#might write a part two

[rosekiller-addict]

Wolfstar Microfic ///

It's Sirius isn't it?

I rolled my eyes slightly, glaring over at James.

It's not anyone

I scribbled in my notebook, pushing it back over in his direction. James was convinced that I had fallen for someone but I was keeping it from him.

And he wasn't quite wrong.

Come on Moony, just tell me

I sighed slightly as I read the words, tapping my quill slightly against the book. I knew James was onto me. I knew that he basically knew who it was I had fallen for.

But I didn't want to admit it. Not in writing. If I did that, I would have to admit it to myself as well. If I put it in writing that meant I would have to deal with the consciences of knowing it was true.

It's not anyone

I wrote again, hoping that it would convince both of us yet my attempt was in vain.

Now I couldn't get him out of my head. His face, his hair, his mouth, his lips, his tongue...

I felt James nudge me slightly, pushing the notebook back towards me.

You okay?

I'm fine

I bit down on my lip, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of my eye. My heart was beating like a drum and I could barely get my lungs to work.

He turned, seeing me staring at me. He smiled, waving slightly.

Fuck, those eyes. The stormy grey eyes that made me feel as though he could read my every thought which would be awful seeing as though he would find out about my growing crush on him.

You're down bad Moony

I sighed again to myself, pulling my eyes away from Sirius'.

I know.

[lazerswordweilder]

I, Damian Ah Ghul Wayne, walked through a crater. I followed the amulet I had been given, it tracked my brother and it had led me here. Led me to a dead city, every house charred or destroyed, I followed the amulet and walked to the centre of the crater, an explosion had created morbid but beautiful green patterns on the wall.

“Brother?” I asked, I wondered why my brother was exploring such a horrid place. Suddenly mist swirled in front of my eyes, gathering into a human form, I had my sword out as I analysed every detail of the new person, looks about fourteen, snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a charred hazmat suit, lichtenberg scars creeping up his body, and in his eyes- recognition?

“Damian?” the figured voice asked, it has wispy and sounded painful “Brother?” my eyes widened

“Danyal?!” I sheathed my sword and took a step forwards “What happened?” a sad smile crossed Danyals face

“I died.” Danyal said “Did you come to claim revenge?”

“No! I figured out the truth, how Ra’s made you hate me, and you died because of it and I hated you and I’m so sorry-” I started

“Damian.” Danyal stopped me

“Yes?” I asked

“Tell me your life.” Danyal asked, I blinked “At the very least tell me if you’re happy.” Danyal asked

“I’ll tell you all about my life, I- I meet father and I live with him, and I have many animals, and-” I started and Danyal stopped me again

“No need to rush, I forgive you for hating me.” Danyal said “Please don’t cry.” he said and I realised I was crying “Tell me about the outfit you wear, are you a hero?” Danyal asked hopefully, with a wave of his hand two comfortable chairs appeared and I sat down

“It’s the robin uniform. Father is Batman, I am the fifth Robin in the family, first Grayson, then Todd, then Drake, then Brown, and now me.” I said

“Batman?” Danyal asked, I blinked

“Are- did you not die at fourteen? Father’s been operating since before your birth!” I said

“Amity had a tech block out, completely separated from the outside world. I forgot parts of my old life- well pushed them to the back of my mind until they were useful again.” Danyal said

“Oh, Batman- his secret identity is Bruce Wayne-” Danny seemed to recognise the Wayne name

“Batman’s his hero name!” Danyal said excitedly “Our dad is Lady Gothams Knight?” he asked

“Lady Gotham?” I asked

“The cities ghost, I talk with her a lot.” Danyal said, I blinked

“Wait, tell me about your life! Both after you faked your death and your afterlife!” I asked

“Okay. First I need to explain what happened here, it’s a long story, sorry I don’t have any human food.” Danyal apologised

“It’s fine brother.” I said and Danyal relaxed

“Well, first of all I go by Danny Phantom and if I need to act human then Danny Nightingale even though my adoptive parents were Fentons. When i faked my death I chose a house at random, which might not have been the smartest choice given that my new parents- Jack and Maddie, were pretty much science supervillains, they believed in ghosts which I previously thought was stupid, and they built a portal to the ghost zone, although it’s proper name is the Infinite Realms. They made me clean up their messes and while inspecting the portal I must have hit the on button because it came to life, the explosion killed all of Amity Park but lasted everything in the city (human, animal, object) with just enough ectoplasm that it basically just brought everyone to the Infinite Realms and made them ghosts and there were no other changes, just the species change; I however got blasted with far more electricity, ectoplasm, and radiation, it killed me and revived me several times and my body (being in the activated portal) was spilt between dimensions, betweeen life and death, between human and ghost, I became something called a halfa which is why I can come into the physical word and be- you know, physical.” Danny said, I nodded, it explained how ghosts could be real but we rarely saw them and there were a dozen things about Danyal both big and small that shouted he wasn’t human “You’re taking this well.”

“You had the same childhood, I’m used to world breaking revelations.” I said, brother laughed

“Yes, well. Anyways, my parents had been at the edge of town in Hazmat suits so the accident only normally killed them, if they’re ghosts, they probably don’t remember their lives and I haven’t met them. By the way, the ruins of Amity are my haunt is this realm (my living realm) which is how I knew you were here. Anyways, before the accident I lived a surprisingly normal life, I pretended my parents had drove by and kicked me out of the car because I had amnesia which was a great explanation for why I was here and couldn’t explain anything. Not that my ‘parents’ cared, they forgot about me and my sister Jazz. Anyways I went to a school called Casper High, it looked regular on the surface- bullies, nerds, popular kids, but when push came to shove we all stuck together, everyone was a community there. I had too great friends, Sam and Tucker.” Danny beamed “Anyways, I got okay grades in most subjects and downplayed my physical abilities because I didn’t want the attention. Then the accident happened, like I said Amity basically got teleported to the Infinite Realms and everyone was made into ghosts, weak ghosts though, I’m the strongest by a lot especially when you add my training to the equation. So older ghosts came to pick on us and claim Amity as their haunts and I fought them off and claimed Amity as my haunt, then Pariah Dark woke up from the Coffin of Forever Sleep.” Danny said, I knew the tone he used, it was the ‘this is a really big deal but I’m so used to this kind of stuff that I’m going to say it normally’ and that did not bode well for my brother

“Pariah Dark?” I asked

“Oh right you don’t know! The former ghost king, not to brag but he was super powerful, took several Ancients (ghost gods) to put him to sleep the first time.” Danny said proudly, it took me a second to pry together what he meant

“YOU’RE THE GHOST KING!?!?” I yelled, a green crown which was on fire appeared above Dannys head, a ring with a skull on it appeared on his gloved hand, a cape made of galaxies swirled around him, the white ermine around his neck had frozen skulls in it, and he had an aura of power to him that made me want to bow.

“I have a castle.” Danny said “Also when I said Amity was my haunt it’s technically closer to this entire planet is my haunt because I’ve forbidden ghost from coming here with a few exceptions- but it’s not a haunt, like how the Infinte Realms are my territory but isn’t my haunt.”

“Brother I don’t know what haunt means.” I said

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll brief you on the ghost stuff later… do you want me to meet your ‘friad- family?” Danny asked “I can explain to them too.”

“Right now?” I was disappointed I’d just gotten my brother back after finding out he really loved me and now he wanted to meet everyone else?

“Later then.” Danny said “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone!” Danny said with excitement “You okay with that?” he asked

“Yes.” I said, that might of been a mistake because Danny pulled me through a portal into a place with swirling green sky, we were standing on a balcony of a castle

“What’s your full name or the name(s) you go by?” Danny asked

“Damian Ah Ghul Wayne if I’m out of the uniform, Robin if I’m in it.” I said. Danny nodded and suddenly I was in a suit and my domino mask was off, then Danny turned to face the void and called out in a language I didn’t understand. Creatures- ghosts started flying into the courtyard or just floating at the area around the island (I realised the castle was on a floating island) and every ghost chattered to one another in a langue I didn’t understand, Danny yelled something and everyone went silence, then switched to a mix of English and the other langue which I was called ghost for lack of a better term.

“GHOSTS OF ALL SPECIES AND GENDER, I CALL YOU HERE TODAY TO WELCOME DAMIAN AH GHUL WAYNE. MY BROTHER AND THE NEW PRINCE OF THE INFINITE REALMS! PRINCE WAYNE HAS TRAINING AS AN ASSASSIN AND IS A KNIGHT OF LADY GOTHAM. HE IS HUMAN, AND I EXPECT YOU TO TREAT HIM WITH THE SAME RESPECT YOU WOULD TREAT ME WHILE UNDERSTANDING THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN OUR TWO SPECIES AND RESPECT HIS LIMITS UNTIL PRINCE WAYNE JOINS US IN DEATH!” Danny yelled. I knew most species wouldn’t take well to a species weaker than them ruling them and I held my head high, the ghosts studied me for a moment and I expected at least some negative reaction, then the crowd broke out in noise

“What?” I asked

“That’s the equivalent of cheering, a stand up applause.” Danny said,

“Really?” I asked “Surely they would view me as less because I am human?” Danny smirked

“We’re ghosts Prince Wayne, we don’t care about your skin tone, or your gender, or even your species, we care about strength. Doesn’t matter if you defeat someone with smarts and human stuff, or raw power and ghost stuff, or whatever in between, all that matters is that you can beat them. Lady Gothams Knights have an impressive reputation here, everyone can sense her approval on you and she respects only the best. They can see and feel and have heard about your strength Damian, they don’t care if you’re human.” Danny said

“I did not need a lecture on self confidence.” I said

“Yeah, you say that, but you haven’t met Paulina yet.” Danny said “Anyways you’ll pick up on ghost speak soon enough.” he reassured

“Is that really what it’s called?” I asked

“I didn’t name it.” Danny said

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[shouyuus]

sfw; modern neighbor!vi au

cool but enough about that. thinking about vi who lives in the same apartment building as you and is on the same floor just a few doors down, who sees you struggling with some boxes when moving in so she sweeps in to your rescue and well i mean you're not one to look a-gift-horse-muscular-butch in the mouth when she's so valiantly offering to carry these boxes for you.

who introduces herself and tells you that she lives here with her sister, who's studying mechanical engineering at the university. her? oh, she's a freelancer! you know how it is these days, teaches boxing at the local gym, helps her dad with the family bar on the weekends sometimes, "bit of this and a bit of that." and it sounds like she doesn't wanna talk about it all that much so you don't ask.

you ask her in for a cup of coffee, say it's the least you can do to thank her for helping you with the boxes.

