#random drabble from the

[bakawitch]

Grimm Court: Too Easy

"Hmm." Lady Akeru frowned as she knelt down to asses the odd slash marks left behind on the concrete of the unkept rooftop.

She cautiously ran a finger across the bold indents, trying to gauge what tool could have possibly left it behind. The edges were shockingly smooth and there was very little rubble surrounding the blemishes. It definitely couldn't have been Lüderc, since her lantern was more suited for bludgeoning. Akeru could recall a faint memory of seeing marks hauntingly similar to these before, but she couldn't place exactly where.

"Is something wrong?" Sphinx Noir chimed in after observing his partner in pensive silence for awhile.

Sighing as her train of thought got interrupted, Lady Akeru pushed herself up, her fist unconsciously tightening around the disappointingly small Lucky Charm.

"I'm... not quite sure myself," she admitted, crossing her arms in thought. "Don't you think this felt off? Wasn't this too easy? Hawkmoth is never this easy. His plots are always senselessly convoluted." She muttered, listing of her concerns as she approached Sphinx Noir.

Akeru just knew that this couldn't be it. Something wasn't right. She could feel a sense of unsatisfaction, for lack-thereof a better word.

"I feel you there." Sphinx sympathetically nodded, sensing that Akeru had more to say.

"Right?" She pondered, squinting her eyes at the feeble black spotted glassy item between her fingers. "Usually the Lucky Charm would have summoned a blade, or some other weapon, but I only received a marble this time and I didn't even get the chance to use it."

Sphinx Noir's lips pulled into a slight smile at the sound of that. He couldn't hold it against Lady Akeru for being frustrated with an inadequate mission, his partner always had a particular thought process and her gut feeling tended to be right about things like this.

"You don't think we're finished yet." He concluded.

"I don't." Lady Aketsu reaffirmed, taking the small ball back into the safety of her gloved fist.

Sphinx let out a small huff of air as he took his staff back out of its holster, the reassuring smile never leaving his face.

"Well we still have some time left, and the akuma didn't do any serious damage this time. We can keep patrolling for a little longer if you want. The Cure can wait."

"Thank you, Sphinx." Lady Akeru mumbled, finally lifting her distracted gaze to meet his, a grateful glint in her red tinted eyes.

"No need. I wholeheartedly trust your judgement, Akeru." He guaranteed with a respectful bow of his head.

Assured, Lady Akeru returned the encouraging gesture with a solemn nod, winding up her yo-yo for their imminent departure into the night.

[zephyrchama]

A truly furious Lord Diavolo. It's not something you've ever seen, and it's not something he ever wants to show you.

Just being in the vicinity makes your skin crawl, your ears ring, your throat begins to constrict and it gets hard to breathe. Every cell in your body tells you to run but is too paralyzed to budge.

When he takes an angry step forward, when foot strikes the ground, he causes an earthquake. The floor shatters, the land shakes. Some may get swallowed up. Everyone is brought to their knees before him.

He remains level headed. Even in the throes of rage, Diavolo will remain logical. Even when those around him can't think, when his vast presence overwhelms his surroundings and causes their nervous system to shut down. All that those around him feel is fear, so strongly, as if it's the only feeling they have ever known and will ever know. The dark sky grows darker, a pitch black void of nothing.

Diavolo stands tall. You never really noticed how sharp his fangs are, his nails, his wings, the scathing look in his eye when he is immensely displeased. With his emotions in check, this is still but a fraction of the royal family's power.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is loosely based off of @emmyrosee 's messing with sukuna post bc i just love the idea of messing with your whiny baby dramatic boyfriend and i immediately thought about katsuki ! if you want this taken down lmk !

katsuki is hilarious to mess with.

you've only been staring at him for about 5 seconds when he turns to you.

"whaddya want ?" he asks with a raised brow. you're still all smiles, resting your head into your palm

"nothing." you hum, he grumbles a bit but doesn't pay it any mind. until you keep staring. he's trying to focus on his phone but you can tell he's about to snap when he starts squinting at the device.

"what ?" he grumbles, red eyes narrow at your smile widening.

"nothing !"

"yn. don't fuck with me."

"i'm not !" you giggle " i'm just looking at you, am i not allowed to ?"

you know exactly what to say to fluster him without fail every time, it's something you're most proud of when you see the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink.

"..no."

you snort "no ?"

"shaddup." he says through gritted teeth "so what, you're just lookin' at me ?"

"yeah." you shrug "i like lookin' at my pretty boyfriend." you prop your head against the couch and sigh dreamingly to sell the lovesick act. katsuki inhales through his nose, chest puffing like he's upset and he tsks, ears and cheeks beet red.

"weirdo." he scoffs, then grabs the back of your head to pull you in and press his lips to yours roughly.

you're both breathing heavy when you pull away. he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as he heaves lightly, eyeing you from your eyes to your lips. and then he huffs through his nose like a bull and roughly pulls you into in chest, causing you to release an 'oomph !' at the force when he flops down onto the couch, pulling you with him.

"m'not pretty." he mocks your voice and you huff a laugh into his collarbone. you wiggle around and your boyfriend loosens his hold a bit so you can look up at him.

