#older fic

[songbirdsanctuary]

A Tango Tek and ImpulseSV fic

This takes place in season 7. I wrote this about a month ago.

Warnings: Self-harm(No blood, very brief)

Word count: 703

-A Tango Tek and ImpulseSV Fic-

Tango Tek always prided himself on his dedication to his projects. Whether it was tackling colossal builds or fine-tuning intricate redstone contraptions, he poured his heart and soul into every endeavor on the Hermitcraft server. Season seven had been particularly exciting, with the introduction of Decked Out and the relentless expansion of his base. But lately, something felt off.

As the days wore on, Tango found himself increasingly overwhelmed. The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and relentless. His once boundless energy waned, replaced by a gnawing fatigue that seemed to seep into his bones.

It began subtly at first. A missed redstone signal here, a misplaced block there. Small errors that were easily rectified. But then, the mistakes grew more frequent, more glaring. Tango's meticulous designs faltered, crumbling like sandcastles beneath an encroaching tide.

His mind became a whirlwind of chaos, thoughts spiraling out of control like unruly vines. Doubt crept in, insidious and unrelenting. Was he not good enough? Was he failing his fellow Hermits? Was he losing his touch?

Tango tried to bury his insecurities beneath layers of determination, to drown out the cacophony of self-doubt with the steady hum of redstone. But the harder he worked, the louder the doubts grew until they consumed him entirely.

One particularly tumultuous night, Tango found himself standing amidst the ruins of yet another failed project, his hands trembling with frustration. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over as he fought to regain control.

That's when ImpulseSV found him.

The gentle hum of redstone echoed through the dimly lit corridors of Tango's base as Impulse made his way toward the source of the commotion. He found Tango standing amidst a sea of scattered redstone components, his shoulders slumped and his expression haunted.

"Tango?" Impulse's voice was soft, laced with concern as he approached his friend. Tango turned to face him, his eyes hollow and weary.

"Impulse..." Tango's voice cracked, betraying the turmoil raging within him. "I don't know what's happening to me. Everything feels like it's falling apart."

Impulse stepped forward, enveloping Tango in a warm embrace. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his words a comforting balm against Tango's frayed nerves.

Tears spilled freely down Tango's cheeks as he clung to Impulse, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to let go, to relinquish the facade of strength he had been clinging to so desperately.

Impulse held him steady, a steadfast anchor amidst the storm. He listened as Tango poured out his fears and frustrations, offering words of encouragement and support in return. And slowly, as the night wore on, the weight that had been bearing down on Tango's shoulders began to lift, replaced by a sense of solace.

In the quiet hours before dawn, Tango and Impulse sat side by side, their laughter mingling with the gentle hum of redstone. And as the first rays of sunlight bathed the world in golden hues, Tango knew that no matter how dark the shadows may grow, he would always find light in the unwavering friendship of those who stood by his side. They soon both fell asleep.

Tango woke after only a few minutes, and looked at Impulse who was still asleep. Tango felt a bit better however, as dawn approached, a lingering sense of frustration and anger still gripped Tango's heart. In a moment of overwhelming emotion, he clenched his fists and, with a primal roar, unleashed his fury upon the nearest wall. The sound of his knuckles meeting solid stone reverberated through the corridor, a stark reminder of the turmoil brewing within him.

Impulse woke will a stardled shout and watched in concern as Tango's hand throbbed with pain. Without hesitation, Impulse reached out, gently grasping Tango's injured hand in his own.

"Tango, you don't have to bear this burden alone," Impulse said softly, his voice was soothing, and his eyes already tearing up "Please.. We're here for you, always."

And in that moment, as the warmth of Impulse's touch seeped into his bones, Tango felt a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. He would be ok.

[likelarryfics]

Jealousy, Jealousy by likelarry

Explicit, 3.5k

"Are you mine, baby?" Louis whispers huskily, tightening his grip on Harry's soft curls.

"All-all y-yours," Harry babbles.

"Going to make daddy mad again, baby?"

Harry tries to shake his head.

"Words, baby," Louis pants, slowing down his hips, "I need your words."

"No, Lou," Harry whines, frustrated.

"Good boy," Louis praises, then pushes Harry's head back into the pillow.

[audreycritter]

@frownyalfred mentioned bear traps yesterday and i suddenly?? remembered??? i wrote this?? like if you had asked me two days ago if i had written a jason and damian story, this WOULD NOT have occurred to me to be on that list, bc my brain just YEETED it

[darcymariaphoster]

Trying to manifest something, and it's not the boyfriend part of this. So I thought I'd share this. (Possibly again? I don't remember.) Anyway, enjoy while I keep working in my other stuff.

[ritterum]

How Lutessa Found A King

(cw sexual assault, gore, monarchism)

I.

