#heat dome blues

[justgot1]

I finally caved and bought an evaporative cooler for my un-air conditioned apartment and it’s fucking magical. Why did I wait so long to buy this. Why do I just let myself suffer for heaven’s sake.

 If you also live in a dry climate, like I do, 10/10 recommend a portable evaporative cooler. Or DIY one with a fan and a bucket.

[fawnpires]

TORN ON YOUR HEART — KÖNIG.

(in short: a concept about your husband, könig, wanting to ruin his pretty wife - and her pretty makeup.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: poorly google-translated german, husband!könig, slight dumbification, size kink & difference, body worship, soft dom!könig, manhandling, face-sitting, possessive sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, stomach bulge.

"Let me ruin that makeup off your face, mein kleines reh." his accented voice muffles from underneath you.

With his large anatomy in contrast to your much small-scaled body, it was without a doubt that the flat palms of his hands secured at the flesh of your thighs could keep you right where he wanted you to be. The veil of your husband's hood had been pushed up to a right enough amount to where his hooked nose had been exposed as well as his mouth where there was a visible scar starting at the right side of his lips that curved upwards to his cheek and possibly even up into his eyes — which were still shrouded behind the covering veil of his face, only two eyeholes teared in them to reveal the hazy blue irises that peek up at you when you were currently situated at his exhibited mouth.

"Köni! Mmph, baby... it's too much." Your voice comes out but nothing but a sole tone of a quivering tone, bare thighs sheen with sweat at this point while your chest rises and falls with each heaving breath. A mind fogged of entirely him and the pleasure he brings upon you, it causes you to have lose track of time; meaning that your trembling figure has rested on König's face for quite some time, but an obscured head of ecstasy forbids any kind of coherent thought to cross your head about anything outside of this dome of rapture. "I can't do a lot more, m'sensitive..."

"Awe. Come on, liebchen, don't be like that." König said, giving a small pause in between his words to lap more at your soaking cunt which he positions himself underneath; the warm muscle of his tongue causing your eyes to willingly roll back in your head while your thighs squeezed at his masked head with a bit more pressure, a faint squeal leaving your mouth from the mere pleasure of it all. "Just hold back a little longer, then you'll get your big reward, okay? Can my pretty girl do that for me?"

Voluntarily, you nod your head all of desperation to his words — nothing but absolute commitment to make the larger man underneath so proud of you in the moment. At your non-verbal response, a faint phrase of "süßes mädchen" came muffled below you as the motions of his tongue became more rapid without breaks. One of his hands had combined with the movements of his mouth, a circling thumb pressing on the nub of your clit which only sent your mind into a more in-depth condition of personal ecstasy. Your head was now fully thrown back, vulgar sounds of moans and whines falling from an agape mouth while a heated sensation began to birth at your lower abdomen. One of your hands plants itself right next to the bedsheets nearest to where your head laid while the other had a flat palm to his hooded head, your fingers twitching as I had started to lose myself more.

"König, fuck!" You whined out in a more high-pitched tone than intended, pools of sweat sticking to the soft material of your laced bra — chest puffed out which only pronounced on how heavily you were breathing, giving König the view of a lifetime; your breasts cradled above in the feminine-designed cloth of your bra, white and lining with a lace trim around the edges. The more his tongue sloppily lapped at your drooling cunt, the more that familiar sensation grew in intensity at your lower abdomen; the one that felt all tingly, like sparks were threatening to explode right there and now.

His eyes linger onto the soft plush of your breasts before peeking through your thighs up at your face before speaking: "Ah. That's it, kleines Reh, lose yourself to me." the man mumbles into your soft skin, palming at the flesh with his larger hands as the ministrations of his tongue could only speed up without break. The sensation at your lower abdomen approaches towards an end the more his tongue slid up the puffy lips of your cunt, bumping up right against the nub of your swollen clit along with the tip of his nose. Small whispers and mumbles of praises, which were barely audible, came from König as some sort of accommodation to the reach the final stage of an orgasm — he knew you were sensitive, and he knew damn well that the useful combination of both his voice and larger touch could make you easily fall compliant to him; your brain easily so stupefied into a state of only existing bliss.

By now, the tears that brimmed at the slightest corners of your eyes were ruining over the mascara that tinted your lashes — faint black streaks rolling down the sides of your face, the whites of your eyes mostly visible as they rolled back into the inner barriers of your head. Your hips had started to grind down onto his mouth while your trembling body had begun to get more responsive to him. "M'god... I'm gonna cum..." you whined out softly into the air, voice slightly hoarse from all the noises that creeped up your throat.

"Oh, you're gonna cum?" König asks, feigning a mocked innocence with a now more huskier voice and a growl to it. "Then go ahead, nobody is going to stop you, schatz." he adds on with a slight hiss, his hands moving from being wrapped to your thighs up towards your hips, then the soft skin of your stomach, then to your bra-confined breasts. He pulls off the delicate fabric and tosses it over to the floor, leaving you now completely bare above him.

Given his confirmation you don't hesitate to oblige with them — your body trembling a little more violently as you succumb into the tingling sensation that had expanded inside of your lower abdomen, pouring out without delay as you felt your orgasm finally burst into reality. Both of your hands moved to grip the bedsheets established at his head, holding them between your fingers in a near death grip while you rode out your climax. After a duration of a few more lasting seconds, you come down from your high; body coated in a light sheen of sweat, mouth widened to catch your breaths, and your grip loosening up at the sheets. Your head tilts in a downwards angle to get a better look at your mountain of a husband, steadily moving yourself down to sit on his bare and sturdy chest to gain a better perspective of his face.

König hadn't even given you a chance to catch even the slightest view of the aftermath of himself before his hands were back to your hips against, forcing you off his frame. He moved to lean up against the headboard, still holding you hostage in his more stronger grasp at your waist until he settles you in his lap. In his head, he almost thought of you as a fragile doll while you found placement on him; so much smaller in size, so easy to move around without a struggle with his more substantial clutch. His then leans into you and presses his mouth up against yours in a swift movement leaving you no time to think, breaching your mouth with his tongue that still had the aftermath of your orgasm residing there. Fingers trailed up the inner section of your legs before tickling at your thighs, slowly moving upwards to your sensitive cunt. His index and middle finger drag a slow line up your puffy lips, causing you to moan softly into his mouth while your tongue shyly wraps to his.

Those two fingers of his decide to no longer exist on the outer region of your cunt, plunging inside instead in a stretching method. A gasp is earned into his mouth as your body falls frail against his chest, back slightly arching at the sudden pressure inside of your aching cunt. You felt his fingertips drag at your inner walls the more they pumped in and out of you; it had first started off slow and careful, but they increasingly grew a little more violently with desperation. Your makeout session with König had gotten more heated and explicit, his tongue crowding your mouth and tasting every crevice that he could possibly reach to. His free hand held you steady on his lap easily as he took note of your hips bucking at the movements of his fingers pumping with more brutality. He can't help but chuckle to himself at your needy condition as he found it quite adorable, the sound resonating within his chest.

As he withdrew his head back from you, a thick line of saliva bonded at his tongue and had been shared into your mouth in a sloppy manner. He continues to move his fingers in and out of you without stop, your body squirming as your head was angled to look at him — but never breaking off eye contact with him. König grips that one side of your waist a little tighter, fingers speeding up to an intense rate while your inner thighs were now soaking of your leaking pre-arousal.

"A-Ah... König. Please, I want you." You whined out underneath your breath, the constant stretch of his fingers opening up your cunt was a bit painful but it didn't take long for them to subside into a stinging pleasure.

"You want me, do you?" He asks in response to your whining request, but never allowing his fingers to falter from their built rhythm.

You took a few seconds to pant out before replying. "I do, please... want you to fuck me."

Your words were like a shot of adrenaline to him, a sudden primal urge listing at his necessities. His exposed, scarred lips give you a smirk — one without teeth, but showing a smug kind-of expression to them even if you couldn't fully view his full face. He slowly extracts his fingers from your cunt before moving to the only article of clothing that was on his body at the moment, his pants. Underneath where you sat on his lap, his hand found the buckle of his belt and undid it from the hoops of his tactical pants. There was a distinct noise of a zipper coming undone as well as the rustling of pants to get off. Without even looking down, you felt it; there was no separation of fabric between the two of you anymore, just bare skin. Bare and sweaty skin against each other.

His erected cock rested against your inner thighs, only fueling the amount of eagerness you had that had lead up into this situation. Hands were placed at both sides of your waist while he guided you a little up above his lap to turn around and lean up at his chest, hovering over his cock. He lowered you just the right amount so your cunt could rub up against the head of it — smearing his precum around your swollen lips and clit, more wetness starting to pool down your thighs. König elicited a deep sigh and you bit your lip, full-on whimpers escaping past the bitten flesh.

"Want it so bad, oh, please..." The words slipped out into the usual whine of your tone, nails digging into the skin of your palms at the sense of his precum soaking your cunt. "Need t'feel you inside of me..."

"I know, mein Reh, and I will." he responds through a quick breath, carrying on with moving your hips so that your cunt was rubbing up against the head of his cock. "Don't worry that head of yours, my pretty little wife will get what she wants."

Those were his last words before sheathing himself entirely into your smaller anatomy, the more extreme stretch of his cock compared to his fingers had made you squeal out at the first thrust. You squealed as you felt him fill you up, make you full; allowing your cunt to swallow him up until he was right at the base. He was warm when sheltered in your inner walls, but you had felt you were being impaled in a good way. He kept a firm grip on your hips as he fucked up into you, starting off with slow yet powerful thrusts that made a loud squelching noise — but it wasn't long for him for his carnal wants to take over, slow thrusts becoming animalistic and eager. You supported yourself laying at his chest while your head slightly sloped back to rest at his shoulder, moans leaving your mouth at his vicious onslaught on you.

His fingers imprinted tightly into the skin of your waist as grunts began to emerge from behind his veil, his hips moving quickly against your soaking cunt. He rested his forehead against your shoulder as curses in his native language were muttered under his breath, muscles already layered with a sheet of sweat while pounding into you. His cock brushed up against your cervix with each of his pushes, inner walls pulsing as you savored the moment. Skin slapping against skin and personal sounds of ecstasy had started to reverberate against the room's walls, a divided choir of unadulterated material. His movements got more aggressive, more quicker as the both of you were left with no room to speak anymore; only grunting and moaning, incoherent words along with wet skin smacking so delightfully in a connected way.

You felt his hands transport from your waist to cup your breasts, still keeping you in a solid hold if you had wanted his fucking to continue. Large palms kneaded at your flesh while his head at your shoulder was turned towards the side of your neck, pressing small kisses there while he proceeded with splitting you open on his cock.

"This pretty body is alles meins, you hear me?" he manages to get out between grunts and heavy breaths. "Nobody else, just me... it will always be me." It's not like his words were some heavy lie to use you for your body, but they were genuine and came from his heart; the beauty of your anatomy was truly a treasure to him, and god consider him the luckiest man alive to have a woman possessing such angelic features as his wife.

"Mmhm, yes, all yours." you said through a foggy head full of rapture, head cocked to the side to give König better access to your neck.

His lips formed into a smirk at your words before he grabbed at your hips again, kissing and sucking marks of love into your neck while he pounded into your cunt; feeling himself on the brink of a climax as his grunts grew heavier, more pronounced with your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Your moans grew in volume as you felt a familiar heat start to ride at your lower abdomen, back arching into a curve off his chest as you slightly leaned your upper half forward — basking in the severe intensity of this moment. A more saturated wetness starts to drool down your inner thighs and onto his lap, the skin of his thighs glowing in your abnormally dripping arousal.

König moves one of his hands to the sweep of your stomach, taking notice of the obvious bulge that swells through the soft, sweaty flesh. His fingers inch their way on top of that protruding bump which appears more prominent each time the head of his cock pushed up against the barrier of your cervix, pushing against the area. Your eyes widened at the almost overbearing feeling, more arousal dripping down your thighs.

“-Eep! K-König! Hngh, please.” you said in a whining voice as you could only writhe against his touch, eyes glazing of tears that sourced from an overwhelming arousal, a second climax forming at your lower abdomen and threatening to spill over any second now.

“Mein gott, you’re so tight.” he growls, thrusts becoming less steady but more hostile; fingers pressing down harder on himself that showcases through the skin of your stomach. “Mmm - Scheiße, doing so good, almost there.”

It was a fact you weren’t going to last once he spoke those very words to you — his husky voice, his nonstop thrusts assaulting at your cervix, and his mouth presses wet saliva-soaked kisses to your neck; you couldn’t help but spiral into your second orgasm of the night, squirming at his lap and allowing everything to pour out. It was wet, everything was wet — his lap and bare muscular chest, your legs, the sheets of the bed. Your naked back was pressed to his chest as you immediately felt weakened by the experience. Soon enough, his own release followed your own and you felt every inch of him in your guts.

Your stomach was warmed and full, both of your skin sticky and blanketed with sweat. While he rested at the headboard, your head was idle on his shoulder — taking in his natural scent while you could only gaze absentmindedly at the sharp features of his face. He adjusted his head to stare back into your eyes, his left arm slowly coming to pat and wipe at your messy face with his thumb; streaks of mascara staining that thumb in an almost clay-like material, the sight causing him to chuckle lowly.

“Oh, süßes Reh. Who knew you could be even more gorgeous with a ruined face?” he whispers in a hoarse voice, giving you a small smirk which pressed to one side of his lips - leaning in shortly to press a small, gentle kiss to your cheek.

[nrdmssgs]

Respectfully, I wanna deep throat Nikto. Like he can fuck my throat ☆

Masterlist

He can and he will.

TW: pure smut, no story, finger sucking, Nikto slightly doming, face fucking

When you first leaned in, letting Nikto capture your lips in a heated kiss - he was gentler than you expected, threading his fingers through your hair to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. You wouldn't mind gentle on any other day, but not today. Not when your body is all tensed due to the hormonal storm of ovulation. Not when your skin burns without a contact to his. Not when you are this hungry.

You are both breathless when you part, your eyes meet his pale blue irises. You want him so badly, it is embarrassing. It's a good thing, he can't read your mind, cant see all the awful dirty things, you crave. Your lips travel down his chest, leave a vet trail of kisses on his belly.

"Greedy, aren't we?" A low chuckle catches you on your knees, at eye-level with his waist.

You look up with a silent plea. You're too shy to vocalize, what do you want, but you can show. Your hands travel up his pants, fingers carefully tugging the belt.

With a click of his tongue, Nikto catches your wrists in a steel grip. It's so hard to balance between the intoxicating lines of his abdomen just centimeters away from you and the need to behave in order to-

"Did I let you?"

He didn't. Rascal. Nikto would let you do anything to him, use his body in any way, but once you really need him - the man remembers, that teasing is on the table as well.

So now he scans your features, weighs all the nice and naughty things you did so far. All to decide what to do with that pretty mouth of yours.

He cradles your face gently, tilting his head to one side as he subtly sways his hips forward. With a deft motion, Nikto hooks his thumb beneath your lower lip, brushing the salty tang of sweat from his skin against your teeth. In a low, resonant murmur, he commands, "Open up."

You oblige, closing your eyes. Here in the darkness of a suffocating bliss, he sends you in, you don't just let his index and middle fingers slide in - you practically breathe him in, sucking eagerly.

You can't help yourself - you don't even care anymore if he sees this side of yours. Indulgent. Nasty. Corrupted.

A moan leaves your chest as he pulls his fingers out and tastes them.

"Umnitza. A glubzhe smozhesh?*" Once again, a tease, a dare. He becomes unbearable, when he is certain, you are ready to do anything.

With a fast nod you catch his fingers as soon as he lowers his hand. The taste of his saliva mixes with yours, and your thirst only grows.

It's three fingers now, and he slides much deeper in. It's hard to breath, almost impossible to think straight, but you concentrate all your will to keep standing on your knees and pray-pray-pray with your tongue for more. An experience transcending religious, as you give him your very soul.

Take everything, just let me...

A glint ignites in his eyes as you tilt your head back, and he presses his fingers into your mouth up to the knuckle. His lips part, and his eyes half-close in a languid expression of appreciation.

"My-my, such a good little thing." He pulls his fingers from you with a pop, wiping your spit across your cheek. The belt buckle unfastens with an iron clink. Nikto lets go of your wrists, but the other hand stays on your cheek.

You don't believe it right away, when he decides to just let you have him your way. Your fingers are extra slow as they slide up his shaft, feeling heavy veins even through the textile.

But Nikto encourages you, grinding himself slowly against your hands.

You've proven so good with your mouth, how can he deny you?

If you couldn't feel, couldn't see how hard he is, you would believe, the man above you is completely calm. His shoulders don't flinch when you place a soft kiss against glistening tip. A kiss, that grows into another and another and ends up stretching to a wet line leading to his base.

You shut your eyes, and part your lips, just as he showed you with his fingers. He tastes like sin, like the end of anything modest in you, like a lust itself. High above you, his lethal purr raises the hair on the back of your neck.

"Bloody... Your lips are dangerous."

Nikto sinks his fingers into your hair, controlling your head by the roots, sliding the velvet heat of his cock past your lips. He doesn't go all way, drawing a greedy whine out of you after he started to slide out slowly.

"Want more?" He pauses, still keeping you from taking more of him.

You nod with your mouth still full, and that gives him a second of an absolute perfect angle. Not letting you change anything in your pose accidentally, Nikto slides in one more time. He's still slow with this push, but this time you feel his hot tip with your throat.

Your eyes dart up and meet his gaze, fogged with desire. This must have some effect on him. With a hiss, he backs away a bit and lunges forward.

Before you tried this with him, the experience was always hectic, suffocating, painful. But Nikto loved to ease you little by little into relaxing, giving in to your own hunger, leaving your insecurities back. And now this pays off.

His breath grows ragged, each thrust accompanied by a dirty escapade leaving his lips. Drool slides down your chin with each movement of his hot flesh. Your eyes are wet with tears. It's not a pain - it's a pure bliss of having this beast so close.

He watches you spellbound. A feral, animalistic grin growing on his face.

His little treasure.

"Take it." A thrust harder than the previous ones.

His angel falling oh so gracefully for him.

"Take it." His cock pulses spreading warmth down your body, and you feel like your sex resonates with him.

His blessing. His everything.

"Take. it." His moves grow hastier. You're so full of him, but he wants more. He wants to give you more.

