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paingoes · 4 months ago

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Aegean Seas

Destroyer AU

long awaited roleswap AU. featuring royal delta and (defective!) living weapon paris

delta still has some psychic ability in this AU, but only a moderate amount. its nothing to write home about.

paris doesn’t have any powers, just an incredible capacity for violence.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whumper, carewhumper vibes, institutionalized slavery, blood, biting, choking, electrocution, choking, suggestive language, background lady whump, clowns, hidden injury, past abuse, past trauma, PTSD triggers, emotional whump, scars, body image issues, war mention, alcohol, non-con touching (nonsexual), conditioning, magical exhaustion, seizure, kinda fluffy?)

“You don’t have to look so upset about it.” Delta twirling the pearl earring around within the pierced fin. The golden bangles of his wrist clicked together lightly at the motion — and all the silver and sea-glass ornaments he wore jingled in time with the movement of the airship. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he said it, and they were not the only ones in the cabin, but he understood it was meant for him.

“I’m not upset,” Paris said. At least, not as much as he could’ve been.

Far below, the cerulean sea reflected the sun so that the water itself was blinding. Foam was gathering along the coast — a sure sign of rough waters. On the horizon, the embassy building jutted out from the cape.

The ship lowered itself in a hover just by the surface of the beach. Paris slid the exterior door open. He hopped the remaining few feet onto the sand right before the craft finally landed. By way of reflex, he extended one hand back to Delta, who took it without thanks as he stepped down.

The other members of the court soon followed, a handful of advisors and scribes sent to keep the time. With a home advantage, all support had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Paris shifted carefully in between them, eventually settling a few steps behind Delta and a bit off to the right, which he knew was the best sightline he’d get without drawing too much attention to himself.

The path up to the embassy was lined with basalt — and a pretty long walk uphill, considering how many of its visitors were geriatric. At the peak, he again pulled the entrance doors open, taking a cautious look in through the entryway. He felt the familiar weight of the blade tucked up into his sleeve, though he had no real expectation of using it. He held the door open for Delta alone, but deigned to let the rest of the congregation pass through in the same way. He stole a last glance out at the countryside before he pulled the door shut tight.

At the front, Delta’s eyes flitted up in the same clouded concentration he always fell into before the meetings. He refused to take notes, so dedicated to committing absolutely everything to memory. He played all the information back like rolls of film. He waved vaguely at the prompting of his advisors, but it was clear he was somewhere else.

He only came to when they reached the center. It was a large room, polished, and most everything in it was the soft color of sandalwood. The painted monarch sat perched within the straight-backed chair. His own court spread out in a half-moon around him, all their papers all ready to go. Paris only caught a glimpse of them through the doorway, but the glimpse alone was enough to make him spiteful.

“Watch the entrance,” Delta whispered to him just before they passed through the entryway. Paris nodded and stepped off to the side of the door.

Soon he was alone in the large hallway. The building was old and its halls were echoing, though not quite as bad as the castle. He leaned back against the wall, wishing he’d brought the cigarettes with him. He passed the butterfly knife idly in between his hands, having no better way to occupy the time. He’d gotten good enough at it that he didn’t even need to look while he did. His eyes still scanned the corridors in the way they’d been trained, sizing up each impotent official or underpaid clerk whose heels tapped down the linoleum tiles. There was no real threat. Nothing ever happened.

The jingling bells warned of her approach before she came into view. He sighed, slipped the knife back into hiding. Jo popped out from the doorway. She was quicker than he would’ve thought, skipping out a few paces before she even turned to see him. When she did, her painted face contorted into an express of unadulterated mirth. She giggled — and the bells of her hat jingled again as she flipped over to stand on her head.

“I was wondering where they were keeping you this time.” Her voice was raised in faux cheeriness.

Paris watched her carefully — he couldn’t not. The rapid movements set all his nerves on edge. He was sure she knew that. He was sure it was why she did it. He didn’t answer.

She rolled over into a backbend and let her hands guide her up. When she was upright, she was not more than a few inches from his face. She was shorter than him, the difference exaggerated by the heels of his boots and the flatness of her stupid pointy shoes. She rose up on tiptoes to meet his eyes. He could see the glitter against her sclera.

“No dogs in the house of law, eh?” She stretched one leg up over her head. Her movements continued so fluid and so completely uninfluenced by anything she was saying, as if they were completely different hemispheres of her brain.

“I heard that when the neophytes drop out, they give ‘em a new name and put ‘em out on the street. Painted silver! They spend the rest of their days doing tricks for spare change. Is that true?”

No one ever dropped out. He didn’t answer. She did a back walkover, her speech uninterrupted.

“Or I heard what they’re really doing now is selling all the new grads to Crimson’s West Front,” she paused for dramatic effect, “There’s a famine there, you know. They need new meat!”

She cackled. He stiffened slightly, because that part was probably true. Even if they weren’t getting eaten, a lot of the kids did get bought out for the war effort, and were given no arms when they arrived. They were getting pushed into the meat grinder, literally or figuratively.

She seemed disappointed with his lack of outward reaction. As she rolled onto the floor again, she laid there on her stomach for a second, kicking her legs back and forth.

“You don’t have to worry about that though. I bet he’s nice to you,” She grinned impishly, pushing herself up into another handstand. “I hear he’s nice to everyone.”

She erupted into a laughing fit at that. His eye twitched. He felt the weight of the blade in his sleeve. She looked over to see his expression and her smile widened. She cartwheeled towards him, again landing only inches apart from him.

“People on High Street got a name for him. What was it again? The something wonder? You’ve heard it before, right? You had to. You spend enough time with that whore to-“

He threw her into the ground before she could finish, the last synapse snapping within him.

The sudden violence got a forced, clipped laugh from her. She did a back roll before he could strike again, sitting up on her knees before she swept one of his legs out. He dropped, but it didn’t slow him down. Nothing could have. He still drove his fist full force into her jaw, once, twice, about as many times as it would take to break it off.

She didn’t let him get that far. Jo was stronger than she looked and just as quick as he was. She was not downed easily. When he pinned her, she slipped. When her nails reached up to scratch out his eyes, he bit down upon her fingers hard enough to break them. Her blood gushed into his mouth. It was familiar. He didn’t even stop to spit it out.

She elbowed him in the face at the same time she drove her knee up into his stomach — all sharp angles. It was hard enough to knock him off of her and onto his side. Blood poured from his nose. It splattered on the floor right beside her own. She crawled forward on her bloodied fingers, trying to get even. He forced himself back upwards, lunging at her again. He became vaguely aware of a commotion behind him.

“Stop,” Delta said tiredly.

Paris did not stop. No fucking chance. Not now. She was still moving, still breathing, still fucking laughing. His hands closed around the undulations of her throat.

“Stop,” Delta repeated.

Blood dripped thick and hot from the both of them. Johanna twisted beneath him, her eyes shining like stars. He wanted them barren. He wanted her to stop moving.

“Stop,” Delta said it with no more emphasis than the first two times, but he’d closed the distance between them now. The prongs of the choke collar dug into Paris’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

He backed up on his knees, leaning backwards into the touch, the only way he could loosen the chain. But for all the slack the proximity created, Delta only pulled it higher, tighter. No air reached him, even when he’d stopped, even when he had stilled. It kept going. The panic gripped him immediately, tempered only by experienced. Delta wouldn’t kill him. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and as soon as he started to think that he would, the chain released. Paris gasped shakily, collapsed down onto his hands and knees. One hand pawed desperately at his throat. Small beads of blood had formed there in the collar’s outline.

He felt the pressure of the chain being picked up and winced, but it did not tighten again.

“Sorry about him.” Delta frowned. “And…sorry about your…clown.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s had worse.”

And sure enough, Jo sat up again, the wounds he’d given her already half-healed. Her stupid fucking hat jingled as she shook her head clear. The sound was enough to re-trigger the prey drive. He lunged.

Sharp and course electricity ran straight through his body, aborting the attack before it could even begin. All his muscles locked up. He’d built up a tolerance for the dryer sparks, but being tased was rare. It was a different story. He knew the shock only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds dragged out like years. Delta didn’t even say anything, the tips of his fingers retreating from the raw skin of his neck.

“Here girl,” the monarch snapped their fingers.

The clown stood up in her wet clothes, skipping happily back into the employ. Paris kept his eyes trained on the empty space in front of him, the blood spots on the floor. He heard their footsteps retreating. The hallway was silent. One of Delta’s fingers was still hooked around the circle of his collar.

“Clean it up,” he said. Paris nodded. The chain went slack and he was alone in the hall once again.

“She started it-“

“She is a jester,” Delta cut him off. “She was doing her job. If she didn’t have that healing factor, you would have killed her.”

His eye twitched. Killed her. Kill her. It flared up within him again, without any target. He dug his nails into his wrist to keep from something worse. The anger burning so hot inside of him he thought he might just be sick from it. She’d done it on purpose. She’d got him on purpose, but it shouldn’t have worked.

“You weren’t there,” he said, the ache of defensiveness rising in his voice. “You don’t know what she was doing.”

“Did she draw on you?” Delta asked, sounding bored. He already knew the answer.