Fair Lutessa was not always the cradle of kings, and before its austere temples and marble effigies came to dominate the horizon, Lutessa was a village just like yours or mine. But the Wheel turns, and Lutessa’s idyll shattered as she grew. Her people came to bicker and fight more and more often amongst themselves, over even the smallest of things! Things such as: whether this man had sold his neighbor the right amount of flour, or whether the miller’s children had pushed the blacksmith’s children into the marshes, or whether the inn-keeper’s wife was allowed to dine with the tavern-keep. Since Lutessa had yet no magistrate or ruler to call her own, the townspeople, fresh from a brawl, clamored for adjudication at the doors of the Martyr-God’s prophet.

“Prophet! Grant us your wisdom,” they cried, rattling the gates of the temple. “Settle our disputes; we want for a judge!”

The prophet, who was sweeping the entrance, replied, “Settle your own arguments! Rule you not amongst yourselves? I have my God’s work to do - now, begone.”

The people, unsure what to answer, retired to their houses and conferred between themselves; however, the following day, they returned with bloodied noses and bruised eyes. “Prophet! Our minds are filled with chaos and we are unfit to rule! Bring us under your command, that we may live in harmony!”

The prophet, who was lighting incense by the altar, said: “Cease your mewling! Be ye babes or men? I will not judge you, for I am neither of you nor above you; judge yourselves.”

The people once more took the prophet’s words home and discussed them, but besought him a third time the following morning, again battered and beaten-up.

“O Prophet!” they cried out as one. “We are unworthy to rule ourselves! Grant us a king! Grant us a king!”

On and on they shouted, “King! King!” louder and louder until the prophet, supping on bread and wine, could tolerate it no longer.

“Seeing as they are of one mind, which they have never once been before,” said he, “who am I to deny them my intercession?” So he rose from his seat and entered the holy-of-holies, and as he communed there, the breath of the Martyr-God came down from on high, and joined with his statue in the square. And lo! the statue became as flesh, and turned its countenance toward the heavens; and it removed its head from its shoulders and threw it far, far into the distance, where it flew brightly across the sky like a shooting star. (And this is why today, when you see the statue of the Martyr-God outside the great temple of Lutessa, you will see that it has no head.)

Then the prophet left the divine chambers and addressed the people gathered outside. “As you have asked, so is it given. Wheresoever the sign of the Martyr-God shall lead, there you shall find your king; and you will know him by the sign he gives, for it is the sign that the Godhead has shown you. I have spoken!” The people, marveling at the miracle they had just witnessed, left him many grateful words and many precious gifts; and finally, they left him also at peace.

Now the townsfolk took the quickest and hardiest amongst themselves, and sent them in the direction of the new star, which was east and north. The scouts rode, inquiring at every village and hillfort about the sign the Martyr-God had shown, and each time they were turned away empty handed. This went on for fortnight after fortnight until it seemed that they would exhaust all the tribes of Ferrancha. But at the last, two of the riders came upon an ancient citadel, where dwelt a fierce clan of giants. These giants had bear skins draped around them like cloaks, and long beards that stretched down to their knees, and they growled in a speech that was scarcely recognizable as human. But one towered above the rest of them and wore as a sign of his authority a necklace of purplest stone.

This one said: “Who comes to challenge Sea-Bull [1] in the home of his people?”

The scouts answered: “None but two humble riders, come seeking a sign from the Martyr-God.”

Then Sea-Bull leered and bade them come closer; and when they had drawn within an arm’s length, he seized one and tore the head off him, and he threw the bloody thing at the other scout, saying:

“There is your god’s martyr! And this is the only sign you shall have from me.”

The surviving rider fled from the giants’ mocking laughter, and rode without eating or sleeping for ten days. In that time, he covered a fortnight’s distance, and when he passed through the gates of Lutessa, the people first mistook him for a scarecrow atop Death’s horse, for his hair had gone white and ragged from fear, and the flight had consumed so much of him that his skin now clung to his bones. Whatever warning he would have proffered went unheeded, for as he fell from his horse, the head of his companion rolled out of his satchel, and the people, beholding it, exclaimed:

“The Martyr-God has given us back his sign! The prophecy is fulfilled!”

So they bore the scout to the temple of the healers, cheering, and sent word for the riders to return home. They prepared the town to welcome their new king, even as they worried how to find him or even to recognize him, for the power of speech had deserted the scout and he could no longer direct them to their ruler. Yet they need not have worried, for Sea-Bull in his curiosity had sent trackers after his visitor, and, hearing of the manner in which his threat had been received, became desirous of ruling these toothless people and their lands. So he gathered his clan and broke camp, and each giant sat astride a great-ox, which they commanded as we do camels and horses, and they made for the bounty which had been laid out for them.

When they arrived in Lutessa a fortnight later, Sea-Bull divided up the town among his strongest warriors and bid them take wives for themselves from among the daughters of the village. Then he shackled the men and forced much work upon them, including that a hall be built for him and his clan. He tore down the statues of Lutessa’s gods as well, since they offended him; but that of the Martyr-God he left alone, for this was the deity that had granted him conquest. And he set a watch all around the temple of the Martyr-God, that no harm may befall it or its prophet.