"pleasure's mine, helping a pretty girl like you."

woof.

you swallow, busying yourself with your beat up little moka pot, asking her if she wants sugar or creamer. both, she says, and you pause, looking over your shoulder. she's leant up against your half-unpacked sofa, her arms knitted loosely over her chest.

"what? i've always like my stuff with a little bit of sugar."

it's a simple enough statement but the way she says it makes all your fingers and toes tingle. you swallow, fiddling with the fraying edges of your sweater sleeve.

"yeah, no -- that's --"

you jump as the moka starts to bubble and you pull it off the stove, feeling the same heat working it's way into your skin.

it's easy, so easy, after that. she offers to help you unpack (only if you need it of course) and well, you could use another pair of hands. you tell her that you'll pay her in pizza, and she smiles so wide you can see the hint of a dimple etching itself into her cheek.

you end up spending the whole day together, and when all the boxes are broken down and tamped into a pile by the door, your fingers grease-stained, sitting curled up on your now fully built-out couch, with plastic cups of prosecco, she sighs, staring into the bubbling liquid with a smile just a hitch away from sadness.

"cool! well -- thanks for the pizza," she sets down the cup and pushes up off the couch. you clear your throat and scramble up as well, pressing your palms into your thighs.

"no! thank you for helping me --" you motion around your apartment, "and uh --" you chew on your lips, teetering on the balls of your feet.

"if you ever wanna hang out," vi says, grinning as she rounds the sofa, glancing over her shoulder, "i'm just two doors down."

you slump down onto the sofa, pressing a hand to your chest, feeling it's wild, fluttering beat beneath your palm as you try to steady your breathing.

a few days later, you knock on her door, only to find a girl with shocking blue space buns and a pair of magnifying goggles on her head that make her look truly unhinged.

"who're you?"

you blink, fingers clutched around a large mug.

"uh -- uhm -- i just -- i moved in to the unit two doors down a few days ago and i was -- i was wondering if i could -- borrow some... sugar?" you hold out the mug, wondering if you've just royally fucked up.

"powder? who's at the door?" vi's voice calls out just as the girl with blue hair opens her mouth.

powder pauses, a sly smirk twisting the edge of her lips as she pushes up her goggles to reveal bright blue eyes just a few shades darker than vi's.

"oh no one, juuuuust... the super cute neighbor you couldn't shut up about from a few days ag --"

something clanks from further in the apartment and the girl named powder gets yanked back as vi appears, wide-eyed and a bit disheveled, clearing her throat as she almost crashes into her doorframe.

"h-hi! what -- what're you doing here?"

"i uhm --" you swallow, warmth prickling beneath your skin.

"sugar," powder says, rolling her eyes, waving a hand as she prances back into the apartment.

"sugar...?" vi asks, almost uncomprehending.

you lick your lips, holding out the cup, "yeah... i -- uh -- ran out..."

vi blinks down at the empty mug for a second too long before her eyes flash up to meet yours.

"yeah? what've you been up to, using so much sugar?"

you lick your lips, biting down on our bottom lip as she steps back to motion you into the apartment. it's not big, but it is cozy, sticky-notes and doodles littering almost every available surface, cups with day-old coffee/water/tea cluttered on the countertops. but vi reaches up into the cupboards and tugs down the sugar bag.

"i --" you cut off as she fills up your cup.

you don't want to tell her that you were trying to bake cupcakes of all things. and for her no less.

"ahh... don't wanna tell me? s'okay -- fine then, keep your secrets," she teases, shooting you a tiny wink as she leans up to put the sugar back.

"it's --" you nearly trip over your words as they tumble out of you, "i was -- wanted to make some cupcakes -- f-for... you..." you force out, turning away as her eyes widen slightly, "but i keep fucking up the measurements so --" you chance her another glance.

vi watches you with a soft smile, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"for me, sugar?"

you nod, now feeling impossibly hot as she vi slates you a knowing smile.

"well, lemme know when you're done," she says, "and uh..." she glances down at your sugar cup, "don't be afraid to put in a little extra for me, okay?"

you walk back to your own apartment in a daze, staring down at the cup of white sugar grains as you finally get back to your kitchen and set the mug down. you look at the two batches of failed cupcakes sitting on the counter and sigh, a helpless little smile ticking up the corner of your lips as you remember the twinkle in vi's eyes as she'd told you to add a little more sugar for her.

you drop your face into your hands with a loud groan, slumping back onto the couch, letting your feet dangle off the side as you stare at the light-stricken ceiling.

and you say, to no one in particular --

"i am so, so fucked."

[ljubimaya]

AN ACT OF LOVE ۶ৎ

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS: Being loved is being taken care of - emotionally and physically. ۶ৎ FEATURING CHARACTERS: Baji Keisuke, Shuji Hanma, Kazutora Hanemiya ۶ৎ C/W: fluff, established relationships/marriage, afab reader, mentions of flu symptoms in Baji's part, pregnancy in Kazutora's part + some hurt/comfort, insomnia in Hanma's part, petnames (baby, granny lmao), super self-indulgend ngl, not proof read, lowkey sucks but oh well ☠️ ۶ৎ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is inspired by me being sick some time ago and sulking in my bed. Also took me ages to finish this. ۶ৎ W/C: 3.3k+

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji: 

It’s the dead of the night, and you laid on your stomach, head  resting on the side while your arms were spread. Your husband, ever the considerate and loving man, sat next to you as his calloused hands kneaded your aching muscles. It’s been terrible the last few days since you’ve started sneezing and coughing. At first, you assumed it must have been some allergies, but the added fever, fatigue and muscle pain painted a clearer picture for you: You must have gotten the flu. 

So you took off a week from work to rot in the bed you shared with your husband, taking every disgusting tasting medication your doctor has recommended and falling asleep right after. While the other symptoms have gradually become better - thankfully, for you were going insane with your stuffy nose - your muscles wouldn’t stop hurting. The worst part, however, was that nothing seemed to help, no pain killers, no grain pillows, no overpriced could lessen the ache you felt in your tired muscles.

Thankfully, you happen to be married to the best man in the entire earth.

Keisuke has been so attentive ever since you’ve gotten sick. Despite his busy work schedule, he made sure you were taken care of, like making sure you’re taking your medicine in the morning and the evening, cooking you nutritious meals when he had the time for it and  most importantly, tending to your aching back. He did give the best backrubs of all time after all. 

So you waited impatiently for Keisuke to come back from the veterinary clinic he worked in to massage your muscles, occasionally dozing off continuing to take your meds with a sour face. 

The torturous wait came to an end as soon as you heard the heavy yet familiar footsteps of your husband nearing the bedroom. You stirred awake yet again from the shuffling noises in the background to see him sit down on your bed, skin clad in his casual pair of sweats and a white baggy shirt, holding a small bottle of massaging oil in his hand.

“Did I wake you up?” Keisuke asked, sitting down on the end of the bed, his heavy hand tenderly stroking your covered leg “Are you feeling better?”

You chuckled when you felt his loving touch “Wow, not even gonna greet your sick wife? How rude, Kei” You couldn’t see him well from the way you laid on your stomach, but you envisioned the ravenette rolling his eyes at you “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mister Baji”

“How did you even know I was rolling my eyes at you?” your husband questioned as he moved to sit next to you, tugging the blanket and your - his - shirt away from his way “I just know you, Kei” you merrily replied, lightly shuddering when the cold oil made contact with your skin. His warm hand softly rubbed your back, spreading the massaging oil evenly “As you should. I’d be really pissed if my own wife didn’t know me and my antics” He muttered, digging his thumbs into your back muscles and rubbing them against your hurting muscles. 

“Kei, it hurts!” you groaned into the pillows, struggling under the strong palms of his hands “You’re being too rough”

“I know, I know baby, but you’ll feel much better” Keisuke spoke to you, his usual gruff tone softening for you “Jeez babe, your muscles are rock hard. You have the back of an old granny” Keisuke snickered, his touch becoming more gentle. He’d hate to seriously hurt you. 

