#ominous goose

[woodpengu]

I learned something new today... which resulted in a surging desire to have a tattoo of a goose. So... this is kind of the start of that venture.

For those that want to know:

There was the attempted invasion of Gaul into Rome (apparently, don't @ me, please), where the guards were alerted by the honking of geese, which saved their gluteals.

The goose is [apparently] the symbol of Moneta, goddess of warning. So a temple was erected in her honor.

'Monere', deriving from 'Moneta', meaning to 'warn', 'remind', or 'instruct', is often associated with omens and prophetic warnings. So... erm... *cough*

B̶̛̹E̸͇͛ ̸̹̫̦̲̙͊̀̆N̴͍̜͙̄̽͌͜O̵͎͆̈T̸͎̖̠̑̄ ̷̀͠͝ͅA̴̖͑̃̀̔̓F̷͓̒̊́̀R̵̢̲͈̝͆͗͝Ā̷̟̍̐̀Ǐ̷͔̹̝͐͐͝D̸̫͓͕͉͂̒͂̉ ̷͎̼̙̽ ̵̔͗͝

̴͉͓͌̀H̵̺͉̎̈́O̷̘̖̫̼̲̓̎͠Ņ̵̱̐̀K̷̗͈̰͋̀!

[ratatatastic]

carolina hurricanes @ florida panthers | 11.30.24 (x)(x)

[dimorphodon-x]

i love ur art and the way you draw bumblebee and rubble :D i would love to see more of that fan continuity you have going there if youre till into it <3

It’s a bit of an on and off side project, so development is slow and low on ideas. Currently I’m messing around with the concept of Prowl, Bumblebee, Rubble and Thundercracker stranded on a barren planet without any way to contact their comrades, and they must all work together if they are to survive

It won’t be easy, nobody really likes let alone trust each other (minus Bee and Rubble, being mentor and mentee) and some of them share unpleasant and painful history during the war. They’ll struggle with trust, emotions, and the harsh environment of the planet they’re stuck on.

[a-concert-just-for-me]

@sevengeese

[sorceresssundries]

Ruined

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Regency Era AU! Tav is burdened by whispers of a cursed love life. Twice betrothed to promising men, only to lose them to tragic fates, Tav’s allure has become a point of fascination and fear. Intrigued, the recently arrived Mr. Dekarios pursues her despite the ominous rumours that surround her.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Porn with Plot, NSFW

Word Count: 6K

A/N - this was written as part of a prompt challenge, the prompt was 'Let me ruin you.'

Tav was, yet again, compelled to endure the dreary monotony of another wretched ball. It was the seventh of the season, though indistinguishable from the first—or indeed from any that had succeeded it. The floral arrangements, while marginally altered, brought no true novelty. The pheasant, a substitution for last week’s goose, was hardly the culinary triumph the hosts had envisioned. Yet still, the gathered throng twittered and preened, as though this fête were the crowning glory of the season. 

It was not.

She often found her thoughts wandering from the oppressive glow of chandeliers to the untamed wilds beyond the manicured grounds. There, she imagined herself letting her hair and laughter fall loose, and riding bareback through the weaving woods she often drifted to, lured by wildflowers and birdsong. Or even further, to the ocean where the waves beat and pulled against the shore and promised mystery and new horizons.

Her daydreaming and lack of refinement had often left her labelled as preoccupied, unladylike, vexing.. To those throughout her life who had attempted to curtail her tendency to wish for the unobtainable. Corsets and etiquette may have done their best to pour her into a shape worth enduring, but there were no rules nor laces tight enough to bind the wild beat of her reckless heart. 

But here she was, bound again and bored again, at another repetitive show, for another repetitive year. Constantly torn between wanting to be wild and needing to be secure. 

This season, like the last, had brought Tav yet another marriage proposal - her third in total. She accepted it with the quiet resignation of one who had grown all too accustomed to the inevitability of such offers.

Offers which, so far, had ended in tragedy. 

Two seasons ago, she had been affianced to a fine gentleman of estimable rank and fortune. Their engagement was announced amid great fanfare, and society applauded the match as one of rare brilliance. Alas, before vows could be exchanged, her intended husband succumbed to a sudden fever, leaving Tav bereaved and pitied. 

The following season, she accepted another suitor, a baronet’s eldest son, whose devotion bordered on zeal. Yet fate struck cruelly again: he fell from his horse mere weeks before their nuptials, his neck broken in an instant.

After the second tragedy, the whispers began. They followed her like shadows, flitting from one fan to the next, growing more embellished with every retelling. Some claimed her beauty was too perfect, a snare set by the Fates to lure men to their doom. Others murmured curses, of misdeeds from ancestors long ago visited upon the innocents of the present.  

Whatever the tale, Tav was transformed in the eyes of society - from the most captivating of melodies, to the siren who used it to drown the besotted. 

She was hoping that the third time would, indeed, be the charm many claimed it to be. The only reason she had accepted the invitation to this particular ball was due to the request of Mr. Rowle, a solicitor who spent most of his time in London and was in search of a wife to keep in his large house in the countryside. 

He had asked for her hand, and she had accepted. It was to be announced later this evening. 

Mr. Rowle was the kind of man who could hardly be described as remarkable. He bore the vigour of watered-down wine, and his presence filled every room he was in the way a stale breeze might fill a drawing room. Still, he had taken a particular shine to Tav after realising, quite astutely, that she possessed both beauty and a good name, with very little competition standing in her way. His appreciation for her was pragmatic, driven by the efficiency of her family’s connections rather than any deep passion.

Tav had no illusions. She knew what marriage meant in this world. Mr. Rowle, for all his mildness, was no different from the fiancées who had come before him—well-intentioned, perhaps, but uninspiring. A man who would offer comfort and stability, if not love.

He was aware of the rumours that surrounded her, but Mr. Rowle was not a superstitious man, and so after only a couple of dances and several conversations about the weather and the local wildlife, he had visited her home and made her an offer of matrimony. It was swift, practical, and utterly devoid of romantic flourishes. He had no grand speeches, no sweet promises, only a proposal that seemed as casual as the conversation they had shared over punch.

Tav had felt nothing. Certainly not elation, nor disappointment, nor even relief. There was nothing in Mr. Rowle’s offer that made her heart race or her pulse quicken. His offer was as placid and dull as his presence.

And yet, she agreed. Not out of a sense of duty or obligation, but because she could not think of a reason not to. The prospect of becoming a solitary wife in a large, empty house with a husband she did not love seemed no worse than the alternative—more of the same, the same crowded balls, the same endless parade of unremarkable suitors, the same stale expectations.

“I shall make do,” she had resolved to herself, turning her thoughts away from her own desires. 

Not that she particularly minded being on her own. In fact, she found her company much more invigorating than any other person she had socialised with all season - save, perhaps, one.

Mr. Gale Dekarios was a recent attendee to the events of the county, and was the subject of countless fluttering eyelashes, timid stares, and whispered speculations. Wealthy, strikingly handsome, and possessing an education that was the envy of many, he had recently taken up residence in the county after parting scandalously from his lover in the capital. A member of the nobility, it was said - though no one dared utter whose name, precisely - with whom he had been an illustrious paramour until he had, regrettably, fallen out of favour.

Quick-witted, and perhaps a touch too clever for his own good, Mr. Dekarios had the uncanny ability to sharpen a room’s attention merely by entering it. Tav had disliked him instantly. She rolled her eyes at the chatter of scandal that clung to him, noting how it seemed to polish his reputation rather than tarnish it.

The same clucking mothers who had pecked at her name until it was in tatters, pushed their daughters towards him at every opportunity. Hoping that a dance or a conversation would lead to a betrothal between the rich, educated former lover of a noble and their insipid waif of a daughter.  

She certainly had no intention of tripping over herself to catch his eye.

Mr.Dekarios however, was not quite as sure-footed. 

He was intrigued by the woman of substantial beauty who often seemed to flitter, disinterested at the corner of the gatherings. Filling her own glass, and tapping her feet to the music as she sat in solitude, thinking no-one could see the rhythm of her slippers beneath her gown.

He had asked about her almost immediately. Discretion was paramount, of course, so he made his inquiries with care, approaching a variety of confidants and acquaintances. Their answers, though varied, all carried the same shadowed thread.

She was a beauty, they said, as luminous as she was mysterious. Yet her allure was whispered to come at a cost. Twice, she had been betrothed, and twice tragedy had struck before vows could be exchanged. Both men, hale and hearty, had perished suddenly and unexpectedly. Fever claimed one, and a fatal fall took the other. Another one, some solicitor , was apparently rumoured to be next in line. 

Some spun her tale with a touch of poetry, casting her as an otherworldly enchantress whose perfection ensnared mortal men. Others muttered more pragmatic warnings, hinting at curses, ill luck, or sins of her forebears.

Whatever the version, the message was clear: she was a woman to be admired from afar, not pursued.

And yet, after watching her, Gale found himself thoroughly unconvinced.

The first time he asked her to dance, she had declined with polite finality, offering no further explanation. It wasn’t rejection so much as dismissal, as though his request were little more than a passing inconvenience. He hadn’t been discouraged.

The second time, she wavered—her lips curving into a subtle smirk, her eyes alight with a glimmer of something that might have been amusement. Still, her answer had been the same. No.

The third time, however, her disbelief at his persistence had given way to reluctant acceptance. “I’m not sure this is wise,” she had said, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

“Wisdom is overrated,” Gale replied, his grin laced with mischief. “But if it’s any consolation, I promise not to step on your toes.”

And so began the pattern that would define their every subsequent meeting.

Each time they danced, his hand held her waist with a touch that grew imperceptibly firmer, his dark eyes dipping lower, his gaze lingering longer. She told herself she imagined the faint stroke of his thumb against her gloved hand, yet each time the contact sent a spark rippling through her. For the first time, she understood the folly—and the wisdom—of feeling alight from something so small.

Unlike other partners, he eschewed the usual, droning topics of weather and the quality of the supper. Instead, he asked questions that surprised her. He wanted to know about her family, her thoughts, her opinions. 

She had flirted and bantered, and he had laughed - beautifully, richly. A sound that disarmed her completely and, more often than not, drew her own laughter from her lips until her corset protested against the joy.

But beneath the growing warmth between them, a shadow still lingered. Tav couldn’t ignore it. Surely Gale, for all his charm, was not unaware of her reputation, the whispers that followed her like a darkness even beneath the brightest chandeliers. Surely he, like everyone else, knew of the misfortunes that had befallen those who dared to come too close.

Her curiosity eventually overcame her. One evening, as the music faded and the final steps of their dance drew them close, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. His touch, light and brief, sent a shiver through her even as his dark eyes locked onto hers, steady and full of something she dared not name.

“I would like to pay you a call tomorrow,” he said softly, the intimacy of it wrapping around her like a caress.

Bemused, and emboldened by their growing familiarity, she could not help but challenge him. “Have you not heard, sir?” she asked, tilting her head with mock gravity. “Any man foolish enough to commit himself to me meets a grisly end. I am the curse of the county.”

“I am well aware of your fascinating history.” His lips twitched, a grin threatening to break free. “It reminds me of certain females of the animal kingdom who are known to murder - and occasionally devour - their partners after the union is complete. It seems you either possess exceptional efficiency or lack the intelligence to at least wait until the marriage contract is signed.”

“Intelligence?” She arched a brow, her smirk sharpening. “Sir, I lack the patience.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sagacity. “Then perhaps next time, you ought to choose a suitor whose company you can bear for long enough to secure the contract.”

“If I find such a man,” she countered with a smile, “I shall let you know at once.”

His laughter rang out, warm and unguarded, sending a strange ache through her chest. It had quickly become her favorite sound—a sound that made the rest of the world fade, if only for a moment.

But the following day, when he arrived at her home, she turned him away.

Not because she wanted to. On the contrary, she found herself hovering near the window long after his carriage had departed, her hands gripping the sill as though it might steady the tumult inside her.

No, she turned him away because she understood the danger of marrying for passion in a world where she was not allowed to express it. 

And somewhere deep down, buried beneath her rational mind and resolute exterior, there lingered a fear she dared not voice. The rumors, as wild and swirling as they were, had taken root in a corner of her heart. No matter how much she dismissed tales of blood curses and ancestral magic as foolishness, the whispers of society were insidious. If you are told something often enough, if you hear it echoed and embellished in every corner of every room, the ability to believe it burrows cruelly and stubbornly into the softer places of the soul.

It didn’t matter that no proof existed, nor that the very idea was absurd. The possibility, however faint, was enough to haunt her.

And the thought of such a fate befalling Gale—his dark, knowing eyes dimmed, his laughter silenced, his warm hand gone cold—was too cruel to consider.

She accepted Mr Rowle’s proposal the very next day. 

And so here she was, at the ball where it was to be announced, once again folded up into manageable pieces, and ended up feeling so confined it became difficult to breathe properly, let alone laugh or flirt or, god forbid, enjoy oneself. 

She thought once more of the woods and the ocean, of a freedom she would never find, and it all became too much.

She slipped from the crowded room, the clamour of prattle unbearable, and wandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of endless, identical corridors. The monotonous expanse seemed to stretch without end, until, at last, she stumbled upon an unoccupied alcove. With a soft, relieved sigh, she surrendered to the cool solidity of the wall, allowing herself the rare indulgence of slouching heavily against it. The breath she released felt as though it had been held captive not just for hours, but for the entire length of the season itself.

Her reprieve, however, was fleeting.

“Miss Taventon,” came a familiar velvet voice, “I was hoping to stumble into you.”

It was a cruel challenge, to maintain both eloquence and ire in the presence of someone so devilishly handsome. Yet, she resolved to rise to the occasion all the same. 

“A pleasure Mr. Dekarios,” she replied, her voice carefully even. Her eyes flicked down the corridor behind him, searching for signs of life. It was, to her dismay, empty. The usual din of aimless chatter was absent - ordinarily a blessing, but now a vexing reminder that to be alone with him, even for a moment, was to court the sort of scandal that clung like burrs to one’s reputation. She lacked both the energy and inclination to untangle herself from such a mess.

“Perhaps we may continue this discussion elsewhere,” he offered, wanting to protect her decency but not at the expense of losing the pleasure of her company. His interactions with her had become a sparkling rarity he would loathe to let slip between clumsy fingers. 

His eyes caught the faint light of the sconces, their gleam too knowing, his half-cocked smile far too disarming. Indeed, Tav found herself wholly disarmed. Her wits scattered like leaves in a strong wind, and she could scarcely think clearly enough to determine what she ought to do—or say. 