Sea-Bull reigned for many years, during which he sent out warbands and brought also many other villages under his rule. He ordered that in each of them should be hung necklaces like his of purplest stone, which anyone passing had to bow before and kiss, and he ordered that any who disobeyed be put to the sword. In Lutessa he was strictest of all: he would take silver and fine cloths from those families which offended him, and seize their farms, so that his great-oxen might have more land to graze on. He would furthermore take their daughters and lie with them against their will, and some he would take as concubines while others he would return to their households; but for none of them did he ever pay a bridewealth. And of those families which had displeased them the most, when their daughters did bear him child, he would gather them to his hall and swallow the newborn whole before them, in order that their misery might be prolonged by seeing it.

II.

Now there was a maiden named Snow-Iris, for she was as fair and unblemished as winter’s first snow. It happened that Sea-Bull took a liking to her, and wished to have her as his own. But her father, hearing of this, woke her in the night and snuck her far outside the village, leaving her with some provisions and a cloak, so that she might not die in the wilds.

Then Snow-Iris’ heart was filled with anger and dread, and she cried out to the Martyr-God, saying: “What kind of trespass have we committed against you, that you repay our faith with punishment? We came seeking a guardian; why did you send us a butcher instead?” And she wept in the fields until gentle sleep overtook her.

But hearing her, the Martyr-God took pity and came to her in her slumber; and she dreamed that his voice rang out from the star he had set in the heavens, which shone more clearly and brilliantly than ever it had. “Child,” he said, his voice suffused with tenderness and dread. “‘Twas your folk who betrayed our compact, not I. I set my sign up above, that it might guide them towards noble and unsullied spirits; yet they rooted around in the base earth like swine digging for worms. But now see: I desire that the suffering of your people shall end, for I am faithful and ever-merciful, and your cries have softened my heart. Therefore follow my Star, and when you draw nigh, I will cause it to descend upon your true king, and he will know to expect thee at his gate. And you shall  know him too by his company, for he will keep in his retinue men of metal; and by his attire, for his brow shall be ringed with heavenly iron. Until you find the king, no harm shall befall you; only do not stray from the path, for perdition will claim your soul. This I vow.”

The star beckoned still on the horizon when Snow-Iris awoke, bathing her in a ray of heavenly light, and though Sea-Bull’s men scoured the hills and fields in search of her, they could not see her behind the veil of light. Seeing the violence in their manner, she knew that she would have no more place in Lutessa until the arrival of the true king. So she began her pursuit to the north-east, sometimes falling in with traders, sometimes with hunters, sometimes tarrying summers in bustling towns, sometimes passing winters in stone ruins. On many occasions, temptation visited her and tugged at her heartstrings, offering her purest love, or the wealth and dominion of lords, or the restful seclusion of the hermitage. And for some of them, she wrestled many hours with herself; but in the end, rejected them all, for the Martyr-God had made good on his side of the pledge, and she wished to make good on hers.

One evening, as Snow-Iris rode through the passes of the High Forest with a caravan of merchants, a terrible roar filled the air, shaking the trees and the very ground, and it was as if the doors of heaven had been slammed shut. And at this unearthly herald, night turned briefly into day, and the rivers ran uphill for a few seconds, and (it is said) many men of wicked repute dropped dead in the streets. Then Snow-Iris beheld that the star of the Martyr-God descended and streaked through the sky, and she knew that she drew nigh to the true king.

“What town lies yonder?” she asked, pointing where the star had fallen. But her companions, seized with fright, ran about her in mad circles just like the horses they were riding, and none could answer her properly.

So she left them and rode on by herself, inquiring about the falling star at several hamlets along the way. They all told her to head for the town of Accisgrand, where a miracle had occurred recently, and whose mayor sought the bearer of a sign; and they described to her the appearance of Accisgrand, that she might recognize it from afar. So she continued for some days until she came upon a town that matched the description, with high stone walls and manned by sentries clothed in raiment of metal. As she approached the gate, the guards barred her entry; but she said:

“I am Snow-Iris of Lutessa, and I seek the man who received the sign of the Godhead.”

At this, the guards exchanged looks, and instructed her to wait. She began to set up camp, thinking that she would be made to pass the afternoon; but scarce had the first noon hour [2] come and gone than a scribe appeared at the gate to escort her within. They passed through halls of arched marble with glass windows as tall as the ancient trees, which Snow-Iris marveled at like a young girl. But it was in a humble room of wood that the mayor received her.

“Tell me your name and the sign that you seek,” said the mayor. But Snow-Iris could not answer immediately, for as her eyes traveled up his imposing figure and silken cloak, they came to rest on the circlet of graceful iron girdling his brow. “Tell me your business,” he said again, impatient.