“Keisuke I swear to God” you scoffed into the pillow, deciding to play along with his banter “I’m not an old granny and won’t become one anytime soon. You should be ashamed of bullying your sick wife”

“Hmmmm, nope, feelin’ no shame”  

Your pained whines and protest slowly but surely grew silent as your husband continued rubbing and kneading your sore muscles, easing the ache you’ve been feeling all day long. Stopping after a while, Keisuke plumped next to you. Your mattress dipped at his sudden shifting before you were pulled towards him, scooped up in his embrace. A small yelp escaped your lips as you were manhandled into a different position - a position more of keisuke’s liking. You were turned to lay on your side, your back snugly pressing against your husband’s front as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Kei! Geez, you will get sick if you get close to me like that”

Keisuke lets out a content sigh, his nose bumping against the tender skin of your neck “Oh shut. I’ve slept next to you for the whole week, I’ll be fine” He scoffed before he murmured into your neck “Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this all day long”

Heat crept up your face. You knew Keisuke can be affectionate - hell, you married this man, of course you knew he was affectionate towards you - yet the way it rolled off his tongue so sweetly made you feel as shy as when you had just started dating him. Loving him never gets old, you supposed. 

So you laid in the warm embrace of your husband, feeling the beat of his heart softly thudding against your back and the slight tickle of his calm breath against your neck. Comfortable silence engulfed you two, and before you knew it, you heard his snores from behind you. A tired smile crept up on your lips before you followed suit, falling asleep in the ravenette’s embrace. The pain faded, and all you could feel was Keisuke’s love and devotion to you. 

۶ৎ Shuji Hanma: 

A deep hum left Shuji’s lips as he made his way to your shared apartment. Work has been taxing for the last few weeks ever since one of his photo’s he did for a wedding blew up on the internet. While he enjoyed his work and the extra money flowing in, sitting in his office and editing his client’s pictures till the sun goes down was not a way the tall man enjoys spending his nights. During the day, the tall man would be driving from shoot to shoot, instructing models how to pose while taking numerous pictures and making calls and adding appointments to his agenda.  

Who knew following his passion would turn him into a relentless workaholic? 

Unlocking the door as quietly as he could, Shuji quietly walked through the darkness of his apartment to the bathroom. More like forcing himself to go take a shower before crawling under the blankets with you, for Shuji knew you would be more than displeased with him. As he’s letting the warm water hit his skin, the ravenette’s thoughts drifted to you.  He didn’t liked to admit it too often, but he missed you throughout the day - the way you’d scold him for ruining the freshly washed sheets with his ‘outside smell’, the way you would subconsciously scoot closer to him in your sleep, the way you are alway the first to wake up in the morning, the way you would have to convince him with kisses and promises of a hot cup of coffee waiting for him in the kitchen if he gets up. 

Man, you were just so good to him.

Shuji quickly dried himself off and changed into his pajama - the one you thoughtfully left on top of the washing machine so he wouldn’t have to disturb your sleep by rummaging through the drawers. Tired, but feeling more relaxed after taking his shower, he quietly walked towards your shared bedroom, careful not to bump into anything. You should be asleep already, softly snoring as you’d be lying on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow. At least, that would be how Shuji usually finds you whenever he comes home from work past midnight. He would usually gently push you to roll over to your side and carefully attempt to pry his pillow away from your death grip. Most of the time he gives up and resorts to sleeping with your pillow under his head, which he doesn’t mind. After all, the best way the lanky man falls asleep is being surrounded by your scent.

However, upon entering your shared bedroom, he finds you laying in bed, wide awake and diligently tapping away on your laptop. The lamp on the nightstand illuminated the bedroom, bathing you in a soft golden hue.

“Baby, why are you still awake?” Shuji asked as he approached you, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Upon coming closer to you, he noticed the dark circles under your eyes and the tired look in your face. Still so beautiful. 

“I wanna finish this chapter. I think I made the plot too complicated” You sighed as you averted your eyes from the bright screen to take a look at your equally tired boyfriend. 

“Besides, I gotta edit it too. I feel like my writing is inconsistent and lackluster” Despite his fatigue, a grin grew on his face. Oh you knew he was about to bully you. 

“Probably because you need to rest” Shuji snickered as he took the laptop from your lap “Can’t have your little brain burn out before you finish writing the epilogue” 

“But Shu, I need to finish this right now-” 

“This reminds me of the times you used to pull all nighters back in highschool to finish your assignments, but this time you’re doing it willingly” 

You scoffed, unable to find humor in your boyfriend’s attempts to tease you. Placing your hands on your laptop, you lightly pulled it closer to you as you muttered “Your comparison sucks, Shu. I’m writing because it’s my hobby, not a chore like the assignments used to be” The man could only shake his head, the light grin quickly turning into a scoff “You sure this isn’t a chore for you? Sure looks like you treat it like one”

Oh, he got you. You tried really hard to come up with a witty come back, something that would make him mind his own business. Unfortunately for you, your sleep deprived brain couldn’t argue with him. Against your ego, you had to bite the bullet. 

The grip on your laptop loosened. The truth was that you were dying to fall back into your mattress and  get the rest you desperately needed, but the need to be finished with your herculean task overthrew your basic human want. 

Seeing as you weren’t budging, Shuji gently attempted to take your laptop away; this time placing the device on his own lap before suggesting “You lay back. I’ll read what you have written so far”  

“Shu, it’s fine-”

“Do what I say, doll” He cut you off without sparing you a glance. Instead, he got comfortable in your shared bed and began to silently read your writing “You made some spelling mistakes. And I don’t understand why you’d word this sentence like that” The ravenette pointed his index finger at the bright screen, showing you the sentence he meant “But honestly? Not too shabby. The pacing is nice and most importantly, the plot isn’t boring” 

You weren’t sure if you were hearing things right. Since when did he know anything about literature? 

Shuji snickered as he watched you squinting at him “What? Didn’t like what I said?”

You could only huff, watching him turn off your laptop and placing it on his nightstand  - right next to the now cold cup of coffee he didn’t get to finish in the morning “Are you sure you’re actually my boyfriend? Are you actually my Shu?” You looked him up and down “My boyfriend doesn’t know that much about writing”

The man next to you pulled the blanket over his body as he laid down. Turning his face to you, he smugly replied “You’re acting like I’m uncultured”

“You aren’t?” 

Your boyfriend pulled you closer to him, encasing you in his warmth. Shuji bumped his nose against yours “True. Guess you rubbed off on me” He muttered tiredly “Now close your eyes. You gotta finish that chapter tomorrow for me”

۶ৎ Kazutora Hanemiya:

Dread filled you as you looked down on your hands, watching as one line immediately appeared on the test. Truth be told, this wasnät your idea. Catching up with your friend Emma in a cafe near your workplace turned into you ranting about your fatigue and nausea pretty quickly as soon as Emma noticed the tired look in your eyes. 

“It’s probably the stress from work”, you tried justifying, explaining the big projects you were working on for the last few weeks. Conveniently, you left out that even though work has been taxing, you were still able to get a full night of sleep every time you came home from your office, and that you had enough time to spend with your boyfriend outside of work. 

Emma would only shake her head at you “You know, I thought it was just stress and lack of sleep too, but it wasn’t” she’d rub her visibly pregnant belly as she recalled the symptoms she’s experienced before she found out she was expecting. 

Emma successfully planted the seed of doubt in your mind without even realizing. 

You tried rationalizing feeling fatigued and nauseous for a while, thinking that upon the completion of your projects your symptoms would disappear. But, oh, how wrong you were. Each passing day became harder for you, as tiredness became a looming presence throughout your everyday life. Barely being able to keep your eyes open and containing your breakfast in your stomach, you grew anxious of the prophetic words Emma told you weeks ago. Out of desperation, you looked up pregnancy symptoms to calm your raging nerves down. Fatigue? Check. Nausea? Check. Morning sickness? Check. Mood swings? Check. Missed period? Check. 

You knew you wouldn’t have to continue reading, but you foolishly held onto the hope that there would be at least one big symptom that would contradict your fears. Defeated, you put your phone down on your coffee table. Scrolling through a seemingly endless list of possible pregnancy symptoms drained you, but the uncertainty ate you alive. so you mustered up all of your strength and courage to walk into the closest pharmacy and get a pregnancy test. To calm my nerves, you’d think as you picked up whichever pregnancy test the pharmacist advised you to buy. 

This leads you to where you are currently. The results took an agonizingly long amount of time, and you started to overthink again. Truth be told, while you weren’t planning on it anytime soon, you assumed it would happen one day. The main reason you felt so anxious was your boyfriend’s reaction to you possibly being pregnant. You weren’t even sure if Kazutora, your beloved boyfriend, even wanted to have children of his own. The conversation about settling down with kids just never seemed to pop up in any past conversations you had with him. You didn’t have a lot to go off on; all you really knew was that while Kazutora was good with kids, he still had issues he needed to work through. 

What would he say? Would he be angry? Happy? Would he leave? Your stomach churned as the thoughts flooded your mind. Your eyes were focused on the pregnancy test in your hands, however you didn’t pay attention to it. 

Your trance- like state was interrupted by a loud knock on your bathroom door “Hey, you ok in there?” Kazutora’s muffled voice, filled with worry, came from the other side of the door. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice, not expecting him to come home so soon. Clumsily, you stood up a little too quickly and rushed to open the door for him, leaving the pregnancy test on the sink. You swung the door open, coming face to face with the man you loved most. His loving face was scrunched with worry, eyebrows knitted as he took your panicked state in “Hey, baby. Didn’t think I’d see you home so early. How was work?”