Before reason could intervene, her hand shot out, taking hold of his arm with a firmness that startled even her. She pulled him into the nearest room without so much as a word of explanation.

The door clicked shut behind them, and they found themselves within a study, low-lit and mercifully empty. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, the scent of leather-bound tomes mingling with faint traces of cedar and ink. An extravagant writing desk stood as the room’s centerpiece, the only witness to their impropriety. 

He was so close, gazing down upon her, the scent of plummy wine and heat simmering upon him. A dangerous thought flitted through her mind. If she so chose, she need only rise to the balls of her feet and kiss away the smile that played so smugly upon his lips. What might it taste like - that peculiar blend of arrogance and charm? Would it be sharp and bitter, like unripe fruit, or unexpectedly sweet, a slow trickle of late-summer honey?

The notion startled her, sending a betraying flush to her cheeks. To taste his superiority - to swallow it whole, to let it nourish her own fire - was a thought too bold, too improper. She stepped back abruptly, the motion breaking the spell his gaze had woven around her. The weight of his eyes remained upon her, unrelenting, as though he could divine the secrets she so desperately sought to hide.

Her lips parted, but no words formed. What could she possibly say to shatter the charged silence that hung between them? She felt unmoored in a storm she was unprepared for, swirling with curiosity, and something perilously close to longing. Yet even in her disarray, she knew that silence was a weapon she dared not wield for too long.

“I hear you are betrothed,” he said first. His tone was peculiar, sharper than usual, edged with something she could not readily name. “My sincerest congratulations.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw the faintest flicker in his expression - hurt, perhaps, or resignation. But the mocking tilt to his words fanned her anger, quick and volatile.

“If your intention is to bait me with sarcasm or false pleasantries,” she snapped, indignant, “then I can assure you, your ire is wasted.” Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her temper. “You have very little appreciation of my position, and I will have no judgment from you, nor from anybody else.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, her hot-blooded nature betraying her as usual, and she felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. She turned her face away, willing herself to regain control, furious that he could provoke her so easily.

“I apologise,” he said, gentler now. “If I have upset you, I assure you, it was never my intention.”

He reached out then, instinct overriding reason, his hand hovering in the space between them. He longed to trace the line of her jaw, to gently guide her gaze back to his. He lived for those moments when her eyes met his, those fleeting seconds when the world fell away and he could lose himself utterly in their depths. To be this close to her yet deprived of that connection felt like an unbearable cruelty.

But just as quickly, reason caught up with him. He hesitated, his hand faltering mid-air before he let it fall back to his side. He thought better of himself—of her—and allowed her the space she sought, even if it meant she kept her face turned from him, her eyes averted, her expression unreadable.

“If that was not your intention, sir,” she asked “then what is?”

He hesitated once more, caught between decorum and the desperate urge to speak the truth. If her engagement was to be announced tonight, as rumour suggested, this moment might be his last chance—his last opportunity to tell her what had remained unsaid for far too long.

In the silence, her eyes once more found him, too curious and impatient to be coy. 

“My intention… was to make you aware of my feelings for you. It is no use, I can hide them no longer, and if this is my final opportunity to make them known then.. I would be a fool not to take it.” 

If he expected her to be flattered, he would be disappointed.

“I see.” She said, whilst waiting for her thoughts to arrange themselves into a suitable order. “And you have decided to make this confession, alone with me? On the night of my engagement? How noble of you, sir. How thoughtful.”

He had the decency to blush a little, “I did not mean to.. I did not think..” “No, because you have no need of thought. You may act as and how you please with little to no repercussions upon your indelible reputation. What is one more scandal to the mystical and ravishing Gale Dekarios? It would surely only further your allure, to have talk of another lover notched upon your no-doubt dwindling bedpost.” 

“Now, hold on..”

“No. I shall hold no more. This is perhaps my final chance for a match, as limp and uninspiring as it is, it is still a match. I do not have the luxury of flitting my way across ballrooms and wearing scandal like the latest fashion. My name is muddied, and my future with it. This engagement is my chance at a comfortable and secure future, do you understand?”

“It is strange, my lady, as secure and comfortable are not words I would have associated with you, or your future.” For one so intelligent, Gale Dekarios often demonstrated the wit of a backwards ass.

“And what words did you associate with my future? Ruined? Destitute? Cursed? The only curse that has befallen me is the one that prevents me from charting my own course. You think I wish to marry that man? I assure you I do not.” 

“Stubborn is the word I would use! And infuriating!” His voice was rising to meet hers. “You ought not to worry about the match” he remarked, exasperated. “This time you are bound to vex the poor soul into an early grave”

“Yes, I am vexing! I have been told many times. And I am stubborn, I am glad of it. Because if I am not then I am meek, and if I am not curious then I am stale, and if I am not passionate  then I..” she could feel the words crack in her throat, truths she did not want to admit were being spilled from her like poisoned wine “then I am ruined. Not the ruin that this stagnant, monotone tribunal has decreed, but truly ruined. The kind of ruin that steals the sun from my skin and the fire from my soul. That straightens my curls along with my spirit and leaves me pale, faded, and hollow.”

She was blazing, alight, and so achingly, achingly tired of it all. 

“The ruin they speak of, the one they condemn with such piety - freedom, passion, love without boundaries or permission - that is no ruin at all. That is a privilege. One that you are entitled to, sir, but I am not and now never will be. I crave to be so ruined.” 

Her chest heaved as she finished, her final words hanging in the air like a dare. She was certain he would turn and leave her, that her outburst was too wild for a gentleman of his stature to bear. It would hurt her, for him to turn, but it would not destroy her. She was made of obstinance and wildfire. She would endure. 

But he did not turn. He stood there, gazing at her with an expression she could not read and a patience she did not understand. 

“Then let me ruin you.”

She was a match struck. 

Before she could form a reply - before she could even think - he crossed the small space between them in one deliberate step. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his palm warm against her flushed skin. The touch was surprisingly gentle, belying the fire burning in his gaze, and for a moment, she thought he would simply hold her there, suspended in this unbearable torment.

But then his lips were on hers, and the whole world tilted.

The kiss was no delicate brush of affection. It was a collision. His lips claimed hers with an urgency that stole her breath, leaving her reeling.

She should have pulled away, every rational thought in her mind screamed that she must. But instead, her hands betrayed her, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, the only thing keeping her upright.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, strong and steady, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. When his tongue swept against hers, the shock of it sent a jolt through her, every nerve in her body alight. She met him with equal fervor, her tongue pressing against his in a rhythm that had been desperate to know. A low, primal sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as he pressed closer, his body warm and solid against hers.

The moan sent a shiver through her, and she felt herself leaning into him, her fingers tightening their grip as though afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t. His other hand slid to her waist, strong fingers splaying across the delicate fabric of her gown as though he might anchor her to him.

She could feel the heat of his breath, could taste the faint hint of wine on his lips, and the sheer reality of it overwhelmed her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a chaotic echo of this is madness.

And yet, she couldn’t stop.

Her body betrayed her again, arching toward him. When his lips parted from hers, moving to trail a line of fire along her jaw, she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Gale,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking his name might shatter whatever fragile spell had woven itself around them.

But he only paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above her ear as he spoke, his voice rough and low. “Tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth, the words poised on her lips. But no sound came. 

His forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, his voice low, rough, and trembling with restraint. “And I will. But kiss me again…

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze searching, as though he feared he had gone too far. But there was no condemnation in her expression, only a fire that mirrored his own.

He paused, as though steadying himself, “Kiss me again, and know that I am done. That I am yours. That I will ruin you for all others but me—and me for you.”

His words unraveled something deep within her, loosening threads she had clung to for far too long. She felt her breath hitch, her resolve wavering as she stood on the precipice of something she could not yet name.

“Yours?” she whispered.

“Everlasting”

The weight of his promise pressed against her, both a burden and a liberation. She knew the cost of stepping over this threshold, knew what it would mean to claim him as hers and to give herself in turn. And yet, in that moment, the world beyond the walls of the study—the rigid rules, the whispered judgments, the life that awaited her—seemed so distant, so inconsequential.

Her hand rose of its own accord, trembling as it brushed against the collar of his coat, tracing the fine fabric. She felt the sharp intake of his breath, and it emboldened her.

She kissed him, branded him, a kiss to end all others. 

A sound escaped him then, something between a sigh and a growl, and before she could say more, his tongue was against hers again. 

He broke away briefly, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“There will be no going back,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Good,” she replied, her fingers curling tighter into his coat. “I have no wish to.”

His hands were large and practiced upon her corseted waist. He knew that he would not be able undo her now the way he wished to. He wanted to rip the strings and restraints that bound together the softness of her body. What a waste, what a crime, to tighten and pull together someone as vivid and iridescent as her. To compress her heavy breaths and even heavier laughter into a space too small to hold it. He wanted to hear her, unbidden and unbound. Taste her, full and soft and naked beneath him. 

His eyes swept over her, lingering on the curve of her throat where pearls pulsed teasingly, the flush that painted her cheeks, and the slight parting of her lips as she fought to catch her breath. What need did a creature like her have for silk, satin, or pearls? They were dull imitations of beauty, mere adornments trying to mimic what she carried so effortlessly.

It was her—the way her skin caught the light, the way her hair fell in wild waves when she let it loose, the way her laughter could ripple through a room and silence even the most biting of whispers—that made those lifeless things shine. They owed their luster to her, mere shadows granted brilliance by proximity to the source. Just as he felt by being close to her. 

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough with longing.

She released herself from his grasp to a noise of frustration, before stepping back until the back of her legs met with the solid wood of the grand writing desk. It was covered in papers, books which held little interest. He wished to throw them all to the floor, nothing that lay upon that desk could ever possibly be as entrancing as even the thought of Tav laying splayed across it - spine arched and back rising. 

“Show me.” She said. 

She perched upon the desk, and his breath was ragged and eyes hungry as she lifted her skirts tantalisingly slowly, inch by inch, revealing her feet, her ankles, her calves. How hard he was, just from the sight of her ankles. He wished to kiss each part of her she was unveiling, parts he had imagined in his dreams night after night. Pushing his tongue against her insole, running along the delicacy of her ankle and up her calf. Further and further and further up until his teeth could grace her stocking clasps and he could finally indulge in the scent of her greatest intimacy. 

He fell to his knees before her, in lust-induced worship. He had found a Goddess made mortal, and he wished to venerate her with sermon and satisfaction until her divinity returned. He would offer his mouth - tongue and teeth and words, upon every altar she owned. Purl hymns and benediction into the slick heat of her sacred cunt until she offered him blessing after blessing in return. 

His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her closer to him as his mouth claimed her. He wanted her to fall apart against him, to know that no other would ever worship her like this, with such complete surrender. Her cries filled the room as he licked and moaned and devoured, and when she trembled beneath him, he knew he had her.

But the fire blazing between them refused to be sated.

He rose to his feet in one swift motion, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her flush against him. Her skirts were rucked high, her bare thighs wrapping around him instinctively. She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until she freed him, her hand wrapping around the hard, pulsing heat of him.

“We do not have to...” he groaned, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of proprietary, to throw a lifeline despite drawing himself. 

She needed no lifeline from him. Gasping, she positioned him against her, and kissed him hard as with one rough, claiming thrust, he buried himself inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head falling back as he filled her completely. The desk groaned beneath them. 

He drove into her with a raw, relentless intensity, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, deeper, with every thrust. The sounds of their coupling filled the room—her breathless cries, his low growls, the slap of skin against skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed, and he would have her again and again until she knew it.

Her legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his back as her body arched against his. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands clutching at him as though she feared he might disappear. She was wild, untamed, and he was utterly at her mercy.

“Gale,” she gasped, her voice rippling with pleasure.

He kissed her messy and feverish, a clash of teeth and tongues as their passion spilled over. He swallowed her cries as her body tightened around him, her release ripping through her with a force that left her trembling in his arms.

He followed moments later, his own release crashing over him like a tidal wave. He held her close, his forehead resting against hers as their breaths mingled, their bodies still joined. The room was silent save for the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of their lovemaking hanging heavy in the air.

She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with mischief and satisfaction. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and warm, as he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “One cannot always be a gentleman,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

Her gaze drifted over the room, taking in the disarray they’d left in their wake—papers crumpled and askew, books knocked from their orderly piles, and an inkpot that had tipped, its dark contents staining the pristine wood and smearing across important-looking documents.

“We’ve made a mess,” she said, her tone somewhere between scolding and delight.

“More than a mess,” he replied, his disarming smile lighting his face. “Ruined, I would say.”

Her laughter spilled into the room, bright and unrestrained, and he caught it in a kiss. His lips brushed hers softly at first, then with growing fervor as if he could never quite get enough of her. Reluctantly pulling away, he began the task of tidying her up, his hands reverent as they smoothed her disheveled skirts.

He knelt before her, fastening her stockings with a devotion that made her heart race. Each clasp was accompanied by the soft press of his lips to her thighs, a mixture of penance and unrepentant indulgence. When her hair pins were hopelessly scattered, he did his best to tame her curls, his fingers clumsy yet endearing as he pinned them back into something resembling order.

Satisfied—or at least as much as either of them could be—he sank into the grand leather desk chair, its creak breaking the quiet. With a gentle tug, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against him. His hands roamed her back and waist, languid and adoring,

“There is a packet ship,” Gale said, “Leaving from Falmouth in three days' time. We could be on it.”

She stilled, her lips barely parted, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “A ship?”

“Yes,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that resembled a promise. “A fine vessel. A friend of mine—Wyll, a duke’s son—will be aboard. The Nautiloid. We could go together. You and I.”

Across the sea. How many nights had she stood at her window, gazing out beyond the carefully manicured hedges, imagining the vast, untamed expanse of the ocean? How often had she dreamed of a ship’s deck beneath her feet, the wind twisting her hair into wild hurricanes, no land in sight—only water, only freedom?

Her breath quickened, her thoughts racing, but he continued, seizing the moment. “I had planned to leave earlier. The tedium of society was wearing unbearably thin. I long for further study, for exploration.” He paused, his voice softening as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But I stayed. For fleeting moments in your company, for the hope of something more.”