Paris’s face flushed anyway. He gave no reply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Some small satisfaction crept into his voice, then faded quickly into irritation. “You didn’t have any impetus. Nobody was in any danger until you snapped. And now they know that if they so much as wave a flag in front of you, you act like a rabid fucking animal.”

“I was defending you, you ungrateful fuck!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Delta looked up in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Paris amended quickly, retaining at least some sense of self-preservation. He covered his mouth with his hand in a a belated effort to silence himself. It wasn’t enough. He’d been on thin ice before, but that could not be tolerated. They both knew it.

“Why are you like this?” Delta asked. He didn’t say it as an insult. He asked like he really wanted to know.

That only made it worse.

The inner courtyard of the Aegean palace was dense with marble and wildflowers. He always thought the statues looked out of place among the foliage, the vines creeping up the legs of the gods as if they’d already been forgotten. The last of the day’s light was held up in the violet clouds. Beneath them, the walls were doused in the cool blue of dusk. The air was warm and wet.

Paris went without prompting, without needing to be forced. He pulled the shirt off of his back, shivering a bit as the scars that already laid there were exposed to the open air. He knelt down by the post. The guard shackled his wrists to the side of it. He rested his forehead against the wood, curling and uncurling his fingers. It made it more tolerable.

He heard the whip crack against the ground as the guard made practice shots. Delta sat off to the side, one elbow propped up against the aluminum garden table, watching without much interest. He’d never get his hands dirty doing it himself. He wouldn’t even know how.

That idiot guard didn’t know much better. The first strike came down unpracticed, landing diagonally along his shoulder and against the old scars. He pressed his head further into the post, preferring the pressure he felt there to the hot pain that was forming along his back.

It only grew. It layered. It would’ve layered already, in just a single beating, but his body had years worth of them just waiting to be reignited. The whip dredged up the old pain easily. It didn’t split the skin, but he could remember when it had. The thought alone made him dizzy. The pain quickly became all he could focus on. It kept going.

“Please stop,” he said, beginning to get truly nervous now. It’d been going on too long and was pushing up against the bounds of what he could tolerate. His hands turned over anxiously in the solid iron of the manacles. He couldn’t have gotten out even if he tried.

Delta held a hand up. The whip temporarily ceased. He stood up from the table, electrifying the air as he got closer.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Hm?” Delta asked, leaning down a little, “Stop?”

He could tell that he was feeling vindictive. Delta’s voice took on that soft, too-patient tone it always had when he was furious.

“Paris, when I told you to stop, what did you do?” he chided.

“…Kept doing it,” he muttered miserably into the post. He hated when he got like this.

“So you do understand.”

“It hurts.” He kept his voice soft, somewhat whiny. It was calculated, but he didn’t have to force it. It didhurt.

“It’s supposed to. I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just listen the first time. You don’t have anyone to blame for this but yourself.”

There was no making him understand. Delta had no concept of what hurt meant — of how much was too much. His own body was unblemished. He’d never bled for anything.

For as long as he was standing there, the punishment couldn’t continue. They wouldn’t dare swing the whip when Delta was in line of it, god forbid. He took the break for what it was, a few needed seconds for him to catch his breath. Delta seemed to catch onto what he was doing, taking a few steps back. He turned back to the guard.

“Finish up. Gag him if he talks again. He knows better,” he instructed.

He paced out of the courtyard, retreating back inside the castle walks. He never liked to see the aftermath, either.

Delta had been sixteen years old on the eve of his first and only assassination attempt. It had been a failure, in the sense that he had not died from it. It had also been a failure in the sense that the assailant had not even gotten close. 36,000 volts ran straight through his circulatory system before the knife could even fall.

Delta had been uninjured — and in the end, unshaken. The King and Queen were not. They had no other heir.

Paris came as a knee-jerk reaction, dredged up out of whatever trench they’d found him in. He could play nice, when he needed to. He knew exactly what was on the line.

He was passable. The King bought him alone and unannounced. He’d complain for years afterwards that he’d been ripped off.

Paris had glanced up when he was first made to kneel in the throne room. His first impression was that Delta looked awfully calm for someone who had just survived an assassination attempt.

Delta was unimpressed by it, and had been unimpressed by everything since.

Almost everything. Kitty glowed blue in the light of the lounge. It was Delta’s favorite room. in the palace. It had been even since he was little. The walls were all made of glass, with thousands of gallons of seawater lying just behind them. Whole shoals of fish reflected silver onto the dark floor. The sequins of Kitty’s slit dress had the same effect.

She was wearing a collar. He didn’t know why he found this so funny. He guessed it could be considered a choker, if he wanted to be generous, but with the ears and the tail, “collar” was the first word that came to mind.

Hers wouldn’t choke her. If he wanted her to, he’d have to do it himself.

She draped herself over the arm of his chair. Kitty was growing into herself so beautifully. Her eyes still lit up at the sight of the fish swimming, just the way they had when they were kids, and he knew she wanted nothing more than to break straight through the glass to get at them. But everything else about her now shone with such a honed sophistication.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her eyes widening with concern.

“What?” He blinked. He hadn’t meant to.

But sure enough, a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose just as soon as she got close to him. Delta blushed, a pale blue hue rising up beneath his freckles. It came as a betrayal.

“You’re so predictable.” She almost smiled, pressing a pink handkerchief to his face before the blood could drip onto the soft sheen of his clothes.

The air around him crackled so badly both their hair stood on end.

Apollo tread into the kitchen with the golden fringes of his clothing catching all the light. He dragged the kitchen chair out and fell lightly into the seat. He made a soft sound of surprise as he found Paris leaning back against the edge of the counter.

“You have to stay up as long as he does?” Apollo asked. He leaned forward against the marble table, rocking the chair from side to side.

“I’m not supposed to sleep at all,” Paris responded flatly, only half joking. It was a bad look for him to be sleeping while Delta was awake, in the same way it was a bad look for him to be sleeping in. That left a very small window for him to get any rest at all.

Apollo grimaced in sympathy. He placed the empty glass down on the counter. Wordlessly, Paris took it to refill.

“Oh, I didn’t- Is that even your job?” Apollo asked, a blush rising to his face.

Paris shrugged, pouring the last of the bottle out into the glass. He slid it back across the table.

“You should let me fix that for you,” Apollo offered.

Paris yanked his hand back as violently as if he’d been burned. He thought it was invisible. It hadn’t healed that wrong. It still worked. It wasn’t an impediment. He clutched it to his chest protectively, shielding his wrist with his other hand.

Apollo gave him a knowing look. He stirred the drink idly. The ice made a soft noise as it clattered against the edges of the glass.

“They didn’t splint that for you in training?” He tilted his head.

Paris looked down. He tentatively loosened the grip on his wrist. It’d just been a fall. He’d gotten knocked backwards and he’d needed to stop himself from cracking his skull onto the floor. He’d done it wrong. The wrist had taken the brunt of the impact. He kept it in a splint at night — and when he was alone — but he couldn’t ever wear it around the trainers. He made use with the bandages instead, prayed everyday that medical didn’t come see him. In time, the bones had stitched themselves back together. Not enough, apparently.

Apollo was still staring at him.

“…It’s disqualifying,” he said softly.

“Ah,” Apollo leaned his elbow on the counter. He pressed one finger up against his lips. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Paris looked at him gratefully. Apollo took another sip of the drink, seeming to study the swirling patterns of the table’s surface. After a while, he added:

“He wouldn’t mind, though.”

Paris frowned. He didn’t think so either. That wasn’t the point. He couldn’t have his wrist be unusable for a full six weeks. He could not stand to be any more unusable than he already was.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He never would. The silence endured. Apollo shrugged, taking the drink back with him as he ducked out of the bright kitchen. Paris drew the sleeve of his shirt all the way past his fingertips.

ponyboy: heyyyyy

headrooms: holy shit

headrooms: i thought you fucking died

ponyboy: nope :-)

ponyboy: just busy yk how it is

headrooms: fuck

headrooms: dont scare me like that

ponyboy: sorryyyyy

ponyboy: how have you been

headrooms: im chill

headrooms: i got beat up by a jester last week

ponyboy: lmfao

ponyboy: dude shut up your job is cushy as shit

ponyboy: you wanna know what they had me doing last week????

headrooms: uphill both ways in the snow

ponyboy: i was pushing whole barrels full of petroleum and poison uphill in the coldest day of winter. they didnt even give me gloves until my fingers were already falling off!!!

ponyboy: hey fuck you

headrooms: lol

headrooms: are you good though like actually

ponyboy: ya i mean

ponyboy: its definitely heating up here but we’re still holding a good position

ponyboy: they kinda treat me like shit but they also dont want to lose me so im not being sent for the real suicide missions yet <3

headrooms: thats good i guess

headrooms: is vi chill

ponyboy: omg no shes been on her fuckin period lately

ponyboy: bitch mode

headrooms: lmfao mine too

headrooms: i swear its the full moon

ponyboy: IT LITERALLY IS IDK WHAT HER PROBLEM IS

ponyboy: ughhhhhh

headrooms: i miss you

headrooms: like

headrooms: all the time

ponyboy: i miss you too !

ponyboy: ill let you know if im ever in your corner of the galaxy! i want to see you again so badly <3

Paris winced. If her people ever ended up in his corner of the galaxy, that was a bad, bad sign. Selfishly, he wished for it anyway.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly slid the phone back into his pocket. He was not quick enough to get rid of the cigarette. Delta paced out onto the balcony in a whirlwind. Little bouts of lighting lit up by his eyes.