“Your Grace,” she replied with a curtsy. “I am Snow-Iris of Lutessa. Many years ago, the Godhead placed a sign in the heavens by which we might find someone wise to rule us. We misread the sign, and were punished. However, the Godhead is merciful, and has brought me here to seek the true ruler, who will deliver us from this ordeal. I seek the one to whom he has shown his sign.”

The mayor nodded. “Your story rings true; therefore I will tell you mine. Not a week ago, a god spoke to me in a dream, saying that a maiden would arrive from far-away Lutessa to ask for deliverance from a false king, and that I would know her by the sign of the Godhead, which would be granted unto me. Come: there is something I must needs show you.”

Then he stepped forward and took her by the hand, and together they walked out, through a courtyard of fragrant trees and pruned bushes, to a lofty temple of vaulted stone. And lo! the head of the Martyr-God sat on the altar - no longer the cold gray of stone, but the lustrous gleam of iron.

Seeing this, Snow-Iris knelt and kissed the hand of the mayor. “You are indeed the one I seek,” she said, “and by your leave, I would grant you your kingdom.”

“Let us put off talks of kingship until later,” he answered with a smile. “First I must fulfill the sacred duty granted unto me and deliver your people from despotic rule.”

So he gathered an army of twenty thousand soldiers and five thousand knights and marched towards Lutessa, under the banner of the Martyr-God. When Sea-Bull heard of this, he howled in anger and ordered his warriors to burn down the villages between him and Accisgrand, for he wanted none of their riches to go to this man. But his warriors persuaded him otherwise, for even though they were giants and their prowess in combat was unmatched, still their numbers were few, and they could ill afford to spread their forces thin. And while both mayor and Sea-Bull could claim divine favor, only one could be assured of his mandate - he who asserted his rule according to prophecy. [3]

I will not sing of battle, although their clash was great - many songs have already been given to that day alone. For this mayor was indeed the hero named KING [4], who in the Northern tongue is called Krol or Korol, and is known to all peoples as “Great”, because he drove out the giants and slew Sea-Bull, and, under his just rule, united all the tribes of Ferrancha from the Pannonian Woods to the Uttermost Sea. With Snow-Iris as his queen, he began the lineage of monarchs that would turn Ferrancha into a vast and magnificent realm - who would, despite their humble origins, erect monuments and metropoles to rival even those of Akbal himself (may he ever be remembered!).

Though KING eventually set his throne in Accisgrand, sweet Lutessa forever held a fond place in his heart. And so, as his children came of age, he would bid them dwell in Lutessa and take the manner and custom of its people as their own; and when one of those children became king, that one would in turn send his children to Lutessa. So this tradition carried on until it was a tradition no longer, for the descendants of KING so came to love Lutessa that they moved the throne there, pledging their faith to the city just as the city had placed its faith in them.

Runao’s Commentary:

Iron is the metal of the gods, and so it is the symbol of mandate, authority, and justice, which only the gods are allowed to bestow. Pretenders can only steal the insignia of the past and defend them with violence; true rulers receive their legitimacy directly from the divine. This is how the keen-eyed subject knows which master to follow.

Footnotes:

[1] Burton gives this as “She-Bull” in the 1888 edition, and it was retained in editions until 1913. Garcìa (1964) theorizes that this name may be a fanciful rewording of “Mare-Bull”, which was a common mistranslation at the time; Humbert & Luis (1991), however, consider it a printer’s error, as Burton left no indication in his extensive notes that he was aware of this erroneous translation.

[2] Incidentally, the hour of Iron. 

[3] This sentence was almost certainly added by Runao, as it is not present in alternative forms of the story. See Quirin Egidius, Prophets of the Times: Bronze-Age Divination in Runao’s Book of Hours (2001), p. 67.

[4] The name given here is the literal word for ‘king’, in the honorific form. Although it is unclear whether the honorific was added by Runao or existed in the original Illapartian language, we can say with relative certainty that the King’s name most likely became synonymous with rulership in the geographical area corresponding to his kingdom (similar to ‘Caesar’ becoming the word for ‘emperor’ in many European languages), before being transmitted to Illapars via cultural osmosis. Ibid, p. 51.

[noelledeltarune]

EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

[everwalldigan]

(Dick coming to collect Jason after he’s been “wrongfully” captured by the justice league while Batman is off world:)

Dick: Listen, Hood might be a criminal, but he’s one of Gotham’s. And he’s my brother.

JL: he killed 80 people in two days.

Dick: …he’s adopted?

Jason, glaring while bound to a chair: SO ARE YOU???

[songbirdsanctuary]

I found this fic I wrote before Grian even finished his starter base in season 8, also how in the fic did only Docm hear Grian scream but no one else in Boatem. I was gonna rewrite this one but it's fine.

Warnings: Panic attack, Sam.