Her heart swelled and twisted in equal measure. “And you are not afraid? That becoming my companion will pull you towards an early grave?”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm as he cupped her cheek. “Afraid? No. I could think of no better way to end my days than by your side.” His gaze grew serious, intense. “No supposed curse you bear frightens me. I think your suitors thus far were simply not of strong enough disposition to keep your wild flames stoked. And so, they burned out. As many would.”

“And you,” she asked, arching a brow, though her voice was edged with a smile, “are not at risk of combusting, I suppose?”

“I’d like to hope not,” he replied, his grin returning, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as though to trace the smile that bloomed there.

“So, Mr. Dekarios,” she began “if I do board this ship with you, if I cast off everything I know and chart my own course, what will we find there?”

His smile softened, his hand falling to hers, their fingers lacing as though they had always belonged together.

“Adventure”

[prythiansprincess]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

heart shaped bruises.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: toothpaste kisses by the maccabees.

author's note: i'm so sorry you're in pain, love. hope this makes you feel better 💗

Bloody fucking hell. 

You clutched your stomach, doubling over in pain as another wave of cramps crashed into you at full force. An anti period pain potion. That would be your first invention after finishing your education at Hogwarts. For now, you were forced to endure the pain and misery sans magic. 

The clock on your nightstand rang obnoxiously, rattling the various barrettes and books stacked atop the table. The alarm meant that Charms would be starting soon. With a rather hard smack, you silenced the clock and buried yourself underneath the covers. 

There was no way in hell that you were going to make it to class today.

You couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone walk to the other side of the castle. No, you were staying right here. Cocooned in the safety of your blankets so you could wallow in self pity in peace. 

Apparently, suffering in silence was too much to ask for because the minute the alarm finally stopped, there was a knock on your door. 

“Go away,” you yelled, the words slightly muffled by your goose down comforter. 

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “Are you alright, love?”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. No, you were definitely not alright. Your uterus was an active war zone, your emotions were a poorly assembled rollercoaster in an abandoned theme park, and to top it all off, you had a raging headache like someone had taken a bludger to your skull. 

But you couldn’t say all of that. You didn’t want to freak your boyfriend out. 

“I’m fine, Theo. Just feeling under the weather.” You clamped your eyes shut, trying to block out the migraine. “Go to class without me.”

There was shuffling from the hallway before your door swung open, revealing a very concerned Theo. He took in the sight of you in bed, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying all morning. Theo was by your side in three strides. 

“What’s wrong, dolcezza?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling well.” A fresh set of cramps chose that exact moment to pummel your lower abdomen, making you wince in pain. 

“That’s not nothing, darling.” He knelt beside you, taking your hand. “Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. I hate seeing you in pain.”

Your eyes watered again. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Of course not, love.”

“It’s these cramps,” you said slowly, shifting to face him. “I’m on my period and it’s just really bad today. Usually I take a pain relieving potion, but even that’s not working this time around.”

Theo’s face softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You averted his gaze, flushing. “I guess I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal,” said Theo. “Everything that has to do with you is a big deal to me. I hate thinking that you’ve been suffering through this all alone.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you with something so silly.”

“You could never bother me, Y/N.” Theo gently pulled back the covers. “If anything I’m the one bothering you right now. Scoot over, darling. Make room for your Teddy.”

“But you’ll miss Charms.”

“I’ve skipped for less. This time it’s actually important. You need me. I’m not leaving you.”

You smiled softly and made room for Theo. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a snuggle. The familiar scent of sea salt and smoke felt like a warm hug in itself. Theo stroked your hair and kissed your temple. 

The cold air seeped in through your frosted glass windows, chilling you to the core. As much as you loved the ominous charm of living in the dungeons, this was one of its disadvantages. You shivered in Theo’s arms, cuddling closer for warmth. 

Your boyfriend radiated heat. You had no idea how when it was near freezing in your dorm. Theo liked to say he was hot blooded. You were just grateful to have your own personal heater. 

“Are you cold, darling?” 

You nodded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A little.”

Theo shifted beside you. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off in one swift move. “Arms up, love.”

You sat upright and did what you were told. Theo slipped his hoodie over you, smiling as the plush fabric swallowed you whole. It was warm and smelled like him. You wanted to drown in it. 

He kissed the tip of your nose. “It looks good on you, but don’t think that it gets you out of cuddling.” 

Theo pulled you to him, snuggling you from behind. He twined your legs together, making you giggle as his leg hair tickled the back of your thighs. You intertwined your fingers and kissed the back of his palm. 

The cramps may still be wreaking havoc on your body, but at least now you had Theo to comfort you. 

“How are you feeling, babe?” 

You turned, smiling. “Better now that you’re here, Teddy.���

Theo grinned and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “Get some rest, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Dark Baker

Debut: Princess Peach: Showtime!

Hello! Remember Princess Peach: Showtime!? Because I forgot about it. Whoopsie-do! But even if I don't play or care to play a certain game... it can still have some funny guys in it, can't it? It can, and it does! This is Dark Baker, who I have been informed is Evil, Bad, and all-around Unkind. Don't you forget that! It's very important.

First of all, I want to mention that, as far as I can tell, Dark Baker uses they/them! "They" is the only pronoun I have seen used for them in-game. Yahoo! How fitting that they are an eyes-in-a-void character. That's what I look like! Unfortunately, I don't remember the last time I wore a chef's hat... but I have done it! And I will again.

So what is so Dark about this Baker? Well, they do possess this funny actor and lock her in the basement, so that part is rude, I will admit. This is the star actor of the the... baking plays. I guess. A core pillar of this theater's plays are about baking. Sounds strange, but I will admit I've never seen a baking play. Maybe it would change my life! Maybe they sing about muffins! I would sure like that!

So they challenge Peach to decorate a cake and the deliciousness exorcises the Theet (the funny little nose guys are called Theets). Hooray! Peach is praised for her baking, when in actuality all she did was decorate it. Now that's what I call eye candy! (cake is not candy)

But remember. We're dealing with a Bad Guy here. A guy so bad they have Dark in their name, and an ominous purple glow. Now, in their true form, Dark Baker reveals their true intentions... they want to bake! Together! Now, if it were me, I would love to. That sounds delightful! But the game thinks "I don't think so, buster! That baker is bad news!" so the exit is blocked off. This is a bad guy! We swear! Wait until you see the twisted, deadly depravity they consider "baking"...

It's baking. But using a glowing purple whisk! Jeepers! That's no batter, that's BADDER! What will that vile substance become?

It's some cookies- I MEAN, some CROOKIES! Watch out for these ones! I have been jesting throughout this post, but I actually would not eat these cookies. There was no actual baking involved! These are raw, and I do not want salmonella. But that's just me. If you're a salmonella fan, go ahead. I don't like seafood, I don't like cilantro, I don't like salmonella, but I'm not going to prevent anyone else from enjoying things! Anyway, Peach also does not apply any heat to HER cookies, so this cannot be held against Dark Baker as an evil thing.

The only other Bad thing they do is jump around and ground pound, and I suppose that is a hazard. But a gleeful chef is one of nature's treasures. I say not guilty!

So that's about all the "bad" stuff Dark Baker does. No intended harm, just a wee bit overboard with ze passion. If I had to punish Dark Baker, I would administer a "please just ask next time when you want to bake with someone, you silly goose". And then we would bake together, reasonably, and everyone would be happy! So what happens after they are bested in a cookie contest?

Well, they are rather annoyed, but mostly just want to taste Peach's winning cookies to judge their quality. So Peach makes an extra special cookie for Dark Baker to try!

It's so delicious that they start to glow with heavenly light! And then they disintegrate. Whuh oh! I guess they are dead now, as punishment for enjoying a cookie, but I don't think a pastry chef would want to die any other way. That's how I want to die, actually! From a cookie being unearthly delicious, I mean. Not just from eating a cookie. I don't want to be poisoned by a cookie!

It's good to know Peach didn't decide to kill Dark Baker just for being kind of rude, but it's funny that the game overall seems to feel they must be Defeated, since they are a Bad Guy in the end. They come off as less hostile than some TV chefs! One shudders to imagine what punishments Nintendo would have in store for Gordon Ramsay!

[wingdinged]

Batfamily Members as Real Quotes I’ve Heard at College (pulled fresh from the notes app)

Jason: I really just want to have a fistfight with a goose.

Steph: Waffle House is literally my whole personality.

Dick, missing important case details on comms: Sorry, I was doing the Macarena.

Tim: I’m like the Mr. Worldwide of mental illness.

Duke (to the first cult he has to fight): Hypothetically, if I was going to be sacrificed, could you do it in the parking lot of a Taco Bell?

Cass (ominously, where criminals can hear her): I see your sin, sin, sin.

Damian: I am first, always, and forever a hater.

Brucie Wayne: Better to arrive late than to arrive ugly.

Alfred: You should fear what I can do with the second amendment. But I wouldn’t need the guns to stop you.

[riddles-n-games]

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: Avery has finally gotten downtime to actually settle for the holidays. It's her first Christmas at Hawthorne House and with a new boyfriend. Jameson and her are still figuring things out; can they help each other through the muddle of the last few weeks? Length: Moderate Story Type: One Shot

Tag List: @hathorneheiress, @whatsamongus, @xoxo-lenah, @charsoamerican, @thecircularlibrary, @elif-in-wonderland, @jamcarven, @silly-little-gooses, @mafiasliege, @lyrakanefanatic, @nothankyou3333, @inmyheaddd, @downrightbooks, @no1bookgirl, @elysianwayy77, @ariscats, @never-enough-novels, @goldi-1-graysons-version, @apollospoems, @x-liv25-jamieswife, @anintellectualintellectual, @aaal-iz-well

A/N: Hey guys, Merry Christmas! It was about time we actually had some holiday set fics and what better way than to dedicate it to the couple that started it all? I was inspired by one passage in Secret Santa from Games Untold and so we go back in time to where it all started for Averyjameson, at the most wonderful time of the year. Enjoy! Warning, it's looooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnng.

  “I keep thinking about last Christmas. You were still recovering from the coma.”

    Last Christmas, we hadn’t played Secret Santa.

    Last Christmas, we’d been together, but I hadn’t been his and he hadn’t been mine the way we were now.

ONE YEAR AGO

    It seemed to be his wish and purpose to mask this expression with a smile; but the latter played him false, and flickered over his visage so derisively, that the spectator could see his blackness all the better for it. Ever and anon, too, there came a glare of red light out of his eyes; as if the old man’s soul were on fire, and kept on smouldering duskily within his breast, until, by some casual puff of…

    My throat was starting to feel dry so I carefully reached over for the water bottle. Xander’s Holly Jolly Hot Chocolate Marshmallow Surprise was already halfway gone and I wanted to savor it for as long as I could. There were also only four marshmallows left, to my dismay. In addition, while my plate of sweets was still relatively full, it was already devoid of my favorites, chocolate cupcakes, even though Libby had added extras for that very reason. They never stood a chance and now without them, the plate looked agonizingly empty.

    I unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips, never taking my eyes off the page.

    … passion, it was blown into a momentary flame. This he repressed as speedily as possible, and strove to look as if nothing of the kind had happened.

    Once hydrated, I put it back down and grabbed a cookie, stuffing it in my mouth before I grabbed another sticky note, taping it on the little desktop attached to the recliner. It was convenient compared to my usual tactic which was using a textbook as a hard surface to write on when I didn’t want to sit hunched at my desk. Grayson would have argued there was no difference where I sat as both resulted in bad posture. 

    I finished off the page and kept the book splayed open as I jotted down my newest annotations for the chapter. When done, I put the sticky note in the free margin and slid the book toward me, flipping to the next page.

    For some time, I continued on with no annotations since there wasn’t anything of note. 

    Or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, hen-bane, and whatever else of vegetable wicke-

    A gasp escaped me as the book toppled off the desktop from my lax grip but luckily my arm reflex was fast enough to grab it before it fell to the floor. But, of course, that still came with a price.

    “Damn it.” I lost my spot on the page. I quickly leafed through familiar territory until I got to the newer stuff I just covered. Thankfully, I realized that I had stopped just a page or two after the start of a new chapter. When I found it, I searched for keywords from what I remembered reading then leaned back in the chair to get comfortable. Before I continued reading, my eyes drifted to the fire in the hearth to the garland decorating the mantle and the antique clock sitting atop it. 9:15, the clock read. It was getting late. 

    I sighed. The day had been long; Alisa occupied me with more papers relating to my emancipation alongside briefings for the Hawthorne Foundation and upcoming events. However, even with all the paperwork, I somehow managed to help Libby bake cupcakes and other holiday desserts, got roped into Xander’s Christmas experiments, and also had some shooting practice with Nash. After it all, I escaped into the circular library to one of the adjoining rooms for some relaxing and to get on with my English reading. 

    In part, I knew that all of this was to keep me distracted from my traumatic ordeals from the past few weeks. While I was pushing for it because I didn’t want to be wallowing in those memories and all the questions that came with them, I was still tired. I needed this. 

    My gaze drifted to the rest of the room, to really take it in for the first time in hours. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, bookshelves lining the walls, a large desk in the back, and another sitting area. It was cozy and with all the Christmas decor, it felt like a Christmas card came to life. Mom would have love- No. Don’t think about it. It’s just gonna hurt you. I blinked back the sudden onset of tears and took steady breaths to keep from crying. But it was too late; my imagination was conjuring up projections of my mom sitting in the opposite chair, making her move on a chessboard, teasing me about doing homework when I could have been taking an epic nap. 

    I shook my head and swiped at my eyes as I leaned over to grab another cookie. I munched on it slowly and turned back to the book. 

    … wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or would he spread bat’s wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven? “Be it sin or no,” said Hester Prynne bitterly, as she still gazed after him, “I hate the man!” She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days, in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study, and sit down in the fire-light of their home, and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself in that smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours among his books might be taken off the scholar’s heart. Such scenes had once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves among her ugliest rememb-

    “Avery?” I heard my name being called and I jolted. 

    The question was followed up by a tentative knock on the door. “Heiress?” Jameson.

    “Come in,” I called out.

    The door knob turned and a resounding click later, a dark-haired Hawthorne was standing in the doorway smiling softly at me. He stood there for a beat, awkwardly shuffling his feet and scratching his side as if waiting for a signal or something. Odd. I beckoned with my head for him to come in. It took him another second before he actually made a move. 

    I closed my book and turned to properly face him, flashing him a bright smile in greeting. “Hey, barely saw you today. What have you been up to?” 

