#it's a different cloak. they all just look exactly the same

[chronologically-challenged]

Rambling some theories about @askoverkill AU~

1) Bodies from the previous loops stay. Not sure if it's just previous outer loops or both inner and outer loops. Currently have this theory is because the skeleton under the rock. Very conspicuous that the spot where Siffrins die first has a degraded corpse. We could be seeing more bodies from now on.

2) Dusk was the previous Siffrin before Dawn. (Which makes sense tbh. Dawn being the one now starting while Dusk is losing). I was trying to figure out their role in this AU, but looking back at the intro, the Siffrin who holds the star looks VERY similiar to Dusk's outfit.

The main differences are 1) under clothes are different (which could be just a design change or just a sign of depression. Who knows) and 2) the flowers on the hat, which I suspect Lupus gave him. Other than that, the hats are both pointy, the hair is placed nearly EXACTLY the same, they both have six eyelashes instead of the usual Siffrin three, the collar is very distinctive, and the triangles on the cloak. And considering how even the background Siffrins in the intro are very distinctive, it can't be a coincidence that there are so many similarities between the intro Siffrin and Dusk. Dusk has to have been the previous Siffrin, but how much Dusk remembers of the previous outer loop.... I'm not sure. (In many ways this makes Dusk more of the Loop parallel than even Loop. Overkill AU Loop has been through so much that everything is detached at this point. Dusk meanwhile... for them the feelings of self identity are probably all still raw).

Also uh. This ask? Anon asks if every Siffrin who gives up loses their he/hims and the answer is "Dusk still has their pronouns despite everything". So uh. Implication that they're a Siffrin who gave up!!!!

3) The Director is a bad end act 5 Siffrin. There's another post that goes more into this, made by 3rd-shrike. I'm convinced this is the case especially since Loop has been confirmed to still have been sasasaap Siffrin. So that means the ISAT timeline very likely has to have happened as well (ie: we're not starting from scratch with the timeline in this au).

4) This has to end with Siffrin choosing self care. The entire AU is Siffrin throwing himself into a death chamber for the sake of their friends, choosing to become meat for the meat grinder despite everyone telling him to stop. This can only end if they choose not to go in.

[salty-an-disco]

some more variants/progressions for the voices appearances in some chap 3's, feat Grey and Thorn :)

[kabr0ztrousers]

Love your work, new fan but big fan, I have an Idea for a centaur x fem criminal story

Basically she has a bounty on her head and can't go through the city gates to escape, a centaur offers her a way out, but she has to be strapped to his underbelly while he wears a centaur sized robe/coat/whatever to get past the guards.

Also she has to take her armor off so theres no sound of chainmail to give them away, so she's totally nude under there, nothing between her bare pussy and the centaurs cock. Which was exactly what the centaur wanted all along ;3

Kabr0z Writes episode 51: Daring Escape

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; size difference; belly-riding; creampie; implied impregnation; cum inflation

A/N: This one looks like fun! I always love a centaur being involved, especially when I can make them as downright unpleasant as Hellenic myth depicts them.

They're meanies.

#####################################

The job went near flawlessly. You broke into the castle, cased the joint, got to the war room and learned which routes the army would be travelling. Once the rebellion gets that, they'll have the King by the balls and finally turn the tide. One problem: they saw your face on the way out. Now you're here, in a stinking cistern, propping up a thieves' guild bar. A head full of priceless intel, that you can't risk getting out, only a dwindling handful of copper to your name, and no way out of the city gates.

You could try sneaking out over a wall, but the wards would stop that short. Maybe try sneaking into a grain carriage? You shook your head, no faster way to get a spear thrust through you. You motioned for another drink. You're dead if you stay, dead if you try to leave. You might as well be dead with a bellyful of whatever pigswill grog they serve here.

A man sat on the stool next to you and spoke "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The sign, you knew the response "He rules over Doissetep"

The man nodded, and got up. A piece of parchment lay where he was sat. You palmed it, casually finished your drink and went to an alcove, looking like just another drunk going for a piss.

The light was horrible here, but the enchanted ink glowed ever so subtly: "Seek the hunter under the moon"

You had another round, then left the cistern. It was already night out, but this wasn't the moon you needed. Picking your way across the city you found it. The temple of Luna. Empty at this time of night but for a figure, shrouded in dark. You slid through the door, chainmail clinking gently as you padded in on soft-soled shoes. Your turn to speak this time. "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The figure rose. A centaur, the shape of a bow slung across his broad back. "He rules over Doissetep"

You relaxed. Either this centaur was in the resistance, or the whole operation had huge problems

"I hear you need a hand getting out of the city? I'll help, but it won't be easy, or particularly dignified"

You nodded at the centaur. What could you do but hear him out?

"I have a sealskin, when the weather looks bad I wear it. It comes down to about my knees"

You could see where this was going "So you strap me to your belly, and we just walk out?" It was genius in its way. Centaurs hate passengers at the best of times, so checking underneath one's cloak for a fugitive just seems silly. Hopefully the guards would have the same thought process, and even if they didn't, you'd have a four hoofed companion to help run you out of danger.

"One snag though. I heard your armour when you walked in, that'll only be worse when you're under me. I can get it smuggled out separately, but it won't be on you."

"I didn't exactly bring a change of clothes" you weren't supposed to be in the city more than a couple of hours, so luggage wasn't a consideration, besides, travelling light made more sense in the wilderness.

"So you'll be naked. Suck it up, Buttercup. And get some sleep, you've got a big day tomorrow."

You couldn't afford not to take his offer. Laying down next to him, you got as much rest as you could.

It was raining the next morning, the cold predawn light seeping in through the windows. The man from the cistern was there, carrying several loops of rope, a hessian sack and a sealskin. Everything you'd need.

You started to strip. Months in the resistance had beaten any bashfulness out of you, and so you didn't mind the two men seeing your naked body. You could still feel their eyes on you, your boyish hips, slim waist, small tits, not to mention your long, muscular limbs. You glared at them as you stood in the chilly air, feeling your nipples harden in the cold as they started fastening ropes around the centaur's chestnut-furred torso

At last it was time for the finishing touches. You, then the sealskin to hide everything.

"Face up or down?" The cistern man looked over at you "I reckon down, it's a little less comfortable on the limbs, but you won't have a faceful of fur."

You nodded. You've never done this before, but if smuggling resistance members was these people's trade, they probably knew that they're about. Climbing under the centaur you allowed yourself to be tied into place.

The ropes were rough, and itched as they strung around you. Your arms were bound backwards, bent to follow the contours of the equine body, your legs open and lifted behind you, knees bent and ankles secured above. The rest of you was held on with loops of rope, keeping you tight to the centaur and taking some weight off your limbs.

Finally came the sealskin. It hid you entirely, padding disguising your silhouette and the skirts preventing you seeing anything but the flagstones below you.

You heard the cistern man say something to the centaur, but couldn't hear what. They both laughed then the centaur started to walk. He wasn't wrong about your armour. Even trussed up as tight as you were to the horse belly, you were being fiercely shaken. Chain would have been so noisy you might as well have given yourself up.

So you watched the cobbles pass below you. The sound of the rain echoing in your ears as it got heavier. At least you were staying dry under here.

You noticed something. Hanging down from between the centaur's back legs. You stifled a gasp to look at it, his huge semi-hard member dangling down. It swung to and fro with the movement of the trotting centaur, occasionally rearing up to be perilously close to your vulnerable crotch. You could smell it. The warm, tangy scent of his unsheathed member invading your nostrils, moistening your lower lips. It wasn't going down. It gathered length with every swing.

It swung up, pressing against your cunt. Again and again. It pressed hard against the entrance. You felt yourself moving, the centaur was shaking himself, shimmying you down. The expertly tied knots allowing you to slide towards his crotch, cinching tighter and stopping you going the other way. Little by little the flare of his cock was pressing harder and harder against your opening, the steady trickle of precum lubing your hole.

It went in. You stifled a yelp. Who knows what was around you, alerting a guard would be lethal.

Still, the shaking pressed you down. Inch by inch the cock pushing in, your cunt not having a choice but to accept it. You bit your tongue, desperate to stay silent as the cock twitched and pulsed in you. You could feel the flare on the end growing, pressing outwards inside you.

The centaur's chest tightened. His cock stiffened and his hips bucked. Hot liquid started flowing into you in waves. The flare held it in as your womb filled. He stayed hard. You could feel it stuck in you. The flare was receding, but the thickness of it let the cum inside.

You shuddered, the feeling of fullness was sending waves of pleasure up your body. The taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down harder, cutting your tongue on your teeth, desperately trying not to moan.

Voices "Off out today, are we?"

"Hunting. I expect to be back before nightfall"

"Damn poor weather for it"

The cock pulsed in you again. You clenched your body against the urge to moan

"Best time for it. Scent doesn't travel as well in the rain"

"Very well. Wait here."

Another twitch of your cunt, another throb of that cock. Every time you moved, it moved. Every time it moved, your cunt clenched on it. You could feel your eager body trying to milk the huge cock inside you, even as you desperately tried to think of something, anything else.

You ran over the battle plans in your head. The cock throbbed, and you couldn't focus. You planned your travel once you got away. The centaur shuddered, and your thoughts became phallic. You tried to remember the faces of your family back home. Your cunt clenched. The flare surged outwards. Again, cum flowed into you. You felt your skin stretching. The cock plugging you stopped it flowing out. Your belly grew slightly, over-full of hot equine cum.

The centaur's orgasm passed, and the flare receded again. He still wasn't moving, waiting as the guards checked and double checked his papers.

You could feel your belly pushing, trying to force the excess cum out. It was going to start leaking out, if it pooled on the ground, the guards might check under the sealskin.

You didn't have a choice.

You clenched your jaw. Squeezing your cunt as tightly as you could, you rocked your hips. You could hear yourself starting to pant with exertion, you hoped the guards couldn't over the rain. You felt the cock throb and twitch in you, but it had already came twice. It was in danger of going soft, pulling out as it did. You couldn't let that happen.

You quickened your pace, rolling your hips up and down, clenching strategically. You fucked him hard, rubbing the engorged head of his cock against your cervix. His back hoof was clopping on the ground. You could feel his cock thicken. It was nearly there. The flare expanded again

"All in order, you can go"

The centaur staggered on. Steps as regular as he could manage while riding the cusp of pumping another load into you. The cobbles gave way to dirt path. You heard him grunt loudly above you.

He came less this time, but it was still enough to push your belly out further. You allowed yourself a moan, taking deep, racking breaths as the last of the centaur's cum was forced in.

On he walked, the cock softening and dropping out, followed by a jet of cum pouring from your cunt. It left a trail on the road behind you, a thick puddle on the already sodden ground

You made it to the rendezvous with the man from the cistern, who cut your ropes.

You fell to the muddy ground. Limbs tingling as feeling returned.

"She give you any trouble?"