Word count: 400

Grian stood on the balcony of his starter base, the gentle breeze doing little to ease the turmoil within him. It was a tranquil evening in Hermitcraft, birds chirping softly as the sun dipped below the horizon. But in Grian's mind, the peace was shattered by memories he had long buried.

Images flashed before his eyes: Sam's sinister grin, the feeling of betrayal as he realized his friend's true intentions, the pain of the deception. Grian's breath quickened, his heart pounding against his chest as panic consumed him.

He suddenly screamed.

He stumbled backward, clutching his chest as if to contain the rising panic. His thoughts spiraled out of control, a whirlwind of fear and anxiety threatening to engulf him entirely. He felt suffocated by the weight of his memories, trapped in a never-ending cycle of anguish.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the chaos, pulling him back from the brink. "Grian? Are you alright?"

Startled, Grian turned to see Docm standing in the doorway, concern etched on his face. Docm approached cautiously, his eyes soft with an attempt to not startle the already panicing avian.

"I heard you from my place," Docm explained gently. "I few over when I heard you. Can I... Can I help?"

Grian hesitated, his genuine fear of Doc warring with his desperate need for comfort. But as another wave of panic washed over him, he knew he couldn't face it alone.

Nodding weakly, Grian allowed Docm to guide him inside, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him. They settled on the couch, Grian's hands trembling as he tried to steady his breathing.

"You're safe here, Grian," Docm murmured, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of Grian's storm. "Nothing is going to anything happen to you."

With each word, Grian felt himself inching back from the edge, the darkness receding in the face of Docm's unwavering support. He clung to Docm's presence like a lifeline, grounding himself in the reality of their friendship.

As the panic attack began to subside, Grian found himself leaning against Docm's chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his touch. Docm held him close, a silent promise of protection and understanding.

"Everything is ok," Docm whispered, his voice a gentle, Grian had never heard the creeper-goat hybrid talk like that.

[eddiediaaz]

(you don't have to be a frequent enjoyer of either to vote. weed can mean any type of marijuana products: joints, edibles, oils, etc.)

add where you're from in the tags if you feel like it!

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Ch. 2 Ch. 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male! receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

an: Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

[scaryscarecrows]

Salvation for the Weary

Dove’s been sitting on the toilet for about half an hour, waiting for the guy she’s got handcuffed in her shower to wake up.

It might be a while. She’d cold-cocked him pretty good once the door was locked behind them, and, uh...well…

She did put ice on the lump. After she’d stripped him and handcuffed him in the shower, but there is ice on the lump.

This whole thing is...it’s surreal, is what it is. She’s alert , hyper-aware of her breathing and that of the man’s, a little hung up on how uncomfortable the cold toilet lid is, and a bit, just a bit, sick to her stomach. She’s not sure if it’s nerves or just…

This man has information that she wants. He works for Lex, lower-level, it’s true, but he works for Lex and more importantly, he can tell her about the men who killed Jay. She wants those ones. And he’s going to give them to her.

When ten more minutes pass without a twitch, she reaches over and turns the water onto straight cold. Maybe it works, maybe it’s timing, but he comes to life with a strangled squawk.

“Wh-where--”

Oh, brother.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t like that; his eyes narrow and he spits, voice dripping with hate, “You bitch .”

She’s been called worse in kinder situations, which means she can muster up a sunny smile when she leans forward and says, “Maybe. But this bitch knocked you out, so…” She shrugs. “I just want to talk.”

She does not just want to talk. She wants to scream, to rip him limb from limb and cut his tongue out to shove down his throat, followed by a finger or four, and just watch him choke.

But she’s not going to do that.

Probably.

“Fuck you, let me go--”

She jabs her stun gun into his groin, just above his dick, and hits the button.

He doesn’t scream, not really. There’s an aborted noise , but overall he just flops and jerks like a fish until she withdraws.

“That was the least painful thing I can do to you,” she tells him, doing her best to channel Penguin’s cold, disinterested-yet-pissed tone. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, and you’re going to tell me now.”

He’s silent, breathing through clenched teeth. Dove sets the stun gun in the sink, where he can’t reach it, and picks up her still-bloody pipe.

“If you don’t,” she continues, “I start cutting bits off. Do we understand each other?”

He spits at her. Misses, but still. The sentiment is there.

“When I get outta here, you’re gonna be so fucking sorry,” he snarls. “I’m gonna kill everyone you ever so much as looked at and then I’m gonna fu--”

The pipe breaks his nose with a sickening crack! Knocks out two teeth, too; they skitter down the drain. Oops. Nothing a little Drano can’t handle, surely.

“Your boss,” she says, and she can’t stop her voice from shaking, “had my son tortured for two goddamn days before having him killed. There is nothing you can do to me, but there’s a lot I can do to you.”

He spits again. This time blood and a piece of tooth hits the edge of the shower. Dove puts the pipe aside, picks up her X-Acto knife, and gets up. He’s as trussed up as she could manage, but he can still kick at her. And bite, but...bites are easy to dodge.