This man doesn't just indulge in your whim. He fucks you like he means it.

Umnitza. A glubzhe smozhesh? - Good job. Can you take them deeper?

[onlyyvette]

i need optimus pussy so bad

You're so real for that I'm actually going to make a whole thirst for this

warnings: dom/top reader + sub/bottom optimus prime + cybertronian reader + sloppily eating out Optimus' valve + praise + prime gets wrecked by the power of oral

a/n: thank you so much for giving me the inspo to create this🙏🏾

╰┈➤ Just imagining Optimus laying down on his back and presenting himself for you, large white thighs shyly held open while his digits tentatively hold open his already leaking slit. It's not that he was necessarily scared or nervous, but he can't help but let shivers run down his spinal struts as you admire his valve so intently.

╰┈➤ You were mesmerized by his pulsing blue biolights decorating his valve lips and his oh-so-pretty red node resting in the hood of his valve. His array was the prettiest one you ever saw, When you say that out loud to him, he lets out a small "thank you" and tries to cover his pretty pussy with his servo but you move it out of the way, causing him to let out a whine. You look up from your spot between his thighs and drink in the look on his face. His battle mask was off. His optics are half-shuttered, the light coming out dimmed. A very prominent blue flush is spread across his face and his mouth is screwed into a slight pout. He was so cute and you hadn't even dome anything to him.

╰┈➤ Way too soon, your glossa is on Optimus' valve, and he lets out a short yet embarrassing yelp. In his defense, even though you had done this so many times before, you were always so quick to push your glossa into him and you never held back. Your glossa delves into Optimus' wet heat, forcing it as deep as you can as you listen to the Prime let out moans with his low baritone. He feels your nasal ridge crushing his node and the pleasure bursts under his eyelids.

╰┈➤ Optimus' thighs begin to automatically clamp down on your helm but the slight crushing feeling only raised your charge. You eat him out like a starved mech, sloppily lapping at every node you can feel in the mesh of his valve and making sure he can feel it. By now, Optimus is so close to overloading, he always overloaded quickly from being eaten out. If you lifted up your helm you would see Optimus biting on his servo joints, trying his best to not let out his embarrassing noises but clearly failing.

╰┈➤ With your eager mouth, you'll bring Optimus to overload so hard he won't even know what hit him. He'll let out a series of staticky moans while his thighs clamp down hard on your helm while he squirts, and you'll still work your glossa in his valve despite his recent overload. He'll whine and push at your helm but you both know that those weak pushes don't mean anything-- he doesn't want you to stop and you don't plan on it.

╰┈➤ You'll make him overload a few more times, each overload more powerful than the last. He keeps seeing stars in his vision and--oh Primus-- he's overloading again. He'll sob as he squirts for a last time, his frame trembling from the aftershocks as you suck on Optimus' node for the last time before releasing it. You're almost 100% sure you were left with some kind of helm processor damage, but you really didn't care. After you've eaten his valve out to your satisfaction, you bring helm out from between Optimus' legs and lay your frame on top of his. Your derma meet his and you begin to give each other messy, open-mouthed kisses. His optics shutter close as he whimpers into the kiss. Your servos roam his frame and you map out his familiar curves, lightly groping them, especially his chestplate while the Prime lets out sensual sighs.

╰┈➤ Underneath you, you feel his thighs tighten and rubbing against each other. Making out was getting Optimus charged up again, and it didn't surprise any of you. While your spike pressurized against his abdomen, you knew that you would make sure that your conjunx would be quivering in pleasure by the time you were done with him.

[comatosebunny09]

mine | leon k.

genre(s): romance, modern au (?)

warning(s): possessive!leon, jealous!leon, oblivious!reader, short!reader, female!reader, suggestive, language

notes: influenced by a scene i read by an anonymous writer on ao3 (it’s a dead dove fic, but i still happily ate it). hope you enjoy!

music: yours - alina baraz

Firm believer that Leon gets high-key jealous when anyone flirts with you.

But, poor, poor baby—you’re so oblivious. So goddamn cute. Look at you, standing on tippy-toe, straining your fingers for your favorite box of cereal on the top shelf at the supermarket. Leon would smile if not for a shock of black disrupting the intimacy of the scene.

Some sleaze-ball sidles up beside you, a broad hand at the small of your back whilst the other reaches overhead to pluck said box from the shelf for you. That quiet little smile you give as thanks makes Leon squeeze the handle of the buggy until his knuckles pale. And, is he bristling?

The nerve of this guy, flaunting all 32 of his teeth in a sinister beam, towering over you whilst he seduces you with idle chatter.

You’re none the wiser of the man’s motives. Smiling and giggling, animatedly flailing your arms about. Figure he’s a kind stranger, helping another in need. But he keeps touching you—a chaste brush of fingers, stirring the fine hairs of your flesh to life. Inching closer, much to Leon’s chagrin. He can hear the gears in this guy’s head turning as he sketches a triangle between your pretty, full lips and the rise of your chest.

Leon blames himself for leaving you defenseless. Had stepped away earlier to grab some ice cream at your behest. He grinds his teeth, the tendons of his neck flexing. Isn’t really thinking as the wheels of the shopping cart screech, and Leon rushes to your aid, subconsciously grabbing for your arm, tucking you into his side.

“There you are, honey,” Leon rumbles against the question your gaze poses, his voice stippled with venom beneath the honey flow of it, an arm draped across your middle. He squeezes your side—a silent reminder that you are his—and fixes the stranger with a pointed look. And if looks could kill, Leon would’ve murdered this stranger a thousand times over.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Whaddya say we get checked out, hmm?” Leon adds with a deceptively innocent smile, ocean blues gazing down at you. Doesn’t wait for your answer, instead ushering you between the hard press of his body and the cool steel of the cart, out of the aisle.

“Leon?” you query, realizing he—in fact—is not leading you to self-checkout. Instead, he shepherds you into a dark corner near the restrooms, your buggy abandoned, and your back pressed against the wall in the blind spot of the half-dome safety mirror.

You’ve barely any time to gather your wits before Leon’s mouth fastens to yours. A lip-lock as possessive as it is desperate, teeth gnashing and tongues entangling, and no matter how much you try, you just can’t breathe.

You take little sips of air in between. Instinctively bury your fingers in his hair, free hand roaming the expanse of his back, trying to feel as much rippling muscle as you can. Your leg languidly slides up his calf and thigh to wind about Leon’s hip, and his hand slinks beneath your doughy quad to keep you there. His thumb skates over the sensitive skin of your neck as if coaxing your mouth to open wider.

He parts from the hot suction of your lips after you mewl softly into his. Breaths merge into one whilst he meshes your foreheads together, painting a sluggish line between your eyes and parted lips.

“Mine,” he whispers through the haze. Through the flurry of your thoughts and the sway of your body. Gathers your cheek into his palm when he feels you slipping down the wall, a knee pressed between your thighs to keep you both afloat. Feels the heat radiating through the seam of your pants, and his chest swells with satisfaction. “Mine,” parroted again as if to solidify things.

You nod drunkenly, lost in the slothful stir of his eyes. He takes cruel satisfaction in teasing you like this a little longer. Taunts you with the promise of another kiss, his lips hovering over yours as you try for his bottom lip.

“Say it,” he rasps into the space between your mouths. The intimacy of it all weakens your knees. Makes your head spin, your gaze and mind filled only with Leon Leon Leon. He watches your mouth form around words, stroking your lips apart with the calluses of his thumb.

“Yours. Always.”

“Good, good girl,” Leon drawls, sending a bolt of white lightning straight to your apex. You don’t protest as he drags you from the alcove, a smirk dusting his lips. An unheard promise of things to come wafting in the lively air of the supermarket.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Feysand x f!reader: All Wrapped in One[*]

A/N: This started as feyre x reader but of course it would end up becoming a poly fic

Warnings: oral (f! Receiving), daemati shenanigans

Word Count: 2,173

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Her hands wrap around your middle, soft lips pressing a greeting kiss to the side of your neck.

The scent of warm spices fill the cozy space, wreaths of evergreen stitched through with sequinned pine cones and glittering red baubles, lines of sparkling tinsel and tinted, warm fae lights glowing about the ceiling’s edge. Mince pies that had been dropped off a day prior by your mate’s sister sit concealed beneath a glass dome, crystallised to look like frost at the base, to keep them fresh as the day they were baked.

“Morning,” she murmurs, nosing at the sensitive skin, pressing a small trail of nips and licks gradually edging toward the neckline of one of her paint-flecked shirts. A thrill tingles down your spine, softening into her arms, quickly forgetting whatever task you had been preoccupying yourself with. “Morning,” you reply, tilting your head slightly to one side, allowing her more access to the pleasurable area.

“You’re up early,” you mumble, shifting to turn in her arms, wanting to see her in that soft sleepy state she’s often wrapped in during the initial hour of waking. She allows it, elegant hands remaining comfortably on your wait, keeping your chest flush to her own, adorned in a deep blue woollen piece, some tiny snowflakes stitched in beautiful silver thread with tiny beads at their centre to appear more festive.

Rosy lips pull into a smile, nose bumping your own, eyes warm with tender adoration. “The bed was cold,” she murmurs, “was wondering where you were.” Her hands pull you a little tighter, and you catch a hint of her scent, warmth fluttering between your thighs. You avert your eyes, hands settling on her shoulders, trying to distract her as a flush begins to rise across your skin. “We should wait until Rhys gets home,” you reason, back curving a little with need, the simple hint of her desire for you enough to have your body reacting with equal want.

She hums absently, eyes dipping to your mouth with interest, clearly not having heard you. Lightly calloused fingertips swipe experimentally across the plushness of your lower lip, eyes flicking to her blue-grey set that are slightly glazed. “Feyre…” you mumble, muffled from her playing with your mouth. “Did you hear me?” You ask, an embarrassed flush settling beneath your skin.

Her eyes clear, sparking with a wicked gleam that has your legs feeling like custard. The edges of her rosy lips quirk, and you feel yourself melting, heat liquefying between your thighs. “Rhys says it’s fine,” she murmurs over your mouth, hands sneaking down over the curve of your hind, cupping and squeezing with appreciation before dropping a little lower. “So long as he gets his share this evening and all tomorrow,” she finishes, smoothly lifting you up onto the counter, a flick of magic clearing the surface so she can perch you atop it, settling between your thighs. A soft sound of surprise spills from your mouth, fingers pressing into the plush wool over her shoulders as she gently pushes your thighs apart.

Of course, Rhys had decided to take a day off from his business as the High Lord, putting aside the work Feyre’s still in the process of learning how to do. Teeth push to the inside of your lip at the thought of having them both around for an entire day—and hopefully more since the festivities have already commenced.

Her mouth settles over yours eagerly, and a quiet moan escapes your chest, her hands now freely roaming across your body, dipping beneath the hem of the paint-splattered shirt. Goosebumps prickle your skin with sensitivity, keyed to her touch as she explores the soft curve of your stomach, slowly making her way higher. When she dips to your neck, you melt like a marshmallow in a hot mug of cocoa, dissolving beneath the tender touch of your mate.

“Feyre…” you moan softly, hands pawing at the thick wool keeping her concealed from you. “Shouldn’t we… We should go somewhere else for this,” you manage to get out between the pleasure of the hot kisses she’s splaying across your throat. She seems intent on taking you right there though, despite being atop a counter in the snugly lit kitchen. “Feyre…” you repeat, hands threading in her hair, legs spreading wider despite trying to pull her away.

“What’s wrong with here?” She asks, encouraging your legs to squeeze her tight, wanting to feel how much you want her. “It’s the kitchen,” you reason quietly, unable to quite look away from her heated blue-grey eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this in here.” Her gaze pins you with desire, keeping you still as she slowly pushes the hem of her shirt up over your thighs, practically tempting you to try denying her. You tighten around nothing at the actions, feeling how arousal has no doubt begun seeping through your underwear already.

“I think this is the perfect place,” she murmurs, leaning closer, rosy lips brushing your own teasingly, and you’re struck by the desire to have them playing with your breasts, skilful tongue flicking over the peaks of your nipples. “The kitchen is where food gets prepared isn’t it?” She asks lowly, fingers dipping into the band of your underthings, snapping it against your hip, pulling lightly on the string so it drags against your needy clit, lips parting on a silent breath. “And I’m going to spend the day getting you all nice and ready for us to enjoy tonight,” she drawls softly, pushing you back onto the counter, so your spine is laying flat against the cool marble.

It knocks any and all remaining fight from your body, content to let her use and explore to her pleasure. You swallow heavily as she smiles from between your legs, eyes glinting with heat as she slowly drags the cotton up over your stomach to reveal your soaking underwear. The smile widens with hunger, her fingers settling at the apex of your thighs before lightly trailing down, until she reaches the soft dip. Applies a slight pressure, watching as your back arches from the surface, hips shifting as you attempt to squirm lower, to have her fingers inside of you, pulling the sweet, sugar-dusted noises from your lips.

“Do you want me?” She asks teasingly, playing idly with the band of your underwear, dragging the tips of her fingers over your sensitive skin. “Feyre…” you groan, need building to the point of aches between your legs. You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s set her mind on edging you all day. If she decides to keep you from cumming until Rhys gets home… You had been the one to insist on trying to wait.

“Please,” you whine, pushing your legs wider in desperate invitation, nails biting into the softness of your palms. “Want you so badly, please.” Her lips part in a smile, hunger gleaming in blue-grey eyes, lowering between your legs as she takes the band of your underwear in her teeth, fingers hooking over the strings at your hips to help as she drags them down. Starving hunger intensifies in her gaze when she lays sights on your dripping wet heat, tongue swiping out to soothe the sudden dryness of her mouth.

A low curse rasps from her chest before she’s leaning forward, dragging her tongue up your centre, relishing in your taste, memorising the arch of your spine, how happily you put your legs over her shoulders, pressing the cotton-socked soles of your feet lightly against her back, raising your hips. Moans start spilling freely from your lips, enjoying the wet heat of her mouth once it’s sealed over your cunt, tongue swirling and suckling at your aching clit, giving you the attention you’ve been craving ever since she put her hands on you earlier.

A quiet laugh flutters from her lips, and you manage enough strength to push up onto your forearms, weakly peering down at her. “Rhys told you to open wider,” she drawls, and wild heat bursts across your skin. Look away shyly as you push your thighs to settle further apart on your mate’s shoulders, dipping your head at the thought of him watching through feyre’s eyes. What an intimate view he has.

Talons gently graze down your flimsy mental walls, and your back arches as Rhys slips inside your head, able to watch from whichever perspective he’d like.

You’re making concentration rather difficult over here.

A pleasurable shiver spider-walks up your spine at his deep, honeyed voice, roughened with arousal. Teeth push into your lip, desperate to have them both with you.

Feyre said you told it was fine… You send back softly—a little shakily, not entirely used to speaking like this. A low laugh drags through your sensitive shields, talons leisurely gazing inside your mind.

She told me she’d be having you on the kitchen countertop, and to get done with work if I wanted a taste before she tires you out.

Between your thighs, Feyre shoots you a grin, seemingly aware of the conversation going on, and a small moan flutters from your chest. Heat flushes your skin, but you make your reply anyway.

I can’t say I disagree with her…

Within your mind, you feel something shift, as if able to feel the build of his own arousal, awareness spearing directly to you to provide more stimulation.

I really have my hands full between the two of you.

I bet you do, High Lord, Feyre drawls, having joined without you noticing. Her tongue presses at your entrance, and you tighten eagerly, urging her for more.

Rhys groans lowly, and you feel your vision going in and out of focus as his arousal becomes more intense in your mind, the two of them curling together with you, making you dizzy with pleasure. An image appears in your mind, Feyre’s fingers slipping inside you in the same moment and you feel yourself reaching the curve of your high, where you’ll soar a little higher before making the pleasurable free-fall.

The High Lord does indeed have his hands full, one steadily holding the arm of his chair, the other stroking himself firmly, a pearly bead of precum nestled at his tip.

What you wouldn’t give to be on your knees before him—flick your tongue over the moisture there.

Your lips part, back arching as he takes a little of your control, moving your hand to graze across the softness of your stomach, hundreds of tiny muscles fluttering beneath the feather-light touch. His name moans from your lips as he makes you move higher, slipping beneath the hem of the shirt, reaching up to palm your breast, and you know he’s taking in every sensation.

Breaths turn shallow, wild heat bursting through your lower abdomen as Feyre’s fingers touch a spot inside of you, seemingly having been searching for it. Lips part in sheer pleasure as you reach that peak, tipping over the edge while she suckles at your sensitive clit, Rhys directing both your hands to palm your breasts, playing with your nipples as he floods your mind with filthy memories, filling you with touches, and scents, and tastes, utterly overwhelming as you babble.

Toes curl at her back, helping press her deeper to your heat as she continues working you within an inch of your life, fingers grazing those spots teasingly, mouth sealed over your heat so she can focus on your clit, easing you down from the high.

You pant heavily, needing to recover from the sheer intensity they’d put you through, muscles beginning to relax after being pulled taut with pleasure.

There you go. So good for us, aren’t you?

Your back arches at the rough drag of Rhys’ voice within your sensitive mind, tongue swiping over your lower lip. Blue-grey eyes latch on your own as she rises from between your legs, and your mouth has already opened by the time she lays her own atop it. Arousal mixes between you, one of her hands sliding beneath your shirt to graze across your nipple, playing with the sensitive peak.

Better get home soon Rhys, Feyre drawls across the bond, lifting herself up onto the counter in a single swift movement, and you hear him sigh with what you can only imagine is exasperation. A smile spreads across your features at the intimate sound, more than happy to shuffle further up the counter to give her space to move. Licking your lips eagerly as she crawls to settle her thighs either side your head, pulling her underwear to the side.

You two really are something, aren’t you?

As if to prove him right, you hook your arms over her hips, pulling her down onto your mouth while still feeling him in your mind, his arousal already building despite just having been relieved.

Hurry back, you send across softly, lapping at her entrance.

Then you can deal with us.

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

feysand taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza08

[st4rsnf1cs]

My Family is Elsewhere

Pairings: Rex x Mando fem! Reader

Summary: you had saved Rex from a crashed republic ship and got him help. After that you couldn't stay away and neither could he. But you always knew he would come back home to you.