He plucked the cigarette straight out of his mouth. His other hand smacked hard against the side of Paris’s skull.

“Ow,” Paris winced, though it didn’t really hurt. Because he wanted Delta to feel bad. Or because he knew he wanted to hear it. Whichever it was that day. Whichever worked.

“Those are my fucking lungs,” he hissed. The guilt trip hadn’t worked. Paris shrugged.

“Sorry.”

The apology worked better. Delta’s body language relaxed some as he snubbed the cigarette out on the palace wall. He didn’t ask for the rest of the pack. Smoking was fair game, really. It was getting caught doing it that was the issue.

“Who were you texting?” he asked mildly.

He hadn’t hid the phone quick enough. He tried to play it off.

“Just Lorry.” He looked down.

“Oh.” Delta’s expression seemed to soften, almost imperceptibly. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered automatically. His heart quickened right after. “…Why? Did you-“

“No,” Delta cut off that train of thought before it could really begin. “No news. I was just wondering.”

“She’s fine, then,” he confirmed. As much as she could be.

It was only then that Delta actually looked guilty. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t his fault. Lorelai had been purchased months before Paris had. It was a miracle he was even allowed to stay in touch with her. He knew most of the program’s graduates weren’t half as lucky.

He still wanted the cigarette. He leaned back against the wall, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth when it was gone. Delta didn’t leave after that, the way he’d expected him to. He pulled himself up onto the railing with a kind of stupid abandon.

The air carried the scent of salt from over the ocean. Down on the beach, two kids flew a white kite right above the waves, blissfully unaware of the peacetime’s fragility.

“Keep?” Paris asked, holding up the alligator skin boots. They’d been dyed a shade of ruby red.

“Absolutely not.” Delta shook his head frantically, “Toss. Don’t even tell anyone I had those.”

“I thought they were nice,” Paris muttered.

He tossed them into the trash pile anyway. He crossed back over the length of the massive closet, pulling another bag off the shelf. This was absolutely, definitely not his job. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He liked anything that did not make him feel like a total waste of space.

His knees hit the ground before he really knew what he was doing. It was a better instinct, though, probably the least harmful out of all the ones he could not control. Delta looked up in surprise, only realizing what had just happened as the King stepped in through the doorway. Delta’s attention recentered on his father. They both acted as like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t you have a dispatch to be filling out?” Ulysses leaned against the doorway, surprisingly casual in the company of his only son. It was a reprimand, but his tone was still playful.

“I’m fuckin’ working on it, jeez,” Delta snapped.

“Doesn’t look like it,” the King glanced around the room. Paris flinched a bit as his gaze passed over him, but it didn’t linger long.

“Oh!” The queen Andromeda appeared in the entrance before Delta could even respond, looking excitedly at the gown Delta held in one hand. “I’ve always loved that dress! You never wear it!”

“Oh my god,” Delta said, “Can you leave me alone.”

She rushed forward anyway, squishing his face with one hand as she kissed his cheek.

“Mom!” He blushed terribly.

She smiled, knowing exactly how much she was embarrassing him. He shoved her lightly back towards the door and shut it quickly before either of them could protest. He slammed his head against it once it was closed.

“You can get up,” Delta rolled his eyes. Paris did, rigidly so, in the same mechanical way as when he’d gone down. He blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back to the present.

“They’re so fucking annoying,” Delta muttered to no one in particular, wiping his face off.

“Your parents are nice,” Paris protested weakly in their defense.

“He beat you with a 2x4,” Delta reminded him.

Paris shrugged. The King could’ve done much worse. He’d snapped at Delta that time — not on purpose. Never on purpose. It was only the nerves firing wrong, the signals getting twisted. He couldn’t help it. But it’d been grounds for immediate termination. Paris got off easy, and had moved on from it fairly quickly. Delta still held a grudge against his father for it.

“Keep?” Delta asked this time, desperate to change the subject. Paris guessed he was glad, too. Something in him ached awfully whenever they were around.

“Keep,” he affirmed.

It was awful. They had to hold court later, had to hold it in ten fucking minutes, and his heart felt like it was about to explode if he didn’t kill something. He paced uncontrollably, snapping at the air no matter how hard he tried to stop it. Delta watched idly from the throne. Not angry. Just visibly unpleased with it all.

“Come here,” he called finally.

Paris flinched. It was not a request. He tried anyway.

“I don’t…want you to…” he protested weakly.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.”

Paris reluctantly approached, kneeling beside the throne. Delta tilted his head, the tiara slipping down a bit as he did so. A soft blush rose to Paris’s face. He pulled his shirt off, then lowered further onto the floor, laying down flat on his stomach. He rested his head against his arm, burying his face. He heard Delta rising up from the throne and settling cross-legged onto the floor beside him.

Delta made that same soft, dissatisfied noise he always did when he saw the old whip scars all along his back. Not his work. The lashes he gave didn’t leave a mark. He didn’t like it when they did. Paris winced.

They were ugly. Paris knew that if the King had caught a single look at the lattice, he’d have never been bought in the first place. Because it was defacement. Because they were ugly. The thought echoed in Paris’s brain every time he caught a glimpse. It was pure vanity. He was a weapon, he knew it didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have even cared about that kind of thing. But he did. He hated them.

“So tense,” Delta murmured from above him. His hands kneaded into the ridges along Paris’s spine – that strange, analgesic touch. Paris could feel his muscles softening involuntarily, the tension in them forcefully removed.

The urchin spine slid into the center of his shoulder blades. He bit his arm to keep from gasping.

It wasn’t the toxin alone that did it. He knew that because he’d pricked himself with it once, just out of curiosity, and he had felt almost nothing at all. It was the way he used it.

He didn’t always hate it; sometimes it was almost nice. It was nicer when they did it alone, when he wasn’t forced to take it, exposed on the floor of the throne room. It was viscerally unpleasant to experience against his will. He did not like Delta having that much control over his body. He didn’t want to calm down.

The spine entered again, and he calmed anyway.

It went on like that until all the rigid tension seeped out through his skin like poison, then a while afterwards too. It was gentle, despite everything. He could’ve cried.

“Better?”

He nodded, though he really just felt hazy. He didn’t think he could even hold a sword anymore. The calm felt intrusive. He was sure he couldn’t move at all, almost limp in the aftermath. He didn’t need to, though. Delta pulled him up a little, trying to straighten him out. He found his position again, on his knees.

He pulled the shirt back on, roughly. His arms had gone numb; it took so much more effort than it had to take off. He shifted, readjusting so that he was facing the rest of the room this time. It took so much effort just to sit upright then. He felt high.

“Good boy,” Delta said, about a half second before the doors opened. He was only saying it to be mean, but in the moment, Paris couldn’t bring himself to care.

Delta yanked his hand away from his face just before Paris could snap it off. Paris hissed in frustration, falling abruptly to the ground. He pounded his fists against the tile. It was all he could do to not fucking kill him.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” He hissed out through gritted teeth. It was wrong. He was making it worse for himself. He had no fucking right to be talking to him like that.

He couldn’t help it. He felt like he was going to scream.

Delta watched impassively.

“It’s getting worse,” Delta said. There was real concern in his voice.

Paris pressed his forehead to the ground, curling up. Anything else.

“I know it’s getting worse,” he growled.

Delta started to bend down, which was the worst thing he could’ve done.

“Get away,” Paris warned. For fucking once, Delta actually listened, taking a few cautious steps back.

It took ten whole minutes for him to get back to a state where the prey drive wasn’t waiting two inches beneath the surface. He sat up wearily. Exhausted. Fucking embarrassed.

Delta’s eyes were wide, but then, they always were. The rest of his expression revealed nothing at all.

“You need to figure that out,” he announced quietly.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Paris buried his face in his hands. “You know I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“That isn’t going to matter to them and you know it.” His voice was soft. Almost sympathetic. “And don’t talk to me like that,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Delta…” Paris whined into his hands. It was an undisguised plea. As if the way he was talking was what mattered right now.

“I’m serious. Don’t.” The plea went unanswered. If anything, his voice hardened. Paris watched with some small horror as all the patience seemed to bleed out of him. As if he could afford to lose a single ally.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Figure it out,” Delta said with such sincere urgency that it seemed like now was his turn to beg. He stormed off, unwilling to let anyone else get the last word in.

Paris picked himself up off the ground and put his fist through the nearest wall.

No matter what happened that day, he still came crying in the night like a little kid.

Paris flinched a bit as he was awoken, but not for very long. He guessed he should’ve been used to it by now. Delta stood over him, tugging at his sleeve impatiently, wordless. His eyes shone like beacons in the darkness of the bedroom. His hair was down. He looked so young when he was like this. His look was all pleading.