“Was alright. I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up the phone, so I came home to check on you” Kazutora replied, his gaze still fixed on your tired looking face “You look awful. Maybe we should go and get you checked up” 

You shock your head vehemently “No! No, there’s no need for that. Trust me, I’m healthy” Placing your hands on his face. The warmth of his skin brought you comfort, calming you down a bit before you continued “Trust me, I am fine” 

Your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at you “Babe, no. This is getting out of hand, you need to see a doctor” He huffed, walking past you to get to the bathroom “Get dressed, I’ll drive you there” Kazutora walked towards the sink. Cold sweat coated your skin as you watched him reach the sink and turn on the faucet. This was it, the point of no return. You knew he would see the pregnancy test, and he’d be the first to see results - even before you yourself could see it for yourself. You began mentally cursing yourself; for not looking at the test before you rushed to open the door for him, for not hiding the test, for not being careful enough. Bracing yourself for his reaction, you watched his movements stutter. The water running from the faucet splashed in the background, hitting the stone material of the sink harshly, was the only noise drowning out the deafening silence between you and Kazutora. 

“Baby, is this what I think it is?” Kazutora silently asked, his voice unsteady and quiet. You almost wouldn’t have caught his question if you weren’t hyper fixated on him. You couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad sign, hell you weren’t even sure what the results were in the first place. Coming to the realization that you needed to be truthful, you sighed and started to explain “I haven’t seen the results yet. I’ve been feeling” You paused, sighing, before continuing “I haven’t been feeling myself for some time now” 

“I understand” Kazutora turned the faucet off, the splashing of water suddenly coming to a stop before he turned around to see you. 

A soft smile graced his features, the same one that made you fall head over heels for him all those years ago. Just like the sun hitting ice, his relaxed, loving expression was enough to melt your worries away “So? You wanna know the results?” You nodded eagerly, expecting to be given the pregnancy test from your lover. He handed you the test, his touch lingering. Kazutora intently watched your face as you looked down to see the pregnancy test in your hand. 

Two lines. Positive. 

A gasp left your lips, hands flying to clasp over your mouth to contain your bubbling emotions. Your gaze switches between the positive test and Kazutora. The realization that you are very much pregnant hits you hard, but the realization that you worried about him not taking the news well for nothing knocked you off your feet. 

Happy tears welled up in your eyes and soft sobs escaped through your lips. Closing the distance between you and him, the ravenette gently held your waist with one hand and cupped your cheek with the other one. His calloused thumb swiped over your soft skin, wiping away the small droplets of tears escaping your eyes “I’m so bad with words, but baby I need you to know how happy you make me. From the moment we have met, to the day you’ve agreed to date me. But today, you’ve made me by far the happiest I have ever been” 

You choked up when you saw his golden eyes become glassy, feeling his usually steady hand shake with every word he speaks to you. Your hands moved away from your mouth, cradling your lover’s face instead. Lovingly, you gazed into each others’ eyes as you stood in your small bathroom, feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach while Kazutora’s hand moved to place itself over your tummy - holding the two most precious people in his life. 

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Cybertronians eating rocks for the minerals they contain. Cybertronians on earth incorporating more and more rocks into their diets to make up for the lack of energon.

Imagine cybertronians going to the beach with their human pals and partners, and when the human hands them a cool looking rock to admire it seeming proud of themselves, the cybertronian pops it into their mouth and thanks the mortified human for their tasty offering.

“How did you know granite was my favorite?” They ask, as the human mourns their cool find.

Museum gems. Has anyone told them about museum gems? I mean look at this and tell me you never wanted to snack on them.

The human keeps bringing their cybertronian a bag full of the finest rocks they picked from the pile every time they visit the museum.

Special thanks to @minecraft-parrot-enthusiast for this comment chain. This could be an episode.

Cybertronian who is both surprised and concerned when they see their human eating salt for the first time.

“I thought you couldn’t eat rocks.”

“I can eat these rocks.”

Cue cybertronian monching on a boulder with gift shop gems on the side as the human next to them eats rock candy and sugar crystals.

Cybertronian deciding to try bricks and cement and drywall and regretting it. A human waking up in the middle of the night and turning on the lights to see that there is a hole in their wall now.

“Are you eating my drywall?”

“I’m HUNGRY!”

“Is it…good at least?”

*coughs up a piece of drywall* “No.”

Needless to say they started keeping energon in the house after that and neither of them spoke of the incident again.

[ganondoodle]

(OC Lore and design time!)

(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)

i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D

so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;

at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-

Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)

Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries

However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it

only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)

alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)

[quinn-of-aebradore]

Once again thinking about the fact that, per the Caleb Origins comic, Wulf is the reason Caleb spent 11 years in Vergesson. Just. What do you think haunts him more; killing his parents or the fact that in the span of a few seconds he damned one of his partners, someone who was engineered to be one of his closest bonds, to spend gods-know-how-long in one of the bleakest places in the Empire?

[lilasamaaa]

Havana | Charles Leclerc & Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Angst, Hurt, Smut.

Word count | 5.0K

Warnings | Sexual content, alcohol consumption, cheating, some gaslighting, heartbreak!!

Summary | Reader and Charles, who've been dating for a few years, go on a trip to Cuba between two races. A few days before leaving, they learn that Carlos and Rebecca will be staying at the same resort. Good news, right? Well, if you forget Carlos and reader's years-long mutual attraction. Inspired by the « She chose me/Did she? » trend on TikTok… with a twist.

Author's note | Lord... This was so filthy I'm sorry. This piece is the result of this poll! Wrote half of this listening to These Walls by Dua Lipa, the other with Never Be The Same by Camila Cabello. Just so you get the mood. Not proofread, sorry!

She had been waiting for these holidays for months.

Since the beginning of the season, she hadn't been able to travel with Charles to any race, having no available days off. She was jealous of the others wags. The influencers. The ones who could rearrange their schedules in the blink of an eye to follow their boyfriends to the other side of the world without thinking about the consequences. But she'd foolishly chosen to pursue studies, foolishly found a job in marketing, foolishly trapped herself without even realizing it. She loved her job. Or at least, that's what she repeated to herself every morning when her alarm went off at 6 a.m. Sharp.

She had followed the start of the season through her TV and phone, and had savored every brief moment Charles had spent in Monaco (which represented, like... twenty days, tops, since the beginning of March). She knew she couldn't complain. That she didn't have the right to. She'd chosen to share her life with a high-level and high-profile athlete, and this situation couldn't obviously be all positive. She knew that other women would have sold their souls to be in her place. To wake up next to Charles, even just once a month. So, she never complained. She endured.

Charles had returned from China two days earlier, and they were heading to Cuba this afternoon, preparing for ten days of pure bliss. She was euphoric. Delighted not to set her alarm for the next day, delighted not to see her boss and colleagues for ten days, delighted to spend time with Charles. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yet... There was something.

Yesterday night, at the restaurant, as they were making the final preparations, Charles' phone had lit up on the table and the driver had grabbed it, staring at the screen for a few seconds before exclaiming, "Non, j'y crois pas!". She had shot him a questioning look, and her boyfriend had chuckled before saying "Carlos just texted me. Him and Rebecca are staying at the same resort as us in Havana. This is gonna be so cool."

Oh.

She hadn't responded, just smiled, and returned her attention to the plate of pasta in front of her. Carlos was... a friend. Well, it was actually hard to define. He was obviously primarily Charles' friend, but they had crossed paths quite regularly in the past few years, and naturally, they had hit it off. There was just one issue. One tiny thing.

The man drove her crazy. It was ridiculous. Almost humiliating. She had been sharing her life with Charles for four years. She was happy. She was in love! But... She couldn't deny that Carlos made her feel things that Charles never had. Just the thought of acknowledging this made her want to throw up.

She had never acted on her impulses. Absolutely never. But... she could have. She had noticed glances.

It had started one evening at the restaurant, in 2021, when the two Ferrari drivers had organized a double date for their partners to meet. She had immediately loved Isa, with whom she had hit it off right away. The dinner had gone admirably well, the food was amazing, the wine delicious. The wine. There had been too much of it. They all probably thought so, seeing the bottles go by, but no one had stopped. No one wanted to be the one to break the great mood of the evening. So, they’d drank. Again and again.

If at the beginning of the meal, Carlos had just been casting curious glances in her direction, the wine had changed that. By the time Charles was explaining to Isa how they had met, the Spaniard was piercing her with his gaze. Equally intoxicated and never one to back down from a challenge, she had not flinched at the driver's boldness, holding his gaze, not even blinking. It had lasted a minute. Maybe two. Or even five, before Charles had asked her the name of the movie they'd seen on their third date, you know, the one with the mansion, and she’d finally tore her gaze away from Carlos.

"I believe that was Knives Out," she'd replied, smiling fondly at her boyfriend.

The conversation had resumed its course, and a few hours later, the two couples had parted ways. Lying in bed, in the middle of the night, she could still feel Carlos' burning gaze on her. That could have been nothing. She could always blame it on the wine. But there'd been more.

One day, Charles had suggested that she came with him to an interview he was going to do with Carlos. "It won't take long," he had said. "And as soon as it's over, we'll go grab a bite at that Mexican restaurant you love". She had agreed. The questions had started simple.

"What would be your perfect day?"

"What's your pre-race tradition?"

"Describe your ideal woman"

Even though she had been browsing her phone for a while, absorbed by the device, this question had made her look up. Locking eyes with Charles, the driver had smiled at her before answering.

"That's rather easy to answer, because I've already found her. My ideal woman is career-oriented. She works hard, doesn't count her hours. She wants to succeed because she deserves it, not because she's dating me. She excels in everything she undertakes. She sets no limits for herself, fears nothing. Tries everything. She can be uncompromising, but she knows how to be gentle and caring. She has weaknesses, but she only shows them to me. I am her refuge, and she is mine."

She had smiled, touched, blowing a kiss to her boyfriend.

"Carlos?" the interviewer had said.