She settles next to his head, uncaps the X-Acto, and presses the blade against the soft skin under his left eye. Said eye widens and lowers so that he’s nearly cross-eyed trying to see it. Good.

“I want Gregory Miller,” she says. “And you’re going to tell me how I can do that.”

Gregory Miller is one of the few cops that, as far as anyone knows, can’t be bribed with the promise of a free lay or a Favor. He goes to work, gets takeout on the way home. That’s it. She’s not stupid enough to get him in his house, but if there’s any sort of blackmail material...or, well, anything else. But she wants him, because he’s a midlevel: low enough that he won’t really be missed, but high enough to know, maybe, who had Jay. Or at least know someone who does.

“Screw you--” She presses the blade down a little more. A pinprick of blood appears and grows, trickling down like a tear. “Okay, okay! I’ll talk!”

“Never doubted you for a second,” she soothes, withdraws the knife so it’s just resting against the skin. “Miller. How do I get him.”

He takes a few deep breaths, clearly under the impression that she’s a patient woman. She’s about to dig the X-Acto in again, maybe take that eye out, when he blurts out, “He makes a little extra money selling drugs. Like. You gotta. Gotta go to him, he doesn’t come to you, he’s got an exclusive list--I-I can getcha on it! I can hook you up!”

Interesting.

Dove withdraws the knife and puts the cap back on. Safety first, after all. He sighs, clearly starting to feel better about his situation.

Sometimes, men are really fucking dumb. Then again, this guy wasn’t too bright to start with. All it took to get him here was a throaty, ‘hey there, big boy’, a wink, and a slow saunter out of the bar. He’d come running like a dog.

“I’ll get myself on it, thanks,” she says, twisting around to set the knife in the sink. “But I appreciate your cooperation. Really.”

“What are you doing.”

Dumb as a box of rocks.

“I can’t have you blabbing,” she says, because come on , he didn’t really think he was going to walk away, did he?

Come now, come now, you don’t have to be so dumb, now.

“I told you what you wanted!”

“Yup.”

“You crazy bitch--”

Dove has a gun. She knows how to use it. But guns are noisy. A switchblade jammed into a man’s neck, however, is not.

There’s a reason Penguin likes knives. 

She’ll take care of this in the morning. Or start to, anyway, start breaking him down and getting him out of here. She’s got some spring cleaning to do, or...something. Lotta trash to take out.

She flicks off the light and leaves the bathroom. Her heart’s beating too fast and she can’t quite catch her breath.

This isn’t the first time she’s seen a man die. It’s not even the first time she’s killed one. But. It’s just.

This won’t bring Jason back. She knows it won’t. But she’d...it almost…

It feels like it should. She did her bit, now he has to come home.

She sinks to her knees, sobbing. He’s not coming home, no matter what she does, and it’s so fucking cold at night--

Okay. Okay. Come on. Come on, get up. Get some. Some tea, maybe, yeah, tea, and calm down. Just try to calm down. It’s over for tonight.

It’s over for tonight.

THE END

[rafey-baby]

This is literally mean older!rafe who refers to himself as daddy and makes sensitive!reader sit on his lap because she’s a restless crybaby who needs his attention 24/7 or else her pouting and whining is going to piss him off even if he can't help but get hard whenever she cries.

“Just stay still and pretty right there, yeah?” He murmurs into her ear when she rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her smaller arms around his firm abdomen as he goes over some business contracts.

He’d harshly smack her ass whenever she’d so much as wriggle her hips on top of him, which makes her jump and let out a faint whimper every single time.

“What did I just tell you? Don’t wanna make Daddy upset with you, do you?” He scolds her when she tries to adjust her position once more because she's aching at this point.

“No! No! Sorry, I just…”

“You just what?” His question comes off as mocking.

“You’re being mean,” she frowns.

“I’m being mean? Even if I’m letting you sit in my lap and voluntarily listening to your annoying whining? You don’t see me complainig, do you? Why don’t you go to the bedroom and sit there alone then, hm?" His words are coarse; her eyes turning watery at the notion of him being mad at her.

“No, that’s not what I meant…don’t wanna be alone,” her voice is muffled against his neck as she sniffles.

"Why are you crying?" His tone is patronizing, yet the calloused fingertips smoothing through her hair tender.

"Cause I made you upset," her forlorn mumbling makes him soften some as he lets out a deep sigh at the thought of her teary eyes dampening his shirt.

"You wanna make me feel better?" He questions with an almost gentle rasp.

"Mhm," she eagerly nods against the side of his head and tightens her hold around him.

“Why don’t you shut that dumb mouth then and stop moving around so much and let Daddy focus, yeah?”

Finally, she listens; not daring to shift an inch anymore. Even if she can feel the obvious bulge in his pants pressing against her puffy clit and making her soak through her panties as her cunt throbs at the prospect of him rewarding her later for being good…

read another part to this here!