"No" the centaur replied "she knew what was good for her, even got desperate enough for it to get me off all on her own"

They laughed as they walked off together. You lay there, oozing. Your kit was piled in the grass next to you, probably minus whatever money you had.

At least you got out

####################################

As we approach the end of February and volume 1 of Kabr0z Writes, I remind you all that commissions are free and open, just be aware there is a queue, so it may be some time until you see your request.

Most people send requests anonymously, so do feel free to send as many as you like! (I'm also loving how many people are sending in requests for bad things to happen to the Chitinids. I'm so happy I've made villains people love to hate ♥️)

[helen-with-an-a]

could you write a jessie fleming x Putellas!sister!reader

reader is really shy and doesn't talk much so alexia thinks reader is still single but at the friendly match between canada and spain jessie gets fouled badly and reader sprints across the field do comfort her and be there for her

Hiiiii - so I'm combining this with another ask for a multi-part Jessie series and a little idea that has been floating around in my head. This is the first part of a multi-part blurb story that follows a loose timeline but is also not really. Each part is based on the 1 of the 5 senses plus a bonus. I hope you enjoy it.

Sight

Sight : Sound : Smell : Taste : Touch : Cryptaesthesia

Jessie Fleming x Putellas!Reader

Description: R sees Jessie for the first time

Word Count: 1.7k

Growing up with Alexia as your sister was hard. Not bad, not negative – just a constant ... challenge. It felt like being a part of something extraordinary but knowing you’d never be the star. Alexia was Alexia Putellas, a name that carried weight, a name that carried talent and recognition. You were just ... you. While Alexia’s accomplishments lit up the room, you often felt like you were always a beat behind, your achievements cloaked in her shadow. It was impossible not to feel the subtle comparisons, the whispered remarks about being “Alexia’s hermanita,” as if that alone defined you. You never scored as many goals or had as many trophies, everything you had ever done, Alexia had done before you. Make it into La Masia, play for Barça B, play for the first team, break into the national team, receive your first cap, your first goal for La Roja ... Alexia had done it all before, you had usually gone on to do even better things.

Maybe that’s why, when the chance came, you decided to say 'fuck it' and move to Chelsea. Ona was heading to Manchester, eager for a chance at some more playing time that just wasn't happening at Barcelona. You chose London, craving change – a place where you could define yourself, beyond your last name and your big sister. You were just twenty-two, still piecing together who you were outside of Alexia’s Hermanita, and yet here you were, packing up and moving to another country right in the middle of a global pandemic. The Blues had come knocking over the summer, Emma had seen videos of what you could do, of who you could be on the pitch. She had taken a chance in making the phone call, and you had taken a chance in saying yes.

It was daunting, nerve-wracking, exciting, all at once. You’d be alone, out of your comfort zone, away from family and everything familiar. A new language, new weather, different culture, new people. But maybe ... maybe that was exactly what you needed: a fresh start, a space to breathe without the shadows, a chance to be more than “just the hermana.” What was there to lose?

And then you saw her. Jessie.

She stood a little off to the side, almost as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there, but her presence filled the room all the same. Your eyes caught hers for just a second, and that was all it took. There was something about her that felt disarming and comforting all at once – a softness in her expression that drew you in like nothing else had since you’d arrived in London. You no longer felt the nip of the autumn air, you were no longer completely lost, surrounded by people you barely understood. You were ... you weren't quite sure what you were, but something had definitely shifted.

Her smile was shy, barely there, but it made your heart lurch as though you’d known her forever. She wore a slightly oversized Chelsea hoodie that made her look small and cosy. The sleeves were pulled over her hands, and she had a baseball cap perched on her head, tilting just enough to let wisps of hair escape. You could see her gaze flitting around, a bit uncertain, like she was trying to take everything in without being seen herself.

“Uh, hi,” Jessie said, her smile gentle as she extended her hand toward you. Her eyes met yours with quiet confidence, even though her cheeks were tinged with a soft pink.

“H-hi,” you replied, wincing a little at the way your English sounded, thick with the nervousness you couldn’t shake off. You’d spoken English so many times before, but something about this moment ... about Jessie ... made it feel clumsy, like you were learning the language all over again. You had a far better grasp of the language than Alexia had, one of the few things you could pride yourself on being better at, yet here you were, stuttering and stumbling over a simple word.

Jessie must have noticed your hesitance, because she gave you an encouraging smile and then took a deep breath, braving a few Spanish words herself. “Estoy encantad...o… encatada?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her effort, the way she scrunched her nose slightly, clearly uncertain of the words. It was charming and utterly adorable. “Encantada,” you corrected her gently, watching her try the word on her lips.

“Encantada,” she repeated, a little more confidently this time, her voice soft and almost musical as she looked up at you.

Then she took a breath, as if gathering herself, and said, “Estoy encantada de conocerte.”

It was imperfect, yet so endearing, and you felt your heart skip as her words hung in the air. It was a simple phrase, but it felt like the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“You are… Canadiense, sí?” you asked, testing the waters, wanting to know just a little bit more about her.

“Canadiense? Oh, Canadian?” Jessie’s face lit up as she caught on. “Yes, uh, sí.”

“Do ... you speak ... French?” you asked, each word slow and careful as you sifted through your English, hoping you hadn’t lost her.

Jessie laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t speak French, unfortunately. We had to learn it in school, but nothing really stuck. I didn’t try as much as I should have in the lessons…” She paused, a sheepish smile appearing as she realised she was rambling. “I just really didn’t care at the time, and now that I’m out of school – and out of Canada in general…” She trailed off, catching herself, cheeks going pink as she realised how fast she’d been talking. “Sorry,” she apologised, her voice a little softer, almost embarrassed.

You shook your head with a reassuring smile, though you’d only caught pieces of what she’d said. Truthfully, you hadn’t been concentrating much on the words themselves; you were too mesmerised by her expressions, by the way she talked and the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

Her hands twisted together, fingers nervously playing with the hem of her hoodie. Her chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with hints of light you couldn’t look away from. Every so often, her gaze darted back to you, checking if you understood, if she hadn’t lost you entirely, but to you, the details hardly mattered. You felt a warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you’d never wanted to listen to anyone quite as much as you wanted to listen to her.

The first few weeks at Chelsea were a blur of excitement, nerves, and blushing uncontrollably whenever Jessie was around. It seemed like she could simply walk into a room, and your cheeks would betray you, heating up despite your best attempts to play it cool. Every time you were near her, words tangled in your mouth, your mind going blank as she flashed you that easy, shy smile. You’d catch yourself stealing glances, mesmerised by the smallest details – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her eyes, the subtle hints of laughter that danced on her lips when she was listening.

But on the pitch, Jessie was something else entirely. Watching her play was like watching art in motion. She moved with a confidence and skill that felt almost otherworldly, commanding every inch of space around her with a natural grace and intensity that left you breathless. You had seen good players before. You had watched Alexia win all of her accolades, but this ... Jessie was something entirely different.

You couldn’t help but be captivated by her. There was a beauty in her game that went beyond skill; it was something deeper, something raw and magnetic that had you spellbound.

“Hola,” Jessie greeted you with that soft smile, walking over as you both lingered in the changing rooms after training one afternoon.

“Hi, Jessie,” you replied, already feeling the blush rush to your cheeks.

She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers curling around the strings of her hoodie, a familiar gesture you’d noticed before – a nervous habit that only seemed to surface when she was around you. “I was wondering…” she began, her voice quiet, almost shy. Then, after a short breath, she asked, “Puedo invitarte a cenar alguna vez?”

The Spanish threw you, startling you out of your own thoughts. “Que?” you blurted automatically, your mind scrambling to catch up with what she’d just said.

Jessie’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she looked down, her gaze dipping as if she suddenly wished she could disappear. “Did I say that wrong?” she mumbled, her voice muffled with embarrassment. “Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.” She shifted, her hands clutching her hoodie strings a little tighter. “I… I was trying… am trying…” She paused, taking a deep breath before looking up at you, eyes wide. “Could I maybe take you out to dinner sometime? Like… on a date… I don’t know.”

You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest, realising what she was asking.

“Sí,” you managed to say, a shy smile spreading across your face as warmth bloomed in your cheeks. “Uh … yes, Jessie, me encantaría eso.”

Jessie’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to process your words. “You… encantar…?” she repeated, her expression a little puzzled, eyes full of that earnest concentration you found so endearing.

You chuckled softly, “I would like that.”

“Oh!” she said, her smile returning, wider and more certain now, her fingers finally letting go of her hoodie strings. There was a new spark in her eyes, a look of pure relief mixed with excitement, and it made your heart skip. She looked so genuinely happy, her gaze locking with yours in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

“Good,” she whispered, almost to herself, her smile turning soft and shy again. “Cool ... I … I’m really glad.”

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ But The Night, He Calls Me — Bruce "Batman" Wayne x GN Civilian!Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It was hard to imagine a time where anything noteworthy in Gotham didn't happen during a dark and stormy night. The city was a pretty big pull for raincoulds, low hanging fog, and a general morose look. But above all else, it was your home, though you didn't prefer to walk out at night these days. With the notoriously shoddy work of the GCPD and crime rates almost triple as high compared to the neighboring cities, you didn't exactly feel the wet concrete and dark alley corners beckoning you anytime soon.

The roof, however, was a different matter. Your roof— or, well, the roof to the apartment complex you lived at�� became a frequent spot to the one man who could ever make a dent in Gotham City crime. The very same man you could see perched on the edge of the parapet right now. You approached slowly, taking careful steps as to not make a sound. After painfully long moments of inching, you were almost close enough to reach out. You shuffled just a bit more, preparing to make yourself known-

"Go back inside" the dark figure cut in, low gravelly voice clear and familiar. You sighed deeply, giving up and moving to step up to the vigilante's side "How do you always do that?". "I'm a detective, it's my job" the Batman said flatly. You leaned against the parapet he was standing atop "It's uncanny is what it is. After all these months you'd think I'd be able to get the drop on you at least once". "Villains who have been chasing me since the beginning of my career haven't managed it either, don't be too discouraged" Batman replied.

You chuckled a little, looking over the edge of the roof. The crime fighter's dry humor was a reason the two of you got along so well. After meeting by chance a few times, it became a more regular occurrence to meet up like this. Sometimes you'd get to see him spring into action, or maybe even return from a fight. But tonight, it seems, was uneventful. "Slow day?" You asked. "There's never a slow day in Gotham," Batman responded "You just need to know where to find the action". You couldn't help but snort a little at the claim "Okay, tough guy, so why haven't you set off yet?". "There's no point to a stakeout if you jump in before the crook" Batman said, and you gave a thoughtful nod in reply.

"You should really go back inside" the caped crusader spoke up "It's late. You've got work, I'm sure". "Got the day off, actually, detective" You responded "And I can't sleep knowing there's a bat on my roof". That got a faint hum from the dark knight, the closest you got to an amused reaction from him. The wind picked up from the just-passed storm, bringing a chill that bit your cheeks and clung to your clothes in one large wave. You couldn't help but shiver, tugging your jacket tighter around your pajamas.