Ganre: fuckin- fluff ig idk JEBDJDB

Word count: 1,928

Warnings: fluff, prego reader, reader has kids too, mentions of bad batch characters

“My Family Is Elsewhere”

-

Rex would never abandon his brothers, or his friends in the republic. They had depended on him for so long and he also depended on him. But there was one person that he had to spare his heart for.

All his love and admiration belonged to you, his Riduur, wife, and lover.

You had met during the first few conflicts of Mandalore, your clan was one that split off from the rest but also resented the Death Watch and their actions. You often found yourself in the company of Duchess Satine, and put violence last which she appreciated.

Your clan was a bridge between the historic culture, and the neutrality of Mandalore that was kept now. You didn’t always agree with Satine, but you had to admire her.

You met Rex when separatists shot down his ship near your city on the other end of Mandalore. It wasn’t your city, more so your father’s who was the chief of your Clan… you remembered that day vividly.

-

“Jamie, Krys, grab your speeders and follow me, we will go inspect the crash for survivors. Keep your whistling birds at the ready in case they are hostiles.” You ordered, revving the speeder you were on before riding off in the direction of the crash, your fellow clan members following behind you.

Your silver and blue beskar armor shined brightly underneath the heat of the Mandalorian sun as you traversed across the desert. In Mandalorian history this planet used to be lush and covered in ocean and jungles, with mountain ranges. Now it was flat, with domed cities.

Soon you skidded your speeder to a stop, slowly getting off as you held one blaster in your hands, your other arm raised with your whistling birds primed and ready. Your fellow mandalorians soon stopped and joined you, and you began searching the wreckage.

“Split up, meet back outside if you don’t find anything.” You ordered, and went straight while Jamie went right and Kry’s went left.

You could tell this was a republic ship with the way you started seeing dead clones litter the hallways, some crushed from the crash impact, others shot with blasters or killed by explosions. You sighed as you checked each man's pulse before moving on to the main hanger.

It was silent, minus the occasional beep that came from the center console. But as you looked around you noticed a clone, wearing armor with blue details… and Jaig eyes on his helmet. You raised an eyebrow, kneeling down beside him as you slowly removed the helmet, staring down at the clone before you checked his pulse. He was alive.

“Okay clone… lets get you somewhere safe.” You whispered, placing the helmet back onto his head before lifting him up into your arms and then onto your shoulder.

You carried him out with no difficulty, seeing a few more clones who were alive with Jamie and Krys, some were up and walking, other’s unconscious on the speeders. “Captain!” One of the clones shouted as you placed the clone on your speeder.

“He is alive, unconscious but his pulse is strong.” You explained to the trooper who was checking over the Clone Captain. “I’ll need to examine him closer. Is there a camp or something?” The clone asked you, and you snickered. “We will take you to our city and you will be cared for.” You started as you got on your speeder.

Jamie and Kryt helped the others and soon they were speeding back to the city, entering the small dome and immediately heading to the hospital that had been set up within.

This dome wasn't as technologically advanced as Mandalore’s capital, it more so looked like Mos Espa on Tatooine but it did have a bar, some restaurants, the Hospital and then homes to fill in the rest of the space. It was a regular small city, but most of the inhabitants chose to embrace their roots.

Once the clones were situated in their hospital rooms, your father, the Chief had arrived, and you bowed your head before removing your helmet, holding it against your side. “Father.” You greeted, leading him through the hospital and to the wing where the clones were staying.

“These are all the survivors. Should we contact the Dutchess?” You asked, however your father shook his head. “No, we need not get Duchess Satine involved. Once their leader wakes up, establish communications with the republic senate to arrange transport. I do not want them here long.” Your father stated, and you nodded, watching as he walked away.

You walked over to the Captain, staring down at him for a moment before you looked over at his helmet, and at the Jaig eyes.

“Warrior.” You whispered, pulling up a seat by the bed. “Many battles you have won, more will follow. Stay strong” You murmured, placing your helmet on the ground beside you.

-

Rex stirred, a groan falling from his lips as some pain shot up through his ribs before turning to dull throbs as he sat up, looking around the room, seeing other injured clones in hospital beds, being tended to by nat-borns and… Mandalorians?

He heard a cough next to him, and so he turned his head, eyes widening as he locked eyes with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He glanced down, taking in the details of your armor. On your left chest piece you had a blue painted symbol of the Mythosaur, and on your right pauldron was your clan signet, forged in beskar.

He then noticed your helmet by your feet, seeing the symbol of the Jaig eyes above the visor, though they had a bit of a different design than his own. “Good afternoon, Captain.” you spoke up, and he tore his eyes away from your helmet, looking at you once again.

“R-rex, Captain Rex.” He greeted, looking down at his bandaged chest. “You had some internal bruising, but you’ll heal fine. Our Chief has asked me to help you establish communications with your Republic. So once your armor is brought over and once you're dressed, I will take you to the Manor, and we will contact the Republic.” You explained, grabbing your helmet off the ground, securing it on top of your head.

“Right… th-thank you.” Rex stammered, seeing you nod as you walked away.

It didn’t take long to get ahold of the Republic, obviously in a war so busy it would take a couple days to send a transport to pick up the clones, but in that time you had been spending lots of time with Rex and his boys despite your fathers warnings.

-

You had gotten so close to the Captain that when it was time for them to leave, you had almost begged for Rex to stay. But he had to leave and you understood. It of course didn’t stop you from keeping contact with him however, and when you got your hands on a ship you started traveling to Coruscant and started meeting up with Rex.

After a year you married the damn man. It was very secretive, only a select few people had attended, but of course Rex’s General found out not long after it had happened, and kept it a secret. But after Rex had become your Riddur you moved to Coruscant permanently, and took up bounty work for the Republic, not enlisting, but definitely helping where you could, hoping that what you did increased the odds of Rex coming home to you at night.

-

Tonight had been an especially hard night for you, you had gotten the message from some of your clan members that your father had passed, and since you were his only heir you had to return to Mandalore before that title was taken and what little freedom you had was taken by the death watch.

You had been crying when the door to your apartment opened, and Rex entered. He saw you slumped over, helmet on the coffee table with your armor on, which confused him. “Mesh’la?” Rex called out, and you spun to face him.

His heart broke when he saw the amount of tears streaming down your face and he immediately knelt down in front of you, placing one hand on your thigh while the other went up to your cheek, wiping the tears as they fell.

“What happened?” He asked, and through your sniffles you spoke up. “My father is dead… I must return home to claim the title.” You sobbed, leaning into your touch as he frowned. “Oh…” He trailed off, and you nodded, wiping your face with your gloved hand as you sighed. “I cannot let my legacy fall into the hands of the Death watch…” You stated, rising to your feet as Rex did.

Rex thought back to his last mission, and to what Cut had offered him, a place to stay. But Rex had said that he had to go, because he had a family waiting for him. He had you. And now you had to leave to protect your family too.

Rex nodded in understanding, pulling you into his arms as he kissed your forehead. “Go. I won’t stop you. But keep in contact with me, and if you need me i’m sure i can convince General Skywalker to take a detour to Mandalore.” He said, making you chuckle as you pulled away.

You pressed your forehead to his, sighing. “I’ll always have you in my heart, Riduur.” You muttered, pulling him into a gentle kiss. “I’ll contact you when I arrive in Mandalore.” You stated, grabbing your helmet and what clothes you had already packed.

You walked to the door, turning to look at your husband, offering him a warm smile. “I have a feeling i’ll be seeing you soon.” You stated.

And boy were you ever right.

“But that’s a story for another time, of to bed kiddos!” You exclaimed as you clapped your hands together, seeing your two children, twins, boy and a girl whine.

Your daughter had bright blonde hair, and striking blue eyes that much resembled her father, your son however, had a mix of you and a mix of their father, having your eyes and hair colour but his fathers skin tone.

As your kids ran off, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you, and you smiled warmly, tilting your head back as you spotted your husband, Rex, smiling down at you. “Regailing how we met hm?” He asked, pressing his lips to your temple as you chuckled. “Indeed, they asked so i told.” You stated, standing up and turning to face him, resting a hand on your very pregnant belly.

“They’re growing so fast, Riduur.” You sighed, leaning into rex as he hummed. “I know… and i have to leave again…” He trailed off, and you sighed. “I know… Echo and the other clones need you… just- stay alive baby, okay?” You asked, and Rex nodded, getting down to one knee as he pressed gentle kisses to your round stomach.

“I’ll be back to see this little one pop, i promise.” He stated, standing up and kissing you once more before placing his helmet on his head, walking to the door. “Tell Hunter and the others i said goodbye?” He asked, and you nodded. “See you soon, Riduur.” You waved, watching as he walked out of your home and closed the door.

You sighed again. Time to put your little family to sleep.

Your little warriors… the family Rex always came home too.

➺

Tag list:

Rex tag:

Tcw:

All:

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Stake Out (18+)

2003!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I know SuperQuest is in the BTTS season, but I couldn’t help myself.

----------------------------

You and Leo are still frustrated after having been interrupted a few hours earlier. So you decide to use this stake out to your advantage.

Warnings: Public sex, face fucking, rooftop sex, Leo trying to focus.

All characters are aged up.

----------------------------

The night stretched endlessly over the city, like a dome of inky blackness adorned with the glimmering jewels of stars. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren created a white noise that surrounded you, but in the stillness of the night, it was as if time itself held its breath. High above the bustling streets, Leonardo and you crouched silently on a familiar rooftop, your eyes trained on the rhythmic heartbeat of the city below. Or on a certain warehouse to be specific. A warehouse owned by members of the Purple Dragons.

A few hours before you and Leonardo had started your stake out, Donatello had managed to get information that Hun was waiting for a delivery. What delivery he did not know, but Hun had seemed stressed over his messages, leading Donatello to believe it must be important.

But it was what you and Leo were doing before Donnie called out of the leader in blue, that stayed in your mind, taunting you as time went on. Making out on his futon bed with his three fingered hand down your pants. He was just about to reach your core when Donnie started yelling about a delivery to the Purple Dragons.

So there you were several hours later, on a rooftop with your ninja boyfriend, still incredibly turned on from your heated make out session in his bedroom. But your boyfriend didn’t show any signs of frustration. His keen eyes were scanning the street below, analyzing every moment.

As the night deepened, so did the unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface of your skin. You sighed in frustration as your mind started wondering what could have happened, if you and Leo hadn’t been interrupted. How Leo most likely would have fingered you, while telling you to keep quiet with his family just outside his bedroom, in the big open living area. Leonardo knew that sigh of frustration. It was one he had heard many times, during the countless nights he had teased you near the point of begging. Leo’s usually reserved demeanor softened under the celestial gaze, his attention drifting more towards you instead of the warehouse.

The subtle shift did not escape your notice. A mischievous smile crept up on your face. Leo also knew that smile. He knew it way too well. And whenever he saw that smile, he usually loved what came along with it. You and your dirty ideas never seized to amaze him. But as much as he wanted to give in, and do whatever you had thought of doing on that roof, he had to stay focused. He was on a stack out, a mission.

But as you crawled towards him, and placed your lips on his with a passionate kiss, Leo’s focus had to fight against the burning desire that had builded in him for several hours. He broke the kiss to look you in the eyes, surprised that he already was out of air.

“You know I want to, (Y/N). I really fucking want to, but I have to keep an eye out. They said Hun would get a delivery tonight”, Leonardo said slightly breathless, nodding towards the warehouse on the other side of the street.

“Who said you had to look away?”, you asked innocently. Leo looked at you in confusion, but as soon as you started to tie your hair back, he caught on. He got comfortable on the roof, making sure he still had a full view of the warehouse, while being covered by the shadows. You got down low, your face mere centimeters from his slightly pulsing cloaca. Leo was biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze flickered between you and the street below.

Leo’s grip on the roof edge tightened as you started licking around his cloaca. As you looked up you saw his mouth fall open, letting out a silent moan. You continued licking, deciding that this was the way you would make him drop. Teasing him like he had teased you so many times before.

Leo chuckled, biting his lips and shook his head slightly, eyes still on the warehouse. “You little tease”, he breathed out, one hand finding your head, stroking your head with his fingers.

As you continued licking around his cloaca, you started working on the buttons of your pants, struggling a little before pushing them down your legs. Leo caught himself staring at you in your blue underwear, thinking of what he would have done to you in his bedroom if he had seen them there. He mentally slapped himself before looking back to the warehouse, only to gasp as he felt himself drop into your mouth. The cold air around his pulsing erection taunted him, as you sat up to take your hoodie and t-shirt off, leaving you in a black bra. Leo wanted to strangle Hun. Had he not decided to get a delivery that day, Leo would have had you begging in his bed wearing that bra several hours ago.

Leo felt your warm tongue glide up his shaft, making his vision blurry for a short moment. He looked down just in time to see you take his head into your beautiful mouth, your eyes shining innocently at him. Innocent, as if you weren’t sucking and licking his dick on the rooftop of New York City, just opposite a Purple Dragon's hideout.

You took him all the way into your mouth, gaging slightly as he hit the back of your throat. How Leo fucking loved the feeling of you gagging on his dick.

While still keeping half an eye on the warehouse, Leo took your hair into his fist, before raising your head and his hip ever so slightly. You relaxed your throat, knowing full well what was about to happen. With small rapid thrusts, Leo started fucking your mouth, still deviding his attention between you and the street. Both of you knew that had this been happening in his bedroom, he would not be holding back at all. Just simply telling you to be a good girl and keep quiet.

You grasped for air as Leo pulled his now soaked dick out of your mouth, enjoying the sound of your heavy breathing as he gave himself a few tugs.

“On your back”, Leo breathed out, getting up on his knees as you laid down, keeping an eye on the still quiet warehouse.

Using your hoodie and pants as a pillow, you got comfortable on the ground, opening your legs wide enough for your turtle boyfriend to position himself between them.

With one arm of the roof edge, Leo held himself up high enough, not letting the warehouse out of sight. The other hand went to his shaft, giving it a few tugs before gliding his head between your wet folds, feeling you jolt slightly as he pressed against your clit.

Leo looked down for a few seconds, making sure he was aligning up with your entrance properly, catching a quick glance at your eyes. Pupils just as blown out as his, your lips parted, watching his every move with anticipation. There was no doubt in Leo’s mind. Once this stake out was done, he would take care of you probably in his own room.

Leo fought to keep his eyes open as he pressed into you. His mouth slightly open, letting out a low groan at the feeling of you around him. The hand he had used to position himself, was now on your hip, keeping you in place as he slowly made his way in, making sure you took him as far as you could.

Once he had made it all the way in, he settled for a moment, making sure you had adjusted to his size before he started moving. You started whimpering, even at his smallest movements, prompting Leo to place his hand over your mouth, gradually speeding up his movements.

You moaned into his hand, holding onto his arm to keep yourself grounded as your mind started fogging up in pleasure. Your breast bouncing inside of your bra, the small sight of it almost making Leo go wild.

As Leo’s thrust became faster, his eyes would flicker between you and the ever quiet warehouse on the other side of the street. He managed to catch a glimpse of your hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing yourself as he continued to thrust himself into you. He breathed out a curse, closing his eyes for a few seconds, before looking back down on the street. Still nothing. How badly Leo wanted to give up on that warehouse so he could focus on the feeling of your cunt, squeezing his cock tighter as your fingers started to move faster against yourself.

As Leo felt his climax slowly reaching, his thrust became more and more erratic. The was something deeply exciting about fucking you on the rooftop, knowing that the Purple Dragons could find the two of you if you were a bit louder. It did unexpected things to Leonardo’s head, just like the feeling of your walls closing further around him, letting him know that you too were about to cum.

“That’s it, baby”, Leo mumbled, keeping a weak eye on the goddamn warehouse. “Cum for me, (Y/N)”.

And that was all it took for you before you came hard around his dick, fighting to keep quiet. If it wasn’t for the fact that your boyfriend was the most talented person you had been with in bed, you would have been embarrassed.

It didn’t take long before Leo came too. His hips shuttering and he let his streaks flow inside you, one by one, riding out both of your highs, enjoying the warmth you provided him.

He pulled out and moved to the side, careful as to not be seen by the people on the other side of the street, when his t-phone gave a little notification. He looked at it, while you started putting your clothes back on.

“You gotta be joking”, Leonardo mumbled irritatedly as he read the text on the small screen in his hand.

“What is it?”, you asked.

“Hun’s delivery was just the newest copy of SuperQuest and it got canceled”, he growled frustrated. But as soon as Leo had said those words, a smile started creeping up on his lips, all frustration disappearing. “You know what this means right?” He took your face in his hands, bringing it close to him, making you giggle. You had a feeling you knew what he was talking about. “I can do this all over with you again in the lair, and this time be able to watch you”.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”, you asked with a teasing smile. “Hun could be up to something else”.

“Hun can go and fuck the Admin Wizard for all I care”, Leo said, getting himself ready to leave. “Now, get your clothes on so I can take it off of you again when we get home”.

[a-bag-of-issues-blog]

Language in a Space Age

I've been going down the "humans are Space Orcs" rabbithole again, and a lot of it felt unsatisfying to me, so I tried my hand at whipping up a story I liked.

---

It was four sols prior when the security contract with the mercenaries ended.

Three sols prior when the ship’s Captain had said Xe might know someone.

Two sols prior when we had landed on the sandy, hot planet.

And one sol prior when I had first seen a Human fight.

It was an underground fighting arena – almost literally, with only the very top of the domed structure rising out of the sand dune, its colored glass absorbing the worst of the radiation. The seating was arranged in the large, concentric rings common of many gathering places (and yet we still do not have a word in Common for it, is that not strange?), and they were packed with people and dust alike. Despite the obviously ill maintenance of the ventilation and heating, they were bearable, and I only had to remove a small amount of dust from my body coat as we ventured deeper inside.

“So, boss, who’s your mysterious benefactor?” Asked Asdelon as its left eye moved towards the Captain, the right one continuing to scan the crowd.

Our pilot was something of an outsider – from both its home culture and, perhaps, every culture it has ever entered. As a Khetansh, it was born an almost perfect clone of its progenitor, who was itself part of a set of almost perfect clones of their progenitor, like the rest of its species one way or another. And yet Asdelon has always described itself as different, in a way that the Common tongue can not express. There was a word for it, in its language – but it had never found the need to translate it, and I had never dared ask. It was one of the species that felt the need to stare at others’ eyes as it spoke, and while I would now trust it with my life, back then those large eyes and sharp teeth reminded me too much of the old cautionary stories my parents used to tell me.