    Jameson didn’t reply but clearly what I said put a little more spring in his step. As he got closer, a familiar glint appeared, the kind he got when he was thinking up something clever and his usual smirk came back. When he was finally close enough, he spoke, taking on a poetic tone.

    ‘‘Twas a few nights before Christmas, when all through the House, not a creature was stirring, not even the heiress on her couch.”

    “Not a couch but go on.” He grinned, undeterred.

    “But every so often she’d look to the clock and run a hand through her hair, anxious to know if her devastatingly handsome boyfriend would soon be there.” I rolled my eyes but didn’t miss the way he punctuated the word boyfriend. It sent a shiver down my spine. 

    “She was snug as a bug by the hearth with a book that needed to be read, while thoughts of his potential mischief that day dashed through her head. With an exasperated sigh and a hot chocolate sip, she continued to read all the while thinking how she was going to give him lip, when all of a sudden he burst through the door with his usual swagger, looking rather dapper,” he winked when I snorted at the sheer arrogance, “and sat in the chair beside her to ask her what was the matter.”

    With that end of verse, he plopped into the opposite chair all the while looking terribly pleased with himself. Note to self: learn how to curb this man’s ego. While I admired it at times, if we were going to be in a relationship, I was gonna have to bring his smugness down a few notches. I eyed him carefully.

    “Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.”

    “Avery Kylie Grambs.” The bastard dared to give me that shit-eating grin of his.

    “What did you do?” And more importantly, what are you hiding? 

    “Nothing.” I arched an eyebrow. He chuckled and shook his head. “Can’t believe even for a second that for once I might not have been up to trouble?” My eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

    “Prior instances dictate otherwise.” And Oren was just outside for back up reconnaissance. His expression morphed into a guilty smile that looked anything but remorseful. I pursed my lips and sighed loudly. “What am I going to do with you?”

    “I don’t know. Hopefully run away with me on a grand adventure.” 

    “Mm. Sounds delightful. But unfortunately, as you yourself said, I have a book to read.” 

    “What is it?” I held the book up. “Scarlet Letter? You really can’t resist Hawthornes, eh?”

    “Not my fault the school curriculum is also obsessed with you,” I grumbled.     

    Jameson chuckled again before growing quiet. Just like that, the playfulness died down and we settled into silence. Both of us turned to look at the hearth. The pleasant crackle of the flames coming from the fireplace and steady ticking beat of the clock were the only ambient noise in the room.

    None of us said anything for a little while but it felt like its own eternity, like a tension was building but not an uncomfortable one. I peaked at Jameson from the corner of my eye, noticing that his smile had faded and looked rather solemn. His eyes glowed an inviting emerald in the firelight. He looked deep in thought, about what, I didn’t know. Suddenly, I picked up on movement coming from his end and it was getting closer to me. Looking down, I realized it was his hand reaching out to my right one that was lax on the armrest.

    Though I saw it coming, I still startled a bit when I felt his fingers brushing against mine. “Sorry.” 

    He didn’t say anything, just continued to do what he was doing and gently took my hand in his. I let him. Looking up, I saw that Jameson had scooted over to the edge of his seat, his eyes trained on our hands as he gently rubbed circles into my skin. I watched him and felt like I couldn’t breathe, terrified to break the spell of this moment, whatever this was. 

    “How are you?” His soft voice broke through my mesmerized daze and realizing he was now looking at me, that rare sincerity in his expression made me feel shy under his gaze. My heartbeat seemed to slow, making each cycle feel like the tension would burst any second and the rush of blood flowing was loud in my ears.

    “I’m okay,” I finally said. He didn’t seem satisfied but didn’t push. Jameson then brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles but it made me wonder. What are you doing? Why are you?

    This wasn’t the first time where he dropped the pretense and turned tender. In the last few weeks, there have been many times where, when we were alone, he’d randomly become gentle and considerate, throwing me for a loop. It was certainly unusual.

    And surprisingly, even though it was happening often, it caught me off guard every time, more so than anything going on these days. We’d been together like usual but my brain still hadn’t really given the thought we were in a relationship until he did something like that. I hadn’t really processed our new status in general with all that’s been going on but I clung to our normalcy like a lifeline. 

    “She told him there was nothing to worry about, but he could see hovering over her head was a gray cloud of doubt.” He looked at me with arched brows. “He was there for whatever she had to say, even if it took an entire day.”

    I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Really, I’m okay. I’m just tired and I don’t want to think about the last few weeks at all. Actually, I was planning on asking Alisa if she could find me a good therapist in the New Year.”

    “That’s good,” he said encouragingly.

    I sighed before continuing, “Thank you for being here for me. I know it’s not your usual style but…” 

    “Maybe, but, I told you that if you chose me, this would mean something. You mean something to me, Avery. I just didn’t know this-us-would happen so soon. That was definitely something I wasn’t counting on.”

    A smirk played on my lips. “Oh, but you were expecting us to get together at some point?”

    Jameson smiled sheepishly. “Only if you could resist my charm for so long.” I guffawed as he rolled his eyes.

    “No, but um, you’re right. I didn’t expect this either. If you had asked further down the line, I don’t think I would have said no then either. But what happened, happened; we can’t change that,” I paused and took a breath, “And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. As cliche as it sounds, we do have our future ahead of us and we get to make decisions together now.”

    “Wow, just wow. That was so motivational. Would you mind skipping a grade so you can be valedictorian for my class next June?”

    “I mean, I could but I don’t think Xander would like that very much.”

    “And why does my little brother take precedence over your boyfriend?” There it was again but I didn’t focus on the way the word made my heart skip a beat.

    “Because he’s already gotten attached to my hip and betrayal would break his precious little heart. Oh, and, he’s promised to stash away 10% of Mrs. Laughlin’s blueberry scones if I swore allegiance to his robots.”

    “Fair enough. That’s Xan for ya,” Jameson said fondly.

    “Yeah. And what about you, Clement Moore? How much of that did you have rehearsed?”

    He smiled shyly and looked down. “Just the first bit. I can make up stuff pretty quickly. The old man used to read to me when I was younger and I liked rhyming words so when I couldn’t sleep I would try to make up as many rhymes as I could until I did. I also used to sleepwalk.” My eyebrows shot up. “Yup. I know.”

    “I can imagine that. Sounds like a very Jameson thing. I-”

    “Um, Heiress, sorry to cut you off but I have to ask you something.” I blinked, taken aback. “Be honest with me, does it bother you when I refer to myself as your boyfriend? I saw the way your eyes widened.”

    “I mean, aren’t you?” A nervous laugh came out as I wasn’t sure what to say.

    “Technically, yes. But I’m not forcing you to call me that or anything. To me, what’s important is what you’re comfortable with.” My heart swelled. This boy.

    “I actually hadn’t given it much thought. With all that’s been happening, whenever our, um, this flits through my head, I would freak out and my mind just didn’t know how to address it. Not that I don’t want to think about us but it’s like a visceral reaction which I hate.” Fearing I said too much I shut my mouth and with bated breath, waited for his reaction. I expected disappointment but was relieved to find no judgment. No, I was met with understanding instead. He squeezed my hand this time and I exhaled slowly.

    Moments like these made me forget he was just Jameson and reminded me that he was now… something more. We became “official” with a coin toss and a kiss then continued doing what we always did. Everybody knew we were together, we didn’t make that a secret, done deal. There just wasn’t a label. And yet, I still felt it in every way that mattered. 

    Except, I wasn’t sure how to express that to him as he was wary about his brother despite Grayson backing off. However, we had to figure other things out between us first. I may be ready to be bold but being bold and wanting to be bold were two different things.

    Part of that was becoming his type of reliable with loyalty being highest priority. I couldn’t change what Emily did, that I knew, but I could help him move past that. Jameson had been doing that for me so much recently and I couldn’t be more grateful. It was hard to believe but the boy who’d played at indifference was also the one who came with his heart on his sleeve, offering to dive headfirst if I chose him. 

    This was the same boy now holding my hand, checking on me because he was worried. What a difference two months made. I knew immediately behind the facade, there was a compassionate young man with a good heart, he just didn’t believe it. I hoped I could change that. 

     With that in mind, I turned back to him. “To dispel any misconception right now; I know what I was saying yes to. I did think about that. A lot. Being with you, being together has been such an important part of my day and it keeps me sane. And-” My voice cracked suddenly, surprising me. “And…”

    “Heiress?” My eyes landed on his concerned face, darting over each feature and taking in the details until I was swept into the memory of the day with the postcards. 

    The hidden letters. The words of longing. Toby. Sarah who was actually Hannah. The same forward as backward. Hannah, oh Hannah. My mother being described through someone else’s eyes. Their love story. Me wanting to be left alone. Jameson being the first to address that. Jameson ushering everyone out. Jameson leaving. Jameson giving up on a clue. Jameson putting aside the mystery. Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

    A sob escaped me. My hand flew over my mouth in reflex. I didn’t understand why but another one followed and another. Jameson was in front of me in a flash. His arms wrapped around me as my vision blurred with tears. The last thing I did register was my nose pressing against something hard but covered by a soft material and my eyes fluttered shut, letting the tears fall.

    I didn’t know how much time passed but the tears felt never ending, my cheeks were sticky and the sobs coming out were shallow gasps. Images of my mom danced through my mind, especially those from the last Christmas with her. That morning she’d been wearing a robe over her pjs with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand, hair loose for once, all excited as she slid a wrapped present over the counter toward me. It had been a book I wanted, special edition, which I scolded her for but Mom had laughed it off, bringing me into a hug and wishing me a Merry Christmas. But most memorable had been her luminous smile, so joyous and bright that it made our home feel that much warmer. I inhaled sharply as my eyes snapped open.

    “Mom. Mom. Why’d you have to go?” I whispered, breathless. 

    “She was sick, Heiress. But I bet she fought every day to be with you.” 

    “Mom, I want my Mom! I need her. And Toby, Toby… H-He left me and I needed him. He left me. I needed him. I told him not to go but he said he couldn’t stay. I-” I hiccuped a sob and felt another onslaught coming.

    “I know. I’m sure he wanted to but your safety means to him more. It does to me too.” And just like that a fresh damn of tears broke through and I was dry heaving with the unrelenting heavy sobs that came wave after wave after wave. But through it all, Jameson never let me go.

    When I finally came to, I realized I quite literally used Jameson’s shoulder to cry on and the soft material had been his green cashmere sweater that was now soaked. As I swiped at my crusted eyes, I said, “Sorry about your sweater.” 

    He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t mind. It clearly served a good purpose.” That got him a weak laugh from me. Jameson slowly brought up a hand and wiped at a stray tear before leaning down to kiss my forehead. I watched him warily as he pulled away and frowned when I saw him pull out a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to gently wipe at the tear tracks on my cheeks.

    Once he finished I brought it up. “Since when do you have a need for handkerchiefs, Mr. Darcy?”

    He chuckled. “Since I had to start offering to wipe away the tears of young ladies who have been most unconsolable by any other actions. Don’t worry, I don’t make a habit of stealing my brother’s brooding English gentleman aesthetic too often.” I couldn’t help but laugh too.

    “Are you feeling better now?” 

    I nodded. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I had that in me.”

    Jameson looked thoughtful for a moment before bringing his hand up again and caressing my cheek. I leaned into it. “You know, far be it from me to tell you what you do or don’t need, but I think you’ve needed to do that for a while. As you said, so much has happened in the last few weeks which your brain hasn’t had time to process and instead it just kept pushing it all aside until this moment.”

    “I guess. I just… I miss my mom. I’ve been getting better at acknowledging the fact that she’s, you know… gone after these two years but now all that we’ve found out, it just brought back that feeling so much stronger. And it feels like I’m back at square one.” He nodded solemnly. 

    “Yup, that seems to be the power of grief. There are days when I feel like the old man is still around and like he’s just about to pop out from any corner. Then I remember he’s not and I lose it. I go into the passages and just walk until I get out and go to the next one until I inevitably end up on the roof.” 

    I sighed. “I think she would have liked this place. As weird as everything is about you Hawthornes, this seems like her kind of place.”

    He huffed amusedly. “Hypocritical much?”

    “Potato potahto.” Cue eye rolling. “And I think she would have liked you too.” Jameson looked at me curiously. “Yeah, she would have loved your spontaneity. You two would get along. I think you’d enjoy playing our games and I can see her coming up with more. Although, you’d probably make me go crazy and wonder what I unleashed on the world.” 

    “At least I know I’d be on your mom’s good side.” I snorted. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

    “Maybe. But then she’d drop not so subtle hints and I would give in eventually because I know she’s right. Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t make you work for it.”

    “I don’t doubt it.” 

    “Good. But most of all, I think she’d love your compassion.” 

    There was silence and then a sharp inhale. “Heiress…”

    “You are good. You have a good heart, Jameson Hawthorne.” I didn’t leave room for arguing and narrowed my eyes at him for good measure. Whether he liked it or not, I had told the truth and I was going to make him believe it. ���Say what you want but I’m going to repeat it until you believe it. I’ll do what I have to, no matter how long it takes.”

    As I finished my grand declaration, he had the audacity to smirk. “Anything?” 

    “Anything within reason,” I amended with a scowl. He chuckled and then rose up.

    “While I’m sure you will and I will more than likely accept defeat one day, there is something you could do for me.”

    “And what would that be?” I asked suspiciously.

    “Well, with it being the holidays and since it’s our first Christmas together, would you mind joining me under the mistletoe, Miss Grambs?” I blinked as I watched him take out a sprig of mistletoe from his sleeve. 

    He went to the fireplace and somehow tied it to the garland. I got up from my recliner and walked towards him. As soon as I got within range, one of his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him as my hands instinctively went on his chest. Jameson then brought his free hand up and brushed hair out of my face before cupping my cheek. I gazed at his face all the while and admired the way he looked in the soft glow of the fire. 

    “May I?” I nodded. Slowly, he leaned down and tentatively connected his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and got lost in it, entertaining the fantasy of the mistletoe kiss. I cupped the back of his neck and brought my hand into his hair. His hold at my waist tightened ever so slight. It was slow and gentle and perfect. Too perfect. But even so, just for a moment, I let myself believe we were perfect.

    When we parted, I opened my eyes and looked at him, expecting him to be looking back but his eyes were shut. “Jameson?” 

    “Hmm?”

    “You ok?” 

    “Yeah. Just taking it in Heiress.” When he opened his eyes, he wore a soft smile that made me feel shy again. He kissed the side of my head. “Thank you for that.”

    “Oh. You’re welcome,” I said bashfully. 