Batman kept his gaze on the streets below, watching as puddles rippled with the last few drops from the sky and lamps flickered from lack of care. He was in tune with every foot of concrete road, attuned to any and every movement. The only thing that pulled his attention was when feeling his long billowing cape being tugged. His head looked over, seeing you wrapping the inky black fabric around your shoulders. "What- what are you doing" Batman asked, mildly confused. "It's not really fair that you're the only one that gets to wrap up in this thing" you said, scooting closer to him for more coverage.

"I do that to cloak myself" Batman countered, sliding off the parapet to be standing on the top of the roof beside you. "Right. And I'm using it to warm myself" you said casually, shuffling to his side. You honestly expected him to give some gruff, witty comment and snatch the cape back. If it were any other situation, with any other person, maybe he would have. But instead, he just looked back to the streets, using an arm to hold out more of the martial for you. You smiled, tucking fully into his side and now being fully wrapped up. "Better?" Batman asked, avoiding looking down at you. You nodded, leaning on his shoulder "A lot, yeah. Thanks, Bats"

Batman gave a short 'hm' in response, going back to being silent. But he kept an arm around your lower back, keeping you held close to his frame. As much as he was trying to avoid it, it did poor things to his heart to see you shivering in the cold because of him. He very briefly placed his chin atop your head, using his free hand to tap your shoulder. "Ten minutes. Then you're going back to bed"

"Fine, fine" you said, nuzzling up to him a bit more "Ten minutes". Batman hesitated a little, before allowing himself to wrap his arms around you fully. He gave you a brief but strong embrace, letting you soak up his warmth just for now. He could spare ten mintues. It's not like any villain could outrun him for long, anyways.

[entitled-fangirl]

Devotion.

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.

Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women

A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.

Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!

Masterlist

.............................................

"Benjicot!"

The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 

He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.

He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."

"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.

He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."

She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."

He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."

She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"

"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."

"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.

He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."

"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."

Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."

She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"

Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."

She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."

Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 

…

"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."

Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."

"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize-"

"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."

Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."

Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 

Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"

"What did you say?"

Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."

Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."

Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."

Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."

The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"

"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 

He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."

…

"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 

"Aye."

She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.

He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."

She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 

He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.

Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."

He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."

"Benjicot, please." 

"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."

She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."

When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."

And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.

"A- Aeron?"

Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."

Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 

She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 

She spun around. "Did you know about this?"

"What?"

Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"

Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 

She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 

The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"

"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."

Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"

She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"

Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."

Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 

He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."

Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"

Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.

"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Were you there when it started?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body.��

"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.

Benjicot's longsword. 

Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 

Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 

"You killed my brother?"

…

Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 

His sword collided with another and he looked. 

"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 

Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"

Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."

"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 

"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.

Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.

Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 

So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 

Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 

The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 

There it was.

Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.

Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.

But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.

Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.

"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.

Benjicot snarled. "What?"

"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."

Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."

"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."

Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."

Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."

"I said shut up!"

Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."

Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 

He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.

"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."

…

Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.

He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 

"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 

"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.

She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."

He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 

"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"

He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."

"You've done enough, Benjicot."

"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."

"Leave, Benjicot."

He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."

She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"

"Not by will."

"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"

She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."

He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.

"You never wanted me."

Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 

The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.

He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."

"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."

"It's not that easy."

"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"

"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"

She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"

"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"

His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."

She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"

Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."

"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"

He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."

She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."

"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"

She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"

"-Shut up," he ordered. 

She looked up in shock. "What?"

"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."

She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."

She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."

He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 

They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-

He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 

He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"

She let out a whine.

He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."

She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 

"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.

"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.

In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 

"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.

"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 

"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.

She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."

"Darling-"

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 

"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 

"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."

He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."

"I don't think you mind."

He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."

"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."

His brows quirked up. "Will I?"

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."

He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."

…

Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.

The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.

Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."

Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 

Aeron Bracken was wrong. 

Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.

........................................................

[violettwrites]

but daddy i love him! — tp!daryl

a/n: this is something a little different from my trailer park!duo i’ve been writing, but i listened to one taylor swift song and i couldn’t help myself

if you enjoyed my writing, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment! i really appreciate the support 🫶🏻

summary: reader comes from a well off, extremely religious family. when she becomes close with the town’s local outcast, her father, the local preacher, has something to say about it.

pairing: tp!daryl x goodgirl!reader

warnings: none tbh !

word count: 2,778

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

➸ masterlist

➸ ask box

ever since you were a little girl, your life had been laid out in front of you. you had a path to followed and you had never deviated from that path. you kept your faith close to your heart, god with you everywhere you went.

your father was the well known preacher in your small town, where everyone knew everyone.

and everyone knew you— the preacher’s daughter. the one expected to be perfect, sinless, and pure. people looked to you as a reflection of your father’s teachings, a symbol of his devotion. for years, you wore that role like a cloak, heavy with responsibility, but it fit you. at least it did, until you met daryl dixon.

daryl wasn’t like anyone you had ever known. rough around the edges, always lingering on the outskirts of town with his older brother, merle. both of them stuck in a trailer park on the other side of the county line. they were known for getting into trouble— as sinful as they came, as your father said, warning you to stay away from them. but there was something about daryl that drew you in. maybe it was the way he never tried to impress anyone, or how he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever saying a word.

you can remember the first time you noticed daryl dixon— leaned up against the outside of the gas station, his bike parked in front of him as he stood there, a cigarette between his lips. when you had caught his gaze, in that pretty little white sundress, looking like the epitome of an angel, his blue eyes locked onto you. you had left the church once the sunday service was over, in need of a sweet treat in the shape of a slushie. on your way out, with your blue raspberry slushie in hand as you passed him, you had locked eyes with him, those piercing blue ones boring into yours.

it was a few weeks later when you saw him again, this time behind the church. you had come out to get some fresh air after a long sunday service, your father still inside talking with some of the congregation. daryl was leaning against a tree, his eyes scanning the horizon like he was waiting for someone— or maybe something.

“shouldn’t be out ‘ere, should ya?” his voice was rough, like gravel under your feet, but there was a softness in it that surprised you.

you hesitated, unsure whether to run back inside or stand your ground. “maybe not,” you replied, your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “but i could say the same for you.”

he gave a half smile, barely there, before his gaze turned back to the woods. “ain’t exactly my place, is it?”

“no, but it’s not like anyone’s going to come looking for you here either,” you said, stepping closer. there was something exhilarating about talking to him, like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling.

daryl didn’t say anything for a moment. he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. you could see the faint outline of a bruise under his eye, and it made you wonder what kind of life he lived. you had heard rumours about the dixon brothers, but you had just assumed that was all talk.

“yer the preacher’s kid, huh?” he asked after a long silence, eyes coming back to focus on you— and your heart pounded against your chest again at his piercing blue eyes locked in on your figure.

“don’t call me kid,” you scoffed for a moment, looking down at your white sandals, brows furrowed before looking up at him. you nodded eventually, chewing on your bottom lip. “and you’re one of the dixon brothers.”

daryl chuckled at your defensiveness of being called kid, but left it at that. he nodded his head at your observation. “reckon that’s what people call us,” he hummed, however it seemed there was a bit of defensiveness in his tone too.

“is that all you are?” you asked quietly, somewhat curious about the boy behind the rough exterior with the name he carried.

for the first time, daryl looked at you, really looked at you. his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure you out, figure out why the preacher’s daughter was out here talking to him like he wasn’t the town’s pariah. he didn’t have an answer; but you could see that same quiet rebellion mirrored in his eyes, like he was just as unsure about his place in the world as you were about yours.

from that moment on, your paths crossed more than you’d like to admit. you’d find him by the church sometimes, or he’d show up at the gas station, always at odd times like he was avoiding being seen. the two of you would talk, but never for long, however it was long enough for you to feel like there was something more to him than the town’s whispers could ever capture.

it wasn’t long before you started sneaking out, the weight of your father’s expectations growing heavier with each passing day. you’d meet daryl in secret, late at night, down by the creek just outside of town. the moon would be high in the sky, casting a silver light over the water, and the two of you would just sit there— talking about whatever came to mind those nights you’d spend together. your faith, his avoidance of it, your families, your hopes, your dreams. nothing was off topic.

in daryl, you found freedom— a way to break free from the life that had been laid out for you since birth. and in you, daryl found something he’d never had; someone who didn’t judge him. someone who saw more than just his last name.

but the world you both came from was small, and people talked. it was only a matter of time until your father had you cornered in your room, his voice rising as he yelled at you.

“i will not have my daughter running around with the dixon boys!” you could tell he was mad, it showed by the way his face was red, and more obviously by his tone.

“you don’t— you don’t understand!” you cried, your voice smaller, but still just as loud as his. you could feel the sadness in your bones when people talked down on the dixon brothers— especially daryl. he was just someone, much like yourself, trying to find his place in this world. “he’s good, daddy! he’s good!” he really was. you had never met someone as gentle as daryl dixon. how his calloused hands were so soft against your skin, or how his words weren’t seething with hatred towards you. he was so much better than those boys in your congregation— the ones your father wanted you to be with.

your father looked at you like you’d lost your mind— like the devil had taken over your soul. shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped closer to you. “good? you think that boy is good? i’ll tell you what, (y/n), that boy is trouble. he’s a dixon. you’re risking everything by being with him— your reputation, your future, your soul!” his voice grew louder with each word, a sharpness to them that cut right through you, however you could hear the fear in them, and it left you trembling.

tears welled in your eyes, but you wiped them away, standing firm. “he’s not like everyone says he is, daddy. you don’t see him the way i do! he’s kind, he listens— he cares!” your voice broke as you tried to make him understand, but you knew in your heart it wouldn’t matter. “he cares about me.” daryl dixon would never be good enough for your father, or anyone in this town.

the silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of your father’s disapproval hanging in the air like a storm about to break. another step closer, his voice softened, but it was still filled with authority. “you need to stop this, before it’s too late. before you lose everything.”

you but your lip, choking back the frustration, the sadness, the weight of it all threatening to overwhelm you. “i’ve already lost something.” you paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat that was practically choking you. “i’ve lost myself.”

your father froze for a moment, as if your words had slapped him right across the face. his band, once poised in an authoritative gesture, fell to his side. “what are you talking about, darling?” his voice was softer now, edged with confusion. “you haven’t lost anything. you’re just… mixed up.”

you shook your head slowly, your tears finally spilling over, falling down your cheeks. “no— i’m not mixed up. for the first time, i feel like i’m seeing things clearly. daryl— he doesn’t ask me to be anything i’m not. he doesn’t expect perfection from me. he doesn’t see me just as the preacher’s daughter; this image you’ve painted of me. he truly sees me.”

you could see how your father’s eyes softened for a brief moment, but the stern preacher facade quickly retired. “it is my job to protect you from people like him, from this kind of confusing. he’s luring you in, you’re just too young to understand.”