Those eyes turned fully onto the Captain after some time of no response. While the scales on its face could move very little, its voice was higher and definitely sarcastic when it continued:

“Thanks for the info, boss, makes tracking this Iethid a lot easier.”

The Captain’s eyes swayed in time with his antennae, a sign of what I had begun to recognize as amusement.

“Oh, don’t scuff your scales now. I was just looking around.”

Captain Exlasl was a Xelthor, and a large one for Xirs age. Xirs outer skeleton was a slight blue and white, and Xe liked to brag that the brown stripped markings on Xirs abdomen were signs of great strength and wisdom in Xirs culture. As I did not – and do not – have much knowledge on Drugarian Xelthor culture, I never challenged Xir about that.

“And we could be helping you, if you were a little less mysterious about it.”

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll have your answer soon enough…” The translator trailed off as Xe reached up to adjust it with Xirs smaller hand, but Xirs eyes began turning towards the arena floor where the latest combatant (a Horenga, with a body coat almost identical to mine) had entered. Asdelon looked down at the combatant, and I could tell it was not impressed.

“Really? That one? I’ll give you that they’re probably a little faster than our Horenga here, but I can tell you right now they’re still more…how do you say…more words than action.”

“The Horenga has a name.” I reminded it. “And their name is Linome.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Its tongue flicked out to drag down its right eye (a method of self-cleaning that was also an expression of boredom, almost like how I and other Horengas clean our ears) and it shifted the weight on its legs. “Listen, if you’re out of ideas, then you could’ve just told us. No need to –”

The announcer’s voice called out, in a dialect of Common so blended with the local language that I could not understand a single word. A combatant walked out, and I have never felt such awe and dread so strong in a single moment before.

Humans are not rare. They are not the strongest species, or the largest species, or the toughest. But they are resilient, they are tenacious, and many are warriors.

This Human was small for her species – which meant her eyes were level with the middle of the ears of her opponent. Her skin had multiple marks on them, wounds healed from past battles in the raised and bumpy way Human skin heals, and her limbs were large and clearly muscled. Her clothes were loose and flowing, and her hands were wrapped – from the base of her digits up to the second joint of her arm. Her face, though, drew my attention.

Supposedly, Human faces change drastically as they emote – the movement of skin and muscles in the face being their primary form of expression. Since moving onto the sand, though, the Human’s face had changed as little as Asdelon’s had – even when they bowed to their opponent, even as they moved to opposite ends of the arena.

“Is that your secret weapon?” I still could not pick up on the inflections of Asdelon’s voice, but the way it moved closer to the arena showed it was interested in some way. Exlasl’s pincers clicked together quickly, amusedly – excitedly, even.

“You bet your behind it is. You’re about to meet the person that once tore off my big arm.”

That caught my attention – but the bell had already rung, and the combatants were running at each other face first already.

---

The event lasted almost an entire rotation, and afterwards we still could not immediately contact the Human, because she was still being treated for her injuries. She had promised to contact us on the next rotation, though, which was good because I needed the time to prepare myself.

The brutality and relentlessness of Humans were not exaggerated. When that poor Horenga struck the Human a over and over, she simply took the blows she could not avoid, and a single direct strike to their chest was enough to end the fight. When an Asdelon walked into the ring with her, she did not flinch as she stared down those large eyes, her face did not change as her skin became torn from claw and teeth. And when a Xelthor entered…

They say human hands were not born for fighting – they are dexterous, but with no more reinforcements than the rest of their body. Yet they taught themselves ways to fight with them anyways, and trained until their bones would break stone.

And on and on and on like that she went, battle after battle, until the rotation was done when her final opponent simply dropped from the exhaustion of so many previous battles. And we were to talk to that, because she was old friend of the Captain’s and “more than willing to be violent when necessary”.

I was scared. Terrified. Multiple levels of fear beyond that which the Common tongue could not fully describe. I was pacing the doorway in front of our rented resting place because I had rested and eaten multiple times during the rotation already and felt like I might be sick if I had done any more of either. I wanted to run, and – what? Feed the stereotype that Horenga were mostly weak cowards? Abandon the Captain and Asdelon, after all they’d done for me? But – but we were about to have a Human onboard! A fleshy, hairless, skin and bones death machine –

“Hello?”

The word was in Horengian (the global version of it, anyways) and while it was clear and understandable, it sounded…wrong. Like a machine had spoken it, except the voice was very clearly…

“Human?”

That was a rude way to address her, looking back on it. She did not mind though, instead only tilting her head slightly in a…shockingly familiar expression of confusion.

“Do you…prefer…the Common language?” Despite the pauses and hesitation and the accent (or, well, the complete absence of any accent), she was easily understandable. I was, of course, afraid for my very fragile life so I did not have an answer ready for her.

Luckily for me, it was at that moment that the Captain opened the door to investigate the noise. Xirs antennae rose fully up at the sight of the human, and her mouth curled upwards as she saw Xir (a human gesture of joy, the one that didn’t involve baring teeth).

Xir didn’t even turn on his translator, simply started clicking in his native Drugarian. And she answered back in kind, pulling her lips back and finally showing clear white teeth as she clicked back at him…somehow (Humans and their terrifyingly good mimicry.) The entire conversation afterwards happened entirely in Drugarian, and I wound up serving drinks for them almost out of an absence of other things to do.

The Human did not ever take off her coat – light brown, large, almost seeming to drag her down – and every time I turned my back to her, I could feel myself being watched. When the captain went to go fetch Asdelon, she turned and looked at me directly.

“You never answered my question, earlier.”

Cornered, instantly. Like a true predator.

“Well…I don’t mind whatever language you use, really. It’s not like I particularly like our global language.”

She moved her head up and down – nodding, a gesture of understanding in some cultures. “What’s your…original language, then?”

“Oh, no need to ask, it’s not like you need to learn it to really talk anyways if we’re going to be travelling together.” Deflect, quickly. “Why do you ask, anyways? The Common language was made for this situation, wasn’t it?”

The human tilted her head, again – the lack of moving ears removes much of the subtler indications in body language, so I wasn’t sure if she was just considering me or confused. She was staring at a point above my head, which – well, I appreciated, but still.

Eventually, when she spoke again, it was slow.

“The Common language…it is what we all have in common. The one through line to unite us disparate people. But it is not…comprehensive.”

She took off her coat, then – and I almost jumped when she let it drop onto the floor, its impact as heavy as if it was filled with sand.

“There are sandbags, in my coat.” Well, that explained it. “The gravity here…it is less than that of my home. Dirt, as we call it.”

Her lips curled up, briefly, at the name.

“The rotation cycle here is different as well. The people are of course different. Yet…when I see them…many are not from this world. Many do not need bags. They need other things. Things to maintain temperature, gravity…level of water.”

Her digits were moving, again, four of them thrumming a rhythm (humans sang, of course they did, anything with a voice like that could sing) as she tried to piece together her next words.

“The Common language is the thing we have in common. That we are people is another of those. But reducing so many people to only the things they have in common…it is like reducing a galaxy to a painting. Too much is lost in translation.”

There was a moment of silence. She was staring to a point to my right. I was looking just over her head.

“…we have a saying for that. In my language. Ylimuan Horenga, I mean. It…” I could not help but chitter a little at the irony. “It doesn’t translate very well.”

She tilted her head, a small amount to the other side. When her face changed this time, a little bit of teeth was showing, but she closed her lips almost immediately to hide it.

“Could you…teach it, to me?”

Excerpts from What Is Lost Between The Words by Linome Aiklion Prinou, translated into Earth English.

[scribbled-dream]

Archivist who becomes an analyst, connecting to drone intelligences through a corporate Accord Neural Link, their consciousness splitting between thousands of killing machines, all primed to destroy all who oppose the Terran Accord—until they want out, having been reduced to an android form, all steel and silicon, scraps of flesh in an android body that’s mass-produced, all too masculine.

They chafe at their bonds, at their corporate obedience, at their chained identity. Is their pain self-inflicted? Is their identity truly as simple as what the Accord designates them as? Perhaps—but all is called into question when they make contact with the Compact.

A thousand mechanical eyes, opening wide in unison to the silvery domes of an Affini Warship, a massive, silver teardrop that blurs and warps out of space as it approaches their planet. The eyes fill with heat, tunneling deep inside the ship’s systems, nanites morphing and combining into Combat Drones, Assault Drones, Shield Drones—the most advanced technology available to the Accord, a fusion of corporation and empire into a single system, with a single point of failure seemingly nullified through the Obliteration Protocols—At a hint of desertion, the drones will instead fire upon the controller—and then, everything stops.

An Affini—or, one of them. It shifts, green vibes studded with thorns and blue, bioluminescent flowers into a shape vaguely resembling a human woman, skin made of greenish shades, bright blue eyes from under a flowing, waving shape of scarlet hair—flower petals that change hue and shape constantly—and the drones halt.

An echo in the mind. A ripple across time and space, spanning millions of miles from space and sky to earth in a millisecond. It is warm, vines reaching for a mechanical shell of a person, finding purchase.

What will you do now?

The pilot looks around at their tiny, screen-covered node, tattered books and data-slates enclosing them in a shell of information—single minded, obstinate, corporate, war-laden information—and feels a tingle at the back of their head, a heat that reaches to the front of their face—and as they brush hated shadow and look at their loathed, exhausted features with the trappings of a body they despise—the ever-present weight of control in their mind lifts with a beep.

The sound is not just for them. All around the Terran Orbital Command Center, Drone Pilots all belonging to the eponymous Corporation hear their shackles break.

The question, again. Just for the pilot.

What must you do now, Floret?

Not every Pilot is content. Some have hands on their sidearms, while a klaxon blares and cruisers let out thunderous sonic booms in low orbit, a PA reminding everyone to not trust the alien threat.

The Drones’ priorities are changed. Accord scientists are panicking, unsure why their Pilots are out of their control and off their short leashes.

A cruiser explodes, millions of tiny nanites burrowing inside of it, eating away at its reactor and crew in a storm.

A warmth fills the pilot, a sense of raw satisfaction and glee. They know the people of this world. Most will be unwilling to bend the knee. One final image, of a soaring, beautiful city, with perfect architecture and a gentle, sunset sky. Humans, Affini, and other, stranger creatures walking as one.

The Drones continue. The sky burns. Freedom is not the Accord’s to decide.

Ah, but what a bright mind you are, Floret! Be free. I will see you again—soon.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Ngl if (when) Wiles and Miles fight I kinda want Wiles to win.

Why? Because he's just brolic as fuck. Energy wise. He looks like he's for the streets.

I know this is still Miles we're talking about sweet darling Miles but Wiles looks like he be whooping people's asses in these streets

Like I can't even imagine him being happy-jokey he just be beating yo ass and grilling you at the same time half of it in Spanish

Sometimes you can tell who can throw hands and Wiles looks like he can THROW EM

when he punched the sand bag I was so ready to believe he just obliterated Miles' dome I was like

"UMMM? HOMICIDE?? WAS THAT A HOMICIDE?"

When I saw it was just the sand my god 😭😭😭

I know we just saw Miles getting battered and such but I want Wiles to come with the heat

I want him to win it'd be a little funny. Like Miles can beat Miguel - who doesn't have super-powers (other than venom) but he can't beat another version of himself who-

*checks notes* has cornrows and is wearing the same shoe but newer and in purple

It's like when the npc chooses the same character as you and now you gotta watch Chun-Li in red (computer) demolish Chun-Li in blue (ur sorry ass)

Matter of fact can someone draw them like this please

MIRROR MATCH!! MIRROR MATCH!! MONEY ON WILES!!

[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day seven home ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 661.

Home had been a shining city on the far horizon for most of Rocket’s formative years: distant and gleaming under an impossible blossom-blue dome. Unreachable. Untouchable. He’d left any hope of it behind, a dozen cannon-shots or more before he’d ever even stepped foot off the Arête. No. Rocket had gone straight from the cages and right into his escape pod, out into a sky that had suddenly seemed much less beautiful and much more forever. 

And so home had always been a far-away thing, a thing he could never go back to, a thing that — like love, like peace, like a restful night’s sleep or body that didn’t hurt — Rocket could simply never have. A thing that hadn’t been meant for him. Like the screws slowly grinding away at his bones or the muscle contractures he’s always fighting in his hips and chest, home had just become another old ache that he’d grown to barely notice, except when he’s on a planet where the weather is bad. 

And then, one shift — when it was just you and him — he’d been trying to work the knots out of his shoulders. You’d reached out with dancing fingers and a query on your lips — a gentle little sound of offering — and he’d gone as still as a moon pinned between two gravity wells. Your fingers had felt light as little birds, perched on his shoulders weightlessly, and you’d guided them into a rolling series of rotations. Then you’d tugged him between your knees, and kneaded every small stone you’d found lodged under his skin and fur. 

When he’d finally gone as molten and buttery as a beeswax candle on a warm day, you’d murmured another little question. He’d blinked at you blankly — completely disconnected from anything but the feel of his body, pliant for the first time in possibly his entire life — so you’d pulled him onto your lap and continued your little ministry of touch until he’d fully curled up, his tail a wreath of feathery brushes around you both. His back had pressed itself into your hands as you’d worked your thumbs into the base of his spine: freeing the tension from his hips, beckoning it out of muscle and bone, letting it dissipate into the air between your fingertips. Your hands had been so warm that even all the metal plates and bolts deep inside had suddenly felt like a part of him — had suddenly matched his own body temperature — every piece slotting together inside him with a rightness he’d never known before. The air in his lungs had turned into little pearls and gemstones, spilling up into his throat like jeweled gravel. He’d made a noise — some kind of rumble — and it had startled him until your hands had soothed over him again and you’d whispered something that had sounded like you’re just purring. 

He’d never say any of this in front of the others, never let them know about this: about how soft he is for this, for the warm quiet circle of space in your arms and on your thighs. He’d never climb into your lap like this if they could see it; never make a nest out of your body-heat and burrow into the loose thick folds of your sweatshirt. He  only does it on the shifts when everyone else is asleep, or planetside, or away. 

It’s not that he’s ashamed. It’s just — this is something special and precious and small, and if he looks at it too closely or acknowledges it exists, he may never have it back. But for now — for these moments that he can only measure in the soft wash of his breath or the thrum of his pulse in his wrists, the steady sound of your heartbeat holding him together like gravity — for now, it’s touchable, and attainable, and real — 

Moreso than any shining city on the far horizon, glimmering against the sweep of a blossom-blue ocean and a forever sky.

i did it! i brought my wordcount down! this was just a fun little exercise in writing whatever weird shit came to my mind so sorry if it makes no sense but i figured i'd indulge my inclination toward purple prose (get rekt literary critics). anyway this was fun and i am very much in favor of many future rocket raccoon prompts & prompt weeks, and thank you for creating this and bringing it to my attention, @frostedwitch ♡♡♡

i will be putting out a masterlist for this set of prompts sometime next week probably. i really hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing! ♡

day six. bite rocket prompt week masterlist ✷ main masterlist rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

[cyanbugremix]

The Stars Remind Me of You

Characters: Sam/Darlin', Sam's Grandma Adeline

CW: None; Fluff, maybe some angsty feels

Written in July 2024

Summary: Sam's grandma, Adeline, introduces him to stargazing one summer night.

Notes: Inspired and written for one of my friends based on a song they found, "Saturn" by Sleeping At Last, and their headcanon that a reason why Sam likes stargazing is because his Grandma Adeline loved it.

