the perfectly fine handkerchief the tutor is trying to use.

Luo Binghe doesn’t even know which daughter of his that is. He doesn’t know who this tutor is, either, and yet -

The tutor raises his free hand up to pat soothingly at the child’s hair. He doesn’t try to unhook her hands from his robes, or stop her from shoving herself persistently closer to his person; he only pets her hair and wipes her face and tuts at her.

And yet somehow, Luo Binghe thinks, I’m sure that’s him.

It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to find this soul in a body unrelated to Shen Qingqiu, but at the same time it makes a whole world of sense to think of this kind teacher as someone entirely different from the cruel master Luo Binghe had grown up under.

Luo Binghe steps into the room properly, releasing the hold he’d been keeping on his qi to keep it held close to his body. The tutor looks up at the doorway, and frustratingly, the look of indulgence he’d been wearing just moments ago closes up. He stands and bows in unison with the other tutors in the room, and Luo Binghe flicks his hand dismissively so they know to ignore him and return to his duties.

The tutor - the kind Shizun’s soul - stands from his bow but does not immediately return to helping the girl he’d been working with. He only watches Luo Binghe a bit warily, clearly aware of Luo Binghe’s rapt attention on him, and continues to absently pat the hair of Luo Binghe’s daughter. The girl herself doesn’t seem to mind, as she’s managed to get close enough to the tutor to shove her face in his stomach and nuzzle in there, perfectly content and no longer crying. 

Well, no matter; if this man is already aware of Luo Binghe’s attention, no need to hide it further. Luo Binghe approaches without hesitation. 

“And what tutor has brought this Lord’s child to tears?” Luo Binghe asks after having reached the table that this tutor and child had been working at. He knows perfectly well that this man was not the cause of his daughter’s tears; he wants to know how he’ll respond anyway.

“This lowly one is Shen Yuan, my Lord,” Shen Yuan dutifully replies, and though he bows deeply he does not raise his hands from Luo Binghe’s daughter. “My most sincere apologies; I will accept punishment.”

Luo Binghe hums, satisfied. Good, he thinks, he’s already loyal to me. Very good.

Before he can say anything else, though, the girl buried in Shen Yuan’s robes shouts, “No!”

When Shen Yuan stands again, Luo Binghe can see his daughter peeking out, her face half turned away from Shen Yuan to glare up at Luo Binghe. 

“No?” Luo Binghe asks.

“No!” She shouts again. Her demonic huadian flares, and Luo Binghe raises his brows - this girl really dares issue such a threat to her father, knowing who her father is?

Shen Yuan, seeming to catch the very same thing, quickly moves the hand that had been in her hair to cover up her demonic huadian. This does not stop the girl herself from talking.

“If you try to punish Shen-ge, I’ll stab you!”

“Ah, wait -” Shen Yuan protests, pressing the girl further into him as if that will hide her away. He glances nervously at Luo Binghe, expression a bit pinched, and then -

“Who’s threatening Shen-ge?!” Comes a cry from across the room.

“Someone’s threatening Shen-ge?!”

“Lord Luo is threatening Shen-ge!!”

Suddenly, it seems like half the children in the room are gathered up in Shen Yuan’s robes, clinging to him and glaring at Luo Binghe as Shen Yuan frantically tries to soothe them with head pats and hushed whispers of Ah, don’t yell at him, anyone else is okay, but don’t yell at him!

Luo Binghe watches, amused and irritated and hungry all at once. Clearly, this Shen Yuan is already a treasure of his palace, and he hadn’t even known it - his own children have found this man before he himself did. 

Well, Luo Binghe thinks, watching Shen Yuan fluster more and more the longer Luo Binghe stays quietly watching the commotion, they may have him first, but I will be sure to have him last.