“i’m not too young to know what i feel!” you countered, your voice shaking but firm. “you raised me to have faith, to believe in the good in people. but you won’t even give daryl a chance!”

“because i know where this leads!” he snapped back at you, his voice booming inside the four walls of your bedroom. you stood there for a moment, body shaking as you looked up at him, fear and sadness laced in your eyes. “he’ll break your heart. he’ll pull you down with him. and when he’s done, you’ll be left picking up the pieces, alone.”

the words stung, but they didn’t deter you. you were tired of being afraid, of being conformed into someone you weren’t. you stepped closer, standing as tall as you could in front of him. “maybe he will. maybe i’ll get hurt. but that’s my choice to make. not yours.”

for a moment, your father looked like he wanted to argue further, but his face softened again, the fight draining from him. he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “you don’t understand, (y/n). you have no idea how hard life can be. i’m trying to protect you.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow again. “i’m not a little kid, anymore. i don’t need protecting.”

with that, you turned and walked out of your room, your heart pounding in your chest. you knew this wasn’t the end of the fight. your father wouldn’t give up easily, but for the first time in your life, you weren’t walking a path someone else had laid out for you. you were walking down your own, no matter how uncertain or dangerous it seemed.

and no matter where it led, you knew daryl would be waiting at the end of it, standing in the moonlight by the creek, with those piercing blue eyes that made you feel like, for the first time, you were truly seen.

the tension from the argument with your father was still heavy in your chest, but you pushed it down as you made your way towards the creek, the pale light from the moon guiding you. your heart beat faster with each step, knowing he’d be waiting for you like he always did.

as you approached the creek, the familiar sound of water rushing over rocks greeted you, and there, leaning against a tree in his usual spot, was daryl dixon. his silhouette was bathed in moonlight, the soft glow highlighting the hard lines on his face and the quiet strength in his posture. he looked up at you when he heard you approaching, his blue eyes finding yours immediately.

“you’re late,” he muttered, but there was no way real bite in his words. he looked you over, as if checking to make sure you were alright.

you shrugged your shoulders, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the weight of the evening. “had to deal with my dad. he knows about us.”

daryl’s eyes darkened slightly, and his jaw tightened. “figured that’d happen sooner or later.” he kicked at a rock, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “what’d he say?”

you took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. “he said i’m throwing my life away, that i’m risking everything by being with you.” you laughed bitterly. “he thinks i’m gonna lose my soul just for knowing you.”

daryl’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he shifted uncomfortable. “maybe he’s right,” he mumbled. “ain’t no good for ya, (y/n). you should be with someone better. someone who ain’t…” he trailed off, his voice tougher than usual.

you felt a pang in your chest at his words, but you weren’t about to let him talk like that. without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. his calloused skin was rough against yours, but the warmth of his hand grounded you.

“don’t say that,” you whispered, stepping even closer so you were standing right in front of him, chests almost touching. “you’re good to me, daryl. i don’t care what my dad, or anyone else, says. i know you.”

he looked down at your hands, his fingers tightening around yours for just a moment before he glanced back up at you, those blue eyes searching your face for any hesitation. “you don’t know everything, though. ain’t nothin’ in my life but trouble.”

you shook your head, your voice soft but firm. “i don’t care. i don’t care about the rumours, or what people say, or even what my dad thinks. i care about you.”

for a long moment, daryl didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out why you were here, why you kept coming back to him when you had every reason to walk away. but then, slowly, his expression softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“yer somethin’ else, ya know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. it was barely there, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.

you smiled back in return, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the cool night sir. “maybe. or maybe you just bring out a side of me no one else sees.”

daryl’s eyes flickered, and for a second, you thought he might pull away. but instead, his free hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. his touch was gentle, careful, like he was afraid you might break.

“yer dad ain’t gonna let this slide,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “you sure this is what ya want?”

you didn’t hesitate. “i’m sure. i want you, daryl. i only want you.”

his gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “alright then,” he whisperer, leaning in just enough this his breath mingled with yours. “if that’s what ya want.”

and before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was giving you a chance to change your mind. but you didn’t pull away. instead, you kissed him back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as the world around you seemed to fade away. the creek, the woods, the weight of your father’s disapproval— none of it mattered in that moment. all that mattered was daryl, his lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close as if you were something precious. something worth holding on to.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and your heart pounding, you rested your forehead against his, your hands still pressed against his chest. “i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady, even though everything inside you felt like it was trembling.

daryl nodded, his arms still around you, and for the first time, you saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “neither am i,” he said quietly.

and in that moment, standing there by the creek with daryl’s arms around you, you knew that no matter what came next— no matter how hard things got —you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

[mangocurist]

hey so... @jumped-for-the-yaoi guess who spent their evening writing purple eggs and zam!!!!! im going to bed early now god im so cold

followup to my other zincewam (ls s6zam and uuwemmbu) tumblr fics (1) (2)

════════════════════════════════════════════════

There’s something about the way in Wemmbu’s stride that says he’s changed after the one week hiatus he’d taken from Unstable. 

Egg isn’t sure what to make of it at first— he’s no stranger to the way that Wemmbu works, after all. He doesn’t know if what happened to Wemmbu— who he met, because Wemmbu isn’t too subtle at the best of times and Egg knows that there’s someone he’s been messaging on and off, trying to plan some sort of subtle meetup off the server— is a good or a bad thing, and it just… rubs him the wrong way. After all, his friend is someone, who, despite his posturing and cocky disposition, is too kind for his own good. 

It has gotten him betrayed and used, over and over again, and Egg isn’t keen on seeing it happen one more time. 

So when Wemmbu tells him he wants to introduce him to someone, Egg— well. He can’t exactly be blamed for pulling a sword out the moment he notices Prince Zam arrive on the private server Wemmbu pulls them onto.

“Wait! Wait, wait wait, wait, no, Egg, put that down— Zam, shit, I’m so sorry, dude, I didn’t think he’d try to pull a sword on you—” Wemmbu looks to Zam, and for one horrible second, Egg almost thinks that he’s looking to her for some form of approval. He doesn’t know what he wants to do— lunge for her, maybe, try and slit his throat before Wemmbu can stop him, but before he can do any of that, Zam is shaking her head and waving his hands frantically, looking apologetically towards both of them. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! Seriously, I figured that would happen,” Zam smiles awkwardly, one hand fiddling with the frayed edges of his forest-green cloak. The other hand that clutches a bag at his side is metallic and overgrown with moss and vines seeping into its crevices, and it is… unfamiliar.

She’s different from the Zam Egg remembers, and yet, seeing him is just as anxiety-inducing, because it comes with more questions of will he betray Wemmbu again and how much more can he really take, from one person? 

(And Egg is— he’s a little afraid. He knows… he knows now, how close he could have been to becoming the same man he fears. He knows Wemmbu couldn’t take something like that again, can’t take another betrayal that will end with him left behind by yet another friend. So— he’s afraid. About what meeting Zam again means for them, but mostly, about what meeting her again means for Wemmbu.)

Zam continues speaking, “And, anyway, it’s totally justified, considering what your… uh, Zam, did. Um. I honestly expected worse! Like, I mean, if it was Mapicc, he’d probably have cleaved my head in half by now. So, like— don’t worry about it. Uh, and, I’m sorry for startling you, Eggchan. Can— can I call you that?”

Egg’s eye narrows. 

He… doesn’t trust her. If he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t think there’s even a single person out there who could trust Prince Zam, not after all the shit he’s pulled. But Wemmbu is standing in front of him, in a way that tells Egg he’s trying to shield them both from each other, because the only way he knows how to keep people safe is to put himself in the way of harm. 

So. Egg can’t hurt Zam, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t make sure that Zam won’t hurt Wemmbu.

“Egg is fine,” He tells Zam, noting with a critical eye the way that she practically deflates with relief when Egg gives him a stamp of approval. “You’re… forgiven. But, Wemmbu, dude— I thought you guys weren’t… you know. Um, cool with each other?”

Wemmbu turns to him with a sheepish expression. “Oh. Yeah, well, about that… um, Egg. So— how much do you know about, uh. Doppelgangers and stuff?”

Egg turns to look at him. “What— dude, what are you saying?”

Wemmbu scoffs as if he can’t believe Egg is even questioning this, which is, honestly, so stupid Egg doesn’t even have the words for it— because, like, come on. If it was Egg who was trying to reintroduce his abuser to Wemmbu, he’s sure this wouldn’t be a conversation that would have had to be had. “That’s not Zam. Or, well, not the Zam on Unstable, anyway. She’s… from, uh, this silly little place called Lifesteal. And it’s kinda where I’ve been for like, the last week or so.” 

Egg turns to Zam, who startles when he notices, before relaxing again. He squints at her, trying to pick out any details between Zam and the image he has in his mind of the man who had tormented his best friend for months on end. 

Zam’s hair falls loosely in small curls that frame his face, short and choppy as if cut by an inexperienced hand holding a dull blade— a far different cry from the tyrant prince who had gleefully blown up their little nation, not a single hair straying out of place of his picture-perfect braided bun. The clothes that this Zam wears are frayed and slightly ragged, and when Egg looks more closely, he can see what looks like burns and faded bloodstains dotting the hem of the green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. There’s even a pin of Wemmbu’s face on her cloak, which— okay. That’s… something he should probably ask about, too. 

He’s got the metallic arm, and a scar on the left side of her face, and— most notable of all— this Zam lacks the cruelty Egg remembers. 

It’s not enough to dissuade Egg from distrusting him. It definitely isn’t enough to make Egg feel comfortable with letting Zam hang around Wemmbu.

But it’s a start.

“Well,” Egg says, his voice as casual as he can keep it, “tell me about Lifesteal, then. Is that what gave you the metal arm and the scar?”

Zam’s eyes soften, and she shares a glance with Wemmbu, who— finally, thank God— moves aside and out of the way. Egg… well, he probably won’t stab Zam now, but it’s much nicer to be able to move freely without his best friend obstructing his way.

“Let’s go and take a seat before we talk about this. Say, how do you feel about fishing?”

[mygnolia]

TASTE OF LIFE. l. heeseung

THE TALE GOES...heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached. 

pair -› lee heeseung x fem!reader | trope -› horror, literally no fluff | warn -› major character death, violence, stalking | REN SAYS.. first installment! also this is shit guys im so sorry I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT ASAP ugh writing this much lowk killed me </3 | 3k words | library

---

Mediocre. Normal. Ordinary.

That’s exactly how you’d describe the house that stood before you, with your bags tightly held in both hands as you ascended the few stairs to the porch. It felt like any other house, and you’d even compare it to the old one you were in. 

The previous home was different in one major way—it added years of aging onto your parents somehow, as if something had sucked the life out of their minds. It drove them crazy to stay home, and you couldn’t help but be embarrassed every time they mumbled in public about going home. 