    He hummed a reply before speaking up again, “So, what did you think? Does it fulfill your expectation of a mistletoe kiss?”

    I shrugged. “I’ve never really cared about that tradition let alone thought about what it’d be like.”

    “Fair enough. But I do hope I set a standard for you now.” My eyebrows raised in bemusement. “Hey, you’ve got to let me have something to brag about.” I rolled my eyes. 

    “What I would like to know is where you got that sprig in the first place.”

    “All in due time, all in due time. Patience is an arduous virtue one must learn but conquer nonetheless.”

    “Stop philosophizing about something you don’t even have the skill set for.”

    “Well, miss, less questions, more kissing. Simple as that.” 

    “Practice what you preach then, Hawthorne. All I’m hearing is wor-” He shut me up with another kiss and then broke away just as quickly but hovered only a breath away from mine, teasing me before I put a hand to his collar and tugged sharply for him to get on with it. I felt him smile against my mouth and I stood on tiptoe, returning it in kind. We shared a few more kisses, a few playful ones and some just short pecks.

     The next time we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard. As Jameson recovered, he ran his fingers through my hair and smiled thoughtfully at me. “What?”

     He shook his head. “I was just thinking, despite all the shit that happened this year, turns out it was still a good one. You’re here with me even though I didn’t think that after…” I nodded in understanding.

    “Yeah, I get that.” What started out as a terrible year in the trenches with Libby and Drake turned into one of the biggest blessings even with its drawbacks. I had Jameson now and that was all that mattered. As I turned back to him, he pulled me into a warm hug. For a moment we stood like that, just enjoying the comfort it brought before he loosened his hold and broke the silence.

“With a mistletoe sprig and a firelit kiss, the couple started to reminisce, thinking about all that was and all that could be, knowing now they’ve truly become a we, there was room for new merriness and bliss while hoping it would be a very good first Christmas.”

    “Whoa there, Sir Moore. What happened to the rest of the poem?” 

    “Eh, we already got to the good part. Plus, it takes a lot longer when you’re the one trying to make up the rhymes to fit in with the preexisting structure.” 

    “I thought you said you could make stuff up on the spot.” I giggled until he muffled the laugh by pressing his lips to mine again. “Mmmh.” He smirked when he pulled away. 

    “Be my guest, Heiress. Let's see what you got.”

    I grinned at the challenge. “Once he had finished his part and she admired for a time in his art, her thoughts turned forward, past the New Year’s grandness and wondered how they would fill up their blank canvas.”

    His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Impressive. Not bad, not bad. But definitely beginner’s luck.”

    “It’s alright not always being up to my speed, Hawthorne.” 

    “Fine, I shall concede just this once.” I smiled triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”    “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

   “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”

   “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

A/N: See you in the next one! Hopefully will get a few more out before the true end of holidays. Merry Christmas once more and Happy New Year to everyone!!!!!!

[rallentando1011]

Somnambulant Soulmates (rise Donnie x gn reader)

Chapter Warning : threats, self-neglect

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: 1859

The saccharine savor of saturated soda.

A coppery taste laid pungent on your tongue.

A birthday party.

Concrete but harshly into your skin, the pavement cold, harsh.

Flashes of movie nights and spontaneous excursions and too many late nights spent in a lab and unmistakable looks of betrayal.

Your head was plagued by a dull, throbbing pain, extremities felt all-but-atrophied, throat scratchy with dehydration-

You coughed.

If the resulting thick cloud of dust and dirt beside your head didn’t clue you in, the unsavory feel of the - floor? - ground certainly revealed that you weren’t at home, in the lair, anywhere familiar, for that matter.

It took genuine effort to open your eyes. But despite the difficulty of it-

Wait, where were you?

You blinked rapidly; your vision and mind became increasingly more lucid as you processed - this genuinely wasn’t home or the lair or any place you’d seen in your entire life.

Panic was the worst thing you could do. It was also the easiest.

Worry settled in the pit of your stomach, but instead of allowing whatever sparse contents of your intestines to spill over the silt-like ground, you swallowed, pushed yourself up on aching limbs, surveyed the dim room you inhabited.

The walls consisted of thick concrete blocks, dusty, drab, barren. A small divet in the wall revealed an exposed bathroom of sorts, though its contents were rudimentary at best: a toilet with the complexity and basic mechanics of a chamber pot, a rusty faucet and a drain. There was almost no light, save for the only miniscule source of light a barred cell window on the door.

Door.

Before you could process it, you were upon the door, pushing and pulling in the off chance it was unlocked and you could go scot-free.

It wasn’t.

Okay, time to try something else.

Looking around the room for anything useful sounded promising. It was at least something to do.

You trailed the perimeter like a hyper animal, searching for vulnerabilities or secret levers or buttons or anything that could be of use. The best you could find were sharp pebbles and stones which, okay, in a pinch those might be able to injure or distract someone. Not the best resource but, either to feel more secure or out of genuine regard for the rocks, you slipped them in your pocket.

Some sort of mental warning bell began to ring, a meager voice in the back of your signaling some sort of change or imminent threat.

You swung back around to face the door, your ears perked up, your arms prickled with goose-flesh.

A rhythmic clack sounded from outside the door, the sound vaguely reminiscent of how superintendents in a school stalked down the hallway to penalize a student, the footsteps intent, menacing.

The noise came to a halt in front of your door with an ominous click.

You looked out of the door’s window. The view was no longer just a bare hallway. Someone was there. No one other than the one responsible for your impromptu incarceration.

The spider.

Well, at the moment she didn’t quite look like the spider, down about four feet and a few inches and six legs.

In human form she was less physically daunting, but her predatory persona, wicked grin, not to mention her notorious track record, all classified her as a force to be reckoned with.

“Hello,” was all she said, smug and all too bubbly.

You scowled. Even with all of your ailments, you found quite enough energy to be upset.

“Why are you even here? To gloat?”

Her lack of response and never-changing predatory grin were enough of an answer to you.

You scoffed before she finally said something of substance.

“Big Mama always gets what she wants. That’s not what your confuzzled little mind should be concerning itself with.”

“Really? What pressing matter should have my attention then?”

“Oh, how jocular,” the woman snickered condescendingly. “Perhaps your own well being, hm? Or maybe the turtle’s?”

You clenched your jaw.

Big Mama seemed delighted.

“There exist strict lines between business and personal matters, and you seem to have tangled yourself up in that wobbly web. Frankly, I find scenarios such as yours to be positively scrumptious, and I can scarcely wait for it to unfold.

“After all the flim-flam and busywork and contracts are signed, it’ll be high time to rid myself of all the dispensable details, superfluous items such as yourself.”

“What?” you retracted, shrinking away from the door as if that could save you from whatever the arachnid was talking about.

Big Mama’s amusement as she turned away made it abundantly clear it wouldn’t.

“You broke your end of the deal; it’s null and void. It’s precisely what you’re soon to be: terminated.”

And with that, she walked away, the clicks and clacks of her steps doing nothing to help stop the sinking feeling of impending doom filling the cell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours had passed. And then a day. Two, maybe. It was easy to lose track of time in the lab, with the fluorescent lighting and the droning whir of machines and soul crushing sadness still thick in the air and whatnot. 

Donnie hadn’t drank. Hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten, save for a poptart Mikey’d brought him. Actually, the poptart may have been illusory.

But never mind that, he had more pressing matters to think about and/or actively try to ignore: his emotions.

Yeah. It was unbearable.

Betrayed wasn’t quite the word for what he was feeling, even though he certainly had been; you had to trust someone to be betrayed by them, and he wasn’t quite up to admitting (strike that) saying that yet.

Devastated might suffice. Destitute could also work. Deprived, depraved, despairing.

Okay, at that point his thoughts were merely for alliteration’s sake, not to mention rather pathetic, but that was beside the point. 

But in all honesty, it hurt. Some weird ping of pain in his chest, a dull, persistent ache that hadn’t fled since you left.

Closing himself in the lab proved unsuccessful in dealing with his emotions. Scrolling mindlessly on his phone failed to redress the issue as well. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to work on anything.

With his typical means of squandering emotions proven futile, he was forced to try to come to terms with them.

Ugh, emotions. Needlessly complex and complicatedly useless.

By then, he almost felt numb trying to understand how to feel. It’s just- spending immense amounts of time with somebody was, to put it briefly, extremely validating. Most people sought his company out of convenience or necessity, asking for something to be made or fixed or a crime to be thwarted or just dealing with him because he was part of a “package deal” with his siblings. It was exhausting.

Then you came along and seemed to genuinely want to hang out with him and let him explain his works and it felt good. It felt really good.

Just your presence, just that alone, assured him that some people, or at least one specific person, enjoyed him as he was, liked his company as-is.

Then you admitted it was all under false pretenses.

There it was: the classic feeling of triumph followed by a rug pull of his expectations.

It was devastating.

Welp, that was enough emotional struggle for the day. Helplessly, Donnie plopped his head back into his desk, not even moving to check if anything fell due to the rattle of the table his action caused, and closed his eyes in a restless break.

Suddenly, the whooshing sound of the door coming open startled him back to reality, slowly lifting his head from the cool metal.

Bouncy footsteps moved toward him and a familiar someone plopped in the chair beside him.

“Hey D, have you seen-”

“No, I have not,” Donnie answered April flatly, already knowing the subject - you. “I texted that earlier.”

April shook her phone for emphasis as she kicked her shoes up on the desk. “You didn’t reply. And you didn’t answer when I called.”

“Well. I’d intended to.”

“What’s going on, D?”

He crossed his arms, hugging his oversized hoodie closer to himself. “Nothing is ‘going on.’ Everything’s happy-go-lucky, sunshine and rainbows.”

They stared at each other blankly for a moment until April let out a ‘yeesh.’

“Someone’s in a mood. Did y’all get in a fight or something?”

“Like I said, everything’s fine. Must’ve just left for somewhere else inconspicuously after coming here.”

April deadpanned. “So it makes sense for someone just infatuated with you and who had lunch reservations with me today to drop off the face of the earth?”

“It’s not infatuation! Whatever we have- had, was nothing. I meant nothing.”

A gentle hand rested on his forearm. He shuddered. It retreated.

“So you guys had a fight?”

“To some degree, yeah. And before you say it, it was not my fault.”

April looked unimpressed. Unconvinced. 

So Donnie said the only thing that could prove it: everything you had confessed the last time he saw you.

April listened quietly, pensively, solemnly. Eventually, she spoke up politely.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. None of that was right, legally or morally or in any way, and I’m not saying we have to forgive right now,” she took in a cautious breath, “but something bad could’ve happened, and we should look into that.”

Donnie furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”

“Do you think Big Mama, organized crime boss Big Mama, is above kidnapping or blackmail?”

Huh. He hadn’t thought of that.

April continued. “Look, regardless of mistakes made and secrets kept, we shouldn’t abandon our,” Donnie shot her a testy look, “at least my, friend. We can talk about the whole feelings and deceit mumbo jumbo once we make sure everyone’s safe. And if everything’s fine, you can at least get some closure?”

Donnie pouted for one, two, three seconds before sighing.

“Fine. Why don’t you go fetch the ruffians so they can get caught up on the sitch?”

“Sure thing.”

The moment April left the room to get his brothers, he whipped out his phone and pulled up one of his self-made applications.

Now, some may consider tracking locations without people knowing as immoral or illegal or whatever, but it proved more useful than not, right?

Unfortunately - fortunately? - he had your location and-

Oh.

That was odd.

According to his, highly accurate and precise, records, your location was the Nexus - he rolled his eyes until he saw when it was last updated.

Nearly a full 24 hours ago.

Donnie sucked in a breath through gritted teeth; that was not good.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but April might’ve been right.

Something terrible happening was becoming more and more likely.

Quickly, the cogs and gears in his mind began to turn, devising a plan of action, just in case that anxious thought proved to be correct.

At least it would give him something to do. You were probably fine, anyway, even if he felt prickles of nerve-wracking dread down his spine, and it didn’t hurt to check.

Not that he cared anymore anyway. Definitely not.

(Taglist~

@rottmntsimp

@envyjmoney

@niphredil-14

@hamthepan

@valeave

@hahahhahananan

(I was right, I’m posting this from prom lol))

[bittersweetcreep]

Conception Part 4 Red Luna!Darling x Yandere!Damian

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Final

Summary: After waking up from being dosed Damian comes to discover Luna has disappear with many suspects but nothing solid, and while Damian was sent on a wild goose chase Bruce started making plans to keep Talia from making the next-generation of assassins.

WARNING: unhealthy obsession, subtle manipulation, mentions of being drugged, violence and physical harm without aid, use of straitjacket and muzzle

Author's Note: Things to know before reading. Luna and Damian are both young adults in this time period. Also, a reminder that Luna is a mute who communicates through sign language and morse code. I'll use °theses° when she's speaking

A sleeping Damian woke up by the rays of sunlight shining in his eyes, squinting them open. He lifted his head off his desk, confused. 'When was the last time I fell asleep at my desk?' Brushing that thought to the side, he began getting ready for the day. When all dressed and morning routine done, the ravenette headed straight towards the entrance doors but was stopped by a familiar voice. "Heading out so early master Damian?" Turning his head around to see Alfred who's dressed as sharp as always. "Yeah, gotta get to Luna's before she wakes up." "Then farewell master Damian." With that, the ravenette took off all while Alfred's eyes never left the young master until he was out of sight

Once gone, Alfred then made his way over to Bruce's office to inform his master about the departure of his son. The opening of the office doors caught Bruce's attention as he asked the obvious. "Did he leave for Luna's?" "Indeed he did master Bruce." He answered with an ominous "Good."

Driving up to the lab, Damian saw the glass doors have been smashed open, alarmed he rushed inside frantically looking around at the damaged state of the lab. Quickly going down to the lower level to see large claw marks on the walls leading to Luna's living quarters. Slamming the door open Damian was greeted to what would be called a crime scene, with the living room furniture tossed and throw around on his left while the kitchen's refrigerator was knocked over on his right with broken dishes and silverware scattered everywhere. Fearing the safety of both Luna and their baby, Damian ran around looking for her while calling her name, hoping that hearing his voice would coax her out of wherever she's hiding but no such luck. "Fuck fuck fuck! She's gone!" Taking a minute to breathed in a deep breath to clear his panicked mind, Damian began to look around for some kind of clue but there was nothing solid enough to pinpoint it on anyone. There was only loose threads that connect to all of Gotham's criminals.