[villainbait]

Unexpected Savior

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: PG-13 Tags: hurt, comfort, hurt/comfort, injury, implied violence, angst, canon sylus behavior Summary: An encounter in the no-hunt zone goes wrong and when all seems hopeless, your savior isn't the person you expected. Word Count: >500

A hand harshly covers your mouth and you're jerked against a body much larger than your own, their heat seeping into your back. The familiar voice makes you stiffen but you don't struggle after hearing his whispered warning into your ear.

"Quiet."

The horrifying, ethereal sound of an angry wanderer pierces the silence and you slump against Sylus; grateful that he’s here. It wasn’t who you expected to save you from the wanderers in this no-hunt zone, but Sylus’s presence was comforting in a way you could never fully explain. You had been running from the wanderer that claimed this no-hunt zone as its own, its metaflux fluctuations far stronger than anticipated and that had made you careless. 

Once he’s certain the danger has passed, he lets you go and you sink back down into your hiding spot. He unpacks the supplies he brought and helps patch you up best he can. 

“At least now you can’t run from me for a while,” Sylus teases as he wraps your ankle and you glare. You try to kick him with your injured foot, but he rubs his thumb along the soft arch of your foot and it leaves you gasping instead. 

You ignore him. “I can still fight.” 

“I know you can sweetie, but did you stop to think about whether you should?” A frown accompanied his words and you realized Sylus was actually angry with you. It tempered your own frustration and you stopped fighting him. 

It was hard to argue anyway when you had lost this much blood. “I don’t want to leave you alone to fight them.” 

“Are you actually worried about me?” He sounds surprised, but his expression is inscrutable. 

“Only because if you die here, I do too.” You huffed and he laughed, shucking your chin with your fingers before standing. His gaze lingers on your face until you’re forced to look away, your heart aching uncomfortably from the way he looks at you. It makes you think of all the things still left unsaid and unanswered between the two of you and how you almost died today if Sylus had not come for you.

“It’s adorable how you think anything other than you could hurt me,” he murmurs with far too much confidence. He glances back, making sure you’re as safe as you can be with Mephisto perched on your shoulder. “Stay here. It won’t take long.” 

The dense fog seems to welcome him as he disappears into it and your protests are lost to the wind. You slump against the smooth rock with a sigh and do your best not to focus on the pain from your injuries, your gaze trained on the spot where Sylus had disappeared. You couldn’t hear anything except the soft mechanical whirl of Mephisto on your shoulder and the rhythmic pounding of your heart in your ears. 

…Sylus would come back, wouldn’t he?

[kalelactually]

posting a merlin drabble here that i’ll never finish. arthur’s pov — sorry if this doesn’t make sense !! i’ve been staring at it for too long :)

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— and all my tears have been used up, on another love, another love —

——————————————————————————————————————————————

you look at him, and tremble with the weight it takes to keep secrets together.

you are a prince. you are used to secrets. secrets that are vital, that hide bodies of villages, arms of troops, and the beating heart of your city. secrets that mean, if exposed, you could lose everything your ancestors have worked for overnight. a beating heart, gone, in the blink of an eye.

but his secret, oh — his secret would destroy not your kingdom, but your world as you know it (with him in it.) and you can’t live with that. you know you can’t. and you don’t want to find out what it would be like to have to.

so you keep moving, and you stay blind, and pretend, and hope and hope and hope, that above all, he will stay safe. (that he will stay with you.)

——————

however, some part of you is always mad at him. you’ll look over and see his face, split in half with a grin, and get unbearably, irrationally angry. you’ll snap, and throw insults, and cut with your words, if not your actions — and you’ve never known why.

(you know why. it’s fear.)

——————

leon points it out to you one day, easy, simple, quick as breathing.

he tells you that you never seem to smile. and that shakes your mind.

you ask, confused and caught off guard, why he points it out. he shrugs, leaning on his staff, and stares off at your servant, your merlin, who is mock-battling with some kids. (and when have you ever not thought of him as yours? just as you know you’re his.)