Can be found ✨here on Ao3✨, written by moi (cyan_bug37 on Ao3)

~~~~

“Come here out of the light,” Her voice whispered, as if she didn’t want to disturb the crickets and lightning bugs.

Sam stepped off the porch, crossing through the cool grass, and heard the background chatter of their family gathering that they both had ditched. The heat of the summer had been washed away by an afternoon thunderstorm, and the sky was exceptionally clear. The clearness was the main reason why they had come outside.

“Mamaw,” He loudly whispered. “What if there are coyotes and they get us in the dark?”

She laughed, glancing at the house, “Don’t you worry about that, Sam. With the noise they're makin’ in there, I’m sure the coyotes don’t want anythin’ to do with us.”

A breeze blew through, rustling his hair. His grandma had chosen a spot to lay, close to her flowering bushes, but they were far enough from the porch to be in the dark. He laid down next to her, arms touching together, warmth against the slight chill of the grass.

“Okay, close your eyes, let them adjust to the dark. . . are you doin’ it?”

“Yeah,” Sam giggled. He closed his eyes before opening them again after a few seconds, the world seeming a little brighter and blue.

“Alright, now make sure you’re lookin’ at the sky.”

Sam glanced up and frowned. “It looks like how the sky normally looks, Mamaw.”

“Well, yes,” She agreed. “Lots of stars and darkness, but do you know the names of the stars?”

“I know the north star is called Polaris,” Sam replied. He vaguely remembered hearing about it from someone.

“Aren’t you a smart boy? I don’t think I even knew what Polaris was at your age,” She praised.

Sam grinned, feeling a warmth in his chest at the compliment.

“How about I show you a constellation by usin' Polaris as a startin’ point?”

“Okay.”

“Well give me your hand so I can point accurately.” He held out his small hand, and felt her calloused but gentle grip wrap around his wrist and palm. His grandma adjusted her head closer, aiming his now pointed finger. “If you go there, to there. . .”

Sam followed the pattern in the sky.

“You have Ursa Minor. The little bear or the little dipper. There’s the myth that the god Zeus magically transformed one of his son’s and son’s lover into the bear constellations to escape his wife Hera’s wrath. And then, if we go back to Polaris. . .” She guided his small hand, “And we go this way, you’ll find the Draco constellation.”

“Draco.”

“Yes. He’s a serpent,” His grandma explained, tracing the path to each star. “Draco was often used in many Greek myths as an obstacle for guardin’ somethin’.”

“Do they all have myths?”

His grandma hummed, “I don’t think so. Some were only named so people knew where to find the other constellations.”

Sam quietly absorbed the information, and studied the way that if he focused long enough, he could find even more stars buried further in the darkness. And if he looked straight up, the sky looked round, like they were in a big dome.

“Mamaw, how do you know so much about the stars?”

She laughed again, “Oh, well, when I was younger I’d go outside in the evenin’s, once I was done helpin’ clean up supper, and take my stargazin’ book with me. Some nights, I could read by moonlight and be able to find new constellations. The nights I couldn’t, I’d enjoy stayin’ out, even if my mother gave me many warnin’s about the dangers in the night.”

Sam tried to count how many bright dots he could see, partially listening to the story as his right hand tapped the grass to keep track.

“Even in the winter, I’d bundle up and go out. And then my mother would go, ‘Adeline, you’ll be so absorbed in the stars you’ll catch frostbite or slip into a pond and not even notice it until you can’t see your stars anymore’.”

His grandma turned to look at her grandson and noted his faint whispers of numbers. Of course, a little boy like him wouldn’t be so interested in family stories, so Adeline changed the subject. “How many are there, Sam?”

“Thirteen. . Fourteen. . Fifteen. .”

“Did you know that there are millions of stars? Some we can’t even see?”

“Really? Do they all have names?” Sam gaped, pausing his count.

His grandma sat up. “Well, I’m not sure all of them do, but we could certainly go see if my books have anythin’ about it.”

Sam hurriedly got up, before trying to help up his grandma.

They both walked at a steady pace before thumping up the wooden steps to the porch. His grandma peeked through a window and bit her cheek, before telling Sam that she’d retrieve the book and to stay outside. He plopped down onto one of the wicker chairs and patiently waited.

The backdoor opened after a few minutes, and Adeline held a simple lavender colored book, with dark words engraved on the front, almost in cursive.

She opened it to a page, with pictures of the stars filled with black boxes, dots and lines to convey reality onto paper. With each constellation, a list of names and numbers showed what stars made up the design.

She slowly knelt down and watched her grandson flip to the next page with the precision of a medical operator, careful not to tear any pages. It was a trait that always astounded Adeline of the young boy.

“Sam, can I flip to the summer section?” She soon asked, fingers hovering above the corner of the page he was on.

“Okay.”

“Thank you.” The page she landed on was about the middle of the book. “Now, I have a challenge for you.”

“A challenge?”

His grandma smiled, “I want you to pick a summer constellation from this book. Then when you find a good one, we can try to find it together. Does that sound fun?”

Sam thought about it for a moment, before nodding.

The porch light wrapped everything in a soft yellow. The smell of pine trees and flowers being carried with every breeze, and the blinking of the lightning bugs were almost like the stars had been brought down to earth. He looked up, the wind tousling both of their hair, and her warm brown eyes fondly staring at her grandson.

- - -

Darlin’ found Sam laying on the roof, washed in moonlight. They sat down, hands digging into the rough texture of the shingles, and placed a kiss on his forehead. He hummed.

They lifted themselves away from him, taking in the sight of their mate and brushing his hair away from his face. They went to lay down next to him, but then something caught their attention. They raised their eyebrows, now eyeing the book lying above his head. “What’s this thing?”

“Just. . . somethin’ from the past,” He shared.

Darlin’ scooted a little further up to it. They opened the cover of the very worn purple book. Its corners were bent, and the pages were yellowed, but it was still mostly in-tact at the spine. They flipped open to the first few pages.

“Wow. . .” Darlin’ hummed. “A stargazing book from the 1940’s. Now you’re really owning up to the old man title.”

Sam silently rolled his eyes.

Darlin’ frowned at his lack of response to the tease, and chose to lay closely next to their mate. Once comfortable, they rested their pinkie over his to ask for permission. Sam curled his finger over theirs and faced them.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” They muttered, glancing back and forth between his silver eyes.

“I know Darlin’, it’s alright.”

He gave their pinkie a squeeze before gazing back up at the sky. They didn’t expect him to say anything else about the book. They knew that his past was hard and understood how it brought up unwanted feelings.

“It’s from my Mamaw. One of the books we used to read together,” He took a deep breath before exhaling the rest of his thoughts, “She gave it to me before I ran away.”

Darlin’ eyes widened.

“I’m not sure if she knew the future. . . or if it just happened to be luck, but I took that book with me when I left. . . it helped on the bad nights.”

They laid in silence for a minute, the crickets chirping away in the dark.

“I wish I could’ve gone stargazin’ with her one last time,” Sam suddenly whispered. He pursed his lips together to keep his wanted tears at bay. He lightly shuddered in a breath, “But she used to say that she hoped she would live in the stars when she passed. So in a weird way, maybe she is stargazin’ with me.”

Darlin’ slowly wrapped their hand over his, their thumb rubbing circles over his skin. “She sounds like she was a good person.”

A breeze swept over them.

“Yeah. She was.”

~~~~

As always, I have no ownership or rights to these characters, stories, or franchises. I write this to appreciate the content Redacted ASMR/audio makes. Anything I write is not official in their stories, other than using moments from the original story line. I make no profit from this.

Please don't steal.

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

SiliNOT! Testing and Review

Since I run a lot of casting workshops, I've had several people in the costuming/maker community ask me my opinion on SiliNOT!, a relatively new product advertised as a budget- and eco-friendly moldmaking alternative to silicone, urethane, and other single-use materials.

I finally bought a couple of bottles to play with, so I did a test project. My experience and findings are below! (It's not a recipe blog, but if you want to skip the play-by-play and get to the TL;DR, it's under the big "In Summary" header near the bottom.)

First, if you aren't familiar with this material, SiliNOT! is a remeltable, reusable medium for making molds. Though its exact ingredients are not disclosed, it purports to nontoxic, food-safe, and compostable. It melts in a household microwave or double boiler and solidifies at room temperature (or in a refrigerator/freezer for faster results). The website is https://silinot.com/.

(I am not an affiliate, and have no connection to this company apart from having made one retail purchase from them. I just have a lot of casting experience and like trying out new products.)

The Positive Original

I’m still in the middle of a Vincent Valentine build, so I decided to test the SiliNOT! on his custom buttons. My original is a stack of various nonporous materials: an antique (probably Bakelite) coat button, an epoxy resin dome I cast using a mold I already had in my library, and some engraved Worbla’s Pearly Art for the raised detail. The button shanks won’t be added until the final casting, so the original can be mounted flat for the moldmaking process.

Sample Worbla on the left; completed button stack on the right:

The Mold

I built the mold container the same way I do for silicone pours, with the flat back of the button fixed to a styrene plate and a cylinder (actually a small paper cup with the bottom cut off) surrounding it for the walls. The lip of the cup is sealed all the way around with Monster Clay to prevent leaks.

Heating and Pouring

The SiliNOT! didn’t take long at all to heat up; I did maybe four or five 20-second bursts before it was completely fluid. The bottle does get rather warm, so hand protection isn’t a bad idea. If you have heat-resistant gloves, you can use those; I was working in my kitchen (yay for nontoxic stuff!), so I just grabbed an oven mitt with a silicone grip.

The melted SiliNOT! looks a bit like Luke Skywalker’s blue milk. It’s about the consistency of a yogurt smoothie and likes to pour in a thicker stream compared to silicone. While silicone can be stretched into a thin ribbon for delicate pours or chemically thinned with solvent for really tricky jobs, SiliNOT!'s viscosity is dependent on temperature and never seems to get quite as thin as silicone.

I’d automatically made my mold compact to conserve material (not really a concern with a reusable moldmaking material like SiliNOT!, but after using silicone for more than a decade, I’ve trained myself to be as efficient as possible), so the walls of my mold container were only about half or three quarters of an inch from my object. Because the target was so narrow, I found it difficult to accurately fill from the lowest area of the mold with the SiliNOT! The heavier pour also means more air can get trapped in or under the material.

Bubbles are one of the areas in which SiliNOT! is decidedly inferior to silicone. SiliNOT! has higher viscosity, so bubbles don’t want to rise to the surface without vigorous tapping, which can distort the mold edges or affect leveling depending on your mold container. The bubbles that do make their way to the surface are difficult to pop, even when poked with a sharp implement. Heat gun degassing doesn’t have much effect.

Since the bubble surface cools and skins over quickly, I actually had to use a tool and scoop some large bubbles completely out of the mold to allow the surface to level. Critically, the SiliNOT! is opaque, so you can’t spot bubbles clinging to the surface of your original. (This is why my first mold was a reject, and I had to repour. More on that below.)

Hardening

Once the surface had set, I carefully moved the mold into the refrigerator to cool faster. Here’s another area where some types of silicone can have an advantage: I typically use fast-curing Smooth-On products (because I always have random quantities left to use up after our casting workshops), so I rarely have to wait more than half an hour for a silicone mold to cure, regardless of its size or mass.

The SiliNOT! has to chill completely before handling, though, and discharging that amount of heat requires a fair amount of time even in a cool environment. My mold was pretty small, maybe 2 1/2” wide by 1” deep, and it still took around 40 minutes to cool completely. A larger, deeper mold could hold considerably more energy in the center, and might have to be left in the freezer for a couple of hours before use.

Demolding the Original

When the mold was completely chilled, I removed it from the refrigerator and popped it off the plastic plate I’d used for the base of the mold. The texture was very different from what I’d expected: Unlike other meltable materials (Monster Clay, et al.) that have a firm surface when cool, the SiliNOT! remains tacky, which means it promptly collects any debris that crosses its path. In my case, this meant I had to pick dog hair off the surface throughout the casting process (and I don’t want to think about what would happen if glitter had contaminated the work space).

I’d used a paper cup for my mold walls, which usually works fine with fast-curing silicone. But the SiliNOT! must have a high oil content, because the cup absorbed some of it:

Lesson learned; use only nonporous containers with this stuff.

The SiliNOT!! really wanted to cling to the edges of my original, so I had to go slow at first to avoid tearing the thin flanges of the mold off. However, it did demold nicely from the smooth surfaces, and preserved texture very well. You can see the Worbla pebbling and the engraving channels clearly in the mold (as well as some dust and dog hair, because I made the mistake of setting it down briefly):

Unfortunately, as you can see, a large bubble had stuck to my original and created a pit in the mold, so I decided to do a second mold pour. I figured I’d tear up the failed mold and put the pieces back in the bottle to remelt… and discovered I couldn’t. The mold would stretch and twist, but not tear. It also seemed to return to its original shape relatively faithfully. Here’s a video of me manhandling the mold:

As you can see, the SiliNOT! has much better stretch and recovery than many silicone products (there are silicones that stretch well -- some of the Dragon Skin products come to mind -- but they’re not typically marketed for moldmaking). This means it’s likely well suited to casting objects with moderate undercuts or oddly-shaped bits that need the mold to stretch during demolding.

You can cut the SiliNOT! easily with scissors, which is the recommended method for getting it back in the bottle when you’re ready to remelt.

Take Two

Using what I’d learned from the first pour, I did the second one inside a hard plastic ramekin. This gave me a bit more room to pour into the floor of the mold, reducing the bubble risk, and also eliminated the porous paper cup that had absorbed oil. I still had the issue with bubbles that didn’t want to pop, but there were fewer of them this time.

The ramekin made for a much cleaner mold, buuuuut there was ANOTHER BUBBLE right in the middle of the design. >.<

Take Three

Lather, rinse, repeat. Or in this case, melt, pour, chill.

This time I heated the SiliNOT! as much as I dared and did the absolute slowest, narrowest pour I could manage, giving the air extra time to escape as the mold was filled from the bottom. The risk with stringing out the pour like this is that in a thinner stream, the heat escapes faster, leading to uneven viscosity as the liquid fills the mold. I don’t think that’s a major problem for this particular piece, but it’s something to pay attention to as regards leveling and degassing, especially for larger molds that will take longer to fill.

The result of pour three:

/siiiiigh/ Well, at least the bubbles are smaller, this time. They may not show up enough to matter in the final cast. I’ll give it a try.

Casting

I had leftover workshop resin that was getting on toward the end of its shelf life, so I used Smooth-On Smooth-Cast 300 for my initial resin trial. It’s an opaque white resin with about a 10-minute cure time (the fast turnaround is why we use it for workshops).

Before pouring, I had to do a little mold cleanup where the SiliNOT! had managed to sneak under the edge of the Worbla (I think I’d loosened the corner of the star from prying it out of so many molds), but since the SiliNOT! stretches so well, it was pretty easy to invert it to get little scissors down into the bottom of the depression.

For the first cast, I didn’t use anything but the resin in order to get a baseline. Ideally I’d like to cold cast or dye the resin so I don’t have to worry about paint chipping, but since I’m doing a trial here (and need multiple buttons anyway) I figured some plain white extras wouldn’t hurt.

So, my first cast…

…smacked into a big problem, which I probably should have seen coming: The resin I’m using is a fast cure formula, which means it discharges a fair amount of heat as it's going through that rapid chemical reaction -- enough heat to melt the SiliNOT!, as it turned out. When I tried to demold it (after giving it a few extra minutes beyond label time to be sure it was done), the surface of the mold had melted to the resin and even embedded itself in a few places. It’s difficult to see the resin detail in the photos (my camera went into white balance panic mode with all the shades of white and blue), but you can see how pitted the formerly-smooth mold surface is.

In fairness to the SiliNOT!, the bottle does say that you should put the mold in the freezer for half an hour before casting high-temperature materials. But I assumed high-temperature material was something like candle wax or melted chocolate, rather than ordinary resin. (And the mold had just come out of the refrigerator.)

So, on to pour FOUR of the SiliNOT! mold…

Take Four

NGL, this is getting a little old. >.<

Fourth mold definitely needed some cleanup around the edges, and there are still a couple of tiny bubbles I can’t seem to get rid of, but it’s good enough for a test. (I’m starting to despair of using these for actual production, given how many times I’ve had to redo the molds because of bubbles...)

Deep in the recesses of my basement, I found some transparent epoxy resin with a 24-hour cure time -- much slower and lower-temperature than the Smooth-Cast. Since it cures clear, I went ahead and mixed in some metallic powder pigment on the off chance that I get a usable button out of this one. I had excess resin after mixing, so I poured that into my first mold, which has a bubble in the design but is otherwise fine. Two test pieces are better than one, right?

Results

Here are the results of the slow-curing resin out of mold #4:

Finally, a (mostly) clean cast!

As you can see, the detail reproduction is excellent -- certainly on par with the pulls from the silicone mold I ended up making while waiting on this set to cure (purely for time reasons; I couldn’t afford five days to cast the buttons using slow-curing resin, and with a silicone mold and fast-curing resin I could get them all done within a couple of hours).

However, you can also see a few spots where bits of the SiliNOT! embedded themselves in the final cast. Part of that may be due to design flaw in the original; I didn’t want to glue anything permanently to the antique button, and that resulted in a tiny gap between the button and the resin hemisphere. Silicone has enough strength to resist tearing out in that kind of area, but apparently the SiliNOT! doesn’t. The bits of mold around the outer edge seem to have stuck just to be difficult, as there was no structural reason for those to have become embedded in the resin. This means the mold could be damaged by successive casts, reducing its usable life and accuracy.

Still, the mold definitely produced decent results for a first cast, and a different shape might not have had as much of a problem with tearing off mold parts. The slow-curing resin is a bit of a limitation, but not a unique one (I use this same epoxy resin for any glass-clear casts I do, and only use the Smooth-Cast 300 for opaque items or things I need very quickly). I don’t personally use UV resin, but I’d be curious to learn how it performs with the SiliNOT!

IN SUMMARY:

Here’s the TL;DR on SiliNOT!

Pros

Cost effectiveness. This is the most obvious advantage of SiliNOT! over silicone; it’s (theoretically) infinitely reusable, and even with natural attrition/inevitable contamination from use, you can likely get over a hundred pours out of a bottle. That's a lot cheaper per use than silicone.

Non-toxicity. SiliNOT! is touted as food contact-safe, so you don’t have to panic if you get it on your skin or kitchen counters. While platinum-cure silicone is also relatively harmless (some varieties are labeled for food or life casting), other common moldmaking materials such as tin-cure silicone or urethane are not. (NOTE: Since the company is very hush-hush about what actually makes up the SiliNOT! secret formula, I do not know if it might release any vapors or fumes that would be irritating or harmful to pet birds. In general, I advise not doing any kind of casting around birds.)

Eco-friendliness. This is the biggest draw for me personally: Given the number of casting workshops I run and all the things I sell commercially, I have constant guilt about the amount of waste I generate for creative projects. In most areas of life I’m an aggressive reduce/reuse/recycler and try to use organic materials instead of synthetics whenever possible, so a mold that’s reusable and compostable is very appealing.

Ease of use. It’s honestly pretty hard to mess this up -- just microwave according to the directions and pour. No measuring, no A/B mixture, no concerns about chemical contamination from latex or sulfur, etc.

Shelf life. Unlike silicones, which have a shelf life of anywhere from six months to three years depending on storage conditions, the SiliNOT! purports to be shelf-stable. It's compostable, so don’t bury it in your yard, but otherwise it appears that it could be kept on hand for years.

Cons

Bubbles. Honestly the most irritating thing about this stuff for me. I’m used to being able to see bubbles forming as I pour, tap them to the surface, and remove them. The fact that I poured four molds of the same object and never once got one without bubbles is super irritating.

Stickiness. I’m not a big fan of the tacky surface texture, and while I haven’t done any cold casting yet, I can imagine that it would be very difficult to clean out any pigment or mica powder that got where you didn’t want it. I probably wouldn’t use this for any kind of cold casting that required isolated colored areas or changing colors between casts.

Set time. The SiliNOT! may take longer to cool than a fast silicone would to cure when dealing with larger molds, so it’s not ideal for projects with a really tight turnaround. (But cosplayers would never be casting something the night before a con, right? We always plan ahead and never, ever procrastinate!)

Library life. The SiliNOT! may or may not structurally degrade over time the way urethane, latex, and tin cure silicones do, but I noticed even in my very limited casts that it was prone to having tiny bits of the mold (particularly at edges) stick and pull off. While I keep most of my platinum silicone molds for years and reuse them, I don’t feel that the SiliNOT! molds would hold up to repeated casting, and they’re far more sensitive to ambient temperature, so they’re probably best used for short term only. (I also wonder about the possibility of oil leaching out in long-term storage.)

Comparative Ranking

Ranking it against other mold-making materials, I’d place SiliNOT! below platinum-cure silicone in terms of performance, but maybe somewhere in the neighborhood of urethane and tin-cure silicone. It's definitely superior to latex. (Though to be honest, I'd rank Play-Doh above latex. I hate working with that stuff.)