Paris sighed, letting himself be roused from the bed. He just barely had time to grab the sword before he was dragged out into the hallway. He followed Delta all the way up the stairs, all the way up to his bedroom. He could hear the water trickling well before he entered.

His parents really did spoil him. Delta’s room was probably the most expensive part of the entire palace. Water rushed down from the ceiling in an artificial waterfall, landing into the koi pond that took up a whole quarter of the room. All the rest of the room was crystalline, opalescent. Absolutely cluttered with anything that would shine.

Paris didn’t roll his eyes at the giant seashell that held Delta’s mattress. He’d seen it enough times that it had lost its novelty. He didn’t expect anything less.

“Watch the door,” he begged.

Paris nodded. He knew the drill. He sat down on the floor by Delta’s bed while the sheathed sword rested in his lap. He wouldn’t need it. He knew he wouldn’t need it. Delta was just scared.

Delta crawled up into the bed, arranging himself carefully for the meditation. The low drone of electricity began to fill the room. Channeling again. All the stars had aligned for it.

“παρακαλῶ,” Delta muttered beneath his breath. “παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ, παρακαλῶ…”

The incantation began shortly after that. The hair on the back of Paris’s neck stood up. He kept his eyes on the door. He didn’t like to watch.

He’d learned to tune out the rambling, for the most past. He knew Delta didn’t like it when people overheard — and he only let Paris do it out of necessity. It was fine. He didn’t understand any of the Greek. It was only the rapid, manic way he spoke that really scared him. Hushed and quick and ancient. It felt right to avert his eyes for it. It was something he had no business witnessing.

His eye twitched a little bit as he realized just how loud the incantation was growing behind him. The room was getting brighter. He got the awful feeling he always did when he felt lightning was about to strike. It was getting bad this time. It was getting worse than he could ever remember it being.

He turned around.

It was about as bad as he imagined. The light burned and radiated off of him, bright enough to be blinding. Delta was definitely seizing beneath it all. His eyes were shut tight like the power was painful. His hands clutched at the blanket. Paris realized with horror that the bedding was turning blue from all the blood that then dripped from his mouth and his eyes.

“Fuck,” Paris muttered beneath his breath.

He should have known better than to wake a sleepwalker.

He regretted it as soon as he touched him. For a minute, he thought he’d really gone blind. The pain exploded in his arm as he was thrown back against the wall. His own body seized with the residual electricity. He gasped, crumbling down into a heap onto the soft floor.

“What the fuck did you do?” Delta coughed up blood onto the floor. Blood or tears poured from his eyes. In all likelihood, it was both. He wiped at them idly, not seeming to be in any particular hurry. It wasn’t like he’d be able to get all of it off with his hands.

He stumbled up from the bed — and immediately fell onto the floor. He crawled the rest of the way over to the koi pond, scooping the water up with his hands to remove the rest of the blood.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” he repeated, even angrier now.

“You were seizing.” Paris gasped. His arm hurt badly enough that he thought it might be broken. He couldn’t tell. He was still mostly blind.

“I told you not to interrupt,” Delta pressed his forehead onto the stone. He couldn’t even stand.

“You’re pushing it too far,” Paris said. It was all he said. It was all he needed to.

“Shut up,” Delta warned.

“You’re pushing it too far,” he repeated, sing-song.

“Shut the fuck up!” Delta stood up again. Paris knew he meant to hit him, meant to fight him, and suddenly that was what was happening.

“Oh god damn it, you fucking moron.” Paris blocked his fists with his arms. It hurt a little bit, but not nearly enough to incapacitate. He pushed Delta off with zero effort, which only seemed to piss him off more.

Delta growled, stumbling to his feet. He marched over to the bedside table, pulled out what Paris recognized belatedly as a fucking muzzle.

“Wait.” He tensed up, still not having risen off the floor. “Wait, wait, wait, chill-“

Delta fell messily to his knees, trying to secure it onto him. This time, Paris actually did fight. He caught his wrists. He hated that thing so much. It was the middle of the fucking night, he’d never be able to sleep with it on. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been trying to help.

“Stop,” he pleaded while he still had the ability to. “Come on. Stop. Please.”

Delta sighed in defeat. He dropped the muzzle to the floor — and let himself fall to it a few seconds later. He mumbled something in Greek.

“I’m tired,” he muttered into the carpet. His mouth was still bleeding.

Paris stood up, with a lot of effort, but he was still in better shape that Delta was. He picked him up with his uninjured arm. It wasn’t difficult. Delta was light. He wouldn’t have won the fight he’d tried to start. Paris pushed him back onto the bed, letting him collapse there.

“On your side,” Paris reminded him. Delta readjusted onto his side so that the blood wouldn’t asphyxiate him.

“Fucking goodnight, I guess,” Paris muttered, picking his sword back up from the ground. He picked the muzzle up too, placing it back in the drawer. Should’ve just thrown the damn thing out.

“Stay?” Delta asked.

“Yeah, think I’m good on that.” Paris started to walk out the door.

“Stay.” It was an entreaty, now. Paris groaned. He walked back, collapsing onto the other side of the bed.

“Not all night. You cry in your sleep. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this.”

“So do you,” Delta muttered in reply, already half-asleep.