"My ideal woman..." the Spaniard had started, searching for his words. "Actually, I have the same, erm… taste as Charles. But I would add that my ideal woman isn't afraid to make mistakes. She allows herself to make wrong choices, to take the wrong path. It's okay, she will always find her way back," he had added, looking her straight in the eyes. That bastard can't be for real, she'd thought.

The last... "incident" had occurred at the end of last season. It hadn't been easy, but she had managed to get time off, and she had joined Charles in Abu Dhabi for the last race of the season. Her boyfriend had finished fifth in the championship, and everyone : drivers, engineers, girlfriends, had ended up at the club to celebrate Max's victory.

She wasn't a fan of nightclubs. She was very migraine-prone, and the music, combined with the neon lights, didn't do well with her. Feeling the pain starting behind her eyes, she had signaled to Charles that she was going outside, and despite his insistence, she had convinced him to stay inside, wanting him to enjoy the evening. In the dark corridor leading outside, she had closed her eyes for a second. No more. Just to relieve the pain for a moment. And she had bumped into someone, of course.

The someone being Mister Sainz himself. Of course.

"I'm sorry," she'd said, still rubbing her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a migraine."

"Here," he'd said, leading her outside. "Let's get some calm."

She was surprised to see no one outside. Granted, it was already late, almost 4 a.m., and many people had left the club already. But still, she'd expected to see a few people. Smokers, at least...

"Charles fought well," Carlos had said, leaning against a wall.

"Yeah. He'll be champion one day."

"Of course," the Spaniard had say, grinning. "He'll have the cup." A pause. "And the girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she'd replied, pretending not to understand.

"Everything Charles wants, Charles gets."

She wasn't in the mood for this. Not tonight. Even if she found it hard to meet the Spaniard's gaze. Even if feeling his eyes on her made her shiver. Even if she could feel her lower abdomen tighten every time the driver's smooth voice reached her ears.

"Maybe everything Charles has, Charles fought for," she had replied.

"Oh yeah? Is that the secret?" Carlos had asked, coming closer.

"There's no secret."

"Do you want me to fight for you?" he had added, so close that she could feel his breath on her neck.

"You must have misunderstood," she'd said, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm talking about the championship."

Carlos had let out a laugh. An ironic, mocking laugh. Disappointed, almost. A laugh that meant "You and I understood each other perfectly well, but you won't dare go further". And she hadn't dared. Casting one last glance, she had gone back inside, leaving him alone under the stars of Baku.

She hadn't seen him since. Good riddance.

"I still can't believe it," Charles had said, yesterday night, taking a spoonful of his tiramisu. "At least, you won't be alone when I go golfing. I haven't seen much of Rebecca, but she seems very nice. I'm sure you two will get along well."

"So that's it? Our romantic vacation just turned into a friend's getaway?" she'd asked, almost offended.

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, mon coeur. We'll spend as much time together as possible, but... it could be nice to do a thing or two with them, right? I thought you loved Carlos."

The sentence had overwhelmed her with guilt.

"I like Carlos. I loved Isa, though," she'd answered, pouting, while Charles looked at her with soft eyes.

"Yeah, I know. But we have to come to terms with the fact that we won't see Isa again. Or, at least, not with Carlos." the driver had said, rising from his seat. "I'll pay, will you wait for me outside?"

Three days and three flights later, she's sitting at the hotel restaurant table, facing Carlos, wondering what Charles could have possibly misunderstood in her request a few days earlier. We'll spend as much time together as possible, yeah, right, she thinks, clearly annoyed.

"It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Rebecca," Charles says, giving the model a big smile. "Carlos must only have eyes for you, because I hear about you every other day."

She chokes on her drink. The whole table looks at her.

"Sorry," she says. "Ice cubes."

The conversation resumes, Rebecca proving to be very interesting. And apparently very much in love with Carlos, she thinks as she watches the blue-eyed blonde. She doesn't like the pinch she feels in her heart. She doesn't even want to put a name on it. It doesn't matter.

"I'm so happy that you’re here," Rebecca says after a while. "I can't wait to spend more time with you all," she finishes with a big smile.

"Yeah. Can't wait," Carlos says, turning his gaze away from Rebecca's eyes. Finding hers.

The following days pass without incident. Charles divides his day between the hotel pool, the golf course, and their bed, where they make love several times a day. If for some time she had the feeling that they were less close, everything seems forgotten under the Cuban sun.

One day, while she was riding Charles particularly loudly, the driver's hands digging into her hips in a deliciously painful way, someone had knocked on their bedroom door. Surprised, they had stopped suddenly, like teenagers caught red-handed, before Charles had jumped out of bed, grabbing a towel on the go.

"You're not actually going to open the door, are you?" she had asked, hidden under the sheets, with only her head out.

"You never know, what if it's urgent... Like... A fire?" her boyfriend had replied before opening the door.

It very obviously hadn't been urgent, and she had felt like dying of embarrassment when she'd seen Carlos's smug face on the other side of the door. He'd quickly glanced past Charles to look at her. Very obviously naked.

"Sorry to interrupt," he'd said, accent thick, licking his lips. "We had agreed to meet ten minutes ago to go play tennis."

"Did we? Oh my god, I'm sorry," Charles had said, closing the door behind him, running to the bathroom to change. Ten minutes later, both of them had left and she’d found herself alone in the room. Hot and bothered.

In the evening, to make up for leaving her alone all day, a very tanned Charles had invited her to a fancy restaurant in Havana, before taking her dancing. She had loved that night, so close together in the anonymity of the Cuban capital. She would have liked to prolong the festivities, to pick up where they had left off, but as soon as they'd returned to the room, Charles had laid down "for five minutes," and had been snoring ever since.

A faint knock echoes against the door of the room, and she gets up discreetly, careful not to wake Charles.

"You've got to be kidding me..." she starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Are you sleeping in front of our door or something?" she spits out, annoyed to find herself facing the Spaniard for the second time today.

"Charles forgot this," he says, handing her a towel. A towel with the hotel logo. What is she supposed to do with that? There are plenty of them in the closets. She stares at him intensely, arching a brow. Making no move to retrieve the towel.

"Can I come in?" he finally asks after a few seconds.

Without a word, she steps aside, revealing the room, and the bed where Charles is still snoring.

"Wow," Carlos says, walking into the room, laughing. "He's fucking knackered. I might have gone a bit hard on him this afternoon."

"What did you do?" she asks, clearly unamused.

"Nothing special. Made him run a bit." he replies, smirking. "I'm so sorry if you'd planned to finish what you'd started earlier," eyes boring into hers.

"You're a little shit," she says, disappearing into the bathroom.

She thought he would take the hint. Understand that his presence was no longer desired. In the bathroom, she takes off her earrings in front of the mirror, the door to the bedroom wide open, when the Spaniard appears behind her.

"Are you happy with him?" he asks, leaning against the door frame.

"What kind of fucked up question is that?" she snaps, turning to face him.

"A simple one," Carlos says, eyeing her intensely.

"What are you even doing here?" she asks, turning once again to grab her hairbrush from the countertop. "Shouldn't you be fucking your girl or something?"

Her hate-filled sentence makes him pause for a moment, seeking her gaze in the mirror. Faced with his silence, she lifts her head, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

"I had other plans," he states.

"Well, go fuck someone else then," she says, vehemently brushing her hair. She doesn't realize what she's said until the driver presses his chest against her back, gently pinning her against the countertop. She lets go of the brush, holding the surface with both hands, trying to regain composure. His mouth slides along her neck, making her whole body shiver. He's still watching her in the mirror as he gently bites her earlobe with his teeth.

"You're the nastiest person I've ever met," she says, letting a moan escape her lips as the driver slides his hands under her top.

"I've been dreaming of this for years," he says, running his fingers up along her stomach. "Morals be damned."

In the mirror, she casts a glance at Charles, still asleep on the bed. She can't do this. She's not like that. She's never cheated on any of her partners, let alone him. He doesn't deserve that, she thinks, closing her eyes as Carlos licks her neck.

"We can't do this to Charles," she says, panting. "To Rebecca."

"Rebecca will be gone by dawn if you ask," Carlos replies, gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"What about him?" she breathes, eyes sliding down his lips. "I can't do it, Carlos. I love him."

"Do you?" he asks, still holding her chin. "Say it one more time, and I swear I won't kiss you. I'll go back to my room and pretend nothing ever happened. We can even share breakfast in the morning, all four of us."

"I..." she stutters, closing her eyes.

"I'm about to do something incredibly reckless. I just need you to tell me if you're okay with it."

She doesn't reply. She just looks into his eyes, and crosses the distance between them. Their mouths collide violently, and both moan in unison, desperately clinging to each other. Her hands get lost in his hair, running along his scalp before pulling at the roots, eliciting a growl from him. He kisses her, biting her lips, encircling her face with his hands. His hands. His hands are everywhere. In her hair, on her back, on her butt. She feels like he's touching her everywhere at once, and his touch... His touch is burning, awakening things she's never felt. With anyone. She feels like molten lava. Like electricity.

He doesn't waste a second. He's too scared she'll snap out of it, change her mind. In one swift motion of the arm, he picks her up, sitting her down on the countertop, spreading her legs with his own body. His lips never leave her : he's exploring her neck, her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, anything to get a taste of her.

He's afraid that he'll only have her that one time. That he'll have to live forever in the memory of that night. So he memorizes everything. The beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. The one on her neck. The fine white scar above her eyebrow. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the ones she earned through years of hearty laughter. He sniffs her, almost like an animal, absorbing her perfume until his head spins. He's so desperate, so pathetic for her, and he would probably be embarrassed by his own behavior if she weren't doing the same on her side. Her fingers trace every vein in his arms, every muscle in his back. She runs her tongue over his teeth, bites his lips, tugs at his hair as if she wanted to keep a lock of it in a necklace.