They looked crazy. You just had to droop your head and pretend you didn’t know them. 

Your parents’ eyes lit up when they entered through the door, with wood flooring and a color scheme that reflected on their preferences. It was almost identical to your other house, so why exactly did they choose to move to a home that was no different than the last? If anything, you were just glad they were starting to feel more comfortable within the new space. It felt breathable, and something about the old place you lived in felt dirty and plagued. 

It wasn’t much of a struggle as you began to unpack the bags of clothes and boxes of items you brought with you, considering how little you cared about accents and decorations. With furniture already there, your room felt akin to your other one, but something was off. You tried to move the desk over to the window to gauge the effectiveness of the natural lighting, and when your curtains gave way to slightly clouded rays of sunlight in your room, you hummed with some satisfaction. Good enough. 

As Halloween came around, you understood how much everyone in the local town loved to celebrate. Houses on your way to school were filled with webs, lights, and jack-o-lanterns, and it made you believe that the pumpkin farm on the outskirts of town had a smart business model. On top of having an abundance of fall flavored desserts, the Yang family held the biggest party of the year, seeing as their son went to the same high school of yours. 

You had only heard whispers of the annual Yang Halloween party, rumored to be the best party of all time, was something you were looking forward to every year, even anticipating the post-celebration news to hit you from the town over. 

The day neared, and you got more and more excited to finally get to know people ever since you arrived in town. People knew of you as the new girl, but no one reached out, all too consumed in their own cliques to introduce themselves to you. 

—

“Taste,” you told the man waiting outside. “The password is ‘taste.’ “

The windows were tinted in red as moonlight streamed through one side of the building. The rest of the house was dark, with only flashing orange, purple, and green lights strung carefully to add to the mysterious ambience. Music blasted from the speakers and shelves were lined with decorations, ones that you were careful to avoid knocking over as you slid your way between crowds. There seemed to be never ending snacks, as people with tattered black cloaks always managed to keep the drinks filled and the rows neat. 

It was obvious that the family knew what they were doing when it came to throwing parties—you hadn’t seen one person without a smile on their face. The festivities like horror rooms and games were all through-out the floor, and there was always something for everyone to do. 

You fell into conversation with a few people, cutting it short as you excused yourself to the restroom. Down the same hall was a door that was left ajar, and you went to shut it before returning to the boy who you just met. 

“Hi.” 

You jumped back, eyes darting around as you searched for someone to match the sudden voice, and you heard a small curse in the same direction. Your feet were frozen as you only looked around, your hand still on the knob of the empty restroom as you hoped someone would come to break you out of your stupor.

There was nothing, you promised yourself, and the door shut with a click. Still, your gut swirled with fear as you slowly turned, anxiously rubbing the goosebumps on your skin.

“You can hear me, huh?” 

You knew the sound was coming to your left, where the flashing lights were nowhere to be found. All you had was the phone you fished out of your back pocket before you saw a flash of something pale. You immediately turned, trying to find it once more. 

You could’ve sworn there was something. 

“Hello?” You probably looked insane to any bystander, calling out to the dark when you swore you saw something nearby. 

To both your surprise and horror, someone floats through the closet door, his limbs passing through as a grin makes his way onto his features. 

You’d think the ghost in front of you was attractive, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were experiencing something supernatural for the first time. 

Bile rose in your throat as you became disoriented looking at the figure. With a yelp that caught confused stares from only a few people nearby, you scurried out of the house, bumping into bodies as the door grew closer and closer. 

Like a bubble about to burst, the house feels stuffy and humid until you open the large doors, swallowing the cold air of the night like a lifeline. Your head spins with confusion, and you can’t seem to understand what you just saw until he seeps through the wall once more. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” You yelp at the sound of his voice, taking a few steps back as you look anywhere but his sullen face. 

The sound of your heart won triumph over anything else as you kept trying to make space between you and the creature in front of you. When he begins to glide closer, you take it as your sign to grab your small clutch and begin a brisk walk back home, no matter how dark.

“My name is Heeseung. No one’s ever seen me,” he explains, easily drifting behind you. 

“Get the fuck away from me, Heeseung.” Your voice sounded shaky as the wind rushes past your ears. You felt hopeless, unable to hear his footsteps or gauge where he could be. 

He’s right next to you, speaking directly to your profile all of a sudden. “Please, no one’s recognized me since I died. Please, you have to help me.”

The change in proximity has you jumping from being frightened, and you try to cover your ears to block out his voice. 

The worst part of it all was that Heeseung could touch you. You felt the cold of his fingertips without the pressure of his mortality in his fingertips. Effortlessly drifting next to you, he worked to pry your fingers from your ears as a plea for you to hear him out.

“I don’t care. Leave me alone.” You began speeding up, seeing your house in sight and the ghost beginning to fall back in his misery. You didn’t care about it, only wanting to go home and pretend everything was a bad dream. While the ghost wasn’t ugly by any means, the supernatural facet of his identity kept you up as you feared the creature outside your window at any moment. 

What you didn’t know was that your gut feeling was right–Heeseung wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. 

—

You didn’t know what was louder–Heeseung’s voice in your ear, or the thudding of your heartbeat. 

Your scream echoed around the empty house when he appeared for the second time, your heart dropping as the lack of sleep you got from the night before made you even more on edge now. Everytime you looked down a corridor, shivers racked your body and you were unable to go anywhere without a flashlight. You swore you saw him in the corner of the room, and if not–something was horribly wrong with you. 

There he was again, staying by the edge. “Please, get away from me, I can’t give you what you want, Heeseung.” You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as if you weren’t shaking from fear that you’d be joined by an intruder everytime you turned the corner.

You couldn’t shower or change without wanting to tear your hair out, and there was no way to quell the anxiety after you saw him stick an arm through your home. 

There was nothing you could do. No one who you could go to about this. You were truly all alone. 

Class felt like a blur with an ache in your head and an emptiness in your stomach. It was exhausting for you to dart around the room, waiting for him to appear. 

He was waiting for something, you knew it. 

You felt on edge constantly, like you were going insane. Every small movement triggered some sort of reaction, so much so that your classmates began to notice and snicker. 

You felt like your parents–and you had no idea how to make it stop. 

—

It was the third day of your sleepless torment. Your parents often left you alone according to their new work schedules, and you were still stuck having to hide from the apparition until you left for school. He looked torn apart, too, but you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t give you space. It got so bad to the point where you heard whispers of him in every corridor. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your bloodshot eyes and scratched arms were a sign that something had been wrong ever since Halloween. 

There was only one person you could tell about this, and you didn’t even notice how bad your fingers had been when you went to pick at the dry skin once more. 

“Jungwon,” you mumbled as you passed him. He turned around, immediately recognizing you as someone he didn’t know much about. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concern knitting his eyebrows as you asked for him to talk with you outside. 

Something was off that day. The clouds were gray, dipped with unease. The sky was bathed in dread, and Jungwon could tell something was wrong by the way you couldn’t find the sun no matter where you looked. 

“What’s wrong, ____? You’ve been looking horrible ever since Halloween.” You flinched at the word, eyes stinging with tears as you were pushed back into thinking about that night. You never should’ve worn your black dress or added some cute cat ears. You never should’ve left the house. 

“There’s something in your house, Jungwon,” you pleaded, your gaze frantically searching for any sign that Heeseung followed you. “It’s like a spirit, something happened and it won’t—“ your words came to an abrupt halt when you heard a chuckle from the boy in front of you. 

A laugh tore through as Jungwon crossed his arms and looked at you with a pitiful grin. “You’re funny. Good prank, though,” he smiles, about to turn. 

You had no idea what came over you when you went to grab his arm. Jungwon was practically a stranger to you, but one more sleepless night without a cure would’ve made you go insane if he kept following you. You needed to get rid of Heeseung. 

“No!” Your voice rang out louder than anticipated, and the sudden shout made you wince, still holding onto Jungwon’s arm. “You don’t get it, something’s following me around, he keeps talking to me and no one else can see him—“ 

The boy yanked himself out of your grip, suddenly frustrated, and you feared the worst; Yang Jungwon would tell the whole school that you were crazy. 

“Please, Jungwon—” you tried once more, “he’s real—he’s everywhere and I can’t get rid of him—it was because of your party,” at this point, your eyes were filled with tears as you begged your only hope from leaving. “You have to help me—“ 

“I don’t have to do anything for you, ____.” He sneered, growing impatient. “I don’t know who put you up to this whole prank, but you need to stay away from me.” He spun around, paying you no attention as you crumbled to a heap on the ground and sobbed hopelessly on the pavement. 

The sky was darker than ever, and it was still afternoon.

Even as you walked down the empty dirt roads to your house, you couldn’t help but hear Heeseung’s voice ring in your ears. As you started running to push the sound out and replace it with your heavy breathing, your eyes began to shut with exhaustion. Slowing to an eventual stop in front of your house, you heaved, gasping for air that felt like it was escaping your lungs any moment as you held into the porch railing

“You’re home. What took you so long?” 

Your vision was blurring slightly in the corners, and the corners of your eyes felt puffy. You were slipping out of consciousness, but you remembered that voice anywhere. “Get away from me, please.” 

Heeseung pursed his lips, feeling slightly bad for the state that you were in. “I told you, I can help you.”

When you saw his pale shoes in front of you, your body reacted instantly, scrambling back to create some distance. You hadn’t registered that a wooden splinter from the floor cut into your palm until Heeseung saw the blood seep into the planks underneath you. The porch made no sound under his quick footsteps, and it only instilled more frustration at his lack of perceptibility. His sudden approach left you frightened as you waved a hand in the air, unable to feel the wound from the state of your body. “Go away, Heeseung!” 

He frowned angrily. “Let me help.” He kneeled next to you and reached out for your wound before you yanked your hand back, stumbling as you got back up and tried to make your way to the entrance.

“Please, stop,” you cried, taking two steps towards the railing before your legs gave out. Heeseung tried to reach out for you again. But you pushed away his hand, the slap of the force making no sound. It was almost humorous how much your torture was one sided, but you had no more energy left to defend yourself.

Heeseung went to grab your wrist, worry etched in his features as your state deteriorated in front of him. You kicked his leg, hot tears staging your cheeks as you sobbed for him to leave you alone, but the more carelessly you moved, the more the large splinter dug into your hand. He begged for you to stop–to let him help you before anything bad happened, but you couldn’t understand through the sound of your own hysterics. 

A mix of going days without sleeping, paired with your lack of appetite and delirium left you defenseless no matter how much you tried. You struggled against the ghost of Heeseung’s grip as he tried to stop you from hurting yourself even further. You felt bile in your throat when he was close, and you found the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip. You underestimated the force, however, and your hand hit the wood behind you. Momentarily distracted, you focused on the blooming pain of the impact and the slowly trailing blood. It was out of body how you couldn’t process the sensation of your fingers tracing the messy wound, and you became a slave to your exhaustion as the boy came back.