Paris shrugged. The waterfall was quiet and reassuring. He could stay for that, if nothing else.

~~~

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @a-formless-whumper

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imjustapoorwayfaringgeek · 1 month ago

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Moonbeam 🌙✨

Otayuri Week Day 7 - Cuddle

#OtayuriWeek2025 #Content Warning: Non-Sexual Nudity #Content Warning: Suggestive (?)#Prompt: Cuddling #fanart #fan art #yuri on ice #yoi #my art.#yuri plisetsky #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky x otabek altin #otayuri #yuri on ice fanart #wanted this one to mirror the first one

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puppetmaster13u · 1 year ago

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Gosh I am so freaking tempted to write/draw a DCxDPxPokemon crossover.

Like I just want Danny and Damian to be friends with their lil creachur buddies. And like, pokemon not just in battles. Like Jason having a pokemon trained to help him out of panic attacks, Bruce having an emotional support pokemon, etc

I just want to write some found family with all of them honestly.

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noh07 · 3 months ago

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list of mixed name ideas (nov 5, 2024)

in this list, there's any type of names (mostly for english-speaking people though): typical first names, noun names, mythology names, etc.

i sorted them into three categories: androgynous, feminine and masculine.

if you have more ideas of names for trans folks, writers, etc, just lemme know! (Can also be not-so-cool names for the writers, we need them for the asshole side characters :3)

i update the list every time I have a lot of new name suggestions. this is not the newest version, but you can find it under the tag #updated name list on my profile.

(alphabetical list with 712 mixed names under the cut)

--- androgynous ---

Addie/Eddie

Aki

Alex

Alexis

Alli/Allie/Ally

Am/Em

Amethyst

Ares

Ari

Artemis

Ash

Asher

Aster

Azure

Basil

Beluga

Bennie/Benny

Bermuda

Bev

Beverly

Billie

Blair/Blaire

Calypso

Caramel

Cat

Cave

Celeste

Charlie

Chrissy

Coco

Crimson

Crow

Diamond

Edie

Eli

Ellori/Ellory

Emerald

Emerson

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Evie

Finn

Forest/Forrest

Frances/Francis

Garnet

Gem

Goldie

Gray/Grey

Hayden

Hunter

Indigo

Jackie/Jacky

Jade

Jamie

Jess

Jessie

Jupiter

Lark

Lenny

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Lou

Louie

Mag

Maggot

Mars

Mauve

Max

Meadow

Mercury

Mika

Miko

Mizu

Moss

Neptune

Noah

Nori

Nyx

Ollie

Onyx

Opal

Paris

Quinn

Rafa

Rain/Raine

Raven

Reg

Remi

Remu

Robin

Rocky

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Sage

Saturn

Shilo/Shiloh

Silver/Sylver

Sky/Skye

Snow

Val

Venus

Vin

Vinny/Vinnie

Wilson

Wither

--- feminine ---

Abby

Abigail

Adelaide

Adeline

Agatha

Aileen/Eileen

Aimee/Amy

Alana

Alena

Alessia

Alexa

Alexia

Alexandra

Alice

Alissa

Alli/Allie/Ally

Alura

Amalia

Amber

Amelia

Amelie

Amethyst

Amity

Andromeda

Anela

Angela

Angelina

Angeline

Angie

Anika/Annika

Anisa

Anita

Anna

Ann/Anne

Annie

Anastasia

Andrea/Andreea

Antheia

Arabella

Artemis

Ashley

Astra

Atlanta

Audrey

Aurora

Autumn

Azura

Bailey

Becky

Bella

Belle

Beluga

Bettie/Betty

Beverly

Billie

Brenda

Brie

Calypso

Candace/Candice

Caramel

Carla/Karla

Carmen

Carol

Carolina

Caroline

Catherine

Celeste

Celestia

Celina/Selena/Selina

Celine/Selene/Seline

Charlotte

Christina/Kristina

Christine/Kristine

Claire

Clara/Clarah

Chloe/Chloé/Cloe

Cindy

Cissy

Cora/Corah

Dana

Daniela/Daniella

Danielle

Dalia/Daliah

Daria

Darla

Debbie

Debora/Deborah

Delilah

Diamond

Diana

Dianne

Dora/Dorah

Dorothy

Eburia

Eclipse

Eda

Elena

Eleanor/Elenor

Elisa/Eliza

Elise

Elizabeth

Ella

Ember

Emerson

Emery

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Emilia

Emilie/Emily

Emma

Esme

Esmeralda

Euphemia

Euphoria

Eva

Evie

Evelyn

Felicia

Fenya

Finya

Fia

Fiona

Francisca/Franziska

Freya

Fuchsia

Gaia

Georgia

Gina

Ginny/Jeanie

Hanna/Hannah

Harmony

Hazel

Heather

Hecate

Helena

Helene

Hera

Hestia

Holly

Hope

Iana

Irena

Irene

Iris

Isa

Isabel/Isabelle

Isabela/Isabella

Ivonne/Yvonne

Ivory

Ivy

Izzy

Jade

Janice

Jasmin/Jasmine

Jenna

Jennifer

Jenny

Joelle

Joelina

Jolene

Julia

Julianne

Julie

Juliet/Juliette

Juniper

Kaia/Kaya

Katarina/Katharina

Kathy/Katy

Kelly

Kira

Lana

Lara/Larah

Laura

Lauren

Laurel

Lavender

Lena

Leia/Leya

Levina

Levinia

Lia

Liana

Liara

Lilac

Lili/Lilli/Lilly/Lily

Lilian/Lilien

Lilith

Lisa

Liv

Livi

Livia

Liz

Lizzie/Lizzy

Loanne

Lola

Lorelei

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louisa/Luisa

Louise/Luise

Luce/Luz

Lucy

Luna

Lydia

Maggie/Meggie

Meg

Madeline

Maira/Myra

Mara/Marah

Margaret

Marge

Marla

Marlene

Maria/Mariah

Marie/Mary

Marina

Mauve

Melanie

Melissa

Mellie/Melly

Meryem

Mia

Michelle

Milly

Mina

Minerva

Minnie

Miriam

Mona

Monica

Naira/Nyra

Nancy

Natalia

Natalie

Natasha

Nellie/Nelly

Nessie

Nina

Noelle

Nora/Norah

Nori

Nyx

Oliv/Olive

Olivia

Ollie

Paris

Pascale

Patricia

Paula

Peggy

Penelope/Pinelopy

Penny

Petunia

Philippa

Pia

Pippa

Polly

Poppy

Queenie

Ramona

Rania

Rebecka

Regina

Robin

Rose

Roxana

Roxanne

Ruby

Safira/Saphira

Sandra

Sara/Sarah

Sari

Serena

Silvia/Sylvia

Sofia/Sophia

Sofie/Sophie

Stella

Stephanie/Stephany

Tara/Tarah

Tatiana/Tatyana

Tess

Tessa

Tia

Tiana

Tina

Valerie/Valery

Vanessa

Vela

Venus

Vera

Veronica

Victoria

Viola

Violet/Violette

Viona

Vivian

Viviana

Willow

Xandria

Xenia

Yana

Yasmin/Yasmine

Zehra

Zoe/Zoé/Zoey

--- masculine ---

Achilles

Aiden

Aion

Alex

Alexander

Amon

Angelo

Angelino

Anthony

Anton

Arcturus

Ares

Asher

Audrey

Ben

Benjamin

Bennie/Benny

Benson

Bill

Billie/Billy

Bob

Bobby

Brendan/Brendon

Brian

Bruno

Calvin

Carl/Karl

Chad

Charles

Charlie

Chase

Chester

Chris

Chrissy

Christopher

Conan

Damian

Dan

Daniel

Dave

David

Davon/Devon

Dionysos

Don

Donald

Dorian

Dylan

Elia/Elijah

Elio

Eliot/Elliot/Elliott

Emerson

Emilio

Erion

Evan

Felix

Fred

Freddie/Freddy

Gian/Jan

Gus

Hannibal

Harald/Harold/Herald/Herold

Harry

Hendrick/Henrick

Henry

Hunter

Ian

Icarus

Jace

Jade

Jack

Jackie/Jacky

Jaden/Jayden

James

Jamie

Jasper

Jay

Jeremy

Jerry

Jimmy

Joe

Joel

Joey

John

Johnny

Jona/Jonah

Jonas

Jones

Julian/Julien

Julius

Jupiter

Justin

Kevin

Lance

Larry

Laurence/Lawrence

Lee

Lenny

Leo

Linus

Logan

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louis/Luis

Louie

Lucc/Luke

Lucas/Lukas

Luigi

Marc

Marco

Mario

Mars

Max

Mercury

Michael

Mickey

Mike

Milo

Nathan

Neptune

Nick

Nico/Niko/Nikko

Noah

Noel

Oliver

Ollie

Orion

Paris

Pascal

Patrick

Paul

Pete

Peter

Philip/Philipp/Phillip

Ray

Raymond

Reg

Reginald

Regulus

Remi

Remus

Rick

Ricky

Rob

Robbie/Robby

Robin

Ron

Ronald

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Rubeus

Sam

Sammy

Samuel

Saturn

Sean/Shaun/Shawn

Sebastian

Simon

Sirius

Stephan

Steve

Steven

Theodore

Thomas

Tim

Timmy

Toby

Tom

Tommy

Tony

Valentine

Victor

Vince

Vincent

Wilson

Yan

Zach/Zack

Zeus

If you want me to add meanings, origins, etc., just tell me ^^

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snapdragonling · 1 month ago

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ozy/kallux, <1k, post-campaign, rated M for the prompt 'fully clothed x stark naked' + ozykallux for @quaxorascal

It was the little things that made their Selto accommodations so pleasant. Ozy had managed to find a channel on the television that solely played a kind of mellow music called "jazz", and turned the volume up loud enough that he could hear it from the adjacent bathroom.

The shower remained, of course, the pinnacle of the apartment’s amenities. He would have stayed there for hours if he’d not been made aware of the concept of water bills. As it is, every inch of him is scalded red by the time he relents and steps out of the shower.

It ought to be studied, the way running water settled one’s mind. Maybe it had been. Maybe it was a sea elf thing.

He’s humming idly along to the music as he emerges from the bathroom, towelling his hair dry and trying not to bump into anything. It was difficult to build up any muscle memory when they were travelling so often.

“Fuck,” says an appreciate voice off to the side. “What’s the occasion?”

Ozy peers out from under the towel. Kallux was watching him with raised brows, perched on the edge of the couch. He’d clearly just gotten home; his leather jacket was thrown over the coffee table, his keys still in hand.

“Didn’t realise you were back,” Ozy says dryly. “Can a man not walk naked through his own apartment?”

“I think a man should, actually.”

Kallux's eyes rake him up and down, lingering. Ozy’s blood rises from that alone. He stays where he is, towel slung around his shoulders, as Kallux sets the keys aside and stands. He’s entirely unhurried in his approach. Ozy gets the impression he wants him wanting. It’s working.

It’s an effort not to lean in immediately when Kallux stops toe-to-toe with him. He waits instead; watches Kallux tilt his head consideringly, gaze heavy, as he raises a hand to Ozy’s still-damp chest. One finger deliberately circles the bud of his nipple; the sensitive one, half-burned by a demon lord’s handprint.

“You’re in a mood,” Ozy observes mildly, as Kallux’s fingers travel lower, ghosting over his scarred stomach, leaving a trail of gooseflesh across his shower-raw skin. He tries not to shiver.

Kallux snorts. “I wonder who put me there.”

“Shall I walk around like this more often then?” He inhales roughly as Kallux takes him in hand; loses his battle with restraint, finally reaching for Kallux himself, bringing their lips together in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Kallux tastes like coffee. He hums his satisfaction when Ozy’s hands skim up under his shirt, even as he strokes Ozy from interested all the way to hard.

“I won’t stop you,” Kallux breathes against his lips. “Might traumatise our friends, though.”

“I fear that ship has sailed.”

Kallux laughs. It’s Ozy’s favourite sound. He lets himself be walked backwards down the hallway, right into the bedroom and onto the bed. Kallux clambers up between his legs, leans forward to kiss his throat, his collarbone, licking the dampness from his chest. Ozy makes a low sound of pleasure at the friction between them; another when Kallux reaches down to touch him again.

They’re both too eager for the usual drawn-out games. Kallux still works him up to it diligently, eyes like two bright coins in the darkness of the bedroom as he watches Ozy groan and flex for him, hair sweaty now where it was only shower-damp before. Then he’s fumbling with the front of his own straining pants and murmuring a raspy “Fuck” under his breath as he pushes in.

It was hotter than it should’ve been, stretched out naked on the bed with Kallux fully clothed between his legs. Or rather: it was as hot as he knew it would be, and they were fools for not doing this more often.

He says as much to Kallux afterwards — curled up in a sweaty tangle of limbs, Kallux’s head resting on his bare chest, Ozy playing absently with his hair. Placid music still filtered down the hallway from the television, a comfortable afterglow soundtrack.