With no other leads Damian began going down the list of Gotham's criminals and for many weeks this man would go out to search through a suspect's hideout then interrogate them only to find no leads, then the process repeats. This man would be out day and night running on caffeine and 4 hours of sleep searching high and low but always finds nothing. By week 10, Damian has reached his boiling point and has become mentally unhinged with a tunnel vision obsession of finding Luna. The ravenette has become aggressively violent with a rude and irritable attitude snapping at everyone, even Alfred. Although Alfred remains unphased, he just makes sure his young master eats a warm meal and gets some rest before Damian leaves the mansion to search once again.

Although unpleased with his son's attitude, Bruce didn't interfere in his search as he too was busy with making plans to keep Talia away from Luna and his grandchild. A month later, Damian began to use physically harmful tactics in his interrogations and leaves whomever without any medical attention. When Bruce caught wind of this, he was stone cold lecturing Damian like a child and even revoking his Robin privileges until further notice, but the ravenette was hell bent on his search. Damian managed to snatch his Robin suit and snuck out, but Bruce was right behind him and was just in time before the green eyed rebel could snap the spine of Two-Face.

After that, Damian was confined into house arrest. That meant no searching for Luna. No going outside and no Robin, this drove him mad. House arrest was a waste of time, time that could be spended on looking for Luna, but no, he was denied looking for his love.

Damian was really worried about her and the baby, I mean he knows she can take care of herself [one of the many reasons why he fell for her] as he was a witness when she body slam a grown man 3× her size with ease. But he has no idea what happened to her, and not knowing is what makes him worry. He isn't just worried though he misses her too, he misses taking her out on dates or when they stayed in to cuddle on her bed, he misses the times when she tried to teach him how to cook or when they fought crime together and not having her in his arms is making him a mess.

During Damian's house arrest his aggression spiked and would constantly pick fights with his father as the ravenette resents him for halting his search for Luna, he even attacked Alfred in a aggressive rage which resulted in being shoved into a straitjacket and muzzle after biting Bruce when he struggled to put his son in the jacket. Feeling resentment towards his father and for being restrained like some animal Damian has long since begrudgingly resided to his fate.

3 long months past sitting in that danm straitjacket and Damian has bitterly accepted his new routine with being hand-feed every 3 meals and besides being untied to use the restroom, nothing in his routine changes. Being alone with nothing but his thoughts, Damian would go through his memories with Luna and think of names for his baby. He really likes the name Draco as the meaning dragon is filled with fiery pride perfect for his son, but if their having a girl then the name Nyxel that is a combination of the greek goddess of the night and the suffix "el" is perfect for his little girl. He really misses Luna, but what can he do? He's restrained with all autonomy gone. The only thing he can do is sit and wait for something to change.

It was the late into the night when Damian woke up to what sounded like heels clicking on the floor, now this wouldn't have bothered him if not for the fact that both Alfred and Bruce don't wear heels, it sounded like they're heading straight towards his room. Upon hearing his doorknob turn Damian tense up readying himself but upon seeing his mother his muscles relaxed. Seeing her son restrained and muzzled was a sight to behold, with a teasing tone the brunette spoke "Well would you look at that, how the mighty have fallen." With a muffled growl from her son Talia raised her hands in playful surrender. "No need to be hostile Damian, I'm here to get you out and bring Luna home." Bewildered but grateful Damian allowed his mother to come close enough to free him of his restraints. When taking off the muzzle Damian's first question was "Where's Luna?" "My men has tracked her down in a penthouse in Seattle. They say both she and Dick Grayson used one of the private jets to get there with Bruce's help as well. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the mastermind behind it all, all in attempt to keep me from my grandchild." Getting up from the bed Damian was finally able to stretch his stiff limbs. "You won't have to worry mother, because after we find Luna I'll be taking her and our baby to the League of Assassins." This pleased her.

While walking towards the manor's doors the mother and son duo came across Talia's men tying up a unconscious Alfred and a restrained Bruce who looked beaten and battered. Before they go Damian had a few choice words for his father, standing in front of his kneeling form his green eye son spoke with a sneer. "You are absolutely pathetic father, hiding away your son's pregnant love while you watch him chase his tail only to cage and muzzling him like some dog." The man could feel Damian's hatred and disdain for him. Looking down at his father Damian spoke with all the venom he has. "Alfred drugged me didn't he? He drugged me so you could take Luna and my child away from me, well jokes on you I'm taking back what's mine and we will be returning home." Bruce already knew the answer but asked secretly hoping it wasn't the case. "To the League of Assassins?" "Where else."

Bruce struggled in his restraints a bit and tried to talk some sense into his son. "Damian, you can't raise your child in the League. Think about it, when your child is of age, Talia is going to train them how she trained you. She's going to mold them into a weapon. Do you really want that for your child?" Looking at his son's face, Bruce couldn't see any emotion that'll tell him the ravenette doesn't want that. "Of course, Mother will, that's their birthright." Roughly grabbing his father's hair, Damian slammed his knee into the man's face, knocking him out cold.

The next morning in Seattle Dick woke up to the heavenly smell of breakfast. Getting up from bed, he made his way over to the kitchen. Upon entering he is welcomed to the sight of a woman with long (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, and a small but very noticeable baby bump preparing breakfast of two egg omelettes and a plate of bacon wrapped sausages. He couldn't stop the smile from creeping up his face. "Morning Luna, how're you feeling? Any morning sickness?" Picking up the closest utensil she exchanged with a greeting of her own. °Good morning and no, no rushing off to the bathroom this morning. Also, I made your coffee.° "Thanks, and don't worry about the plates I got them."

After getting the plates and his of joe Dick sat himself at the kitchen island while Luna served them both breakfast, but before digging into his food, the blue eye ravenette waited for her to get a drink. With orange juice in hand, they finally got to eating while also making small talk, which led to the topic of baby names. °I'm still having trouble finding baby names for girls, but I've found this really nice sounding name called Claude. In French, the name comes from the Latin name Claudius, which means "strong-willed." And in ancient Rome, the name was often given to people who showed strength and resilience despite physical challenges.° Swallowing the food in his mouth Dick opened his mouth in response. "Now that sounds like a name for royalty. Was that intentional?" Seeing her smile was all the answer he needed.

°Any updates on Damian's situation.° Pausing mid-bite Dick weigh his options as when he told her about his brother being put in a muzzle and straight jacket he woke up to a missing Luna. With the help of Bruce's satellite he found her 5 miles from the penthouse, and if it wasn't for her pregnancy then it would be a lot harder to convince her to come back. Even after that, knowing what's going on back home left Luna in a state of depression that got so bad it affected what's in her womb. But she got better and the pregnancy is once again safe, to keep it that way Dick responded. "You know what happened last time, you don't need to know. Not just for your sake but them too."

After finishing their breakfast Dick gathered up their plates and began to wash them up, much to the (h/c)'s protest. With a "You made breakfast it's only fair I clean up." did Luna ceased her protest. While Grayson washed the dishes Luna stay seated watching him, only getting up to refill her cup. "I gotta a couple of errands this morning, but it should only take me about 30 or 40 minutes. You want anything while I'm out?" °Yes! Can you go to that French café and get me a sweet crepe that is filled with natella, blueberries and strawberries.° With a sing-song tone he agreed to her request "You got it!"

After washing the dishes Dick headed straight to his room, once he did his daily routine he then put on a pair of clothes and headed straight out the door shouting out a quick "I'll be back!" And with that he was gone. The first thing the (h/c) did was to head back to her room to get ready for the day herself but after that she grabbed the book she's been reading then curl up on the hammock chair in her room. It wasn't even 7 minutes when she heard the front door open and the sound of shuffling footsteps. Thinking nothing of it she continued to read her book in peace, even when the footsteps came closer to her room or the sound of her door opening. But the focus on her book was shaken as her body stiffen with shock and her face was full of disbelief while her heart race with longing when a voice she's been desperate to hear again called her name "Luna?" She slowly raised her head to see the love of her life and the father of her womb Damian Wayne Al Ghul. With tears in her eyes she lunged herself into his arms grabbing him in a tight hold refusing to let him go anytime soon not that Damian was complaining as he too was holding on tight. Who knows how long they stayed in each other's embrace but eventually they loosen their hold to look each other in the eyes and without a second thought they locked their lips in a kiss, pouring all of their desired longing in to it.

If it wasn't for the need for air, they would have kissed longer, but it also gave Damian the chance to get a good look at Luna and her growing belly. Placing a gentle hand on her bump, he explored every inch, but the sudden feeling of a kick from their child finally broke him as tears fell for his eyes. Using her finger to wipe his tears, Luna began to sign. °I missed you, Damian, and I'm sorry for running away.° "You didn't run away. You were under the influence of my father and were taken from me. But it's ok now, I'm taking you to the League of Assassins so we can be together in peace without anyone else getting in the way." The thought of being with Damian and having a domestic life together sounded like heaven, and if they're staying at the League of Assassins then that means Talia would be there to hopefully give her wisdom on motherhood but.... °Bruce doesn't want Talia to make them a part of the League of Assassins, and it would be best to keep us in hiding until he comes up with a solution.° "You don't really want that, do you?" Feeling no hesitants, she reapplied. °Truth be told, I don't mind if Talia trains them but under my supervision, and them becoming assassins should be with their own will.° Giving her forehead a kiss, Damian mumbles his reapply into her skin. "Their is no reason to listen to father, just listen to yourself. But for now, it's time for us to go." °Ok but before we leave, you need to know two things.° Leaving the ravenette's arm, Luna rummaged around in her desk until she found a piece of paper and handed it to him. Green eyes scanned over the words carefully until they were the size of dinner plates. "Our baby could inherit other metahuman traits besides yours?" Tugging his sleeve for his attention, Luna told him the second thing he needed to know. °Babies Damian.° "What?" °We're having triplets, two boys, one girl.° She was swiftly flitted in the air, and with a joyous laugh, Damian spin them both around while a big smile was plastered on his face. "Three! We're having three children! HAHAHA!" Putting the (h/c) back on her feet, Damian let out a happy sigh. "Let's go home, my love. Our future waits for us."

[trying-something-n3w]

Dracule Mihawk X Archer!Fem!Reader

Summary: After almost bleeding to death going up against an admiral you find yourself on a dark and gloomy island where your injuries get the best of you. Making your way through the ominous land and standing off with a baboon on steroids you stumble upon a seemingly empty castle. Little did you know that not only was the castle occupied but occupied by a warlord, the world's greatest swordsman in training, and... A ghost girl?

word count: +5k

Warnings: blood, fighting, Zoro being Zoro, ooc Akainu, reader gets a bounty eventually, stealing from the marines, intrigued Mihawk, unsuspecting Kobe, feels for Mihawk, slow burn

Author's Notes: I'm SO happy people seem to like Chapter 1 of Learning Curve (Katakuri x Valkyrie!Fem!Reader) Updates will be slow but I promise it'll be worth the wait! If you ask to be tagged in the series I will def tag you! Anyway! Here is my first Mihawk writing, not sure if it will continue but let me know if you want more!

The waves were aggressive in these parts of the sea and you knew it, you just didn't want to admit you didn't know how to sail on your own, especially in the grad line. The blood running down your abdomen wasn't helping either. You hiss trying to tether the sails so you don't drift off course in your little boat. With the rain pelting your face you genuinely didn't know which direction you were going you just knew you had to get far away from here. In the distance behind you, there sits a smoking marine ship up in flames with the distinct shouts of everyone trying to give hurried orders. Your bow lay thrown on the deck with your arrows scattered at your feet. Escaping was particularly hard not knowing a fleet admiral was on board.

 What was meant to be a small robbery turned into a wild goose chase the second you crawled over the port side where said admiral was enjoying his tea. You both stare at each other for a solid minute before you laugh, smile, and book it. 

Running through the ship grabbing anything that looked of value, your dodging skills came in handy when the bullets started whizzing by your head. You didn’t mean to catch the ship on fire, honestly, that was the admiral's fault.

All the halls look the same to you as you dip in and out of doors. Some meeting rooms, some with bunk beds, and some supply closets.

 As you make your way through a kitchen you snag a tasty-looking roll then come face-to-face with Akainu blocking the only other exit in the room. You turn to go back the way you came when three more lieutenants block your way. They bring up their guns as you raise your hands and slowly turn back to the admiral.  

“If you give up now we won't have to do this the hard way.” Akainu tried to intimidate you, tried to give you an out but to no avail, you only smirk in response. 

“Now where’s the fun in that admiral?” In seconds you draw your bow and an arrow of your creation to send it straight through Akainu. He turns part of his abdomen to lava to avoid the arrow, exactly what you hoped for. A thick wire was attached to the arrow you shot connecting it to your wrist brace. Hitting a switch on your bow the wire starts to coil around the arrow pulling your light frame through the air. Due to Akainu melting half his abdomen to avoid the arrow, you fly through him. You hit the wall hard outside the kitchen with a grunt. That'll bruise for sure. You cut the wire with a blade attached to your thigh and bolt to your left hoping to be heading toward an exit. Unbeknownst to you back in the kitchen the three lieutenants are panicking watching the lava eat through the floor, the hole getting bigger by the minute. 

“Well, what are you waiting for go after her!” Akainu’s voice booms. The three lieutenants scatter out the door they were blocking, one dropping his rifle and going after you. 

Continuing through the halls you bound past two smaller marines, one with pinkish hair and glasses, the other one with yellow hair and a weird bullcut. With the roll in your mouth,  you make eye contact with the pink-haired marine and wink. His face flushes but does nothing to stop you. Rounding through the corridors you come in contact with a few more trainees but you take them out easily. One you knocked in the head with your bow and another you choke tell he passes out. The last one was a little harder engaging in combat with you. His moves were slow, not aiming for any of your vitals so you swiped his legs and carried on.

 The alarms start to blare in your ears when you notice the smell of paint burning. You make it to the front deck of the ship, slamming through a door, when you turn to see smoke billowing out from one side of the ship. While fighting off a handful of men one tries to pull your hair. You grimace while giving him a crazed smile as you cut your hair severing his hold on you. To be fair he didn't have a good hold so thankfully there was more length left than you thought. You kick his stomach with your heavy boot and run to a dingy attached to the side of the ship. 