“you haven’t smiled since we were children.” he holds up his hand, as if to stave off protests you’re already forming. “oh, you’ll grin, and you’ll smirk, but it’s sardonic. like you don’t truly find the humor in it; humor that everyone else seems to see.” he hums. “you’re jaded, a little bit.”

you immediately get defensive, the heat of your anger rising, as your throat tightens and almost chokes you up, strangely.

he shrugs again before you can answer, tilting his head towards your servant (your friend.) “but you smile when you’re with him.”

you sit back, dumbfounded, and remarkably exposed. (oh.)

——————

you think later that night, once you finally have some time to yourself, and realize that you can’t remember what your face looks like when it’s smiling. you haven’t felt laughter, or humor — let alone joy, not truly, for years — and you abruptly remember something your father said, once.

“joy is for peasants. it’s the only thing they can afford. it’s common, and it’s cheap — and as kings, as rulers, we have no use for something so easily obtained.”

you didn’t smile in his presence again, after that.

and that decision, one you can’t even remember making, has followed you up until now.

(until him.)

——————

you understand why you’re so angry, now. it’s not because joy is cheap, (like your father once claimed,) or below you, (like you were once taught.) it’s because for you, joy is rare — and you don’t know what it’s like.

you, a king, a prince, (a man, a boy, a kid,) don’t know what it’s like to feel joy. to feel … happy.

and then he came along, and burst into your life, with abhorrent manners and mismatched outfits (and a humble kind of wisdom you’ve never seen,) and shows you that something like happiness is there, and it is possible.

and you are scared.

you, who backs down at nothing. you, who has fought dragons, who has stared down the queen of the north, who bested knights at the age of five. you, who gained your father’s approval. (you, who has fought for the right to live since birth.) you sit back, and you realize, you are deeply, deeply scared.

and then you’re angry, and full of a white-hot rage, and then touch your face and feel tears slipping free without your consent. and you think you’re grieving, because you were never taught things that so many others seem to just know.

and you, you are the one who doesn’t know something so simple, so crucial. you don’t know what it’s like to feel, and you think, that’s unfair.

you also think distantly you’d rather face another dragon, or a horde of them. it’d be easier. those, at least you know how to face.

you don’t know how to fight an enemy, one without a body, or arms, or legs — one that is nothing more than just a feeling, a shadow, a futile grasp at something you don’t even know how to understand.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

hope someone on here enjoyed !! sorry for the abrupt ending :// someday i’ll learn how to post using the tumblr format but today is not that day <33

(title: another love by tom odell)

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• character credits belong to bbc and bbc’s merlin. all works enclosed are solely my own, and are purely fictional and meant for the enjoyment of the reader. please do not repost, republish, or steal my works without explicit permission, otherwise you will be blocked and reported. ty !! •

[souptastical]

pulling up a scene from an old, unfinished draft & i got the vibe of James & Sirius at 19 yrs old in the middle of a war figuring out Lily's pregnant so damn perfect👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

•••✧•••✧•••✧•••

"What's wrong?! Is she alright?!” Sirius started to get off the bed in a panic but James shook his head and put his hand out to stop him.

“She's fine!” He said quickly. “It's just-” He huffed loudly while turning for a moment to shake his head in disbelief then hastily rub his face with his palms. 

Upon turning back, Sirius noticed he looked like he was about to cry and he proceeded to frown hard at the display.

“Spit it out then, James!”

“She's... p-pregnant.” James whispered in horror.

Sirius froze. 

“Pregnant?”

James nodded hurriedly while pursing his lips like he was about to be sick.

“Like… a baby?”

Sirius realized how stupid that question sounded the second it fell from his lips but he couldn't help it- couldn't wrap his brain around it.

“For the love of- yes, Padfoot! A fuckin’ baby!”

[serialkilluh1996]

Keegan being your passenger princess cause he can't drive for shit. He's so danger prone, you won't even let him touch things in the car. Hands in his lap, pouting like a child, seatbelt on at all times. God forbid danger prone Keegan get injured.