“We can fix that,” says Kallux, rolling to rest his chin atop his folded arms. He leans into Ozy’s hand when he cups his face, thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. “For the moment, you need another shower. My bad.”

“Oh no,” Ozy deadpans, “I’m devastated, as you can imagine.” And then: “Join me?”

Kallux’s lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “For the water bill? Of course.”

#writing #r: uphill in the sand #ch: ozymandias #txt: ozymandias #as my DM has said: ozy gets railed 2k25 🙂#you may be wondering 'were the windows closed? were the curtains drawn?' and the answer is no #im making these non-rebloggable because im not That confident yet dfsjhgsd #thank u for the prompt!!!#(and thank u to ninjafrogofhnm for also suggesting it!!)#((i'm writing the other one now...))#the main unrealistic thing about this scenario is the idea that they Wouldn't have done this before #but i liked that line so i'm leaving it in and we can just pretend

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 2 months ago

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...yeah so I lied the phone confession AU will have more than just one more chapter 🤡

#its me #bozo the clown 🤡#literally cannot stop writing about it ahdhjdf I'll divide everything left into 2 or 3 chapters...#IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT HOW DID I GET HERE #im personally blaming the anon who suggested the base prompt theyre the root cause of all of this #anon 🎶#you have cursed me to an existence of writing about stupid idiots in love (non derogatory)#im literally having so much fun with this one agdhff #mine #my bullshit #rant

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pluralprompts · 1 year ago

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Person A's species has a sort of 'reset button' you could say. Due to extenuating circumstances, the button needs to be pressed, but afterwards, Person A is different- more different than would be expected from a reset

Submitted Prompt #128

#pluralgang #plural system #pluralprompt #plurality #prompt blog #prompt #submission #anonymous #new(ly discovered) system #switching #tags are only a suggestion #non human #alien

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dbphantom · 2 years ago

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I had the funniest dream last night that there was a new episode specifically for s2 of H2O. It was just a revamp of season 1 episode 10 the camera never lies but Rikki and Zane teamed up to film something underwater at Mako Island. Rikki was the camerawoman and Zane was the actor (as you do when mermaids are involved).

Filming went well, there were no sharks, and Zane had the money to buy a bunch of cool stuff for filming underwater including breathing tubes and air pumps to explain how the camerawoman could stay underwater for so long (the show just used their actual versions of them because I mean. They had them. At the very least they had them for the scene where Zane sinks in the Lorelei. I don't see why they wouldn't still use them for some s2 shots).

But when they finally got back and were watching the footage they were like oh shit. They can't show this because Cleo Emma and Lewis are going to realize what they did, and they're going to realize they're dating and that Zane knows about Rikki.

So it ended up becoming a hot potato game of passing the footage between each other until Nate got his hands on it and entered it into the competition for himself. So that gave Zane and Rikki a bit of an out because Zane could just say Nate was filming him, but Rikki is upset because she put a lot of work into the film and now she's not getting credit for it. Especially since last year essentially the same thing happened where she made a film and couldn't use or get credit for her work.

Zane ended up forfeiting the submission because of it and shrugs it off when Rikki is like why would you do that, you totally would have won again, it was leagues better than everyone else's. And Zane was like. Yeah. Exactly. You wouldn't have gotten the credit for it, and I don't want to win if it isn't with you.

So, totally unrelated note, I think I just came up with a new filler episode for my H2O fic.

#Cuz it IS an annual competition... I'm just saying...#The A plot being that Lewis has to work with either Charlotte or Cleo and Emma for the film this year #So it's Emma and Cleo vs Charlotte and Lewis #And while Charlotte is very artsy and Lewis has a history of winning... Charlotte can also be very bossy and controlling #So she tries to take full control of the project and tell Lewis what to do so he's basically just doing the work for her #And he has to sit her down and be like 'Charlotte. I teamed up with you because I wanted to work together. This isn't that.'#I love her but she can be very controlling. I know it because I can be that way too #So can Emma btw but the show doesn't treat Emma as terribly as it treats Charlotte 🤔🤔 it treats Emma as quirky and Charlotte as evil #Anyway I personally think Charlotte and Lewis winning the competition after they work out the issues in production would be really cute #Listen. Charlotte might spiral by the end of actual season 2. But I'm going to fix her. She's going to get a redemption arc. I'm not #Going to treat her like trash like the actual writers did solely because they needed an antagonist. It's not fair to her #H2O au #Cruddy rambles #This is going to be my replacement for Hocus Pocus because I consider Hocus Pocus to be non canon #I also think comparing Emma's actions in s1 vs her actions in s2 vs Charlotte's would be a good way to show the reader hey. Charlotte isnt #Actually a horrible terrible no good villain. She has flaws just like the other girls but she's also a decent person when they're not #Constantly being highlighted by the writers to make her out to be an irredeemable antagonist #Also every episode in H2O has to feature at least like 5 minutes of merm. Well I have that with the part I had a dream about so it's perfect #Tho I wouldn't be opposed to there being a bit in the middle where Lewis transforms and has to run off from Charlotte who freaks out #And that's what prompts their talk about her fully taking over the project and smothering all of Lewis's ideas/suggestions #It's very much a reflection of how she is when planning his birthday party but you know we are going to approach this less in the context of #'She's an irredeemable villain' and more in the context of ''she's a teenager with flaws''#Because that is way more reasonable and hey... If it ends up having a butterfly effect on how she acts later on in the season... Well... ;)

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dumplingsjinson · 1 year ago

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List of “stuff that happened between us which will forever live in my mind rent free” prompts

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” (DEWLKLDEWDSWL,SDL, FUCKKK)

Character A repeatedly kissing Character B’s lips, both giggling softly when they pull away from each other. (YUMI’S CELLS SEASON 2 I’M THANKING YOU FOR THIS KSKSKS)

“You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes no matter what,” Character B murmurs after Character A tells them how insecure they are over their body. (Him reassuring me when I was spilling my guts to him and everything was everything I didn’t know I needed until now ajskks 😭 And him saying he doesn't judge lksefnklewn)

“I’m scared you’ll leave me once you see everything,” Character A murmurs, face buried in Character B’s chest. “Why would you think that?” Character B questions, a frown heard in the tone of their voice without Character A needing to look up at them; as if they think it’s ludicrous that Character A would even think they’d leave them for something like that. (NaHH THE WAY HE SOUNDED DISAPPOINTED WHEN I SAID THAT, for even thinking that he’d leave me for that, and then trying to comfort me after, I feel so bad for doubting him omg 😭😭😭)

“Touch yourself for me, yeah?” Character B murmurs into Character A’s ear; watches as a flustered looking Character A slowly does as they’re told. (HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS HELLOOOOOOOOO- IT’S THE FACT THAT HE ADDED THE “FOR ME” PART THAT MADE ME BECOME SO FUCKING FLUSTERED even though I did suggest it when we met last week and he was like “only if you want to” sAURR LIKE… was this invitation on his mind for a whole week LMFAOO. AND WHEN HE KEPT TELLING ME “good girl” or “that’s my baby girl” WHILE I WAS- JWKCKAS AHHHHH)

“You’re doing such a good job. That’s my baby girl/boy.”

Character B slowly undressing Character A, at the request of Character A, because Character A is too shy to undress themselves in front of them. (PLEASE THE WAY HE JUST SLOWLY AJFKAKFK HELPPPPPPPP EVERYTHING ABOUT IT WAS SO TENDER??? LIKE DAMN)

“I don’t like the way my calves look. They’re too bulky, you know?” Character A sighs. “Well, I think it’s fine,” Character B says. “How’s it fine?” Character A whines. Character B chuckles in an abashed manner, then says, “It makes them squishier, after all.” (And then he proceeded to say he doesn’t like how his own calves look just to make me feel better, god I fucking LOVE HIM)

Character A being extremely vulnerable with Character B, and Character B listening attentively and reassuring them as much as they can.

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood,” Character A murmurs, face buried on their chest, and Character B chuckles softly. “It’s fine, don’t apologise,” Character B murmurs, stroking their fingers through their hair. “I’m here for you after all. I’m here to listen.”

“You’re so pretty, you know?” Character B mumbles, brushing a strand of hair behind Character A’s ear. (Him saying that while I was being vulnerable melted my heart TT TT AND ALSOOO WHEN HE WAS SAYING THAT WHILE I WAS ON TOP OF HIM HHWHEWHH)

Character B littering kisses on Character A’s bare chest and saying, “You’re so soft.” (I just.. need a MOMENT)

Sloppy kisses while dry humping. (I mean I enjoyed them, and what of it??)

“I’ve seen everything. And I’ve tasted everything. Literally,” Character B says with a chuckle as they surface from the sheets and from between Character A’s thighs to snuggle with Character A, and Character A groans, hiding their face behind their hands in utter embarrassment. (Yep. He’s seen literally everything AND had a taste by now and I’m SO FUCKING LWKENFLKWEFNLKENWFW—)

“I’m so embarrassed,” Character A groans as Character B holds them to them. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Character B says with a chuckle. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just you and me, after all.”

“Fuck, I wanna feel you against me,” Character A murmurs. (I said that, sir, yes I did. And what aBOUT IT—)

Character B kissing Character A on the cheek during one of those self-service photo booth sessions, which catches Character A off-guard. (AND WHEN I UPLOAD THE PIC- jk)

Character B pressing kisses against Character A’s forehead while they’re fucking. (We weren’t technically fucking, but it was close lmfao)

Character A clenching Character’s A’s head between their thighs as Character B eats them out, fingers going in and out of them sporadically. (The finger AND TONGUE COMBO PLEASEEE)

Character A repeatedly apologising for dumping their feelings and vulnerabilities on Character B every time they see each other and Character B telling them it’s fine and that they’ll always be here to listen to them. (Please, I love this man so much)