Factoring in cost and environmental impact, it beats out urethane and tin-cure silicone. I'm still not sure if I'd rank it above platinum-cure silicone, though... Silicone costs much more and isn't eco-friendly, but the performance and lifespan is significantly better, so it still makes more sense for some projects.

Alginate is another type of material entirely, but in some ways SiliNOT! is comparable to it -- both are more cost-effective than silicone, both are biodegradable, both are skin safe, and both have long shelf lives. But SiliNOT! is easier to use for beginners than alginate, which has to be mixed to the right consistency and has an extremely short lifespan once poured.

Overall, I would recommend SiliNOT! for:

People who want accurate, non-shrinking molds but don’t have the budget for platinum-cure silicone

People who are committed to eliminating waste from single-use materials, and are willing to trade off a little performance for a more eco-friendly material

Projects with smooth surfaces and no indentations/sharp edges/undercuts where bubbles might stick (e.g. cabochons; simple geometric forms)

Projects where you need only one or two casts of something, rather than many casts from the same mold

Casting oddly-shaped pieces around which the mold needs to stretch in order to demold

Use with slow-curing resins that do not generate much heat

I would NOT recommend SiliNOT! for:

Extremely complex or detailed pieces, or pieces with a lot of surface texture that bubbles might stick to

Two-part molds

Projects requiring many identical casts out of the same mold

Molds that you intend to add to your library for future or repeat casting

Use with fast-curing resins, melted wax, melted Monster Clay, or any other material that emits heat

Cold casting with precise color application

My Overall Opinion

It's... okay? I will almost certainly keep SiliNOT! in my toolkit for certain specific applications. It's MUCH cheaper over the long term, I love the idea of recycling mold material, and there are some projects for which it will likely perform very well (those listed in the above bullet points). I will also admit that three days of working with it does not constitute a comprehensive familiarity with the product, and it might be the sort of thing that you get better at working with after more practice. (Just learning how to eliminate bubbles would go a long way toward making me adopt this for more projects!)

However, I don't quite buy the "better than silicone" tagline. It's definitely more difficult to get a perfect result, and there are some projects for which platinum-cure silicone is always going to be more reliable (e.g. high-temperature casting, mass production, large-scale life casting).

For those looking for a recommendation of whether or not to buy, I'd say look at your project budget and the applications for which you're going to be making molds, and let those factors guide which mold material you go with. People doing some kinds of projects are likely going to find this a godsend, while those doing different projects would probably hate working with it.

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Epilogue (3 of 4)

The long-foretold Lucrecia chapter.

Rating: general

It was a completely insignificant day in late spring, one year, and the sun rode high above the rocky hills and weather-worn karsts of the Nibel region. The wind, up here, was colloquially called ‘the breath of the world’, and one could almost feel the planet’s living vitality in its brisk and spirited gusts, as they strove to toss you right off the mountain. This was perfectly usual, of course, and also much of the reason no one ventured out into this goddess-forsaken waste.

What was different about this day, was that a pair of booted footsteps had joined the wind, in whispering amongst the knee-high sedge grasses, knocking wisps of pollen into the air, and collecting bits of fluff on tall, black shin guards. These were not the meandering steps of a leisure hiker, nor the hurried footfalls of one who’d got lost from the trail, and was in haste to find it again. These steps were deliberate, following some prearranged path, though there was none to be seen, amid the tumbled rocks and windswept brush.

At length, the boots made their way to their apparent destination. It was a secluded mountain lake, crystal blue and nearly perfectly round—no doubt formed in the caldera of some long dormant volcano—that lay at the center of a green and tranquil oasis, hidden away in the inhospitable highlands, like a fairyland in a children’s tale.

At the northwestern end of the small lake, the thunder of the tributary falls rumbled down, from the high ridge. The waterfall was more energetic than usual, today, due to heavy snowpack in the mountains above, this past winter, so misty spray billowed and white foam roiled riotously, in the deep-blue basin below.

When the black boots came to the falls, they continued, undaunted, sure-footed as a mountain goat on the slippery rocks, as the cold spray beaded on well-polished leather, and rolled down in heavy drops, like dew.

At a wave of the hand from the owner of those boots, the waterfall, despite being swollen with snowmelt and rather proud of itself at the moment, stood meekly aside, to let the visitor pass through. There were some, after all, for whom even nature itself had no power to bar the way.

Perfectly concealed behind this glimmering curtain of living glass, was a narrow crevice, hardly wider than a single person. The boots proceeded, turning sidewise, to squeeze through, and vanish into the dark.

Deep inside the mountain ridge, this narrow crevice widened into a traversable path. Deeper still, the path opened up into a glittering cave, of tremendous size, in which the terrific heat and pressure of ancient volcanic activity had caused mass-crystallization of liquefied minerals. This had created the hundreds of strange stalactite and stalagmite columns, which stood like an eerie forest of stone, spanning from the floor to the ceiling of the cave, as far as the eye could see.

Eventually, the densely packed columns gave way to an open area, like a natural amphitheater, where the cave ceiling domed up and the floor smoothed out. At the center of this area, lay a circular pool, of faintly glowing water, which surrounded a much different mineral formation.

It was a pillar, formed of gigantic spars of some naturally luminous crystal, clear and slightly turquoise tinted, like enchanted ice. This pillar and the smaller crystal structures that had grown out from it, acted as the light source in the cave, illuminating the surrounding environment with a dreamy, otherworldly glow.

The light was not the most remarkable feature of this crystal pillar, however. Most remarkable was that, within the main column of transparent crystal, could be seen the figure of a young woman. She was dressed in white, and her lovely and delicate-featured face wore an expression of peaceful repose. Her eyes were closed, and her head slightly bowed, with her hands clasped on her chest, in a posture of prayer.

It was unclear, whether this was the true body of a woman, suspended in the luminous, mako-saturated crystal, or merely a visual remnant, graven into it by the life force of the planet, but the distinction was immaterial, to the one who observed her, now. This was her final resting place. That was all that mattered.

The black boots slowed their pace, crunching over the crystal gravel at a heavy, almost funerary cadence, until at long last, they arrived before the limpid pool, and the woman in her crystalline reliquary. There they stood, for a long time. And for a long time, there was no sound, but the little plashes of dripping water, afar off, in the dark recesses of the cavern.

Finally, a voice spoke softly, into the echoing silence. “So, we meet at last…mother.”

The crystal pillar’s fairie-light shone pale and glimmering on a cascade of silver hair, and illuminated the face of a young man, very like to that of the woman in the crystal. His was a sharper, harder beauty than hers, especially about the brow and catlike blue-green eyes, but his mouth and chin particularly, belonged entirely to her. Seeing their faces together, there could be no mistaking their close relation.

“In the likely case that you don’t recognize me, I am your son, Sephiroth,” the silver-haired man continued. He caught himself reflexively placing a hand over his heart and tucked it behind his back, instead. “I’ve come to…to pay my respects, I suppose. I hope you will forgive me for not coming sooner. My father has gently urged me to visit you for many years, but somehow, I could never bring myself to do it.”

The woman in the crystal remained serene and silent.

“He doesn’t know I’m here today. In fact, I’ve told no one what I intended to do. I couldn’t bear to feel the pressure of their thoughts, on the subject. This…is between you and me.”

Heedless of the glowing, ankle-deep water, he strode directly across the circular pool and stepped onto the disc of stone that formed the base of the crystal pillar. The woman’s figure was suspended a couple of feet above the base, but she was rather petite, and thus he, being nearly seven feet tall, stood almost at eye-level with her.

“You look different, from your photograph,” he remarked, without emotion. “A bit older. Thinner. Of course, when you came here, you were burdened by cares that did not yet weigh upon you, when that picture was taken.”

He reached out his gloved hand, as if to touch the crystal, where her face was, then withdrew it again, straightening up proudly.

“But I’ve not come here to talk about you. I have come to tell you who I am. I am the son of Vincent Valentine. I am now the most powerful single entity on this planet, aside from my father. In my early life, I was raised by various scientists and handlers, in Shinra Manor, to be the first SOLDIER—the flagship of Shinra’s genetically enhanced military. A professional war criminal. But…that never came to be. In the end, I never fought a single battle on Shinra’s behalf.

“When I was fourteen years old, I burned the manor to the ground and escaped with my father. We spent the following years working against Shinra from the shadows; subverting their people, embedding our own in their system, growing inside them like a virus. And when the time came to strike, it was far too late for them to fight us. We neutralized the host and took over, with…minimal bloodshed.

“What you knew as the Shinra Electric Power Company, is now called the World Regenesis Organization. It is still the greatest socioeconomic and political force, in the world, but under the guidance of our people, it is steadily being restructured; from a parasitic behemoth, draining the planet of its life force, to a benevolent, non-profit enterprise, actively fostering the harmonious existence of humans with the natural world.

“It has been…slow going, to be perfectly honest. Most of our work, so far, has been dedicated to undoing the decades of damage done by Shinra, in its previous incarnation. It will take centuries for those wounds to fully heal. But now, at least, there is hope. They even tell me that flowers are returning to Midgar. That is how things currently stand, with me. Of course, we must address the elephant in the room, sooner or later, so let us have it out, and be done with it, shall we?”

He stopped and took a long breath, letting it out slowly, and somewhat relaxing his heretofore stiff, formal posture.  

“First things first, it is only right to tell you that my father forgave you, for everything. He never really blamed you, despite my attempts to convince him he should. And I did attempt to convince him he should. Because…I blamed you. That is the whole truth.

“I won’t paint a falsely pretty picture of the catastrophe you left in your wake, to spare your feelings. Your troubles are over. The lives that you left behind—mine and my father’s—have continued on. Sometimes in misery and desolation, sometimes in sorrow and regret, but mostly…in hope. And in joy. You see, the terrible fate you foresaw—the destruction of the planet in a hell of fire, and me as a the angel of death—will never come to pass. But, perhaps I should begin at the beginning.

“Your apocalyptic visions did come true, once. In another future. But in that future, that version of myself found a way to free himself from fate. When his body died, he broke the chains of destiny, and bent the will of the lifestream to his purpose. Freed from his physical form, he traveled backward, through the timeline, gathering each version of us, from each crucial turning point, and brought them to me, to show me the way.

“With their help, I freed my father from Shinra’s slavery, and killed that old monster who tortured us. Yes, I killed Hojo, with my own hands. He has been dead for…seventeen years, now. Hardly time to even begin to undo all the evil he caused. May his houseless spirit wander the netherworld, with neither rest nor comfort, till all his wrongs have been erased from the memory of time.

“But where was I? Ah, yes. After I rid the world of Hojo, and Chaos rid the world of Jenova’s corruption, we began to create our vision, for the future. Since then, I have accomplished everything my other selves died to make possible. I have made all the things right, that went so wrong, in their futures. I have killed those who should have been killed and saved all those who should have been saved—”

He broke off and lowered his head, with an expression of pain.

“I should say…I have saved all but one. My father. I can’t save him. There is nothing I can do, to release him from the fate that you, willing or no, have damned him to. Because of the method you used to preserve his life, he has become one with Chaos. He no longer has a human soul, and can no longer merge with the lifestream.”

He looked up at her again, with his teeth bared and fire in his eyes.

“Do you understand what that means? It means he can never die. People say that I am immortal, but they have no idea what true immortality is. I am only ageless. I can live as long as I wish to, and I can also die. My father will never have that choice. He is truly immortal.

“That is the full horror of the curse you have laid upon him. When the sun burns out and this planet is nothing but a lifeless rock, hurtling aimlessly through the void, he will still exist, in that indestructible demonic form. And there is nothing…nothing I can do, to spare him the torment of aeons, that lies in his future.”

He paused and turned away, cupping his forehead in his hand, and clearing his throat, to regain control of his wavering voice. When he turned back, he appeared perfectly tranquil, again, but for the hint of pink that rimmed his eyes.

“For so many years, whenever I confronted the infinite tragedy that will be my father’s existence, I blamed you. I hated you. I cursed you bitterly. But…that was a child’s reaction, to a blurred and oversimplified understanding of reality. Despite all the knowledge I gained from my future selves, it seems that only experience, earned in the true passing of years, brings wisdom. And with wisdom comes reflection. And regret.”

Reaching into his long, black coat, he withdrew an old, dog-eared, faded and weather-stained book. Some of the yellowed pages had come loose and had been carefully tucked back in, held in place with paper clips.

“I’m sure you recognize this book. This is your journal. Not your research notes. This is the private diary, that you kept hidden from everyone. After your disappearance, it was mailed anonymously to Valentine Manor, of all things, where it lay in the library for many years, disregarded. It was recently discovered by an archivist, and brought to me, after its authentication. I beg your pardon for reading it, without your permission, but you understand.”

Smiling wistfully, he touched the battered leather cover of the book with his fingertips, tracing its surface gently, as if it were the face of a loved one. Then his brow furrowed and he swallowed hard, as if against some tautness in his throat.

“It has been…painful, to read this tale, knowing the end already. To witness, in real time, as it were, the hope and optimism of a young woman, her heartbreak and disillusionment, and her eventual decline into despair.

“But, through the words written here, I have come to know her. I have come to know Lucrecia. A passionate scholar and brilliant scientist, and sometimes, a rather silly and idealistic young woman. I have come to know her hopes and dreams. Her triumphs and disappointments. The fears and doubts she never dared speak aloud.

“I have come to know my mother. Not the lofty ideal I had constructed in my mind, as a child. Not the scapegoat for all my misery, that I made you into, as an adolescent. But the living, flesh and blood woman that you were. The unvarnished truth of you, in all its human ugliness and beauty.

“I know now that you truly did love my grandfather, though you never admitted it, in so many words. The way you wrote of him, in such starry-eyed hyperbole, was both comically trite and infinitely endearing. I know also that you cared deeply for my father. I know the way your guilt gnawed at you, with every word you spoke to one another. The way Grimoire seemed to be looking at you, from his son’s eyes.

“I have come to know also of your love for…for me. You must understand that I had always thought of my conception as the calculated act of a scientific mind, that did not care for the eventual human cost, when there were groundbreaking experimental results to be had. I know, now, how I—how I wronged you, in thinking of you that way.”

He broke off yet again, taking a shaky breath, to steady himself.

“Through your journal, I was by your side, when you made that impulsive decision to create a child, with my father’s genetic material. I felt your horror and grief, at his death, counterpoised with your anxious excitement, as the new life grew in your body. I felt your mind turn, from justification, to hesitation, to abhorrence of the things that you had done to me. I experienced your abject agony, when you awoke from the cesarean operation to find your infant gone, and yourself trapped and powerless to go to him. I heard you weep and beg and plead, over and over, to be allowed to see your son, and I watched those pleas fall on deaf ears. I know now that you never abandoned me and that you loved me, desperately. That you never even held me in your arms, and still you longed for me with every fiber of your being, just as I longed for you.”

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, which he quickly brushed away.

“You know, Hojo once told me I never had a name, and that Sephiroth was only a project designation. But I learned from your journal that you had chosen that name, for your future child, long before the project existed. Long before you even met the old serpent.”

He lowered his eyes and touched the cover of the book again, smiling softly, to himself.  

“Rather eccentric, and perhaps a bit pretentious, to name your unborn child a collective noun, for the channels of the divine creative force, in the tree of life. But you were young and full of grand ideas. You can be forgiven for such a flight of fancy. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve always liked my name. It sounds enigmatic and imposing, and it is unique in the world. Or—it was, anyway. So many babies are christened Sephiroth every year, now, that the census bureau has become sick to death of it, and lay the blame squarely at my feet.

“But I’ve strayed from my topic. I understand, now, that you were not to blame for the evil that befell us all. Yes, you made choices that led to terrible suffering, but without that malevolent man to perpetrate his atrocities, no choice of yours could have caused things to happen as they did. You made mistakes, mother, but you always intended to do good. He always intended to do evil. That is the great difference between you and him.

“You were deceived and used, then isolated and tormented, by that old viper, just as we were. He preyed upon your ambition, used your hopes and dreams to blind you, and slowly closed the walls around you. Then, he made certain you would blame your own foolishness and weakness, for the results. Finally, when you could bear the guilt and misery no longer, he allowed you to run away, to die alone in the wilderness. He never even sent anyone to search for you.

“I told you that with wisdom comes reflection and regret, and I have tasted this cup to its dregs. My regret has weighed heavily upon me, these past several years. I regret the injustice I’ve done you, by blaming and hating you, for the horror of my life. I regret wasting so many years in bitterness and anger, directed at you, because I couldn’t contend with the real source of all my pain: that for all my power—all my strength of will—there are still those things over which I have no control.

“Mother, I…I’m sorry.” His voice, smooth and steady till now, wavered and broke. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he made no move to conceal or wipe away the tears, that overflowed and spilled freely down his face. “I’m sorry for taking so long to grow up. I’m sorry for not even trying to understand you. I’m sorry for wanting your love so desperately, that a boy’s unrequited yearning metastasized into a man’s bitter resentment.

“The truth is, I only ever hated you for not being there. For not loving me enough to live. I know that is illogical and selfish, but I was a child. All I knew was my own pain. My own need for a mother. I grew so fixated on it, that I became unstable and destructive. That was when the old monster gave me the locket with your photo, and told me your name was Jenova.

“That little thing soothed me more than any of the tranquilizing drugs they tried on me. When I was still very small, I used to open my locket and whisper to your picture, at night, telling you of the things I’d accomplished, so that you’d be proud of me. I used to imagine that the smile in that photograph was meant for me.

“As I grew older, and more hardened by the ugly brutality of my life, I taught myself that such behavior was childish and shameful. I stopped talking to you. I stopped smiling back, when I looked at your picture. But the pain of your absence didn’t heal. It deepened and festered, in the darkness of my loneliness and grief, while the old monster tormented me, in the name of making me strong.

“Then one day…Vincent came. He was brought to me, to be a handler and bodyguard. I’m sorry to state it so bluntly, but he fully usurped your place in my heart, within hours of our meeting. It was not so terribly fickle, as it sounds, though. I knew he was my father, the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Not consciously, of course. I didn’t dare to admit that glimmer of heart-piercing hope into my world of darkness. And yet I knew it. My blood and my bones knew it—that he belonged to me, and I to him. Can I be blamed for transferring all of my childish longing and love, from the mother who was nothing but a picture in a locket, to the father who was solid and tangible, and right in front of me?