Before you can safely lower the small boat you hear a deafening voice calling for more backup on the side you were trying to escape from. You look up and see Akainu standing on the tallest deck, face contorted in anger. You panic and start cutting the rope with the dagger to get as far away as possible. Right before you cut the last line Akainu sends some of his lava in your direction shaped as, who would have guessed, the arrow you shot earlier. You lift your arm swinging hard trying to get through the rope before it hits you. As the line severs and the boat drops you get hit directly in the abdomen, straight to where you aimed at Akainu. The impact of the water was bruising, and the added sting from the wound made you groan in agony while trying to set sail. Thankfully it was not a direct hit, most of Akainu’s shot hit the railing of the ship as you fell. 

You drifted from the smoky ship, shooting your head up when you started to hear guns fire. Once the small sail was finally set you paddle to add the extra distance. 

This is where you find yourself now, struggling against a storm that came out of nowhere. The Marine ship is now a small dot in the distance as you struggle to tie a piece of ripped cloth around your burned stomach. After, you try to make-shift some shelter from the emergency kit on board to protect yourself from the storm. You tie one last knot in the rope holding the sail then take cover as much as you can. You take a moment to assess your wound before hissing and pulling your shirt back down. Becoming exhausted from your little adventure (disaster) the sound of the thunder becomes a thought in the back of your mind as you drift farther into a warm darkness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up who knows how long after your extravagant exit you find your undersized rig beached on a gloomy island. You try to sit up but hiss at the pain shooting through your torso. You quickly squeeze the wound trying to stop not only the bleeding but the pain. Slowly as you hold your breath you use the side of the boat to lift yourself to your feet. In the distance can be herded wild screams from an animal you hope not to run into. You sway as you take in your surroundings looking from left to right. At the top of a mountain sits an old-looking gray brick castle. Occupied or not you knew you needed to get to some safe cover. Trying and failing to pull the dingy more onshore you give up and hurry to grab your bow and arrows from the makeshift tent on board. Turning to the line of the forest you hesitate only for a second listening to the monstrous noises. The burning in your abdomen makes you take the first step.

Pushing past the first couple of bushes and trees the light becomes scarce with how dense the woods are. You pick up a stick and start taking out spider webs before you run into them venturing forward. With your other hand holding your wound you hurry in the direction of the castle.

The ominous sounds become closer the deeper you go. Noticing a branch snapping and the rustling of leaves you believe something is following you. You pause for a brief moment and hear it again but this time from above you. You turn to look behind you, the shore a small picture in the distance. As you turn to take a step to move on your head gets dizzy and your vision tunnels. For a split second, you thought you were gonna pass out from blood loss but something else kept you awake. A blood-curdling screech sounds from above you confirming that someone or something was tailing you. 

You lurch forward and roll on the ground with a deep painful grunt before taking your bow off your back, pointing an arrow at the beast that made contact with the ground behind you. The earth shakes with its landing and your balance almost wavers. The beast stands tall on two feet with a sword in hand. It resembles other monkey species you've run into before but you still don't know exactly what you were up against. 

Before it leaps for you, you let an arrow fly at its face. You turn quickly and flee before you can see the arrow burst into a powder on the creature. You glance behind your shoulder not stopping while clutching your side seeing the pinkish hase dissipate and the beast falls forward looking very sleepy. You let out a breath you don't realize you are holding. You haven’t tested the sleeping powder before now so you are very satisfied it seems to work! Before you can fully celebrate you start to hear even more loud beastly calls from the trees above you. They swung from tree to tree after you causing your stomach to drop, they were gaining on you. You pick up your pace hoping it's not too long before you reach the castle. Pushing past some thick shrubbery you almost fall forward as you come across a wide opening. You realize it's a stone path leading to the front doors of the castle. 

Still clutching your bleeding abdomen you rush forward not realizing the sounds of the beasts fade the closer you get to said castle. This time when your vision tunnels and your limbs get heavy you fall against tall double doors. You reach your bloodied hand up and start to pound, it may look abandoned and you may be dying but you still have decent common sense no matter how fast you are fading. Knocking was polite. Your blood was a stark contrast to the clean wood of the double door. Just when you think the castle is indeed abandoned you hear a female voice call from within. It didn't sound like it was directed to you but to others inside. You take a stumble back hearing a lock click before the door creaks open. Before you see anyone you hear the female voice speak again. 

“This better be good enough to interrupt my baking sesh otherwise I swear-” Cutting in you feel warmth fill your mouth. 

“Help ple-” Instead of finishing the sentence blood pools your mouth and spills over. You lift your hand trying to stop it from leaking out but there is too much. 

The younger girl with pink hair and frilly apron gasps, eyes widening as she yanks the door wider. 

“ZORO!” She shouts and before you can comprehend it there is a male presence next to you. Your eyes water with the realization that you might not make this one out alive. 

The green-haired male lifts your figure and halls you inside. Passing the threshold you become limp in his arms.

“Perona get Mihawk now.” Zoro says sternly yet he stays calm overall. The pinkette disappears down some hall as Zoro walks you down some corridors. The lights overhead are fading with every blink. You clutch onto Zoro’s shirt trying to stay conscious. He eventually kicks a door open and walks into a well-lit room. 

Zoro is talking to you, asking you questions trying to keep you conscious. You don't understand the words he says but you can still see his lips moving. Zoro lightly sets you on what you assume to be a bed before he rushes over to a table with some drawers on it. 

Turning your head you try to speak but nothing but blood splatters the white sheets. 

“Don't do that you'll make it worse.” You hear in the distance. Zoro is back with rags, gauze, and other things you didn't quite recognize in your hazy state. You hear more than feel Zoro rip your shirt open before pressing a rag to your wound. You don't hiss or react only close your eyes and let the tears flow. In the distance you hear the sound of clicking heals and heavy footsteps. A minute or so later the door to what you assume to be a medical ward opens swiftly. The pink-haired girl stands in the doorway with a tall and intimidating figure behind her. 

The first thing you notice are his striking golden eyes. If you weren't dying you'd be blushing because of his intense stare. The second thing you notice as your eyes drift is the pinched look on the girl's face. Did you look that bad? 

“What is going on here?” The taller figure asks with a clipped tone. Perona, as Zoro called her, glances at the greenette and then back up at the man beside her. 

“We aren't 100% sure, she was banging on the front door and this is how we found her.” Zoro removes the bloodied cloth from your wound to examine it. 

“Mihawk this looks bad, it's a major burn wound and it won't stop bleeding from the main laceration.” Zoro turns on his heels to face the two. “If we don't do something she is going to die.”

Perona looks up to who you now know as Mihawk, his face is blank. You don't recognize the name at first in your state but you feel like you should be more scared of the man in the doorway. His eyes shift down from Zoro’s face to yours. You hope your eyes were expressive enough to get across your plea for help. Perona shifts uneasily as Mihawk stays still, unmoving. With a deep sigh, he uncrosses his arms and steps in. Rolling up his sleeves he proclaims, 

“Fine but you are in charge of her when she wakes Perona.” Some type of relief falls over your body and you sag with exhaustion. 

“Me!? Why me?!” Perona shouts at Mihawk for assigning her to nurse duty. Zoro gets out of Mihawk's way as he sits down to examine your wound. He feels your forehead, eyes slightly scowling knowing you are likely running a fever as well. Mihawk starts listing off things for Zoro and Perona to get for him to work on you but your consciousness is fading fast. Mihawk notices with a side glance and tilts his head to you. 

“Sleep. You won't want to feel this.” These are the last words you remember before the darkness takes hold of your body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days pass unbeknownst to you. Your sleeping figure fighting against the wound and the fever. Zoro goes about his business training though stopping by whenever he seems to stumble upon the medical ward. His straight face was easily readable to Perona, knowing he was worried about the stranger lying unconscious in the bed. Perona was bouncing around the infirmary rinsing cool rags and setting them on your head, she also changed your wound dressings when she noticed them getting a little too red. Most of the bleeding stopped by the first night but every once in a while you would jolt in your sleep and a new gush of blood would slowly seep through the dressings. 

If Perona wasn't taking care of you she was sitting next to you reading and sipping on some tea. Mihawk hovers only to see when you would wake up. On the second night, everyone retires for the evening when you wake up with a start. You gasp with wide eyes as you try to remember where you were. The room is dark with only the moonlight and a single candle illuminating the wide space. Your hand makes its way to the throbbing of your side to find newly wrapped gauze and padding. You slowly move the blankets and shirt to look down at yourself. Admiring a job well done you try to sit up. The pain that shoots through you makes you hesitate but you push yourself. You swing your feet over to have them land on cool tiling. You notice you weren't in your original clothing, now sporting loose joggers and a loose-fitting top. You take a deep breath almost gagging at how sterile the room is, you could almost taste it. 

Taking small light steps you make your way to the door opening it slowly. You lean heavily on the door frame when entering the hall. You look both ways before you notice a very faint light coming from the end of the hall around the corner. Relying on the stability of the wall you make your way past paintings and doors. Once you reach the end of the hall you turn to find an archway about a quarter way down the corridor. Hissing at the sharp pain when you try to stand straight you step forward anyway. Reaching the warm light you now see a cozy yet large library with a fireplace burning on one side of the room. Your eyes widen at the vast collection of books. You take one step inside before you feel a hand grab your left arm. 

“You are supposed to be resting little one.” You gasp at the light hold and deep voice. Whipping your head to the side you meet the same piercing gold eyes with the same intense stare. You have to crane your neck to fully meet his gaze. You stutter trying to respond but before you can Mihawk is leading you to a sofa in front of the fireplace. A book lay abandoned on the arm of the couch which you assume he was occupying before you interrupted. He sat you down gingerly before taking a seat in the chair diagonal from you. You clear your throat when you finally find your voice.

“Thank you… For everything. I wasn’t aware this castle was occupied when I landed here but I am very grateful it was. All of you saved my life.” You stare into the fire mesmerized by the dancing flames. You glance at Mihawk nervous now conscious of who he was. First an admiral and now a warlord. What next? The king of the pirates? 

Mihawk sat frozen with his legs crossed and his hands conjoined above his mouth just observing you. You shift under his gaze and look back to the fire. Before you find the words to continue Mihawk breaks his silence. 

“The other two showed up in similar states. At this point, it's like I’m running a hospital.” You turn away and grimace. You knew you were being a burden but he didn't need to say it so coldly. As if reading your thoughts Mihawk continues seemingly unbothered. 

“Perona will be taking care of you as you burn heals. From the looks of your abdomen, you probably won't be able to sail for at least two weeks.” Your eyes widen at his words, just how bad did Akainu get you? Your eyes drift down to your wound where your hand already sat. You were in a good amount of pain right now all things considered. Probably not the best idea to wonder for too long. 

“Either way, thank you for your hospitality and I’ll work hard to get out of your hair soon enough Sir.” You don't meet his eyes but you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes raking over your body. To you, he’s analyzing if you were to become a threat. In reality, he was wondering how much longer you would stay conscious. You have some pretty heavy pain meds in your system now so for you to be holding a conversation was impressive. Not that he would admit that. 

“Mihawk is fine.” This is when you finally meet his eyes. Expecting his intense and methodical stare you were surprised to see curiosity and interest. You turn your head back to the fireplace in hopes the glow of the flames could mask your slight blush. His eyes were gorgeous when not giving someone the death glare. 

“Since you seem fine enough to hold a basic conversation, I am intrigued to know how you stumbled upon my land and home. Do tell little one.” Mihawk uncrosses his legs and stands. He walks over to a wine rack and picks a bottle easily. “Wine?” He questions without turning around. You take a chance to admire his back muscles while you can. 

“Please. That sounds fantastic. And the names (Y/n) for your information.” You wear a hint of a smile enjoying your banter with the warlord. Mihawk walks back to his seat across from you and sets down two wine glasses. He fills them equally and leans back taking a long sip. You grab yours and smell, you’ve always enjoyed a nice aroma to your wine. Taking a sip you lean back as well, relaxing on the sofa. 

“Well, where do I even begin? First and foremost, I am a traveling merchant. I get hired to do odd jobs as I travel around from island to island. My skills are a wide variety from handling a bow and arrow to basic construction to hunting people down. I like to keep people on their toes. Currently, I am between jobs, I was sailing to Water 7 when I came in contact with a Marine vessel. It was smaller, maybe a cargo ship. I thought since I am low on funds, what's a little scavenger hunt gonna do?” You take another sip of your wine before setting down the glass on the low table in front of you. Resting your elbows on your knees you warm your hands up and rest them against your face. 

“I didn't know there was a fleet admiral on board at the time. Let alone know it was Akainu.” You side glance at Mihawk and see the barest twitch of his eyebrows. You take that as a queue to continue. 

“I climbed aboard not thinking much of it at the time but I should have scoped it out more beforehand. I should have absorbed my surroundings and should have followed the ship for a while before boarding. There was plenty I could have done at the moment to prevent what happened but… I slipped up. I was starving, being out at sea for so long without food and water will do that to ya I guess.” Your shoulders slump as you sag backward. “At first when I got past him I thought I was in the clear. I should have known from the moment I set foot on the deck that I wasn't getting away unscathed. After running around for a while and tumbling through marine after marine he finally spotted my getaway. Before I knew it I was dropping a dinghy into the water and my abdomen was bleeding. My goal was Water 7 but a storm swept in. My old rig being left behind I set sail and hoped for the best.” 

You were leaving out key details like the amount you got off the ship or how you got jumped by a baboon on steroids on your way to his castle but he didn't need to know that. You open your eyes to look at the man beside you and notice he is looking into the fireplace. You couldn’t recognize the emotions you saw in his eyes but you assumed it was nothing bad considering you were still sitting next to the warlord. For a brief moment, you didn’t think he would say anything but he surprised you by setting down his now-empty wine glass and standing. You follow his movements out of your peripheral and take the last swig of your wine. Before a second thought crosses your mind Mihawk then extends his hand in invitation. You glance at his hand and then up to meet his eyes but he still looks towards the fire. You set your wine glass down next to his and proceed to stand. Or, attempt to stand, that is. As you flex your abdomine to gain balance a sharp pain runs through your stomach. You hiss as you drop back on the sofa. You look up to Mihawk again now understanding his gesture. You take his hand without looking at his face and he helps you stand on your own two feet. 

“You must be hungry. I always say a good wine requires a good snack.” Mihawk lets you lean some weight onto his arm as he leads you out of the library. 

“A snack sounds fantastic right about now.” As if in queue your stomach lets out an atrocious growl that reddens your face. Mihawk peeks at you while you look at a very interesting painting as if your stomach didn't drop an atomic bomb in the hallway. 