You fought against him weakly, the blood from your wound becoming a larger problem the more you used your hands to do anything. 

“You don’t get it!” He yelled, tears of his own forming from the anger of having to go against you. 

Why couldn’t you just stop? Why did you keep pushing him away? You were selfish, trying to ignore him as if you didn’t understand his predicament. You were the only one who could’ve seen him, and he was the only one who saw you in return. “Even Jungwon doesn’t believe you,” he mumbled bitterly, seeing you slowly slip in and out. “You wouldn’t even help me, ____. It’s all your fault.” He talked as if you could hear him, the life in your eyes gone by the time he wiped his tears and finally looked at you, with your wrist going limp in his hold. 

“I don’t get it.” He wept angrily, before getting up and leaving you there on the porch steps in a heap. 

Heeseung turned to glance at you again, his semblance of a heart in pain from how things had to end up. “You seemed so nice–so promising. Jungwon swore we could've been friends.”

–

You didn’t know if it was possible to kill a ghost twice. After all, your death turned you into a floating apparition of yourself, as you watched your parents mourn their attempts to shield you from their own fate. Being a ghost wasn’t so horrible, but Heeseung was right; it was lonely. 

When a voice calls your name apologetically from where you sit on your rooftop, your gaze settles on him with fury, and the moment you rush over to him and your fingers close around his wrist, you knew that you wouldn’t stop until you properly got rid of Lee Heeseung.

No matter how long it took.

--

i swear the rest of them will be better. and shorter.

zyvlxqht firstclassjaylee @riribelle @jaylajakey @minfolio @strxwbloody @r1kification @strayy-kidz @mimismenu @jwonistic @haechsworld @machambrx @ririsreverie @hollxe1 @wonnina @heeseungismymanz @cyjhhyj @eunimaybe

[dpwifevein]

Batman saw the teenager enter a small church. He looked in from the window, only for the world to change. The darkness of night in the dark city swallowed everything, leaving a swirling mess of light and darkness in the church that now seemed as large as a cathedral. cathedral Batman found himself inside. The boy's black hair turned white. His body veiled with a cloak, and his legs seeming to disappear. A great scythe appears in his hands. His head turns and his once blue eyes and are now glowing a ghostly green colour. Organ music starts to play, which made Batman desperately trying to comprehend what was happening; desperately trying to think of a way out.

Just then the ghostly eyes focused on the organ, "Sam, do you have to?"

"I'm just trying to set the mood." said the goth girl. She wore a black leotard with a dark green hue, her eyes nearly occluded from makeup, as thorned vines visibly moved about the organ. And following the movement in the corner of his eyes, the vines had spread across the entire cathedral.

The ghostly eyes turned to look back at him, "Look, sorry, this was just meant to open the door. I should have known you've already walked through one."

"Where - are we?" Kevin Conroy Batman's deep voice asked.

"I call it the Ghost Zone, that doesn't doesn't really do a good job of describing it." He looked over to Sam, and sighed, as she continued to play. He looked back to Batman, "Sorry, she's just a bit of a drama queen."

"Gotham's Dark Knight is speaking to the Ghost King." Sam added.

"So, it's real?" Batman asked.

"As real as any ghost is." Danny nonchalantly replied, "I can't exactly say I'm the best king, but the last one was the worst." He then shrugged. In the blink of Batman's unblinking eye he moved towards him as if the space between them did not exist. If Batman had not trained with Giovanni Zatara, and his daughter, there's no way he would have noticed the space seem the warp between the two locations. The boy would have simply appeared in front of him. He turned to glare at the young man. The scythe disappeared, and he held out his right hand.

"What do you want with Gotham?" Batman uttered.

"That's easy." the young Ghost King said, no older than Red Robin. "Your city has a lot of... I guess we can call them ghosts."

"Spirits?" Batman asked, "Demons?"

"They are all really the same." Danny simply replied, and stepped back, without his legs moving. Even without legs. He seemed to just float there. "Tolkien called mortality the Gift of Men. It allows change. Every 20 years, the world of Men is different."

"And for - the spirits?" Batman asked.

"Some are incapable of change, and for others, time does not even pass. In the - Ghost Zone, past and future are one and the same. Without Sam, and the others, the last grasps of reality would slip through my fingers, like falling sand or floating mist."

He slowly floated back towards Batman, holding out his hand.

"And if I take your hand, what happens to me?" Batman harshly asked.

"We shake - and then let go." Danny simply stated. "Your mind is a fortress that not even my wail could penetrate. As I said, I should have known you've done this before."

"That doesn't mean I want to repeat it." Batman harshly uttered, the organ music seeming to reach a crescendo.

"And that's why I'm here." Danny uttered.

"To take over Gotham?" Batman nearly spat.

"Take over?" Danny asked, "You seem to think I have some attachment to this mortal world."

"Then - tell me - why - are you here?!" Batman shouted.

"To help the ghosts of the past come to rest." Danny simply stated. "I'll leave those with the Gift of Men in your hands."

The energy of the organ started to slowly fall, "Do you have to say it like that?" Sam asked, and Danny turned to look at her, and in that instant they both look so utterly ordinary and banal.

"I think we can trust Tolkien when it comes to English." Danny replied, and Sam rolled her eyes. Danny turned back to Batman. "We managed to calm the ghosts of my hometown." he simply stated, "I needed to find some place," he said, and looking between the windows, as if he could see reality beyond the jet-black frames. He then looked back to Batman, "Gotham is an - interesting - place."

"That's one way to put it." Batman crumbled.

"What if - a number of your problems weren't actually crazy?" the nascent Ghost King asked.

"Arkham would beg to differ." Batman grumbled.

"What if the things they saw were... well, not real?" the nascent Ghost King asked, "But as real as I am?"

Batman's eyes instantly grew distant. Anyone doing any research into the arcane knew that those not properly grounded in reality could often see more than what others could. Children, the fevered brains, and insanity. "Is that what the scythe is for?" Batman harshly asked.

"It lets me separate spirits, if some of them is overshadowing, or getting a little too involved in someone."

"And, if you use it on a living person?" Batman asked.

"I can give them a temporary out of body experience." he replied.

"That's it?" Batman asked.

"I know this is had to believe." he said, and turned to the organ as the music came to an end. He then looked Batman back in his eyes, "We have our own rich backers, and so all we really need is an abandoned church."

"Lovely what you've done with the place." Batman sardonically stated.

"Thank you." Samantha replied, as she stood up from the organ, and walked over, the vines seeming to follow her as if they were pets. "Why don't you stop by some time for tea?"

"We could take you to Scáthach's Fortress of Shadow." the nascent Ghost King added. "The cliffs are hauntingly beautiful."

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm a busy man." Batman harshly uttered.

"And I know you are also charitable." the Ghost King replied, "You can stop by, and donate to our food bank."

"Food bank?" Batman dismissed, and a man walked out with a black shirt and pants, grey blazer, and white, clerical collar.

"We are a small church, but we have a group of Blackfriars to run the soup kitchen."

"Dominicans?" Batman asked, and looked around the wyrd cathedral. "Wouldn't they be a bit - uncomfortable working here?"

"They are mendicants." the priest replied. "They go where those who need them most are."

"So, they've given up comfort?" Batman asked.

"Those that come here are often plagued by things they cannot comprehend." the priest continued.

"And that's where the Ghost King comes in?" Batman asked.

The nascent Ghost King simply shrugged. "Crime Alley is where they need help the most."

With that, Batman's life flashed before his eyes.

* * *

Bruce Wayne walked through the small church's front door, and when he stepped inside he was in the cathedral, the windows were occluded by darkness, and he was once again Batman. He quickly looked around in desperation.

"Like I said," the nascent Ghost called to him as he appeared form the ether, "your mind is like a fortress. How many other people in Gotham have that kind of discipline?"

The look of betrayal appeared on Batman's dark face.

"The Blackfriars honestly do not care who Bruce Wayne is." the Ghost King replied, "Other than the fact you want to help them feed the poor."

Batman thought this over. "I have one condition." he stated, and the Ghost King smiled at him, "The Martha Wayne foundation has programmes to help people get off the street."

"You want to put a flyer on the bulletin board?" the Ghost King asked.

"You know who am I?" Batman asked, "But who are you?"

"I honestly don't know." the Ghost King replied, "But Jazz is helping me figure that part out. Let's head to Ireland for tea."

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 37. Disappointed (Garrick)

Summary: Both Garrick and Dahlia have survived the year in the rider's quadrant, but their now found relationship is already causing some issues for the marked ones.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

I’m thankful for the breeze that chooses to blow my way as I make my way down the path. Despite being late in the evening, the sun having set long ago, the summer heat was still notable. My black cloak only making it worse. The things we do to make sure no one can tell who we are if they do see us.

“You’re late.” Xaden states as he looks over at me from where he leans up against a tree.

“Barely. Not easy to sneak off when there’s no classes or outposts I can say I’ve been called to.” I tell him bluntly.

He nods in agreement. We might be in third year now, but the week between years is usually quiet for all cadets. Barely any classes to attend, and only preparation for the new first years being a priority for anyone in leadership roles.

“She’s not exactly easy to fool either. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.” Bodhi adds as he smirks at me knowingly.

As much as I wanted to snap back at him, he wasn’t wrong. Dahlia was easily one of the smartest and observant people here. Something that was seriously going to be an issue now I’d publicly laid out my feelings towards her. Yes I had been known for sleeping around here and there. But never once had I shown public affection towards someone. Especially like that. But it was fucking worth it.

“Yes, which is why we need to discuss this. How the hell do you plan on hiding our supply runs from her?” Xaden asks with a raised eyebrow.

Yeah. That part I did not think through. Last year it was easy. I hadn’t really gotten to know her till later in the year, and even then it wasn’t like we were hanging out every day. But now, it was going to be significantly harder.

“We just use the same cover up we’ve always discussed. Say we’re out doing third year things. Second years aren’t told about what we go do.” I say with a shrug, walking over and leaning against one of the trees.

“Or we just tell her.” Bodhi says as if it’s the most obvious answer. “We know she’s trust worthy. And she’s defended us on countless occasions. And if she knew what was going on I think she would help.”

The thought had crossed my mind many times once it was clear she was not like her family, and shared very different opinions. Especially with her comments on Reunification Day. But the only way to be certain was if we could read her mind. And that wasn’t something we had access to.

I look over at Xaden who furrows his brow, as if thinking what to say. “That’s a big if. We can assume all we want, but without knowing her intentions it’s too much of a gamble.” His voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

“So now you choose to get iffy on her intentions? At the start of last year you were the one telling him to give her a chance and she wasn’t like her family.” Bodhi adds, angrily gesturing towards me. “And now you’re starting to talk like she could be.”