So far, they had just been kissing. Something she would have a very hard time justifying to Charles, but which could be ruled as a... distasteful accident. But as Carlos grabs her top, making her raise her arms in the air to take it off, immediately going for her breasts, she knows it's too late. That there will be no turning back. She's panting now, and over the shoulder of the Spaniard, as his mouth finds one of her nipples, she steals a glance at her boyfriend. Sound asleep. Unaware.

Carlos continues his descent, lower and lower, tracing a path with his tongue from her breasts to her belly button and down to her lower abdomen. Urgently, almost savagely, he tears off her floral skirt and her thong with both hands in one harsh movement, throwing them on the floor. He's been so impatient, so hurried all this time that when he finally kneels before her, her entire body tenses, bracing for impact.

But the impact doesn't happen.

Not yet. Carlos softly plants kisses on her pubic mound. On the insides of her thighs. On her knees. Anywhere but where she needs him the most.

"Please," she begs, breathless. "Please don't make me wait."

"I've been waiting for four years," he replies, looking at her through his long lashes, amber eyes diving into hers, "You'll survive a few more seconds."

When his mouth finally meets her core, she tilts her head back, moaning. He's slow. So deliberately slow. For years, she's driven him crazy, obsessing over every thought of hers. His revenge is childish. Immature. He's not proud of it, but he wants to drive her insane. To see her lose her mind because of him, just for once. She's having none of it, bucking her hips until his nose gets lost in her folds and finally, he snaps. Grabbing her by the ass, he brings her impossibly closer, lapping, nibbling, biting, even. Her back is pressed against the mirror, one leg over his shoulder, the other hanging down. She's closing her eyes, covering her mouth. Her moans. Praying that Charles hears nothing. Sees nothing.

With the tips of her toes, she finds his groin. Her touch is so soft. Barely there. His response is immediate, and she feels his growl reverberate through her entire core. Continuing his assault, his fingers join his mouth as he circles her clit before inserting one inside of her. Then two. He's watching her, somehow getting harder every time she moans, every time she tugs at his hair.

"I need you," she says between two breaths. "I don't know how much time we have, and I... I need to feel you inside."

He could have passed out right here, just hearing those words leave her lips. He rises, capturing her lips again, while she takes hold of his t-shirt, stripping it off. And then, they hug. Their skins are burning with desire, but there's nothing sexual here. For a few seconds, they stay like that, absolutely silent. Clinging to each other. The embrace tears them both apart. It's almost violent, suffocating, the way all those what's ifs, we could haves and others if only we'd knowns fill the room in those few seconds. The hug is heavy with things that'll never be. Things that'll never leave this embrace. This room. Feeling something wet reach his shoulder, Carlos pulls back. She's crying.

He seizes her lips again, yet this kiss feels so different from the previous ones. It's no longer a kiss of lust, of desire. It's a farewell kiss. He knows it. She knows it too.

Her hands crawl along his chest until they reach the button of his pants, which she pops open with a flick of expert fingers. He helps her remove the garment, which also falls to the ground, along with all the others. In this room, in this Cuban hotel, they are finally completely naked, pressed against each other. He kisses her again, intoxicated by her, her scent, her taste, while his hand finds his cock, stroking it gently. He's so lost in her, he almost doesn't notice her own hand chasing his, stroking him softly. And then, in a new kiss, he presses against her before entering her.

For a few moments, neither of them moves. He, concentrating like never before to not finish there and now. She, accepting the idea that another man than Charles has taken her, and that nothing will ever be the same again. Charles, she thinks, glancing towards the bedroom where her boyfriend has turned over, still asleep, but facing them. He's so close. So close to opening an eye and seeing his girlfriend and his teammate pressed against each other, forehead to forehead. Skin to skin. She's still looking at Charles when Carlos begins to move inside her, holding her tightly in his arms, pressing their chests together in an incredibly sensual motion.

"Tell me what you like. Tell me anything and I'll do it," he says, thrusting softly into her. "I want you to remember this. To remember me."

"I want you to make love to me as if I were yours."

It stings. It stings so fucking much, because the phrase reminds him that she doesn't belong to him. It stings because she's not entirely Charles' anymore, yet she'll never be entirely his either. From this night on, she'll be condemned to wander between them, to float between their desires, their loves. No matter how tightly he holds onto her, no matter how tight she feels around him, he'll never call her his. He obeys nevertheless, quickening his pace, capturing her lips.

His movements are precise, surgical. He feels her contracting around him, and the sensation drives him wild. Her hands are around his neck, seeking balance, support. His pace intensifies even more when he realizes something.

"Say my name," he asks, panting.

She knows why he asks for it, why he needs to hear it, so she doesn't question him.

"Carlos," she says, kissing him. "You're making me feel so good."

And it's true. In a way, it has nothing to do with his movements, with his skills as a lover. All those that he very surely possesses, but are only secondary tonight. It goes beyond that. It's about their connection. With each thrust, Carlos floods her with love, adoration, longing, with so many sensations that leave her feeling deliciously overwhelmed. He doesn't need to say it. Yet, in one thrust, one harsher than the others, he does.

"I love you", he breathes against her skin.

"I know," she says, holding his jaw with one hand, making him look at her, their lips brushing. "I've loved you all this time," she whispers back.

Her revelation must unlock something within him because suddenly, he lifts her, pressing her against the bathroom wall opposite from the sink, as she lets out a surprised cry, feeling him deeper than before. His thrusts resume, stronger, more aggressive. It's a good thing he's holding her as if his life depended on it, because everything is too much : the sensation of his body against hers, their feelings laid bare, the sounds he makes... Her head suddenly feels light, and she rests it in the crook of his neck as he continues to take her so deliciously.

She comes back to herself when she feels something stir in the pit of her stomach, something that takes her breath away.

"Carlos..." she starts.

"Tell me, baby," he replies, biting her ear. "Tell me everything."

"I'm feeling... I don't know... I'm feeling so, so good" she says, incoherent.

"Are you close?" he asks, still pouding into her.

"I've never felt anything like this," she says, panting. "Anything like you."

Then, everything explodes.

She can't hold back her scream, not caring about anything anymore, not even Charles, a few feet away. She's clinging to her lover, scratching his back. Trying to catch her breath. She clenches around him so tightly that he loses control, spilling into her in three thrusts, grunting.

"Give it to me, Carlos," she says. "I can take it. I can take you."

"Mi amor," he says, out of breath. "You're killing me," he adds, still thrusting into her, shooting some more ropes of cum into her cunt while groaning. "Te amo, te amo, te amo," he says, kissing her face.

The two bodies collapse on the floor, against the wall, nestled together in the intimacy of the small bathroom. She shivers, and he grabs a towel to wrap around her. Neither of them says a word. What is there to say, after all? Here, between these four tiled walls, they've already said everything. Shown everything. They've never been closer to each other. They've never been closer to anyone else. They'll probably never experience something like that ever again.

A few steps away from them, a sound of crumpled bedding alerts both of them.

"Babe?" comes Charles' sleepy voice, as their blood turn cold and she rises up impossibly fast to close the bathroom door, wobbling a bit, legs still weak after her orgasm.

"Go back to sleep, baby", she says loudly. "I'm just taking a shower."

There's no response, so after a few seconds, she opens the door again, seeing that Charles has fallen back asleep. Mouth slightly open.

"You have to go," she states, turning back to face Carlos, still sitting on the floor. Carlos stands up, and both of them dress in a heavy silence before quietly tip-toeing across the room. Once in the empty hallway, she gently closes the door of the room she shares with her boyfriend before letting out a breath. He knows what's coming. Something breaks in his eyes, and she feels her heart shatter.

"I meant everything," she says, head low. "I meant every word, every kiss. I'll forever regret the night we just shared, but not in the way you might think. I will regret for the rest of my life ever experimenting this happiness with you and having to let go of it. I love you, Carlos, like I've never loved anyone. That's why we shouldn't see each other again."

His dark eyes bore into hers, almost threateningly.

"Why?" he asks, raising his voice, and she winces, terrified that, on the other side of the door, Charles might wake up again. "Why stop yourself from being happy? Why give up on me?"

"I found a ring," she confesses, struggling to meet his gaze. "In his suitcase. He's going to propose to me, Carlos."

"If that's what it takes to have you forever, let me do it before him," he says, dropping to one knee as she looks away, tears welling up in her eyes. One more thing he'll have taken from Charles, she thinks. He'll forever be the first man to ever kneel before me. And he'll never even know this.

"Please, get up," she says, her voice trembling with a sob.

He does, and when he looks at her again, his eyes are filled with tears.