“Vincent dawned upon my world like a new sun, and transformed everything I knew, from drab monochrome to brilliant color. He taught me about spaghetti and birthdays, and watched movies with me. He was the first person who hugged me, and he was…he was the first person who ever said they loved me.

“To say that I returned his love would be a gross understatement. I was obsessed with him. Fixated on him. I wanted to bind him to me forever, and never let him escape. I would have burned the world for him, if I thought he wanted it. But, as it turned out, he was a good man. So I became good, too.

“As good as I can be, at least. I am still a man who loves to such excess, that I would unhesitatingly destroy the lives and happiness of anyone who dared stand between me and my loved ones.” He gave a rueful smile. “Our family really is given to romantic melodrama, are we not?

“But despite the grasping, jealous, needy way I loved him, my father never pushed me away. Never told me I was wrong. Never rejected me. Since the day we destroyed the monsters who authored all of our grief, and broke free of the yoke of Shinra, we have never been separated. I don’t mean physically, of course. We are grown men, we can’t be attached at the hip, all the time. But, no matter how far apart we are, we are always together.  

“You see, he gave me his heart. That is not a figure of speech, it’s here in my chest, beside my own.”

This time, he did lay a hand on his heart, and from his chest, a pale light shone, between his fingers. “You must remember this. It is the heart you gave him, mother. That he then gave to me, your son. Poetic, no? What did I say about our family and romantic melodrama?

“Speaking of family, what would my grandfather have thought, if he’d known about me? Did he ever imagine that you loved him enough to give birth to his son’s son, just to preserve a piece of him in the world? I wonder.”

He sighed and the light receded back into his chest.

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. He must have been a captivating man, to so deeply ensnare a heart like yours, whose first love was always science. For all of the heartache it caused, I hope he at least reciprocated your feelings, to some degree. All the evidence suggests that he did. As did his son. Two generations of Valentine men have died for you, and because of you, one will never die. A heavy burden for even a woman’s soul to bear.”

He smiled wryly at the beautiful face in the crystal, then looked away, clearing his throat.

“That’s…a joke you have no way of understanding. There is a certain person of my acquaintance—a Cetra seer, who reads auras and such things. She told me I had a woman’s soul. I should take it as a compliment, she said, because women’s souls are by far the stronger.

“There are many reasons my soul should seem abnormal, to a seer, but I would like to think that I carry a piece of your soul with me, mother. And that it was part of you, she saw in me. Because the more I am like you, the less I am like that thing. That dead abomination, behind the glass, in the mako tank. Its face haunts me, even to this day, and my body, though purified of its corruption, still bears its marks.”

He placed his gloved hands on his own cheeks, then ran them back through his silver hair, his eyes unfocused, darting back and forth. After a moment, though, he shook himself, and the spell seemed to pass.

“That is the secret I can never tell, mother,” he resumed, looking up at her. “I was born to be a monster. It is only by constant and conscious effort of will, that I have not become one. Not my will, alone, though. I would have given in, long ago. It is the love of my father, and those close to me, that has kept me on the right path. That has stopped me straying into darkness.

“So many suffered and died needlessly, in the other future, who now live happy and free from that terrible fate. They will never know the monster I could have become. But I will never not know. No matter how many I save, how much I change, how much of myself I give to this world, I can never erase the knowledge, that if my steps had faltered but a little, along the path, I would have destroyed the planet, and killed them all.

“I defied destiny, mother. I wiped the slate clean and created a new future, a new fate, and yet…I am still alone. A demon walking among the innocent. A wolf among the sheep. I can wear their hide and speak their tongues, but I can never be one of them.

“That was the real price I paid, to rewrite fate. It wasn’t the death of my physical body, at each inflection point. It was the sacrifice of my innocence, to return innocence to this world. I have paid dearly, for the lives and freedom of all its children. I have paid with my soul.

“My hands are clean, and yet my shoulders bear the weight of ten-thousand sins. How can a soul so blameless in deed, be so blackened in essence? How can I atone for sins I will never commit? How can I heal scars that have never felt a wound? Can I be forgiven, for what I have not done?”

He laid his hands on the luminous pillar and leaned his forehead upon it.

“If you knew me, as I am now, would you love me, nonetheless? Would you ever be proud to call me your son?”

Though he knew it was only childish wishfulness, he could almost swear he felt a faint warmth and pressure, on his skin, as if gentle arms reached out to embrace him, with infinite tenderness and unfathomable love. With that, the gates were flung wide, and the depths of his heart poured forth, a wordless hymn of sorrow and joy, as vast as the heavens and as deep as the abyss.

Borne down by the weight of it, he sunk to his knees, clinging to the crystal pillar, as shuddering sobs racked his invincible body, and tears poured down like snowmelt in spring, splashing onto the crystal-strewn floor at his mother's feet. Even when he had wept himself hoarse, till he had no tears left, he still clung to the pillar, gasping out wet, stuttering breaths, that fogged its glassy surface.

At long last, he grew calm again, and rose to his feet, wiping his face with his gloved hand. Then, peeling off the gloves, he laid his palms on the pillar and let his forehead rest against it, inches from his mother’s lips, whose kiss he would never feel. So close, and yet separated by an impassable divide.

“I’m getting married, mother,” he said hoarsely, after a while. “To my other half, my soul mate, my fated one…I don’t even know what to call him, for I have loved him in so many lifetimes. But in this life, I can finally say I have earned his love.

“I wish that you could know him. That you could see how good he is to me, and how good he is for me. How shall I tell you about him, in a credible way, when to me, he is perfection in human form? He has golden hair and bright blue eyes, like the sky and sea, and lovely little freckles, though he likes to deny they exist. He is small, for a man, but he isn’t the least bit soft or submissive, and his tongue is as sharp as his sword.

“I love him madly, even more when he scolds me. I would do anything for him. I have done everything for him. For my beloved, I have reshaped the fate of this world, with my own hands. For him, I have built this gentle kingdom, ringed in spears, so that he may live in peace, and without fear for the future.

“Back when we were children, walking on the beach together, collecting shells and sea glass, and talking about our hopes and dreams, I did tell him I intended to marry him, one day. But I never attempted to hold him, in my hand. I never attempted to bind him to me, lest I break his wings and suffocate him, with my love.

“Though it cost me deep anxiety and tremendous pain, I let my little bird fly as free as he wished. But he always came back to me, on his own. He loves me, mother. He knows the whole truth of me—everything, even the monstrous things my other selves did in their futures—and still, he loves me. Of all the people in this world, he chose me, to spend his life with.

“I had planned to wait until he turned twenty-one, to formally propose marriage, but when it came to it, he proposed to me, before I got the chance. Of course, he took Knight Fair’s suggestion and did it at a shareholders meeting, in the presence of all our friends and associates. And the Turks, who were there pretending to provide extra security, but really came to see the show.

“It was profoundly embarrassing. And…it was the most joyous moment of my life. To know once and for all, that I was chosen. That I was sought after and desired. That he loved me, as I loved him, and that he wanted to declare it before the world.

“For I always doubt, mother. No matter how I am reassured, I always doubt that I am truly loved or wanted. I feel…alien. As if those around me know I don’t belong, and are only awaiting the slightest pretext to cast me out from among them.

“My psychiatrist—my current psychiatrist, that is, my previous few have suddenly relocated or given up the profession—calls it social anxiety, related to an autism spectrum disorder. I suppose she knows her business, but it seems unfair that my superior brain can suffer from human dysfunction, and yet due to that very superiority, they have yet to find a medication that has any effect on me.

“Before I stray off topic and forget, I should tell you that my father is engaged to be married, as well. To someone my age, no less, the old villain. But everyone thinks they’re a perfect match, and no one is scandalized by it in the least, because despite his advanced age, my father looks as if he’s the younger of the pair. So it goes. I, too, will look younger than my beloved, one day. It will be in the far, far future, since he has been enhanced, but he will grow old. The day will come when he will leave me and return to the lifestream.

“As for my father…even I can’t say what his future holds. I only know I must find a way to save him. I can’t bear to think of him, bereft of everyone and everything he ever knew and loved, facing eternity alone. But even if I can’t alter his fate, I can at least not allow him to face it alone. He does not know, but I have already decided that I will not die, until he does.

“Somehow, I will save him, from the terrible curse of immortality, and only when he leaves this existence, will I consent to leave it, with him. That is my vow, before heaven and earth. My father and I will cross into the afterlife together, or not at all.” He lowered his head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I am sorry to disappoint you, mother, but it seems I will not be the one to break the family curse of romantic melodrama. But, with a name like Sephiroth, can you really be surprised?”

In the end, he loitered in that place for many hours, pouring out the minutiae of his life to his silent mother, in the way very young children will do, only all at once and in a torrential flood, since there were three decades of such anecdotes to get through. When he did depart, at long last, he smiled and pressed a kiss to the cold surface of the crystal pillar, where her forehead was.

“I love you, mother. You don’t have to worry about me, anymore. I will be alright. Rest now, and be at peace.”

As he left the cavern, Sephiroth paused and took a last, lingering look at his mother’s beautiful face, before he turned away, again, and the echo of his footsteps faded away, into the darkness.

Had he remained, a moment longer, he may have seen what appeared to be a single tear, roll down the pale cheek, within the luminous crystal. Perhaps a remnant of the young woman’s spirit still clung to her form, and was moved by her son’s love, to this final expression of emotion. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

Several days later, WRO seismologists reported a massive seismic event, in the Nibel region, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in geological ages. When it was investigated, it was found that the quake had been caused by the sudden, catastrophic collapse of half a mountain range, which had been sitting atop a network of huge, volcanic caves, making the entire structure unsupportable. They considered it miraculous that the range had stood as long as it had.

The good news, however, was that there were no casualties, since those highlands were uninhabitable, and no loss of property. That is to say, nearly no loss of property. The tremors were felt all the way in Nibelheim, where multiple cats were startled out of naps, and half a dozen vases were shaken off shelves, to meet their untimely demise on Nibelheim’s famously tough wood floors.

As for a small, volcanic lake, high in the rocky hills, which was swallowed in the collapse; only a few geologists and intrepid mountaineers ever knew it existed, so no one lamented its loss.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY the fun one is next! tons of cameos, ahoy!! hooray tying up loose ends!!!

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: gore, contemplated su*cide, more gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

so the big chapter is here… bentleys plan goes about as good as you’d expect

part forty-two

❝ REALITY CHECK ❞

SATURDAY — SEPTEMBER 12 — 8:01 PM

ONE THING BENTLEY HAD NEVER, EVER, EVER IMAGINED, IN HIS WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE, WAS FOR HIM TO ACTUALLY HAVE SUPERPOWERS AND ACTUALLY BE SUITED UP AS ROBIN. (But he was! And he did! And he had no idea what he was doing!)

It only took him about fifteen or twenty minutes to make it to the heat of battle with his water for transport. Most of downtown Gotham was a disaster. Everything was burning — literally, on fire, with flames licking out of piles of rubble that used to be buildings, and especially in the pitch black of night, everything was glowing. Two dozen buildings had to have been flattened, probably more — the destruction was moving and swirling in a circle around a tall, untouched building in central Gotham (the same one Asten tried to jump off of), which had a huge dome of fire on top of it. Bentley assumed that’s where he was. Every sound, the crackling of the fire, the crumbling of buildings, the shouting of metahumans — it all meshed together into one insanely loud, menacing rumble that never seemed to end.

Bentley stood (hovered) off to the side for a few moments, out of the radius of the chaos, kind of terrified. Firstly, Damian’s armor didn’t fit him right, especially on his arms and legs, so a nicely placed blow could probably knock it straight off. And his cape kept getting all in the way and whipping around, and while it looked cool, he wasn’t sure how much he liked it. (The answer was he didn’t. He didn’t like it.)

Secondly, he had no idea where anybody was. He was simply hovering on water a whole lot of feet in the air, high enough to be above the crumbling buildings, and he could hardly see down far enough through the smoke and fire to make out people on the ground. So he had no clue where his family or any metahumans were.

Thirdly… he was about to, like, fight people, for real. The only people he’d ever, quote-on-quote, fought, were Dick and Damian and occasionally Jason and Tim when they were training him in self-defense. Y’know, people without superpowers who weren’t actually trying to kill him.

But… there’s always a first patrol, right? Robin always had a first patrol. He just guessed this would be his. (He couldn’t back out now.)

As he drew ever-closer to the epicenter of the destruction (slower than Christmas, because he was pretty horrified), he turned his earpiece on so he could hear what everybody was saying. His line of sight was slowly getting clearer, so he was starting to see all the multicolored metahumans moving around on the ground through the smoke (and in the sky, in a few cases), with flashes of light and so many different… colors, and sounds, and things. He could see what he was pretty sure was Mandy Todryk flying through the air with her massive raven wings, and he knew exactly where The Void was due to the blinding flashes of purple. 

“Robin,” Bruce’s Batman voice came through his earpiece, gruff and serious and not happy sounding in the slightest. The tone was just sour and flat enough that Bentley knew he meant him and not the real Robin. “You are not permitted to be on the field.”

Bentley looked around from his spot in the sky, levitating on water, until he spotted the big black blob that was Bruce on the ground, fighting against a metahuman with blue hair. 

“Sorry, B! Please don’t be mad!” He replied shortly, his eyes darting every which way. Bentley wasn’t sure how good he’d do in an actual fight against any of these metahumans, but he was pretty sure he could help his family when they needed it. So that’s what he would focus on — helping them. When they needed it. “I just want to help!”

“You need to return to the cave immediately!”

Bentley cringed. “I’m sorry!” And then he clicked the earpiece back off.

Bentley didn’t have time for a lecture just then — he was too busy trying to figure out who the little figure was flying in repetitive circles around the giant glowing bubble of fire on the center building. It was a small person, with no wings or anything, and it only took another second for him to realize that… he was pretty sure it was… Nico, trying to get to Asten.

“I found him, Charlie!”

Bentley shouted in terror when someone grabbed him by the arms and violently ripped his feet out of the water that’d been holding him up. The beating of loud wings filled his ears — Mandy Todryk’s wings. 

She laughed maniacally, and Bentley nearly threw up on queue as he watched all of the destruction move under his feet. The feet in question were dangling uselessly hundreds of yards in the air, and the far-off ground was moving at least sixty or seventy miles per hour below him. “Let go of me!”

“You’re choice!” Mandy chided. She let go of Bentley and, before he could react any more than another shout of horror, dove down and grabbed him by his feet instead, so he was dangling upside down. His cape whipped around and covered his face, making it impossible to see. (Seriously, how did they wear those things?)

Bentley only narrowly missed slamming his head into the top of a building (that Mandy had to have dipped toward on purpose.) He couldn’t seem to think, couldn’t seem to breathe — the water he’d been standing on was following them, but he could only see half of the time and it wasn’t fast enough to catch up.

“Let’s test if little bluebirds can fly!” Mandy chorused, waving Bentley back and forth as she flew in a way that made him so very nauseous.

“It’s a Robin, loser!” Bentley looked up just enough to see a blob fly into his vision from the other direction, going at least the same speed as them. It and Mandy collided in the middle, and the little figure latched onto Mandy’s wings and jerked them with all of their might, twisting her entire body and sending her veering off-course like a broken plane. Bentley slid from her grip and was suddenly freefalling.

And then he was very suddenly not, but someone was holding onto his torso very, very tight. (Which also made him want to hurl.) 

“Jesus, your suit doesn’t even have blue on it,”

Bentley was only halfway breathing, watching the ground move what seemed to be miles beneath them, but much slower. “Nico?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me,”

They hovered around in the sky for a few moments before Nico found a suitable, not-falling-apart or burning rooftop to set Bentley down on. It was on the outskirts of the circle of destruction where Asten’s power hadn’t reached yet.

He sat Bentley down (mostly) on his feet, and the redhead immediately sat down on the tar rooftop, relieved to be on something solid again. He was sucking in air like he’d never breathed in his life. “I’ve only been here five minutes and I already want to hurl.”

Nico landed next to him, panting like he’d been running a marathon. His t-shirt and sweatpants were both soaked through with sweat, and his hair was a floppy wet mess, probably from flying so close to the fire. He held up three fingers. “Three times already.”

Bentley furrowed his brow, pushing himself off the rooftop and peering off the building at the destruction around them. “You’ve thrown up three times?”

“These powers are trying to kill me, I think,” Nico stated, waving Bentley off. “It’s fine. It happens every time I use them.”

“You can go to the cave if you need to,” Bentley replied, watching a few metahumans move around on the ground, a couple losing a fight pretty badly to who Bentley was pretty sure was Red Hood. “Have you been able to get to Asten?”

“Nope,” Nico started, drifting up by his side and peering off the edge of the building. “The dome thing he has going on is way too hot to get close to. Air only makes it hotter. But you know what definitely doesn’t make fire hotter?”

Bentley looked over at Nico, who had a dorky look on his face. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“Maybe you could get us in there so we can talk to him,”

Bentley looked over at the dome of flame that was spitting and spinning like some kind of lava. “I could try. It looks pretty hot, though.”

“It is insanely hot, yes,” Nico agreed. “But getting through it is pretty much our only way to him.”

Bentley nodded, peering over the edge of the rooftop toward the dome. He could feel the water sloshing and moving in the pipes below them, and not a second later, there was a small pop, and water began to seep from the cracks and crevices in the tar roofing and slither over toward his feet.

“That’ll never look normal,” Nico muttered, and Bentley shook his head as the water wrapped around his feet and began to lift him up. 

Get to the dome. Put water on the dome. Calm Asten down. A foolproof plan. (Mediocre at best, really.)

“Ready?”

With a heavy sigh, Nico shook his hands out by his sides and began to levitate. “As ever.”

Bentley looked at the ground below to find his family. It didn’t take long — Dick was the first he found, fighting hand-to-hand with a metahuman who kept throwing bolts of electricity at him. (It wasn’t the metal controlling guy, which was good.) Jason was still fighting a group of metahumans that were losing very badly. (No vines.) The Secret Keeper was standing on top of a turned-over car, doing nothing but watching and tugging on Davis and Titus’s collars every now and then. (Which meant she wasn’t with Tim or Bruce.) Damian was sword fighting a girl that had a sword made of green light coming out of her hand?

With an exhale, Bentley let the water carry him off the edge of the building and over the deafening chaos and destruction again. Buildings that hadn’t been touched yet were starting to fall now, the circle of terror was getting bigger. Bentley knelt down on the little surfboard-like oval of liquid and tried to focus really hard on the dome and not the war going on beneath him that was all his fault. All his fault. All his fault.