“This is different Bodhi.” Xaden snaps at him, narrowing his eyes at his cousin. “There is a lot more at stake here. All your lives are on the line if the wrong person gets involved or finds out. Especially not with Dain’s signet. I can’t risk him touching her and finding out.”

Bodhi scoffs and shakes his head. “He’s just as likely to get his hands on her as he is us. Hell she can probably shield him out better than we can with the work she’s been doing to control her signet.”

“He’s right.” I say as I hang my head. I hated having to lie to her. Having to hide this. She was going to be pissed when she found out, because one day she would. “We can’t verify what she would do with the knowledge. One day when we’re ready she can find out.“

Bodhi looks between us and shakes his head, clearly disappointed in the outcome. “Let me guess, you’ll let her train any first years that cross the parapet and need help though?”

“She’s good at combat. She’s nearly got as many patches as Garrick now. I’d be stupid not to.” Xaden tells him. She’d already gotten the most patches of her year for how many weapons she was proficient in. We’d be stupid not to ask for her help, though I’m sure she would offer it all of her own accord. “All your lives are on me. And I’ll be damned if I don’t use the skills of those around me to make sure you all survive.”

“But you’ll keep her in the dark just because of her last name. I thought we were past this with her.” He says sadly, clearly knowing he’s lost.

I hate agreeing with Xaden. I want to fight for her like Bodhi is right now. But there’s too many lives at risk.

“We'll let her in one day Bodhi. Just not yet.” I tell him.

Bodhi turns and looks at me, guilt coursing through me with how he looks at me. Disappointed. Yeah… so was I Bodhi.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus

[babbushka]

Death At The Dive Bar

Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader

Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW

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It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness. 

It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done. 

It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs. 

Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place. 

He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually. 

Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it. 

No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason. 

Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour. 

“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.” 

“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?” 

“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.” 

Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside. 

You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that. 

“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone. 

It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence. 

“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?” 

You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning. 

He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold. 

“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.” 

You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.

“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark. 

“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch. 

“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.

“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.” 

Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space. 

You’re a stranger. 

He doesn’t even know your name. 

The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality. 

“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.” 

“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.” 

“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.” 

“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices. 

“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of -- 

“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?” 

Flip was not good at poker. 

He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there. 

“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.” 

“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect. 

“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette. 

On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.

He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago. 

But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix. 

With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth. 

“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to -- 

“It’s alright.”  You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway. 

With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy. 

He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure. 

Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you. 

He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you. 

You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him. 

It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot -- 

It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber. 

You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining. 

Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go. 

“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day. 

He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep. 

In the morning, he’s alone. 

In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing. 

Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it? 

He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.

Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he -- 

“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over. 

“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?” 

“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point. 

“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.” 

“What?! Are you safe?” 

“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?

“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night. 

“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk. 

“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”

“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.” 

All at once, everything stops. 

He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.

He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely. 

Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place. 

No neon sign. 

No motorcycles

No single car out front. 

Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees. 

A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again. 

But he blinks, and you’re gone. 

[unlimitedlust]

Just Pretend - Noah Sebastian x Reader (+18)

Author’s Note:

Hey everyone, this is a halloween themed one shot, I know there’s still a couple of months left to halloween, but "Just Pretend" + the cold weather over here got me inspired on that theme, so there you go 🎃

Warnings: 18+ (as always), old love, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie. As always: English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

W/C: 2.8K

I’m quite insecure about this one in particular because I think my head’s been frozen by the cold these days, but anyway I hope you enjoy it!

Please, let me know your thoughts on this one on the comments and feel free to like and/or reblog it, your feedback means the world to me ❤️

Now have fun!

Halloween night was one of your favorite nights of every year. You loved the decorations in the neighborhood, the autumn color leaves covering the streets, the costume parties, the smell of pumpkin spices, anyway, you loved everything around this season.

But this year you had a halloween date. Your neighbor’s son, Bill, whom you’d been talking online for a while now, was in town and had invited you to a halloween fair.

Even though Bill was exactly your type of guy and seemed to be a very decent man, you weren’t ready to get involved with someone new, deep down you knew Noah was still under your skin.

Your relationship with him was short but as intense as it could get in every aspect, but at the same time you two were like magnets to each other, you were in different moments of your lives, so it tore you apart.

But almost a year had gone by since you last saw him and you needed to move on, and what better way to do that other than going on a date with a very hot and attractive man and maybe - hopefully - get lucky at the end of the night?

Today you were feeling bold and confident, so you wore your Akatsuki cloak zipped up to your neck with nothing but a black lingerie set underneath it, black boots and Itachi’s headband around your forehead. You applied some makeup in shades of red and black, with a blood red lipstick on your plump lips and finished it all up by letting your hair fall loose on your back.

Just as you finished getting ready you heard your doorbell ringing and your date was there, dressed as very hot Fred Kruger. You were definitely getting some tonight.

It was a cloudy and chilly night, but the cozy atmosphere of the fair kept you warm along with your date’s company. 

You walked hand in hand under the yellow light strings hovering over the fair, laughing about a silly joke Bill had just told you when for a split second you thought you’d seen a familiar face in the crowd, Noah’s face. You tried to look back at the direction you thought you saw him, but he wasn’t there.

“Are you okay?” Bill’s light squeeze in your hand took your attention as you’d stopped walking out of sudden.

“Yeah sure” You reassured him with a smile, although still startled by the thought of seeing him there.

You shook it off and kept on walking with Bill to a caramel apple tent. He bought one and drove it to your lips, offering you the first bite as you dug your teeth on the hard caramel shell, successfully taking a piece of the apple and Bill ran his thumb on the right corner of your lip to clean a small piece of caramel stuck there.

You thanked him and suddenly felt a pair of eyes lingering heavily on you coming from your right, and that’s when you knew you weren’t seeing things. Noah was there. The Crow’s makeup all over his face and short hair now, but definitely Noah.

Your eyes connected for a split second but you averted yours quickly, locking them on your date again so he wouldn’t see that you got distracted from him once more, after all you were flustered and your heart was hammering in your chest, but you didn’t want to ruin your date.

Bill took your hand again and led you to the big corn maze by the end of the fair and you thanked him internally for taking you away from Noah’s sight.

You giggled nervously at the scarecrows by the entrance of the maze as you yourself were avoiding a very specific “crow”.

“Come on, let’s split up, if I make it to the end first I win another date with you, what do you say?” Bill suggested as you got inside the maze.

“Then I might just lose on purpose” You winked at him and parted ways inside the maze.

You were glad your date had the idea of splitting up inside the maze because seeing Noah unexpectedly after such a long time had you on edge and you really needed some alone time to process everything.

So you wandered aimlessly through the maze, not bothering to actually find its way out or even marking the places you’d passed by already.

“Y/N” A deep voice behind you made you stop on your tracks as you immediately recognized its owner.

You turned to meet him and his gaze and you couldn’t help but to revel on how terribly captivating he looked as The Crow, the white skin contrasting heavily with the dark makeup, the smeared eyeliner around his eyes and running down his cheeks and the black lipstick to finish it all up as Eric Draven.

“Hey Noah” Uncertainty laced your voice as he took a couple of steps in your direction, standing only a couple of feet away from you.

“Nice costume choice” He raked his eyes over you dressed as one of his favorite characters, which also happened to be one of your favorite.

“Thanks, you look good too… What are you doing here?” You spit out faster than you intended.

“Just wanted to check on you… Is that your new boyfriend?”

“No, not yet at least” You shrugged, unsuccessfully trying to look unphased.

“I hope he treats you right” He took another step closer, towering over you “It’s a shame that by this time a year ago we were proudly matching our costumes out there”

The weight of his words and the memories they brought caught you off guard as a knot of longing formed on your throat.

He sighed “It hurts to see you with someone new”

You widened your eyes in bewilderment at his confession followed by a lightning bolt lighting up the sky, announcing the rain as isolated but heavy raindrops started to slowly pour.

“It took you seeing me move on to reach out to me?” You asked in a hurt tone. The countless nights you spent crying over your break up only to hear it after such a long time “That’s not fair, Noah”

The pouring got heavier and you and your clothes started to soak in its cold droplets.

“I really wish I could come back in time to fix things… I’m sorry”

“I…” Your head was all over the place, you weren’t able to think things straight at that point. Having him in front of you brought back the butterflies in your stomach and at that very moment, despite the hurt that still lingered, you didn’t wanna discuss things long overdue “We both know it was my fault too, there’s no need for you to apologize for the past now” 

You both smiled gently at each other and he took your hand in his.

“Come on, we can continue this someplace else, it’s cold and the rain is getting heavier”

You followed him through the maze and only now you realized how big and puzzling it really was, because you wouldn’t know your way out of there on your own, especially with the rain and the thunders rumbling in the sky.

Sensing your apprehension, Noah brought you closer to his body wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“We’re far from the way out yet, but there’s a shed around the next corner, we’ll stay there until it stops raining, okay?”

You nodded and seconds later, just as he’d promised, there was a small wooden shed amongst the corn maze.

He closed the door behind you and although it wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, it was better than staying under that cold rain. You were shivering as you took off the soaking wet boots from your feet, bothered by the slushy feeling of your wet socks inside them.

“You should take off that cloak too, it’s too wet, you’ll get sick if you don’t” Having him protective over you after all this time got you feeling warm inside.

But there was a problem, if you took it off you’d be practically naked in front of him, so you just hoped he’d let that go as Noah rummaged through a cabinet trying to find something to warm you.

“I found you a blanket” He turned to hand it to you, but stopped on his tracks when he saw you trembling, with your cloak still on “Are you okay?”

He placed the blanket on a chair and came closer, both of his hands cupping your cheeks as he gently tilted your face so his gaze could meet yours. The warmth of his hands spread down your body as you melted with the way he caressed your cheeks affectionately and you lost yourself in his perfect features, the way the wet strands of his hair dangled over your face hypnotizing you with how hot he looked with his new haircut.

“I am. It’s just the cold” You answered lightly as you unwittingly leaned into his palm, earning a kiss on your forehead.

“Then come on, let’s take that cloak off, I really don’t want you getting sick on me”

His fingers went to the zipper right above your chin, but your hands held his wrist in place as he was about to pull the zipper down.

“I can’t” Noah had a puzzled look on his face as he waited for a believable explanation “I… I’m…”

“I’m waiting”

“I’m not wearing anything but bra and panties”

The air inside the shed got suddenly thick as he processed that information. At the same time it thrilled him knowing that basically only a cloak had him away from your body, he was mad about the idea you’d wore like that for another man.

“For him?” The anger in his tone sent another wave of shivers down your spine as he cornered you, his face and his body only inches away from yours as his gaze burned holes into you.

And like a flipped switch, you weren’t feeling cold anymore and the rain wasn’t the only thing that had you wet.

“He’s not the one in front of me now, is he?” You teased him and dropped your hands from his wrist, his hand still on your zipper.