"Good night, Carlos," she says, taking a step back, holding the door knob to her room. She's gone in an instant, leaving him alone in the poorly lit hallway at half past three in the morning. Her scent all over his skin, her words all over his mind, her grip all over his heart.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Guilliman's Soup

"Look, I'm not going to harm any of you, not unless it involves stuffing Guilliman in a room without his....." Fulgrim trails off, the demon prince's lower half coiling in discomfort as he stares at the abomination that bubbled within the pot. It smelled distinctly of both Mjød and cigarettes, appearing as something that Fulgrim was uncertain if even a Nurgling would eat. He certainly wouldn't. Actually he doesn't think any Slaaneshi demon is depraved enough to even attempt to make such a thing. He shakes his head. "Will I be allowed to help?" Calgar, who was certainly not at all expecting to see the demon prince of excess himself at the entrance to the Imperial palace, couldn't decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it meant that his primarch wasn't affected by any chaos god, if even Slaanesh was getting involved; on the other, did he really want to accept the help of a demon prince? Especially one that is well.... Calgar sighs deeply, "Fine, you might actually be a good deterrent to Dante anyway. He's been a pain in the ass" "Who is-" Fulgrim doesn't get to finish his sentence as a very old marine of what appears to be of the blood angel's chapter is shooed away by a serf with a broom, wacking the marine's shins with it as he hisses like an angry goose. Fulgrim has his answer on who Dante is but is now even further confused, "I thought Blood Angels were supposed to be noble?" "I'm hoping the soup will kill me" Dante helpfully responds which has the demon prince blinking in utter shock, because what the fuck happened to Sanguinius' sons!? Another Ultramarine, this one apparently named Cato is crawling on his hands and knees out of the room where Dante came from, coughing and generally being a rather sad sight with the stench of both vomit and the abominable liquid upon his breath. Slaanesh, who just briefly decided to turn her head towards whatever the fuck her demon prince was doing, vomits and mutters 'I can't believe none of this was Nurgle's idea; he actually wants the fucking recipe!'. Needless to say, Fulgrim doesn't really want to know what's exactly in that pot. Instead he dryly says "I'm amazed this hasn't summoned anything other then myself..." Calgor sighs "No, it has, there's the Sanguinor, and it's currently being kept back by some Sister of Silence out of fear that it's going to beat Dante to death with a sandle. Personally I'm not fond of trying to explain to the blood angels that we didn't kill their chapter master; it was the soul of Sanguinius, himself, that ended his life. I can't see that going too well...And Cato, please stop eating father's soup." "But-" "No buts or I'm throwing you into the same room as the Sanguinor" That stopped any more protests out of Cato who shuddered at the very idea of confronting the very angry warp spirit that was half of mind to possess someone.

The sound of what Fulgrim could still recognize after all these years as a very angry Leman Russ can be heard in the distance yelling "WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO WITH MY FUCKING MJOD, ROBOUTE!?" This was going to be a long and terrible process, Fulgrim just knows it. ____ This short story was inspired by a convo between myself and @moociaoafterdark on this post.

[littlemissclandestine]

ASK: ahhh i’m obsessed w ur adler headcanons!! pretty pretty plsss could we have more soft!adler headcanons? or maybe a few headcanons for how adler might react to realising he’s slowly falling for bell!reader before they discover the brainwash twist?? 🥺👉👈 either way just wanna express my appreciation for how you characterise him!! <3

Author's Note: Tehe back at it idk. This was an ask I got months ago but just had incredibly bad writer's and art block. Trying to get those creative juices flowing again! Thank you so much for the ask and the kind comments anon. I really really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy! <3 (your ask disappeared after i put it into Tumblr drafts??)

More Soft!Adler Headcanons:

In the morning before work, Russell wakes up a little earlier than you to spend some more time on his appearance. You see him shaving his few day old stubble and decide to help him out, taking the razor. He’d study your facial expression as you concentrate on going round each jagged edge of his scar, making sure to not cut him. His blue eyes tracing every little mark on your face, absolutely in awe of how beautiful you are even when you furrow your brows and he’d gently push a strand or two of hair out the way that had fallen over your eye. As you rinse the blade under the tap, he’d grab your chin and peck your lips, getting the taste of shaving foam in your mouth and you two would laugh about it.

I can imagine in Winter, Russell and his s/o ordering hot chocolate with some cream on top/coffee, walking and talking. When he notices your cream/foam moustache, he chuckles to himself but you pay it no mind, thinking it was his response to something you said. But he chuckles again and you question him. -> “Oh uh nothing. You just uh…got a little um...hold on.” He’d lean in and lick your lips before planting a kiss on them and leaning back to look at you with a smile, leaving you dumbfounded.

Witty jokes and comments that make you think how the hell did he come up with that one are definitely on the menu. Russell will sometimes randomly just burst into Russian or German mode and will try and teach you some words and jokes too. Mostly the swear words because everybody wants to know the swear words 

Adler and his fellow operatives were chatting one day in public with their gear on as they were on their way back to a hotel for the night before their early morning flight but the sight of kids running up to him caught his eye. They asked him questions, the usual ones, the story behind the scar and what he does for a living. At first, he wasn’t exactly the warmest towards them but when one of the kids begged him to pick them up, he grumbled and gave in, watching them just take his sunglasses and the other asking if they could touch the scar, earning a smile from him. Him an his group sat down and spent some time kicking a ball around and taking the time out for the children before they had to head back. Adler gave them all fistbumps and bent down to plant a cap on one of their heads with a wink and a side smile -> “Keep it. I don’t need it, kid.”

Slowly falling for Bell!Reader Headcanons: Part 1

Russell Adler didn’t think it was possible to be honest. Him falling for another person. Always thought of himself as a lone wolf after his divorce. Never took any interest in dates or anything because he simply didn’t have the time and partly due to a fear of being hurt again that he refused to acknowledge

Yet he found himself weirdly drawn to you. Maybe it was a sick and twisted fantasy of his, the visage of him being a human, cracking with every fleeting touch. The true monster in him seeping out, revealing his true colours

When he picked you up and out of the SUV in Trabzon, he felt nothing. Perhaps some sense of accomplishment as he was one step closer to locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but nothing more. As the initial interrogations continued in a secure location and your balaclava was yanked off by his own hands, a part of him knew he’d get attached when he saw you, in your rawest form  but he quickly pushed that thought away as fast as it appeared in his mind. But it’d creep up every now and then during the experimentation as he’d speak into the microphone and exhale the smoke through his nose as he stared at you through the glass, watching you carefully before dipping his head as he hears you let out a gut-wrenching scream and struggle in the chair, putting out his cigarette and calling it a day.

He’d catch a whiff of your perfume nearby to where he was working in the safehouse. The perfume on your wrists stayed behind on the desk after your leaned over to pass him something or rested your forearms on the desk. The subtle scent of your shampoo and body wash in the bathroom, lingering in the air. He’d inhale deeply and close his eyes, imagining you as his head resting on the back of his chair for a few moments before he stopped himself and his eyes snapped open, making sure nobody was nearby as if he was scared someone could read his thoughts.

A candle you’d left on for him as he worked late into the night once was never forgotten. Adler would relight it to remind himself of you when you were gone on a mission with the others, telling himself it’s just because it smells nice.

A Brick in the Wall: As Bell took photos of Kraus, Russell would glance over at her, watch you paying attention, adjusting the camera lens, sticking your tongue out as the camera shutter clicked and a small smile would creep onto his lips before he looked away and cleared his throat, giving you your next order. God, what was he thinking?

Some things however were just pure protective instinct. Like grabbing your forearm to pull you away from the railing as you stepped up onto to look over the edge of a balcony at night. He needed you alive for the mission of course, no other reason

 Or when he’d tuck his extra magazines into your ammo packs and make sure all your straps and harness were tight enough. Or even holding his arm out and across your chest when he had to hit the brakes hard while driving with a gentle you okay? after a few beats of silence

Or when he’d bought some food and you were out of it after an MK-Ultra session during the early days and he’d give you a little extra without a word to keep your strength up, looking into your eyes briefly as you cried but the guilt was creeping up on him and he’d leave before you sobbed. He’d close the door just as you burst into tears, his hand on the doorknob behind him and he’d sigh deeply, his eyes shut, trying to compose himself before walking off to find Park. They’re just a red. He’d remind himself constantly. But just a kid too…

Desperate Measures: As Belikov let the two of you in and you took out the guards and changed into their uniforms, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances. Before you walked up the stairs, he stopped you and checked you over, head to toe, the expression on his face neutral but his mind was in overdrive. Russell took a step closer and his hands found the bottom of your skirt and tugged on it, pulling it down so it revealed less. A single nod and his lips a thin line before he turned and walked off. He refused to admit he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.

He finds himself a little self conscious. This isn’t like him..since when was Russell motherfuckin’ Adler worried about the way he was perceived by a red of all people? Putting more aftershave on himself, a spray of cologne to mask the smell of cigarettes that had found its way into his clothing after years of the bad habit. A quick check in the mirror to adjust his outfit and hair before pushing the bridge of his sunglasses up and into place

Safe to say, you took him by surprise. He was of course impressed by your combat and cryptography skills as well as endurance during MK-Ultra, thinking it was such a shame you were on the wrong side. Began thinking of what-ifs…

After one particularly gruelling session, you were screaming and refusing to take the pills that Park was giving you to help you sleep, saying they made you want to vomit and the anti-sickness was not doing anything but Park explained that she couldn’t do much about it. Russell heard this from the other side of the door as he walked past your room late at night, telling Sims to source a different medicine he knew of. The next day, he entered your room as you wailed again, thrashing against your cot and he adminstered a dose, barely speaking to you before leaving again but as you clutched his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand before letting go. Your touch overwhelmed him.

When he’d see you hang out and play poker or some board games with the others as he was filing reports and chasing up contacts, a tiny frown would form on his face, he’d start picking at the skin on his lips as he watched them or he’d look down and dust his pants off or fiddle with a pen, anything to distract himself from the green-eyed monster

If he heard you singing a song in the other room, he’d put it on for you in the car without a word spoken, you just staring at Adler as if to say how did you know that?