[angelxd-3303]

Nightmares were no stranger in the GoldenHeart household. Even if the Institute was gone, and with it the Director's influence, that didn't keep all three people from sometimes jerking awake after their dreams showed them their deepest fears. Ambrosius was haunted by visions of his lover lying in a pool of blood, arm nothing but a stump, while he's helpless to save him. Ballister is plagued by visions of the Queen's death, always left wondering if he could have saved her.

Nimona?

Nimona's nightmares consisted of Gloreth. It would start off happy, with her carrying an elated Gloreth on her back as a horse. Napping amongst the foliage and exploring the forest with her. Then, it would shift. Much like her.

"No, Gloreth, wait!"

"I'm not a monster, I promise!"

No matter what she pleaded, the dreams were always the same. A sword pointed at her heart. A gaze that bled uncertainty, ignorance, distrust…

"Go back to the shadows from whence you came." With that declaration, pain. Blinding, burning pain. Then…nothing. A vast expanse of nothing that left Nimona feeling hollow. Like someone had scraped out her insides with an ice cream scoop.

'Gloreth?'

'Boss?'

…

'Ballister?!'

….

"DAAAAAD!" The scream jolted Ballister and Ambrosius from a rare bout of restful sleep. Fast little footsteps thundered down the hall and both men jumped up. Bal ran to the door, throwing it open. There, standing in the hall, was a frantic and very confused…

"Nimona?" Bal inquired. He looked…younger. Smaller, with longer hair that was a darker red than usual. Big pink eyes looked up at him,and tears began to spill over as Nimona let out a wail. Ballister had her in his arm before he could think. He turned to Ambrosius, who stood in the doorway shocked.

"Grab my arm, Bambi." Ambrosius reached for him, before remembering what he meant and running back into the bedroom. Bal sighed, turning back to the panicked child in his grasp. Nimona clung to his nightshirt, hiccuping and sobbing.

"I'm not a monster, Daddy, I'm not!" She wailed. Ambrosius returned, helping Bal put on his arm. He stood, scooping Nimona up. As he cradled her to his chest, Ballister pressed their foreheads together.

"I know, Mona. I know. You're not a monster. I know, it's ok. You're ok." She threw her arms around his neck, still sobbing. Ambrosius came closer, petting her hair.

"It's ok, sweetheart." He murmured. "They're the monsters, for sending you away. What happened is not your fault, ok?" She peeked up at him from her hiding place in Ballister's shoulder, sniffling. Ambrosius wiped her tears with a smile. The trio migrated into Bal and Ambrosius' room, and the former sat legs crossed on the bed. He cradled Nimona close, letting her cry into his shirt. Finally, she seemed spent, and went limp against his chest. 

Ballister gently kissed the child's cheek, humming softly as he rocked. Nimona cuddled into his chest, sighing. Bal hummed sympathetically.

"Bad dreams, kiddo? That's no fun." Nimona shook her head with a sniffle. Ambrosius sat beside Ballister and brushed a strand of hair from Nimona's face. With a deep sigh, he guided his boyfriend to lay back down on the bed. The pair curled around Nimona, both holding her and soothing her whimpers with soft reassurances. Eventually, she fell asleep, and the tiny child was replaced by a stockier teen with a far more shaved hairstyle. The scared furrow of her brow remained, even in sleep. Ballister and Ambrosius made eye contact, and the blonde smirked.

"Dad, huh?" Ballister let out a breathless laugh.

"Not a word to her about this tomorrow, Ambrosius." He ordered, albeit quietly. Chuckling, Ambrosius leaned in and kissed his boyfriend. They snuggled into the soft pillows, soon following Nimona into a peaceful sleep. All the rest of that night, no nightmares plagued the GoldenHeart household. And if there were, they'd face all of them together.