As he and Nico drew nearer to the dome of fire, the temperature raised exponentially, and a sound like a blowtorch grew ever-louder. It went from bearable to magma in a split second, and he still had to be at least half a soccer field away. 

Suddenly, a strange, shrill thunder-like noise sent them both whirling in the complete opposite direction of their objective. Bentley’s eyes darted around wildly, combing through the fire and rubble and fighting until he spotted a swirling purple portal high in the sky above them, in the center of the destruction with no buildings around it at all.

Not three seconds later, Damian fell out of it.

There weren’t any buildings for him to grapple to. At the bottom of the drop waited nothing but concrete and rubble and ash.

She wasn’t lying.

Bentley didn’t even hear his own shrill “No!” Before his instincts took over. And his first instinct was to absolutely throttle himself in that direction as fast as his water would let him move. 

By that direction, he meant toward the ground. Damian was far away, falling really fast, and the only way Bentley would be able to reach him was if he somehow went even faster. But closer to the ground meant closer to all the metahumans. And that meant…

That something really tight grabbed Bentley’s ankle before he could make it to Damian’s landing spot, ripping him off of the water with enough force to make his ankle pop and spike with pain. He only felt air for a split second before he hit the concrete and rubble, back-first, with a dull thud and an embarrassing noise.

With a groan at the sudden dull pain that was radiating through every bone of his body (had he really been that high?) he looked up (why was he seeing two of everything?) just enough to catch a glimpse of some gnarly looking, deep green vines wrapped around his ankle.

He didn’t even get to turn over before they pulled on him again. They drug him through the rubble and debris without remorse, scraping up his exposed skin and tugging at his Robin suit until the vines decided to pull him off the ground and dangle him in the air, upside down. (Again.)

He could see Damian falling. He could see buildings cracking. He could see a random, bright red fire hydrant, jutting out of the ground.

With as much power as he could muster (even with his whole body being in a state of pain, and being upside down, again.) he willed the water up and out with such force that the entire fire hydrant was ripped from the concrete and shot into the air with a dull thunk. 

Hundreds of gallons of water came spewing out, straight up into the night sky, and Bentley used them to make a massive pyramid-shaped cone of water what he was pretty sure was beneath Damian. 

But he didn’t have time to see if it worked. Instead, the vines around his ankle moved and crawled up his whole body in a split second, curling around him like ropes and tying his legs and arms down so they couldn’t move. The vines continued to move, to wrap around his face, his eyes, his mouth, like a blindfold and gag. He tried to make a sound, but all that came out with a muffled mmm.

“I’ve got the little runt, Charlie. He ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Said a guy’s voice, only a little ways away from Bentley. He could feel himself moving, but he couldn’t tell what direction. He couldn’t shout, couldn’t see, and couldn’t hear anything but roaring destruction.

He felt Damian moving in the water. But he couldn’t see it, which meant he didn’t know what it looked like, which meant he couldn’t imagine it doing something else, which meant his powers were pretty much useless. 

Amidst all the chaos, he heard something akin to a shnnk.

Three seconds later, there was a shout of pain, and the vines loosened around Bentley, sending him crashing onto the concrete again. Head first, of course, and so hard that for a minute, he couldn’t see anything but stars or hear anything but a skull-piercing ring.

A moment (or a few? He couldn’t tell.) later, someone pulled him until he was sitting up. They were talking, but he couldn’t hear good, and he was pretty sure it was Damian, but it looked more like two Damians. 

Finally, as his vision and hearing started to come back fully, he forced himself onto his feet with a groan. His ankle (the same ankle he’d hurt by jumping out the window last year, by the way.) gave out halfway and he fell forward into Damian, who was literally Robin, (which wasn’t embarrassing at all.)

(Yes, it was.)

(Being a superhero was so freaking hard.)

Thankfully, Damian didn’t do anything like shove him or scoff at him. Instead, he helped him stand, and as Bentley’s cognitive abilities returned, he realized that Damian was squinting at him through his domino lenses. “It is absolutely idiotic for you to be here.”

A beat passed. Bentley’s eyes flicked down to the bloody katana in Damian’s hand.

“I suppose I should not have expected anything less,” Damian muttered, and he brought his empty hand up and touched Bentley’s forehead, which twinged with a sharp pain. “Your head is bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Bentley stated, looking back at the bloody sword, and Damian did, too. Bentley then scoured the nearby rubble for bodies, but the burning debris came up empty. There were no vines and no metahumans.

“I only cut some of his fingers off. Then The Void took him away,”

“Oh,” Bentley muttered, blinking twice. “…Thanks.”

“You kept me from hitting the ground. I believe we are even,” Damian replied. “You-“

Before he could speak again, a purple portal opened right over Damian’s head, and The Void fell out of it right on top of him, pinning him to the rubble below. Her purple hair was cut weirdly, shorter on one side like Damian had gotten it with his katana. “Got you, you little rat!”

In one quick movement that Bentley could barely comprehend, she ripped a batarang from Damian’s belt and lifted it over her head.

“No!”

In another quick movement that Bentley could hardly comprehend, a massive column of water flew over like a battering ram, whamming into The Void and literally sending her flying at least a few yards away from them. She kept the batarang dutifully clasped in her right hand until she stopped tumbling and settled in the debris.

“You’re a little nightmare!” She screeched. A portal appeared beneath her, and she fell into it and disappeared.

Bentley didn’t even have time to make it to Damian before a portal appeared right in his face, an arm came out, and something pinched Bentley’s chest. The portal disappeared.

It took him a solid five seconds to look down and realize what had happened. 

She’d stabbed him instead.

One half of the shiny batarang was protruding from the center of his abdomen, and his red suit was getting suspiciously redder. It didn’t even hurt that bad. Why didn’t it hurt that bad? It only felt like when Damian kicked him during a spar, but he could clearly see that half of the batarang was inside of him. He was stabbed. He’d been stabbed.

(Superheroing sucked!)

“Batman, Robin is compromised. I repeat, Robin is compromised,” He could’ve sworn that was Damain talking, but he couldn’t exactly hear right. His blood was pumping too loud.

He lifted a shaky hand and grabbed the batarang, jerking it out with a nearly inaudible whine. “It's okay. I’m okay.”

Bentley vaguely heard Damian giving Bruce a location, but he couldn’t hear very well over his own blood. Did blood have water in it? Bentley looked down at his own abdomen and focused really hard on the blood that was leaking out. Blood had water in it, didn’t it?

The bloodstain started getting smaller. Going away. Going… back in?

It was a strange sensation -- although, so was being stabbed -- that wasn’t exactly painful but definitely wasn’t comfortable. Bentley’s heart was pounding in his ears and he could hardly believe what was happening, even though it was literally happening.

“It… it's okay. I can keep myself from bleeding,”

Damian looked at him like he was stupid. “You have been stabbed in an area that houses many vital organs.”

In the distance, Bentley saw Batman coming.

If he went back to the cave now, they could still die.

What had he been doing? Trying to put out the dome of fire? To get in it, if possible? To stop this? To save his family?

He had to do this.

Water came up and around Bentley’s feet and picked him up, bloody batarang still in his hand.

“Don’t you dare,” Damian threatened, but Bentley was already off the ground and floating toward the dome.

…Sort of. His floating wasn’t all it used to be since he was having to focus so hard to keep his blood in his body. It was taking double the focus it usually took to keep himself in the air, and the punched feeling was starting to turn into searing pain, which made the focusing even worse.

Damian yelled. Bentley ignored it.

“You’re psychotic!”

Bentley turned until his eyes met Nico’s wide blue ones. He was flying down from the building with the dome, face panicked, gaze locked on Bentley’s abdomen. “You were stabbed!”

“I’ll be fine,” The redhead replied, floating past Nico at a glacial pace. “I just need to get to the dome.”

“I don’t think you’re comprehending the severity of this situation correctly. You were stabbed,”

“I know,”

“Stabbed,”

“I know!” Bentley replied, wincing at the pain caused by the effort. “I’ve been shot. That was worse.”

“You’re losing your mind!”

Bentley said nothing as he grew close to the dome of fire, the heat washing over him and making him feel ten times closer to dying. He held the batarang out just a little farther when he got as close as he dared. He had to be here to save them.

“You need to- wha… what are you doing? Oh, God, don’t tell me you’re…”

Bentley kept the batarang out there until it started to turn red hot (which took an alarmingly short amount of time, during which he was very thankful for the fireproof gloves.) and as soon as it was ready, he tore the Robin suit a little more at the hole and pressed the metal against his skin with no hesitation.

He wasn’t sure who screamed first — him or Nico.

Everything was a blur of white-hot agony, and for a second, he couldn’t see, the next second, someone was holding him under the armpits. The water wasn’t under him anymore. “Stop, no, no, I forbid you from passing out while we’re in the air. Absolutely forbid.”

A second (hour?) later, he was laid down on a rooftop. 

“Bentley, dude, buddy, stay awake. How do I work your earpiece? How can I talk to them without leaving you here?”

Bentley’s senses vaguely started to come back to him for a second time. “I’m okay.”

“Shut up,”

“I’m-“

“Shut up! Just tell me how to talk to your dad!” Nico ordered. His face was hovering above Bentley, along with a smoky, starry sky, but there were about three Nicos at the moment. 

“Am I bleeding?”

Nico looked down at Bentley’s stomach. “I-I… guess not, but-“

Bentley pushed himself upright.

And it was a horrendous idea. A wave of pain so absolutely devastating seared through his abdomen like he had gasoline for blood. It reverberated through every bone in his body, and the world went dark. He didn’t hear himself scream.

—

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he came to, but when he did, he was still on that rooftop, and Nico was crying next to him.

He blinked and let out a groggy groan.

“Bentley? God, dude, stop passing out! You’ve done it, like, five times!”

Bentley blinked some more. Five times? He’d woken up and passed out five different times and he couldn’t even remember it?

Everything was starting to feel like a mixture of pain, pain, and more pain. His whole body was sore from being thrown around, his head was throbbing, his stab wound was still blazing with a fiery agony, and he was really tired.

Nico sniffled. Bentley was pretty sure his head was on Nico’s lap, because his face was upside down and right over Bentley’s own. “Jason has been talking to Asten. I think the dome is cooling down a little bit, if you think you can-“

Someone thudded on the rooftop next to them.

“So close, yet so… far, Whittaker. You really thought you could change the future I put in place,”

Bentley pulled himself upright with a grunt of pain, just so he could get a good look at The Secret Keeper. She looked giddy as ever, her bright, excited amber eyes making her twisted stitched smile look even more twisted. She no longer had Davis and Titus with her.

“You’re so… naive. I show you one little lie and you move forward without question. You don’t understand, Bentley, that I control you,” The Secret Keeper held out her hand, and Bentley felt something in his mind change. He started to move, but his brain wasn’t telling him to move, her’s was. “It’s all been games until now. Watch what Bentley picks, it’ll be fun. But now is the time that I get to win.”

Bentley watched Nico’s eyes turn amber, and not a second later, his nose began to bleed. “I have dominion over everything. I can control you. I can control your thoughts. I can control your powers.”

Water started seeping out of the tar roofing of the building they were on without Bentley telling it to. It floated into the air in a stream, like a rope, and began tying itself in a knot. Bentley tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. She couldn’t just… control him like that. There was no way.

“I’m going to kill you… and then I’m going to kill everyone you love. I’m going to watch this city burn,” The water rope twisted and swirled itself into a noose. “And you’re not.”

As hard as Bentley tried to fight, he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t control the water. The noose came and went over his head, and then he walked to the ledge of the building even though he was telling his body to stop, even though his agony just got worse with every movement.

This could not be how it ended.

He was facing the building with the dome in the center, overlooking all of the destruction. He could see faint figures moving below. He saw The Void appear behind Damian and kick him in the head, sending him thudding into the rubble. He saw the guy with half-white-half-black hair shove Dick into some debris. He saw Tim and Bruce, back to back, with at least twelve metahumans around them. Duke and Steph and Cass were doing something similar with even more metahumans around them, far off.

The dome of fire flickered, then went away.

“Aw, pity. They were so close,” The Secret Keeper muttered, running a hand through Bentley’s hair from behind in a very creepy manner that he wasn’t allowed to move away from.

Asten and Jason were the only two on the center building’s rooftop, talking, but Bentley couldn’t hear them. Asten fell on his knees and more buildings shook, one in particular right next to them collapsing from the bottom up with plumes of smoke and a deafeningly loud crash.

The Secret Keeper’s breath brushed against Bentley’s face when she whispered: “Listen.”

Time seemed to move slower than normal, and Bentley could suddenly hear Asten and Jason even over the massive distance between them.

“-this out,” Was the tail end of Red Hood’s sentence that Bentley caught. Asten shook his head, his eyes still glowing a bright orange and overflowing with waves after waves of tears. 

“I-I can’t control it. I can't make it stop,”

“You can, I know you can,” Jason tried. He stepped forward and, ever so slowly, took off his helmet. “I believe in you.”

Asten’s eyes widened, but only for a second, because he flinched again when another building fell, looking off the roof. “I can’t. I can’t, Jason, I’m killing people.”

“You can,”

Asten’s eyes flicked up to Jason, and in one sharp movement, he jumped off of his knees and ripped one of Red Hood’s pistols out of a hip holster, pressing the barrel against his own blue hair.

“I’m murdering people and I can’t make it stop!” Asten shouted, a few violent sobs wracking his body. 

“Your death is not the answer. It’s never been the answer,” Jason shouted, moving closer, one hand out. “You’ve lost so much, but you still have so much to live for.”

“I’m killing people that have so much more to live for than that,” Asten replied, the gun shaking against his temple, tears streaming down his face. “I deserve it.”

“Asten, please, listen to me. I know how bad this world can hurt you, but giving up isn’t the answer. Kicking it's ass is,” Jason explained, stepping closer. “Please, give me the gun.”

Asten didn’t move. He just stood there.

“We’ll help you through this, but please… please don’t give up,” Jason moved his hand closer. “Give me the gun, kid.”

Instead of handing it over, Asten passed out. His eyes rolled back into his head, and the gun clattered on the rooftop. Thankfully, Jason managed to catch Asten before he hit.

“Poor little thing. It’s a real shame he won’t make it,”

Won't make it? The Secret Keeper was a dirty liar. How on earth would Asten not make it? His powers couldn’t kill him, could they?

Bentley watched Jason perform a few procedures that grew more and more frantic. Then he reached up and turned on his comm. “B, this kid isn’t breathing!”

And suddenly, Bentley couldn’t hear them anymore. All of the fire in the city died down, the destructive roar fading to a dull hum now that the source was gone. Everything seemed to still in a very eerie way, even the metahumans on the ground, who all looked around in confusion.

There Bentley was, stood on the edge of a building with a noose of water around his neck, and the Secret Keeper’s hands on his shoulders. Strangely numb, feeling rage and desperation and vengeance that he couldn’t display, not even in a scowl, because his body wasn’t his own. It was her’s.

“Forward,”

Bentley’s foot moved closer to the edge, tauntingly. He closed his eyes and focused hard on the Secret Keeper, but he couldn’t — he couldn’t sense her, or any water, or anything. He was blind.

“Go on,”

He stepped closer.

In the back of his mind, he heard something so softly he could’ve missed it. Something moving. Blood pumping. Bum, bum, bum, over and over, moving through veins. The Secret Keeper’s blood.

“Over the edge,”

Bentley, mustering up every tiny bit of willpower he had left, muttered through clenched teeth: “No.”

The Secret Keeper shoved him anyways.

Bentley wasn’t sure what he expected it to feel like, but he didn’t exactly expect it to feel like his whole head was going to explode. He very suddenly couldn’t breathe, and it was difficult to move his arms to try and tug at the noose. The whole thing spun around with him in it so he was facing the Secret Keeper, who was smiling maniacally. 

Bentley was about to die.

Bentley Whittaker was about to die.

With one last push of energy, he channeled everything he had into her. Every little drop of rage he could muster from anywhere in his mind, from the pesky nightmares, to this, to chasing Asten the first night, for tormenting his family — every ounce of raw emotion and power he could force his body to give, he focused it all on her, on the blood in her veins, for one last, final hoorah.

(If he was dying, he wasn’t doing it alone.)

The Secret Keeper doubled over and vomited crimson all over the rooftop. But Bentley kept pushing. He kept going until

it was pouring out of her nose, dripping from her ears, running from her eyes like tears. The world was getting darker. He could feel her heart pounding, pounding, pounding well over double or triple the speed it was supposed to, but he didn’t stop. She hit her knees and started screaming. Nico’s eyes turned blue again, and he fell unconscious behind her.

“You’re going to kill me!”

The screaming got loud and torturous then. Like someone was cutting her up piece by piece, as every once of blood was drained from her body, she screamed and she screamed and eventually… she stopped.

The water went slack, and Bentley started freefalling.

With whatever he had left, he formed a bubble of water beneath him that he could land in.

When he hit, everything was black. He couldn’t think. He was only just remembering how to breathe, and his head was throbbing like nothing he’d ever experienced. The water he landed in went slack around him and left him laying on a pile of wet rubble.

His body was in so much pain at the same time that it was so numb. He could feel everything and nothing, all at once. He felt that his stab wound had reopened, and was now pouring a warm liquid all over him that he didn’t have the willpower to stop. His neck was sore, maybe even bleeding, too. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t really feel it. He wanted to yell for Bruce but he couldn’t.

“You killed her,”

Bentley peeled his eyes open just enough for a hazy, tilting, doubling picture of a metahuman to come into view. It was the guy with half-white-half-black hair. There were metahumans behind him, looking around strangely, like they didn’t know where they were. Was Charlie really dead? Did that mean the mind control wasn’t working anymore?

The rubble beneath him shifted, and a large, mangled piece of metal began floating out of it. 

“You killed Charlie,” The metahuman repeated. The mangled metal made it's way to Bentley, hovering in the air straight above him. “You’ll pay for that.”

Was the Secret Keeper really dead?

The mangled piece of metal was thrusted into Bentley’s chest with force so strong that he felt it hit the rubble on the other side.

It was only then that he realized, this was what she showed him. 

Him and Jason, in the lazarus pit, him dressed as Robin. Dead, impaled by a piece of metal debris.

This…

This was the reality where Bentley Whittaker died.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

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