On one chilly night, you fell asleep in the dark room and Adler stood there in the doorway, looking at you, your breathing steady, face rid of anguish and you looked at peace in the red light. Slowly, he made his way over and draped his jacket round your shoulders, thinking to himself it’s just what any decent person would do. Can’t have his tool catching a cold now…

During stakeouts, Russell would start telling you random facts about himself he’s never told another person, saying to himself you’ll be gone soon anyways, that you were an outsider so that’s why it was easier to talk to you.

This feeling he had only seemed to grow with each mission. Instead of letting the others help you out when injured, he’d grip your shoulder as soon as they got in, steering you towards the nearest stool before anyone had a chance to say anything and command you to sit, treating you like the dog you are while he fetched the supplies.

As the weeks passed, he’d take you to your room and patch you up there, wanting some one-on-one time with you, making casual conversation, half to distract you from the pain and half to suppress the thoughts going round in his mind about being so close to losing you

He made you laugh once or twice and couldn’t stop thinking about it. It sounded even better than when Woods or the other crew members made you laugh and it made him smile to which you pointed out but he stood up and left shortly after, his standard, stoic expression returning to his face

Adler would stay up on a few occasions to make sure you slept, scanning your face as the pills began to take effect, his arms folded as he stood, looming over you, his finger scratching at his arm even though it wasn’t itchy. It was just unease which he consistently pushed down but he noticed he was getting more fidgety when it came to you. Almost like the guilt was eating him from the inside out. He’d take off his watch, place his cigs on the side and settle into a chair, telling himself it’s just for a few minutes but once he did stay the whole night, leaving before the others woke up. Nobody ever knew

If you ever asked about your time together as friends and during Vietnam when you’d having trouble remembering, he’d keep it short and sweet, but every now and then he’d make up something that was what he wished it would have been like. Nothing too out there.

During mission briefings, he’d find himself laying his attention on you the most as he talked, wanting to know you were really listening to him and secretly asking for your input too and once the others had returned to what they were doing before, he’d pull you to the side, asking you if you were okay with the plan and if there’s anything you need to go over. I mean, you were the main star of course so it makes sense but his hand would reach for your upper arm and then retract. Boundaries, Adler…

One thing that killed him though was the fact that you only ever grabbed him out of fear, during MK-Ultra when you didn’t want him to leave, when in agony from a gunshot wound, or just as you dropped off to sleep after he injected your when you were being disobedient. Couldn’t admit he wanted you to grab onto him in desperation as he- Get a grip, Adler! When did he start thinking of you like that?

After Cuba, he felt nothing. No sense of accomplishment yet as he was one step further away from locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but now he was two steps closer to saying goodbye to you for good…

[platoapproved]

[celestialwrites]

╰┈➤ laying in bed with your lover, fluffy prompt list

☆ stolen morning kisses

☆ leaving a trail of rumpled sheets

☆ kissing your lovers neck while they shy away from your morning breath

☆ making suggestive dirty jokes

☆ trailing your fingers against their exposed back

☆ kissing them awake

☆ playing with their hands while you lay on their chest

☆ saying you’ll make breakfast in 5 minutes every 5 minutes but never moving from your position

☆ playing with their hair while they sleep on your chest

☆ stroking your lovers arm to wake them up

☆ confessing love in different languages so they don’t understand

☆ confessing love while they’re tired so they don’t remember

☆ holding them while they sleep talk

☆ placing shoulder kisses while they sleep

☆ giggling while they stir in their sleep

☆ laughing as your pet comes and sits with you guys in bed

☆ waking up to a burnt attempt at making breakfast from your lover, that you both laugh off

☆ making them brush their teeth before kissing you because of their morning breath

☆ waking up to your favourite drink order (they remembered<3)

☆ kissing them as a bribe to keep them in bed

@celestialwrites for more<3

[myokk]

💘

[uhhlifeig]

The Dorm Room - Nov. 23 - word count: 666 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius Black sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the frame so hard his knuckles ached. 

Across the room, Remus stood by the window, stiff and unmoving, his back turned. James paced furiously, his footsteps heavy, while Peter hovered uncertainly, wringing his hands.

The oldest boy felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” The werewolf’s voice was low, sharp, and sudden- worse than if he’d screamed. 

“I- I wasn’t thinking,” he managed, voice cracking.

“No,” Remus snapped, spinning around to face him. His amber eyes burned with anger. “You weren’t. Because you never think, Sirius. You just act, and everyone else has to deal with the fallout.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried again, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for it to-”

“To what?” The dirty blonde cut him off, taking a step closer. “To almost get Snape killed? To put me at risk? What exactly didn’t you mean, Sirius?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the room.

James stopped pacing, turning to glare at him. “Hurt him? You didn’t just hurt him, you betrayed him!”

“I know, I know,” Sirius said, his words tumbling out too fast. “I wasn’t thinking- I was just so angry at Snape, and-”

“Don’t,” Remus interrupted, his voice icy. “Don’t you dare try to justify this.”

“I’m not! I’m not trying to justify it, I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, and I-” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I’m sorry.”

The other boy’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll make it right. Just tell me what to do, Moony. Please.”

“What to do?” Remus repeated, his voice rising. “First, don’t call me that. You don’t deserve to. Second, how about you stop acting like this isn’t who you are?”

Sirius froze, his heart plummeting. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re no different from your family,” The werewolf spat, his voice filled with venom.

The words hit Sirius like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. “I’m not like them.” 

He was trying to convince himself. How pathetic was that?

“Aren’t you? Lashing out, hurting people, thinking the rules don’t apply to you. That’s exactly what they do, isn’t it?”

“I’m not like them,” the noiret repeated, voice wavering.

“Stop saying that,” Remus snapped. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than them when you pull something like this. You don’t get to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending!” Sirius shouted, his voice cracking. “I’m not like them. I’m not.” He whispered the second part to himself, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Remus shook his head, turning away. “You are. They would be proud of you, Heir Black. We're over.”

Sirius staggered back, his legs hitting the bed. He sat down heavily, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

“You don’t get to play the victim here,” James said out of nowhere, his voice sharp.

“I’m not.” the dog animagus said. He looked at Peter, who avoided his gaze, and then back at his ex-lover. “I just- I messed up, okay? I know I messed up, but I’m not like them.”

“You are,” Remus said again, without turning around.

Sirius felt his chest tighten, mind spiraling. 

He hated himself. Of course he did.

He hated the way he always ruined things, the way his anger always got the better of him. Hated the way his ex-boyfriend looked at him now, like he was nothing to him.

“I’ll go,” the oldest boy said suddenly, voice hollow.

Remus didn’t respond.

The silence stretched on, suffocating, until Sirius finally stood and stumbled toward the door. He didn’t know where he was going- he just knew he couldn’t stay there any longer.

“Good riddance,” he heard from his ex-best-friend as the door closed. “I hope he suffers.”

pt. 2, pt. 3

@estellethewriter sorry i havent fed you in a while but you can have a Prank fic as payment!

[lorenuh]

imagine being the volturi's personal witch. cw // death, description of burning bodies & murder, supernatural themes.

"THE MORTALS ARE CRUEL, EVEN TO THEIR OWN." the bored, melodic voice of jane volturi is heard as four vampires trek through the blood—stained cemetery. there were no bodies, just the stench of death & the smell of burning flesh still lingering in the air. they had gotten word——a plea of help just hours earlier, in the form of a charred piece of paper floating down in front of the vampire kings' thrones.

witches were sacred to the volturi, their magic is what created the vampire gift laid upon them centuries ago, so they protected them. helped them when they could. they were only the enemy if they went against them, and this coven hadn't been such in the slightest.

"it's a shame, sister. we could have had them in our debt." alec volturi spoke, crimson eyes taking in the scene. it was quiet, eerily so. the witch—hunters had done a number on this coven. rang them through with bullets before burning their corpses to the point where their bones became ash so no other witches could consecrate them & gain their power. "should we continue, or leave?" demetri muses, taking joy in being able to leave the castle, even if it wasn't a tracking mission. jane hums, walking forward still with the grace of a vampire. "we will see if there are any survivors, or if the witch—hunters still roam." the four being engulfed into silence yet again, until they pick up on the pitter patter of a heartbeat. alone, in the middle of the cemetery. a hunter would not be alone.

the four vampires speed to the heart of the tombs, noticing a figure stepping over the ash that became the witches. this was the sole survivor, that much was known from the way they carefully made their way around the remains, how they look at the dead.

"i warned them." they utter, before turning to look at the vampires. "i warned them all, but no—one listens to the one burdened with prophecy. i'm afraid your long trip was for nothing." jane tsks at the witch's statement, stepping forward, surveying the scene as well as looking them up and down. "i believe we came and found exactly what we were looking for. albeit surrounded by death & decay." the small vampire grins at the witch, who doesn't look surprised in the least. "aro would want to speak with you." the girl continues, stepping forward again. "but, if you are what you say, i believe you already know that."

the witch tilts their head, eyes narrowing slightly, "you will find that walking around ignorant is better than walking around as a know—it—all, especially since the future is everchanging." they're unafraid in the presence of four vampires, knowing that whilst they could kill them, they wouldn't. not when their visions had told them that they would be incredibly valuable.

[ganondoodle]

"its FICTION though, and anything in fiction is not real, has no effect and doesnt affect anyone real ever!! you cant criticize this piece of media for its repetition of old harmful tropes bc it doesnt matter!! its not real LOL can you not separate whats real and what isnt??"

and

"this piece of fiction is not morally pure!! something that is definitely a real and tangible thing to define and totally doesnt depend on whatever i think it means! if you like this thing i have deemed unpure you are automatically a reprehensible person!!"

are two mindsets that are both wrong and yet somehow still coexist and im frankly tired of it