[sttoru]

thinking of dating older bf!satoru. . .and i’m talking like you’re in your early 20’s and he’s in his early 30’s.

the way he texts at the start of your blooming relationship is super attractive somehow. like the most simplest of texts would get you weak in the knees. texts like ‘good morning, sweetheart.’ // ‘how’s my pretty girl doing?’ // ‘there’s my gorgeous girl.’ // ‘rise ‘n shine, sleepyhead.’ // ‘it’s okay, baby. i understand.’ // ‘you never fail to amaze me, huh.’

or when you’re being very risky via your messenger app, older bf!satoru is definitely the type to say ‘careful.’ // ‘you’re gonna get me in trouble.’ // ‘you’re being quite brave today, doll. // ‘aww, how adorable of you.’ // ‘mhm? that so?’

also . . . gives you money out of the blue. randomly. doesn’t question it at all. or sends expensive gifts your way too without you asking. older bf!satoru would text you stuff like; ‘here’s some money, gorgeous. want you to spoil yourself for me today, okay?’ // ‘just a little gift.’ // ‘you deserve a break, baby. here you go.’ // ‘got you something small.’

and then you check your bank account and it’s an easy $200 / $500 / $800 ++ added by him. or when he’s sending gifts to your apartment, it’s gonna be one of them reaaaaal expensive ones. probably ones you eyed before or had mention you liked very briefly, but didn’t get it because of the price.

definitely also the type to try and accommodate or match his texting style to yours as the months go by. kinda to match your energy. perhaps fails horribly at it, but it’s cute to see him try.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jason: I need a look-alike. Just someone who can pretend to be me as Red Hood so I can go to class as Peter. Someone who can handle a fight. Someone who is okay with being shot at. But who?

Dan miles away, looking up from his cereal: I feel destiny calling.

Danny a tired college kid: What?

Dan racing to the window and overlooking Gotham: Someone in this city has just started the plot of my new novel.

Danny: Look Dan, ussually I would be down to help you through whatever shenanigan goes through your mind but I have a group project due that's forty percent of my grade and Peter won't answer his cell.

Dan: That's your fault for going to college.

Danny: Education is important

Dan: Education is important. College is a scam that the rich gatekeep. There is a difference. But I don't need you. I'll find my destiny on my own.

Danny: Alright, have fun, and please don't shoot anyone this time. Hiding Joker's body was hard enough, I don't want to do anything like that again.

Dan: If he wanted to live, he shouldn't have attempted chemical warfare. Play stupid games win stupid prizes.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Prequel Part I

Yandere Short Story Series:

Too Late For Remorse

Yandere Cheater Duke x Countess Reader x Duke

TW: murder, yandere themes, cheating (mentioned), delusional behavior, yandere is the villain, etc.

“So you’re breaking off the engagement between my son and your daughter?” Duke Blackburn sat in the chair across from Count (last name). The older Duke delicately held the tea cup in his hand.

“I apologize for breaking the agreement, but my daughter cannot be without a man who associates with the Serpico family.” Duke Blackburn nodded his head in agreement.

“I understand, I’m also not a big fan of infidelity.” It was quite well known in the noble faction that Duke Blackburn’s wife had messed around with many knights during their short marriage. Which worked in Count (Last name)’s favor since Duke Blackburn despised the unfaithful.

Duke Blackburn continued the conversation, “You know your daughter was promised to marry a Blackburn. It’d be a shame to not have such a beautiful woman in our family. I have another son who’s a few years younger than her.”

“Eh, I don’t know if Broderick be a good match since he’s not quite mature yet…” Count (Last name) sighed. “I wouldn’t mind my daughter marrying you if I’m honest-“

Duke Blackburn’s cheeks flushed in shock, the Duke nearly dropped his tea cup from the Count’s words. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“My daughter would be in good hands if she was with you. You’re mature and you’ve been single for over a decade.” Count (last name) gestured to the portrait of his daughter behind him. “You said it yourself that my daughter was beautiful.”

“That does not mean I want to marry a woman half my age-“

“Duke Lucius Blackburn and Duchess (your

name), I can picture it.” Count (last name) howled with laughter when the Duke hid his scarred face in his gloved hands. The older Duke felt embarrassed by the Count’s teasing.

Lucius and (your name)? It is a normal occurrence of marrying a younger woman in this day and age, but she was his own son’s ex-fiancée! Then again, it would be a similar situation if she became engaged to Broderick…

“Alright. I will marry your daughter-“ Duke Blackburn put his hand on Count (last name)’s shoulder before the smaller man could cheer. “But consult with her first. I’m an old man and I’m still the commander of the Royal’ Family’s army. I’d hardly have time for her.”

“Of course I will. I’m sure she will be delighted!”

Duke Blackburn and Count (last name) continued to have small talk but Lucius couldn’t help the feeling of nervousness that crept up his veins. Would she really be alright with a man like him?