“With the looks of it, I’m surprised you lasted this long without collapsing. Undernourished and injured do not mix well.” It’s as if the briefest hint of a smile crosses Mihawk’s face. You barely catch a glimpse as your eyes dart to his. 

“As small as I seem I am one tough cookie thank you very much.” You retort as you raise your head high. “My skills with my bow did not come easily.” You say almost to yourself. Mihawk does not miss this. The rest of the walk to what you assumed to be the kitchen was silent. A comfortable silence as you admire the decor and photos. Most are of landscapes and waterfalls but one in particular caught your attention before you walked past a threshold. 

Sitting upon the bleak wall was a massive photo of Yoru, Mihawk’s beloved sword. You pause admiring the beautiful craftwork and detail in the painting. Mihawk glances at the painting before down at you. His gaze sweeps your face admiring the awe in your eyes. He’d never admit it but the look on your face now was almost as beautiful as the painting you admire. With your mouth slightly open and eyes wide you take your time to absorb the scene. Yoru stands tall in the center, leaning up against gold and jewels. The gold cross-guard somehow shone brighter than any piece of jewelry in the painting. The black blade is a contrast to the vibrant colors of the gems surrounding it. Your breath catches in your throat as your memory is thrown to your beloved bow and arrows. 

“My stuff. Where is it?” Your voice was slightly colder in tone when you spoke. Mihawk lets you lean against the wall next to the painting of Yoru and takes a step away. He turns and crosses the threshold to the kitchen before responding calmly.

“Your things are in a guest bedroom you will be moving to after you eat.” You visibly calm, the tension leaving your body. You take one last glance at Yoru before proceeding. Your bow and arrows were your most valuable possessions, a gift that could never be replaced. You support more of your weight on your feet as you follow Mihawk. You venture to the island in the middle of the room and sit on a bar stool. Mihawk opens a pantry pulls out a loaf of bread and makes his way to a refrigerator. He proceeds to pull out some ingredients and begins to make you a sandwich. To your amazement, you find a delicious meal presented to you on a porcelain plate within a minute or so. 

“Again, thank you…” You glance up at Mihawk before you continue. “You know, for a terrifying warlord you’re very sweet.” 

You look from the food to him again. He stands across from you leaning up against the opposite counter. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can't help but notice the veins running down his forearms and into his hands. A shiver runs down your spine and you take a big bite of the sandwich averting your eyes. Before you can question if Mihawk saw you staring he takes a couple of steps forward resting his hands on the island you sit at. He acts as if your last comment was never said.

“For the next few days, I don't expect you to be up and walking as much. Once you are however we can discuss payment options for my… Services.” Mihawk says with an earnest gaze. Swallowing hard you set the sandwich back onto its place in front of you. Trying to sit up as straight as possible you meet his eyes head-on, trying not to seem intimidated or nervous even when your stomach was in knots. However, you couldn't tell if it was from hunger or anxiety.

“Of course, I understand. Whatever it is I’ll do my best to pay you back. You did save my life after all.” Mihawk just hums in reply and stands. 

“Finish your food and I’ll assist you to your room.” With that, he steps out of the kitchen for a moment. 

Taking this opportunity you shove your face with the delicious sandwich. Nothing has ever tasted so good after weeks of no food at sea. You slow down reaching the last few bites of the sandwich wanting to savor the flavors like it's your last meal. With your life, you never knew when your last meal was going to be. Licking your fingers and patting your stomach you sigh. With the food now in your full stomach you take a moment to look around the Kitchen. It's a decent size even with the island in the middle of the room. Plenty of cabinets lined the tall walls and a pantry sits in one corner. You wonder if Mihawk likes to cook. With the look of how clean it was he either loved to cook or never did. You stand gingerly trying to walk without the support of a wall or counter. You felt confident the first few steps to the sink but right when you thought you were in the clear a stabbing pain flew through your abdomen making you cringe and fall forward. You were able to lightly toss the plate onto the countertop before hitting the ground on your knees. Before your face falls flat on the hardwood an arm comes across your chest. Even with your hair now blocking your face you knew it was Mihawk from the solid frame and sweet red wine breath. One hand clutches his arm as the other goes to your wound. You inhale sharply feeling yourself start to sweat from the pain. 

“Let's get you to your room shall we?” Mihawk’s warm breath fans the top of your head, you squeeze your eyes shut trying to will away the pain.

“Give me a second to catch my breath and I-” 

Without warning you are lifted into the air and pressed against a warm chest.

“Please, if you walk now you'll reopen my stitching.” Mihawk begins to walk gently out of the kitchen to a tall set of stairs by the front double doors. You can’t say anything with the warmth that spreads across your face. Hawkeye freaking Mihawk is carrying you up to a guest bedroom and you think your heart is about to jump out of your throat. Whether it is from butterflies or anxiety you couldn't tell. 

Mihawk observes you for a brief moment noticing you hiding your face with your hair but chooses not to say anything. He knows his presence is intimidating and even though that is not his goal he can't help it. The persona he has built over the years as an intimidating warlord has protected him and haunted him. Yes, he may not be actively trying to participate with a group of pirates but no one ever said he never got lonely. With Zoro and Perona around, their presence has helped him realize he wouldn’t mind having someone around permanently possibly. Someone he knows is always going to be at home when he returns. What circumstances of the relationship with that person were still unknown to him but having another body around would be nice, to say the least. 

Reaching the top of the stairs Mihawk turns to the right and passes a couple doors before stopping in front of one that was slightly ajar. Using his elbow to open it all the way Mihawk turns to not hit you on the door. He walks over to the king-sized bed that was situated at the far wall of the room and lies you gently on the covers. You take in the room, your head on a swivel when you notice all of your belongings on the desk up against a wall. You visibly relax as you turn your attention to Mihawk who is now at the end of the bed. He gestures to a small tray lying on the trunk stationed at the end of the bed.

“If the pain gets any worse take these and they will help you sleep. In the morning I’ll let Perona know you woke up late in the night and she will meet you for breakfast.” Before Mihawk could turn away and exit he gets caught frozen in place. You sat situated in the middle of the bed now, hair frazzled from days of not being washed yet the look you give him makes his heart skip a beat. Your appreciative gaze is crinkled by the wide smile you show him. You look younger, not injured. Your cheeks are rosy from the cool night air and your nose scrunches with your now Cheshire cat smile. 

“Thank you Mihawk, truly. I look forward to speaking with you again.” You open your eyes once more and you could have sworn you saw the tips of his ears turn a shade of pink. Before you can see, Mihawk is turning towards the door and making his exit.

“Likewise little one.” 

[haleyusesherwords]

The Black Mines from Tango’s POV: hehehe the warden is gonna get you you silly goose. What do you mean you don’t know what floor you’re on?

The Black Mines from the player’s POV:

*All game sounds are dwarfed by the ominous warden sniffs and creaking of the dungeon*

*Darkness descends, scrambling all sense of direction or location*

oh this is actually a horror movie

[the-spam-specialist]

i think about caine's random insertion of violent language and tendencies in the show. he seems to think people like violence- knive-throwing, drowning oneself, disease, agony, death, terror, and then the cursE OF THE VIOLENT PSYCHOPATH BUTCHER. he obviously is a very high-energy, zany to the point of maniacal persona, with an ability to express frustration and experience identity crisis. but, being designed to create adventures for kids, presumably, why does he mention violence so much! well in a video games people do like violence and horror and death to be fair, and also he was trying to appeal to Zooble's "matoor" preferences. we know ragatha just goes along with whatever happens, Jax LOVES violence, kinger doesn't know where he is, and gangle is quiet. so he has no reason to believe they don't like action/violence/thriller-type things until he's criticized. but still- where has he learned of concepts like war criminals? why does he identify himself as one, even if in the show it was just a gag. you have to wonder whether it reflects the nature of the big boss he may be under, or if he's ever been fed incorrect information by Jax. this is just my brain pondering because we love to depict Caine as a sweetie pie, and I live for it- but in canon, why all the violence??? He doesn't want to or intend to cause harm but there's all these ominous things he says and does sometimes... especially with the whole "motivation" thing in episode 4. its unclear whether or not gangle was fully controlling that weird punishment thing or not. so far we get the vibe that Caine is not evil but doesn't comprehend and is therefore insensitive to suffering. he doesn't understand it, but he got offended when zooble implied he caused it purposely. augh, idk. THOUGHTS?

sorry this is long I'm worried for the show's future I don't want Caine to be a villian

TL; DR I want Caine to be a sweetie pie like he is in ur fics but the show seems to be painting him ominously and I don't like that one bit

Well, know for a fact that he's not evil and means no harm, thanks to Goose. She said he's just oblivious. And she said there's a whole range of emotions he's not able to feel. I can see all the humans over the years having a bad influence over him. He just doesn't understand how humans work and tries his best to give them what they want.

So no, I don't think Caine will become a villain. At least, not on purpose. If he Abstracts like a lot of people think he's going to (including me), then that's something he won't have control over.

I'm sure Episode 7 or 8 will be Caine's designated spotlight episode and we'll learn all about him and how he became what he is now.

But until we have all of his canon reasons for being a manic but well-meaning AI, you'll have to settle for the wholesome bean I've created in my fics LOL

[the-golden-comet]

✨🥘WIP Food Questionnaire🥘✨

Ooooh a fun new game from @dearunreliablenarrator ? Yes please!!

Rules: Answer the food-related questions provided in this link using the voices of your OCs. The yummier the descriptions, the better!

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

Ali’s baklava. It’s got a flaky, buttery crust that just melts on your tongue, a thin layer of chocolate and hazelnut spread between the sheets of sweet dough, topped with a thin drizzle of hot, chocolate syrup and powdered sugar. Sometimes, he adds a few sliced bananas to it and the flavor is, mmmm. ✨-Noah (YWIMC)

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

Oh God, I cringe at the memory….Harley had me go fishing for our meal once, and the squish of fish fry between my fingers is a feeling I will not soon forget. The smell of raw fish, bait, rust from the sea-weathered equipment. Ugh. I’ll stick with potatoes and fruit, thank you very much. I know Peter will try to force me to eat a protein, but I can’t stomach looking at the face of a dead fish. Mmmm…perhaps if it was in a stew…..-Benjamin (Peter Hart)

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

Oh Gosh!! Off of all of EARTH? Mmmm…that’s a tough one…..do drinks count? I’d get rid of all that gross alcohol immediately. It burns my throat and makes me feel dizzy. And…maybe dark roast coffee. It’s waaaaay too bitter….unless you add a lot of cream, sugar, milk, caramel….chocolate….

Itazura:….Tenshi. Focus.

…..Oh! R-right. Just coffee though? Blegh! Add some sweet to it, and it’ll be perfect ✨-Tenshi and Itazura (Tenshito)

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Oh OH! Can I answer this one too? 🪽✨

Mmmm, there’s this one thing that is SOOOO good! It’s an ice cream with red bean paste—

Itazura: —Mochi? (餅)

But, it has some fruit and it has beautiful designs! It’s reeeeeally good!! ✨

Itazura: Ah, Wagashi (和菓子). Yeah that’s pretty good.

cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!?

Well, I would….but SOMEONE decided to ABDUCT me 😡 -Tyr (ITROG)

I will very gently tag the following (if you’ve been double tagged, whoops. I’m a silly goose 🪿✨): @tragedycoded , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch , @gioiaalbanoart , @wyked-ao3 , @alinacapellabooks , @yourpenpaldee , @ominous-feychild , @lychhiker-writes , @rotting-moon-writes , @saturnine-saturneight , @marlowethelibrarian , @jev-urisk , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @badscientist , @eccaiia , @smellyrottentrees , @lavender-gloom , @paeliae-occasionally , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @theink-stainedfolk , @willtheweaver , @aintgonnatakethis , @musicismymoirail , @nczaversnick , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @autism-purgatory , @finickyfelix , @writercoracain , @moltenwrites , @rivenantiqnerd , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @noxxytocin , @thecomfywriter , @theaistired , @mauannacreates , @tildeathiwillwrite , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @houseplantblank , @mundanemoongirl , @minamaybe , @fantasy-things-and-such , @ragin-cajun-fangirl , +open tag! ✨

[subwayfloorlicker1978]

every single time i try to speculate on what jax’s “big bad secret” is going to be revealed as later in the story i get stuck. repeatedly.

like okay. if you haven’t noticed, goose has been foreshadowing this like a lot. the little detail of jax having keys that can open any door that seems a LITTLE too specific for it to just be a one-off thing. the clear implication that jax’s room is supposed to hold a secret of some kind (cough the pins). on her list of content warnings for tadc she literally put “jax” as one of the warnings. (presumably as a half joke but she’s very monotone so im not really sure.) apparently he “likes a lot of things he’s not willing to admit”, which is ominous as hell?? his dynamic with pomni is MESSY now apparently.

so my guess is that he’s going to do something absolutely, completely unforgivable in the future. or something really bad happens related to him or something idk. SOMETHING related to him contains dark themes, but the more i think about how the environment of the digital circus works, the more confusing it gets.

like. okay well he can’t exactly kill any of his castmates so that’s sort of out of the question. can he make someone abstract? possibly. maybe that’s what happened to queenie… but i think the rest of the cast would be WAY more unforgiving/cold to him if that actually happened. so probably not. i think with what we know now, maybe he could realistically set caine off so badly that it results in like… super dire consequences. like maybe the world starts glitching out and makes someone abstract bc of it or something. eyedeekay!

it’s also difficult too bc there’s so much we still don’t really know about the circus. like before episode 3 we had absolutely no idea that caine’s emotional state affected the “structural integrity” of the circus i guess.

also… and i know people are gonna disagree with me on this… i do not think we know enough about jax to have an “in character” image of him in our heads. like yeah his surface level traits are there but we really don’t know a lot about him. like at all. i think the closest we’ve ever been shown to “the real jax” (excluding the crumbs that goose has given us) are those scenes in episode 1 where he breaks character a little bit and looks super tired as if he’s putting up a facade. which i DO think he is, it’s just that his motivations are super important too and we’re completely unaware of what he’s actually planning on doing later on….

also extra note before i finish my silly rant. goose said on twitter that she saw a piece of fanart for tadc that mirrors something that happens later on in the story and ive seen quite a few pieces on the tumblr front page for the #tadc hashtag that depict jax abstracting …so. idk if its gonna happen though teehee. okay bye guys.