Character B slapping Character A’s ass while they’re using their phone, ass high up in the air. “What was that for?!” Character A whines, turning to glare at Character B. “That’s revenge for you doing that to me,” Character B says with a triumphant grin. (Yes we are at tHAT level of comfort with each other and YES I like slapping his ass. And don’t ask me why I was looking at my phone while in that position, it’s difficult to explain-)

Character B calling Character A cute and adorable while they’re messing around, because apparently Character A will always be adorable to them no matter what they do.

Character B showering Character A with compliments and praises which flusters Character A every single goddamn time, and Character A telling Character B to shut up every time they compliment them because they don’t know how to take compliments.

“God, I’m so wet/hard.” “And I don’t see a problem with that?” “Uhhh, no, there’s no problem but it is your fault that this is happening.” (FUCKING TEASE- IOEWFEKLKEWN)

“Tell me when you want me to stop, okay?” Character B murmurs, glancing up at Character A from between their thighs, and something about that sight will forever remain etched in Character A’s mind.

“As I’ve always said, we have all the time in the world, and I want you to be comfortable.” (HE IS AN ANGEL, PLSSS)

“I’m happy you got out of your comfort zone,” Character B murmurs, cuddling Character A close to their chest. (ThE SWEETEST BOYFRIEND I’M TELLING YOU)

Character B covering Character A with a blanket, knowing that they’re still feeling a little self-conscious over having their body exposed like this. (And him draping the blanket over us both as he cuddled close to me welkfnekwn I’m fiNISHED)

Character B taking their time with Character A, going at a pace that Character A’s comfortable with. (He was so attentive the whole time TT TT)

Character B brushing Character A’s hair behind their ears to unhide their face; just so they could take a better look at them. (It’s even more EWLFKNEWFKN when he does it while we’re messing around, because I’m covering my face with my hair on purpose because I’m self-conscious as fuck, while he wants to see my face lmfaooo)

#there’s more commentary than prompts i’m sorry-#back at it again with another based on personal experience prompt list because i can’t get any of this shit out of my head #and y’all NEED to see it idCCCC #prompts #non suggestive prompts #suggestive prompts #otp prompts #writing prompts #fluff prompts #dialogue prompts #smut prompts #writing scenarios #cat guy chronicles

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hayatheauthor · 3 months ago

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10 Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

Prev: Non-Lethal Injury Ideas

Need some creative ways to give your characters a real fight for survival? Here are 10 ideas:

1. Punctured Artery

A puncture to major arteries like the femoral artery (thigh), the carotid artery (neck), or radial artery (arm) can cause rapid blood loss. It starts off with a sharp pain, weakness, lightheadedness and eventually can lead to hypovolemic shock. Requires urgent medical attention.

2. Punctured Eye Socket

A punctured eye socket will cause blood vessel damage leading to internal bleeding. I would use this for non-combat characters trying to get away. The eyes are an easy weak spot + you don’t need much strength to cause a critical injury/puncture. Also good for a protag's tragic backstory.

3. Torn Achilles Tendon

A torn Achilles tendon can result in severe bleeding if nearby arteries or veins are damaged. Your character will be forced to hobble away as pain causes their foot to swell and bruise. Plus, you can easily adjust the pain levels per your scene, from swift cuts to explosive jumps.

4. Neck Hyperextension (Hangman’s Fracture)

This injury will fracture the C2 vertebra and can lead to spinal cord damage, paralysis or sudden death. This isn’t a light injury your character can come back from, so I would suggest using it only when you’re aiming for death.

5. Pierced Lung

A punctured lung will lead to a pneumothorax where air escapes into the chest cavity, collapsing the lung. Characters with this injury may have difficulty breathing, chest pain, and a cough that produces frothy blood (all the dramatics you need).

6. Severe Concussion

A severe concussion will lead to confusion, vomiting, immobility and memory loss. More dangerously, brain swelling, internal bleeding and damaged brain tissue. Plus, it has a long recovery period.

7. Shattered Pelvis

If you need something severe that restricts mobility but also causes severe pain then this is perfect! Involves signs of shock, internal bleeding, numbness, swelling—really a lot of things. Can occur if OC falls from a high place, hit repeatedly, car accident, etc.

8. Internal Bleeding from Blunt Force Trauma

I like using this when you need something subtle since it doesn't show immediate symptoms. Over time, they will feel weak, cold, nauseous, and intense pain. Perfect if you want that 'everyone made it out then suddenly someone collapses' moment.

9. Intestinal Perforation

A sharp blow or penetrating wound can cause a tear in the intestines, leaking bacteria into the body cavity, then peritonitis. It can go from small stomach pain to near death pretty quickly. Without prompt medical care, sepsis can set in, causing organ failure and death.

10. Cut to the Jugular

If you need something more visibly dramatic then go with the classic cut to the jugular. A warm rush of blood will pour out, and blood would spurt with every heartbeat. Causes panic, choking, and internal bleeding too. All the blood and gore you need.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. Remember the worse the injury the more likely your character is to die (so be realistic folks). Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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fanaroff · 7 months ago

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Dp x DC Prompt: Space Like An Ocean

An alien had taken up residence outside of the Watchtower. Its first appearance immediately started a panic with most of the heroes that could survive in space converging on the station to see whether it was friend or foe. In the end, it did not seem either.

In fact, it seemed fine with just basking and napping wrapped around parts of the Watchtower that made up the outside. It wasn’t the size of the Watchtower, but off and on it was a very near thing.

Humanoid, yet distinctly inhuman. White whispy hair sat atop its head, pointed ears, and the only feature that could be made out of its face were two bright green glowing eyes. A color that sent Batman into a research frenzy. Its skin was void-dark. Almost looking as if a piece of space itself had separated from the cosmos and took and almost snake-like form. Or maybe an eel?

The most notable thing about the creature were its injuries. Multiple lacerations covered it, leaking a green that never touched the Watchtower and seemed to evaporate not long after leaving its body. Any silent attempts to collect it for study and to figure out what it was were met with emotionless green eyes and a bare hint of fang. They backed off quickly.

Flash liked to call it a mer-eel. “Cause it’s got an almost human torso, two arms, and the rest just kind of curls up!”

Wonder Woman was unimpressed with this. “That would suggest it is more like a naga.”

To which Green Lantern replied, “No, no, he’s right. There’s an almost white fin-like bit that goes down the tail like an eel’s does.”

Any more attempts to identify the creature led to nothing and soon the “eel” became a silent fixture of the Watchtower.

It was ages later when Zatanna entered the Watchtower to discuss a completely non-connected case when she stumbled immediately upon leaving the Zeta Tube and had to lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Something feels like Death.” Was all she could get out before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped to the ground. She wouldn’t wake up, dead asleep. Immediate worry all around lead to Justice League Dark being contacted in full.

Constantine with Deadman in tow were ultimately the ones to solve the mystery. It took but a moment for Deadman to be seen thanks to Constantine’s “magic” and awe was the first thing apparent on his face. Deadman didn’t even need to leave the Watchtower to know what it was.

“Oh,” he whispered like a prayer. “So that’s where he goes when he takes a break.”

Queue questioning.

“He” turned out to be Phantom, the Ghost King who had apparently decided the Watchtower was a perfect basking spot. Confusion was abound at this.

“No, see,” Deadman tried to explain. “He has two Obsessions and the Watchtower feeds into both. Heroes who protect, as he is a protector spirit himself and probably feels a kinship, and space.”

Constantine and Deadman explained as best as they could, but when the questions finally settled, the last was “Why isn’t Constantine affected like Zatanna? Why aren’t the rest of them affected like Zatanna?”

“That’s easy!” Deadman piped. “None of you are attuned to death magic! I’m a ghost, he’s my King. Zatanna is a magician with experience in most magics. And Constantine doesn’t own enough of his soul to feel the death!”

In the end, a request from Deadman was all it took for things to change. With barely a rumble, Phantom pulled himself from the Watchtower and drifted far enough away for his aura to no longer affect Zatanna. The heroes could only watch in awe as the eel-like god returned to the open ocean of space.

Addition:

There were a giant green eyes observing the conference room. Every hero inside was frozen in place, staring back at the eyes and trying their best not to move a muscle. Phantom had moved from atop the station. Phantom had acknowledged them. Phantom was staring at them from a window of the Watchtower.

No one knew why he was there. Just that suddenly he was. The bright green lighting the entire room with its shine was the only warning they got. They stared. He stared.

Slowly, he moved. A hand-shape pointed with a claw. They were confused. The hand made a pointing motion again.

The table?

Ah. Several shards of kryptonite sat on the table. The topic of the discussion as someone had somehow gotten ahold of the shards and used them against Superman. They needed to know who supplied them.

The hand pointed again.

Why did Phantom want the shards?

Apparently, it wasn’t up to them to question as the pointing hand phased into the room, palm up. Waiting. No one moved for a moment until a white narrowed slit formed in Phantom’s eyes.

Green Lantern was quick to grab the shards (Batman made a token protest, those were his damn it) and placed them in the palm. He shivered as his finger brushed the skin, ice cold washing up and down his spine.

The hand closed, retracted and approached the face. The eyes stared as a large mouth opened (fangs, sharp sharp fangs laid in green) and a tongue popped out. The shards were placed on the tongue and the mouth closed with a sharp crunch.

Phantom grinned almost smugly before he drifted away from the window and back to the top of the Watchtower.

“Did- Did Phantom just ask for a snack?”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #ghost king danny #danny phantom fic #fanfic #mer danny #eel danny #mer eel danny #kryptonite is catnip to ghosts #kryptonite ghost snack #I’m not good at titles

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noh07 · 4 months ago