.

.

.

“So Duke Blackburn said he’d marry you if you’d like to be with him.” (Your name) quirked a brow at her father. The young woman slowly sipped the tea her father had prepared for this meeting. She was a bit surprised her father wanted to find her a partner this quickly, but she was also in her prime. If (your name) didn’t marry soon, she never would.

“But I just ended my engagement to him-“

“Wrong Blackburn, my dear. I’m talking about Lucius Blackburn-“ (your name) spat out the tea and choked a bit. Lucius?! As in Trishan’s father?! “Are you alright?”

“Father, you can’t possibly- why?” (Your name) struggled to formulate words as a million questions ran through her brain. Engagement to Trishan’s father?! His father?!

“Well, he’s a much better man than his spawn. Don’t you think, my dear?” Count (last name) puffed his chest out in pride. “Plus he’s still quite fit despite his age-“

“Father!” (Your name) stood up, her being frazzled with bewilderment. “It hasn’t even been a week since my engagement was annulled and… that man is old enough to be my father!”

“But he would treat you well!”

(Your name) shook her head and was about to excuse herself from the table. How was she supposed to get her revenge if she now had to marry Trishan’s father?

(Your name) held her head while the gears began to turn in her head. Wait. This could work… she could use Lucius to her advantage.

“You’re right, father. How could I not see that before?” (Your name) bent down and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

The count was in shock before his whole face lit up. He was so happy to bring his daughter joy! She deserved to be happy!

.

.

.

Trishan threw a chair across his room in anger. His engagement had been annulled and his beloved was to marry his father?! No… this wasn’t how his second chance was supposed to work out! They were supposed to be happy together!

“Trishan?” Trishan’s blood went cold when he heard a familiar, feminine voice from outside his door. What was that snake doing here? “You haven’t replied to any of my letters and I’m really worried about you…”

Lies. That woman only wanted to become a Duchess and she had murdered (your name) in the past… was this her fault?

Trishan felt murderous intent drip throughout his veins as he stood up. Yes… this was Gia’s fault. If she didn’t exist… then (your name) would come back to him.

Trishan’s lips curved up in a demented smile. If he got rid of Gia then everything would fall back into place. Just like it was meant to.

“Wait for me darling… I’ll make everything right this time.”

[songbirdsanctuary]

Shadows in The Light

This is a Hermitcraft fanfic, it takes place in season 8(in my au Grian's watcher powers pulled the moon toward Hermitcraft but Grian was able to put it back)

Warnings: Suicide attempt, Self-harm.

Word count: 489

-Shadows in The Light-

beneath Grian's playful facade lay hidden depths of pain and darkness. One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows danced across the landscape, Grian found himself ensnared in the grips of his own inner turmoil.

Alone in the alleyway he had built, Grian sat at his crafting table, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of self-doubt and despair. The moon was about to destroy everything, Tango had been badly hurt and almost died, and it was all his fault. He hated the fact he was a watcher, he wanted to be normal. With trembling hands, he reached for his enchanted bow, its sleek design gleaming in the dim light of the torches that lined the walls.

As he notched an arrow to the bowstring, a voice echoed in his mind, whispering cruel taunts of inadequacy and worthlessness. Without fully understanding why, Grian drew back the bowstring, aiming the arrow at his own heart, a desperate attempt to silence the voices that tormented him.

Just as he was about to release the arrow, a gentle knock sounded at the door of his cabin, shattering the suffocating silence of the room.

"Grian? Are you in there?" Mumbo's voice called out, filled with concern.

Startled, Grian dropped the bow, the arrow clattering to the ground as he scrambled to hide his actions. "Y-yeah, Mumbo, I'm here," he stammered, his voice betraying the turmoil raging within him.

The door creaked open, and Mumbo stepped into the cabin, his brow furrowed with worry as he took in the sight before him. Without a word, he crossed the room and gently placed a hand on Grian's shoulder, his touch a comforting presence amidst the chaos.

"Grian, what's wrong?" Mumbo asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Grian swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion, so mush was wrong, but he didn’t want to talk about any of it. "I-I don't know, Mumbo," he sort of lied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can't shake the feeling that I'm not good enough." That was kind of true.

Mumbo's heart ached at the raw vulnerability he saw reflected in Grian's eyes. He knelt beside his friend, his gaze steady as he offered a reassuring smile.

"You're not alone, Grian," Mumbo said gently. "We all have moments when the darkness feels overwhelming. But you don't have to face it alone." Grian knew that Mumbo had dealt with dark thoughts and had hurt himself in the past.

Tears welled up in Grian's eyes as he allowed himself to be enveloped in Mumbo's embrace, the warmth of his friend's presence felt much better than listening to his own thoughts.. In that moment, as they clung to each other in the dim light, Grian knew that he couldn’t just make the thoughts that plagued him disappear, nor would he ever be a normal avian. But in that moment he felt everything would be ok.