Taking it as a signal, Noah pulled the zipper down slowly, your chest heaving in anticipation as his gaze fell on your body, drinking you in after so long. With your bra now fully exposed, he bit his bottom lip as he watched your hardened nipples perched up against the transparent layer of black lace covering them.

Once he’d finished unzipping the cloak, you slipped it off your shoulders and let it fall on the floor, Noah’s eyes were predatory over you.

Breaking the distance between your bodies, Noah hooked his finger in the waistband of your panties and pulled you towards him at the same time he finally connected your lips in a fierce kiss.

Your tongues rolled against each other as you both drowned in the intensity of the moment, devouring each other after so long, your fingers entangling in his wet hair pulling him impossibly closer as he ground his hips against you, allowing you to feel how hard he was for you.

He let go of you for short seconds to take off his wet coat and black t-shirt, his once black lips were now stained by your red lipstick and you only wondered what you were looking like, hair wet from the rain and red and black lipstick stained all over your lips just like his.

“I fucking missed you” He groaned before latching his lips on yours again passionately.

One of his hands kept you glued against him as the other made its way on your spine, finding and undoing your bra clasp swiftly, making it slide off your shoulders right after.

Both his hands cupped your now exposed breasts and fondled them, kneading them as he played and pinched your nipples between his fingers while his lips now left yours and trailed down your neck, leaving angry marks on his way because he had full intention of marking you as his.

Your hands traveled down his chest and abs to his belt, fumbling it open as his tongue and teeth abused the most sensitive spots on your neck, making you whine softly on his ear at each sting followed by his soothing tongue.

After unbuckling his belt, one of your hands found its way inside his pants, palming his hard restrained length, making him grunt and buck his hips forward against you as you started to pump him slowly just to entice him.

One of his hands left your chest and went straight down between your legs, wasting no time in pulling your panties aside and pushing two of his fingers inside you, the sudden stretch making you gasp and clench around him, as he immediately started to work on the special place inside you he knew got you seeing stars.

You hooked a leg around his waist allowing him to go deeper with his fingers as you now took support on his shoulders, your body under such a pleasure you didn’t thrust your own balance.

“Noah…” The way his name came from your lips as he finger fucked you felt like music to his ears because since the last time you’d been together he dreamt about hearing it again.

“I fucking missed this…”

Along with his fingers, Noah started working on your clit with his thumb, applying pressure on it as he drew tight circles on it, making you bite the crook of his neck to keep a scream out of you as you were seconds away from your orgasm. Until he pulled away, making you whine in frustration.

“I wanna feel you cumming on my cock”

He licked the fingers that were inside you and the look on his face while he did that, like he was just having a taste of heaven, got you throbbing in need.

You took off your panties as Noah pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to free his hard erection, then pulled you up against the wall, your legs hooking around his hips as he held you by your ass cheeks, lining his tip to your entrance.

Your eyes were connected as he pressed against you, both of you moaning on each other’s lips as his entire length sinked at once inside you due to how wet you were, stretching you in a way only he did.

Your head fell back on the wall behind you as he slowly slid in and out of you, bottoming you out at every thrust, your manicured nails clawed down his back as he started to pick up the pace and the intensity of his rhythm.

You trailed love bites on his neck right below his ear, where you knew he was sensitive, earning a low grunt out of him as he focused on fucking the shit out of you against that wall, the position allowing you to feel every inch of him inside you, pushing all of your right buttons.

One of his hands found its way between your bodies and he instantly connected his fingers on your clit, moving them in sync with his hips slamming against you, and the feeling of him throbbing inside you along with his fingers on your clit got you closer to your high once again.

“Noah, I’m so close, don’t stop” You begged in his ear and you felt his skin shiver under your touch with your words.

The angle and the depth of his thrusts, along with a very specific flick of his fingers on your clit made your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body shuddered and your walls clenched around him, a deep moan erupting from your lungs as he kept fucking you, painfully riding your high as he too was close to his own.

Just as he felt your body going limp in his arms, he was about to pull out when you kept him inside by locking your legs around his waist and begging on his ear: “Cum inside me please”

Your plea got him cumming hard as his fingers dug into your hips keeping you in place as he stilled, spilling deep inside you as he bit the crook of your neck, still high from his release.

He leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you gently as he pulled out of you, his cum running down your thighs as he did so, and you missed him inside you already. You missed him.

“I missed you so much” You wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid of having to let him go again and it was now your turn to confess “Heaven knows I’m never getting over you”

“Wanna try again?”

[riddlemearose]

Inherited Handwriting

(CW: background themes of adoption and loss of/implied non-forceful removal from family)

He’s got Wild tucked into one side and Twilight against the other. They’re both asleep, breathing even and deep, faces softly lit by the pale moonlight above.

Time watches them both, neck craned awkwardly in order to do so.

It’s strange sometimes, knowing these two are his descendants, that they are his future. He can’t really think of them as his sons, per se. There’s barely a decade between himself and Wild, if one considers their physical ages, and about half that time between him and Twilight.

But still it’s quietly baffling to think that his legacy has not only one but two tangible forms.

Wild doesn’t really resemble either Time or Twilight.

Eons have stretched out between Time's inevitable death and Wild's birth, their bloodline naturally changing as the centuries tick past. The only physical appearance that has survived that passage of time seems to be the colour of his eyes; that same sharp, bright blue as Time's own.

But there are other things that have made themselves known; small tics and habits that Time had once dismissed as irrelevant and miniscule in himself finding their way into another person who exists a millennia later.

Perhaps the worst and most recognisable trait of all is the way Wild carries his guilt close to his chest, cloaked by his cheerful demeanour to keep it away from prying eyes.

It certainly is painfully familiar. Twilight does the same thing, but hides his behind a wall of bone-deep protective instincts and care.

And Time has always hid his guilt beneath a mask of festering anger.

He isn’t sure if he can truly call it a family trait; the entire Chain has things they don’t want to talk about and things they continue to hide even now, after all.

However there are occasions where this behaviour certainly feels like something Twilight and Wild, who will be born centuries and millennia after Time's own life will come to an end, are destined to inherit from him.

But in a way, Time is grateful that Wild only shares habits and behaviours. It's much harder in Twilight's case because Twilight actually looks like Time.

Time can see himself in the shape of their faces, the line of their noses. Twilight's chin and physical build are all from Malon, and even the texture of his hair is closer to Malon's than to Time's.

In the back of Time's mind, he's quietly thankful for those few differences because he knows the very striking and blatant similarities had thrown Twilight off too for the first few weeks of this quest.

Much like Time, Twilight has never known his parents; he has no memories of them at all. Apparently all he'd had when Uli found him in the Ordon Spring was a small blanket with his name embroidered on one corner.

Twilight had grown up never knowing his blood, had never had anyone who looked like him at all through his childhood.

And Time knows exactly what that does to a person.

In a strange way, the Kokiri had softened the blow for him, because Time had been nine years old before he first heard statements like ‘you have your mother’s eyes’ being directed towards another person.

It was aged nine when he had been able to see how Malon looks like her father, and how Lullaby has an almost uncanny resemblance to her own ancestors, their faces well-preserved in portraits that decorate the walls of Hyrule Castle.

There is no need for biological resemblance among the Kokiri, so it had been an almost mystifying concept for his young mind to grasp. He hadn’t truly understood back then, too young at first, and then too busy and angry to truly pay attention, but eventually time will march on and with each step comes awareness.

So eventually Time too had found himself wondering just who he looked like? Who he got this trait or that habit from?

The Great Deku Tree had told him his mother fled a war, entrusting him to the Kokiri before she passed. Does Time have her eyes, like Twilight does Malon's? Does he have her nose, like Twilight has his?

The questions, even to this day, are endless and almost insanity-inducing, and he has tried his best to ignore them, to push them away for his own mental health.

It isn’t fair to say it as bluntly as he does, but seeing Twilight had brought all those questions Time had locked away back to the forefront of his mind. They’re not questions Time expects to ever get an answer to.

But somehow the knowledge that Twilight gets to know who he looks like, that he gets to know who he got his eyes and his nose and his face from is relieving and comforting and…

... And bittersweet.

[idonttakethislightly]

In issue #1 of The Power Fantasy, we get at least a glimpse of most of the Superpowers' living or working spaces- the exception is Etienne. For four of them- Valentina, Eliza, Masumi, Magus- the color palettes of their spaces are very similar to how they usually dress, and I also think their spaces are on-point symbolism for who they are. Let's look at the places we see, one by one.

Valentina lives in a small, cozy house on a scrapped-together space station- she loves the small details of human culture, but will always have to take an outsider role. The interior is designed with warm neutrals, similar to the golden yellows she often wears.

Eliza's space is cloaked in shadow, with candelabras and high windows that barely illuminate anything- she's eerie and mysterious, with religious motifs. It's high-contrast black and red, like the colors of her dramatic, costume-like outfits.

Masumi works in a huge warehouse- suited to the large-scale ambitions of her art, but also an industrial space that feels sterile and empty. The pastel paints she uses are all over her outfit, and when she dresses up for her gallery opening, it's in similar pastels.

And Magus works in a dimly-lit pyramid full of strange technomagic- the angles of the walls feel alien and menacing, as do the unfamiliar gadgets. His space includes Pyramid members, not just himself, so its design reflects the messaging he sends them about uncanny power. He dresses in eerie greens that make him almost blend into his environment.

Later we see Valentina's 1962 apartment and Magus's 1978 flat, which tell us more about how those two have changed or stayed the same. But I want to talk about how issue #1 dedicates one page each to those four characters and their spaces- a very obvious parallelism that leaves out Etienne and Heavy.

Etienne's traveling, so of course he can't be depicted within that pattern. He also comments to Tonya that he likes travel, and in issue #3 he implies that he flies transatlantic pretty regularly, so it's possible that he feels just as comfortable traveling the world than staying home.

But Heavy… he's at home, taking Etienne's psychic call just like everyone else. But he's outside the pattern because his relationship to his space is different.

Haven is beautiful. It's all pastels, it's full of flourishing houseplants, it's built with swooping curves rather than workaday right angles. There's enough charming little details that if I tried to make a comprehensive list you'd get bored reading it. The oveall aesthetic effect is peaceful, luxurious, idealistic, and gentle.

Basically, Heavy is completely at odds with the city he built. It's his place, for his people… but notice how the forty-something guy in pajamas stands out among all the beautiful young people with impeccable fashion sense. Four of the Superpowers seem to have designed their signature space to represent the way they live their lives. So why does Heavy live in a space that doesn't look or feel anything like him?

I see a couple possible takes on that. You could think of the discrepancy as straightforward hypocrisy- he founded his city on ideals he consistently fails to live up to. But… well, I have an alternate take that's kind of personal. I'm saving the details for another post, but basically: I think Heavy knows that Haven is the opposite of the face he presents to the world, and that's exactly the point.