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list of mixed name ideas (oct 27, 2024)

i sorted them into three categories: androgynous, feminine and masculine.

in this list, there's any type of names (mostly for english-speaking people though): typical first names, noun names, mythology names, etc.

if you have more ideas of names for trans folks, writers, etc, just lemme know! (Can also be not-so-cool names for the writers, we need them for the asshole side characters :3)

i will update the list every time I have a lot of new name suggestions. this is not the newest version, but you can find it under the tag #updated name list on my profile.

(alphabetical list with 398 mixed names under the cut)

--- androgynous ---

Aki

Alex

Alexis

Ares

Ari

Artemis

Aster

Bennie/Benny

Blair

Charlie

Chrissy

Crimson

Eli

Evie

Finn/Fynn

Frances/Francis

Hayden

Jackie/Jacky

Jess

Jessie

Lou

Louie

Mag

Maggot

Max

Mika

Miko

Noah

Ollie

Quinn

Rafa

Robin

Shilo/Shiloh

Sky/Skye

Val

Vin

Vinnie/Vinny

Wilson

--- feminine ---

Abby

Abigail

Aileen/Eileen

Aimee/Amy

Alessia

Alexa

Alexia

Alexandra

Alice

Alissa

Amalia

Amber/Ember

Amelia

Amelie

Angie

Anna

Anne

Annie

Anastasia

Andrea/Andreea

Antheia

Astra

Audrey

Bailey

Becky

Bella

Belle

Bettie/Betty

Brie

Carla/Karla

Carolina

Caroline

Catherine

Celina/Selena/Selina

Celine

Charlotte

Christina/Kristina

Christine/Kristine

Claire

Cora/Corah

Daniela/Daniella

Danielle

Dalia/Daliah

Debbie

Debora/Deborah

Delilah

Diana/Diane

Dora/Dorah

Eburia

Elena

Eleanor/Elenor

Elisa/Eliza

Elizabeth

Ella

Emery

Emilia

Emilie/Emily

Emma

Eva

Evie

Evelyn

Fenya

Finya

Fiona

Francisca/Franziska

Gaia

Gina

Hanna/Hannah

Harmony

Hecate

Hera

Hestia

Hope

Irena

Irene

Iris

Isa

Isabel/Isabelle

Isabela/Isabella

Ivory

Ivonne/Yvonne

Ivy

Izzy

Jasmin/Jasmine

Jenna

Jenny

Jolene

Julia

Julianne

Julie

Juliet/Juliette

Katarina/Katharina

Kathy/Katy

Laura

Lauren

Laurel

Lara

Lena

Leia/Leya

Levina

Levinia

Liara

Lili/Lilli/Lilly/Lily

Lilian/Lilien

Lisa

Livia

Lola

Lorelei

Louisa/Luisa

Louise/Luise

Luce

Lucy

Luna

Madeline

Maggie/Meggie

Meg

Marlene

Maira/Myra

Margaret

Marge

Marlene

Maria/Mariah

Marie/Mary

Melanie

Melissa

Mellie/Melly

Mia

Milly

Mina

Minerva

Minnie

Miriam

Naira/Nyra

Natalia

Natalie

Natasha

Nellie/Nelly

Nessie

Nina

Nora/Norah

OIiv/Olive

Olivia

Ollie

Paula

Peggy

Penelope/Pinelopy

Penny

Philippa

Polly

Poppy

Rebecka

Robin

Roxanne

Sara/Sarah

Stella

Stephanie/Stephany

Tara/Tarah

Tina

Valerie/Valery

Vanessa

Veronica

Victoria

Viona

Vivian

Viviana

Willow

Yasmin/Yasmine

Zoe/Zoé/Zoey

--- masculine ---

Aion

Alex

Alexander

Amon

Anthony

Anton

Ares

Ben

Benjamin

Bennie/Benny

Bill

Billy

Brian

Calvin

Carl/Karl

Chad

Chris

Chrissy

Damian

Dan

Daniel

Davon/Devon

Dorian

Elia/Elijah

Elio

Eliot/Elliot/Elliott

Emilio

Erion

Evan

Felix

Finn/Fynn

Icarus

Jack

Jackie/Jacky

Jona/Jonah

Jonas

Jones

Julian/Julien

Julius

Justin

Kevin

Leo

Linus

Louie

Louis/Luis

Lucc/Luke

Lucas/Lukas

Luigi

Marc

Marco

Mario

Max

Michael

Mickey

Mike

Milo

Nathan

Nick

Nico/Niko/Nikko

Noah

Oliver

Ollie

Paul

Pete

Peter

Robin

Sebastian

Steve

Steven

Theodore

Tim

Toby

Tom

Tommy

Tony

Valentine

Victor

Wilson

Zach/Zack

If you want me to add things like meanings, origins, etc you can just tell me!!

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

Note

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

taglist:

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st-dionysus · 19 days ago

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Hey so I've heard you're the one who's coined transandrophobia and I wanted to properly get it from the main source- what is an exact and specific definition of the theory and all it entails? I recently wrote a piece on it because of a specific source and the ways I feel it failed to understand the root of oppression- however it was not by you and therefore is more likely to have been a bastardization or a flawed version of it. I want to know what the original theory is so I can better understand things and know if the issue I find is more so due to things people have thrown on top of it overtime.

Feel free to ignore this if you want, absolutely no pressure.

Hello, I am writing a book on the topic, until then, This Post is a rough run down on defining transandrophobia and some examples, I suggest you start there.

Further reading would be This Post (discussing the importance of not harrasing transandrophobic people online, since it does help combat transandrophobia), This Post (Discussing one of the many ways trans men's struggles are dismissed as lesser despite the grave violence we face), This Post (Explaining why waiting for the perfect term to define transmasculine oppression is futile), and This Post (Discussing one of the ways that transandrophobia kills trans men).

I can not, in a single post, provide an "exact and specific definition of the theory and all it entails" for transandrophobia any more than I could provide the "exact and specific definition of the theory and all it entails" for idk Marxism. It is a large and complex topic and tumblr has never been the ideal space to discuss theory due to the social desire for harassment that haunts this site.

But the short of it is "Transandrophobia is a term to describe how the fear of men (androphobia) and gender essentialist politics in certain spaces, queer and non-queer, trans and cis, effects transgender men's lives." The reason this term exists, is to provide trans men with language to discuss this specific and often shared experience of violence and rejection, in the hopes that it will encourage discussion among queer and trans circles along with prompting organization and mutual aid for trans men.

#transandrophobia #Defining transandrophobia #Saint speaks #Trans issues #Trans men #FTM #Answers

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

You'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.

Character: Clark Kent

Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek.

You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft.

"It's just you two this year?" You ask.

"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea."

"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse.

"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy."

"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light."

"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame."

"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away.

He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?"

"I didn't say yes."

"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles.

Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way.

"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say.

"When-- when will you know?" He asks.

You hesitate.

"End of today?" He suggests.

You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful.

✨

You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request.

So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement.

Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet.

You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering.

The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often.

Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her.

“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...”

“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...”

“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.”

“Wow, really?”

“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?”

“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur.

“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs.

You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream.

He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead.

“Lights are off,” he mutters.

You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong?

He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet.

Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.”

You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely.

He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot.

Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light.

He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture.

“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you.

“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.”

“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.”

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.”

“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Right, er, okay.”

You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect.

You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.

You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning.

You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?”

“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains.

“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.”

“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.”

“Right,” you chew your lip.

“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--”

“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.”

Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it.

“I can help,” he offers.

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?”

He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.”

“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much.

He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off.

“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.”

“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?”

“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you.

“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen.

“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him.

“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs.

“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling.

✨

The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps.

Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow.

“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask.

“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.”

Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there.

“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.”

“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?”

“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs.

“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile.

As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful.

You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel.

You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small.

There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath.

‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent.

“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.”

You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling.

“Your mom?”

“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.”

“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?”

Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here...

“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out.

“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.”

You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?”

He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg.

“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.”

You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #december daze #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #dcu #dc #navy and roo's sleepover

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