"you so are !" you argue, he won't look at you but narrows his eyes at the tv he'd turned to to distract himself from your gaze.

"nah, that's you, babe." he switches through the channels "thought you said i was handsome last week."

"you can be pretty and handsome at the same time, the proof is right in front of me." you flirt, he looks at your from the corner of his eye and his mouth curls up like he smelled something nasty when you wink at him.

"gross."

"you're blushing~" you sing, closing your eyes and laying your head onto his chest, you sigh happily when he starts rubbing up and down your back instinctively.

"go to sleep. m'tired of listening to you." he pushes your head down into his chest jokingly and you giggle. you can't see the smirk growing on his face from where your being shoved into.

you wrestle out of his hold to look at him to see he's already staring at you, half smirk on his face and he scoffs at your expression, you huff through your nose and your smile widens.

"you love me." you whisper knowingly, katsuki takes the hand off of your back to pinch at your side and he snorts when you squeal.

"unfortunately."

you yelp when he wets his lips and he captures yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

��¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[random-twst-things]

*Leona's room*

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Hey! It's time to wake up! The suns been up for the last hour!

Leona, waking up groggy and groaning: What do you want me to do? Photosynthesize? 😑

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I'm surprised you even know what that word means.

Leona: and I'm surprised you don't know what the words "Don't bother me" mean.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Says the super senior.

Leona: 😐

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: are you awake now??

Leona: No, part of this feels like a dream and I'm hoping it ends in you leaving.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: AWWWWW you'd dream of me? 🤭

Leona: Don't flatter yourself herbivore, now get out.

Dividers from @/cafekitsune

[kevinsdsy]

“no matter what i do it won’t go away.” kevin kept scrubbing the stain on his shirt. he couldn’t even remember who dropped the drink over him, he just remembered he had excused himself from the table and jean had followed close behind him.

jean had followed close behind him. it almost felt like they were back in the nest— back to when when the two of them would secretly look out for each other, even when they were not supposed to.

of course it wasn’t the case anymore.

kevin had left the nest after his broken hand and even jean had managed to get out to be part of the USC trojans’ lineup.

they were just together at the banquet for one night.

jean leaned against the wall, looking at his former teammate with a bored expression, watching as kevin desperately scrubbed his shirt with no improvements to show for it.

“i’m pretty sure you’re making it worse,” jean had commented in french, but kevin ignored him— grabbing another paper towel from behind them instead and dapping it under the water, which was just another desperate attempt which only looked like it was doing more damage. “it’s fine. no one will care.” jean said.

“no matter what i do it won’t go away,” kevin said again, his eyes were glued to the stain, but his breath caught in his throat which finally pushed an alarm button for jean.

“kevin, it’s fine.” he said, pushing himself off the wall and moving towards his former teammate.

“why won’t it go away?” kevin finally turned to look at jean and jean was surprised to find tears caught behind kevin’s eyes.

“stop that.” jean said. “it’s just a shirt. what’s going on with you?” kevin looked up at jean. he didn’t know how to say he didn’t care about the shirt.

it was the guilt which was eating him alive— guilt he had carried ever since he had left the nest. the constant guilt following him around for leaving jean behind in the nest.

they both knew jean would never have followed kevin out of the nest if kevin had asked, but it didn’t make the event easier on either of them.

“it needs to go away. why won’t it go away?” kevin asked again, and suddenly it dawned on him how he wasn’t even making any sense to jean anyway.

how was jean supposed to know he was talking about his guilt? what did it matter anyway? it wouldn’t change anything.

“i’m sorry,” kevin said with a ragged breath. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” kevin repeated.

“stop it,” jean told him firmly. “it’s okay. forget about it.”

[good-beanswrites]

es being in CONPLETE and utter denial that their prisoners care for them and vice versa. This could be humor and/or angst. Like the prisoners have a whole birthday for es, they bring them back to their room when they pass out, etc. And still, es is like "uhm. Yeah so my prisoners DEFINITELY hate me for the verdicts and stuff" while ignoring a letter on their desk that says "we care for you!!"

They really are the most in-denial child you've ever met -_- I really hope the give-your-warden-a-hug trend continues through the vds, but I'm doubtful 😅 I got hooked on the birthday idea, especially since they don't have an official-official one. I tried to keep a balance of angst and lightheartedness, with the ending ambiguous enough to satisfy either hehe... (Also featuring a quick reference to the last angst piece where Es came down with a fever, but not meaningfully a sequel)

Es awoke on their birthday cold, sore, and crying out in fear. 

They’d fallen asleep at their desk (which hadn’t been an issue the first few times when their neck and shoulders weren’t pinched up in pain.) Jackalope denied any fiddling with the prison’s temperature, but they still believed this chill wasn’t normal. Neither was their sharp increase in nightmares…

They shoved their notebooks aside, knocking against the desk’s lamp with a clatter. Es knew they had no right to feel so bitter. It wasn’t as if it was their real birthday. Today marked the day Milgram had begun, but they had joined the others scoffing at Mahiru’s suggestion that it could be considered the day “Es” was born.

And now, there was no one around to push it. 

They arrived for breakfast in their rumpled uniform. Sure enough, no one spoke a word as they picked at some cereal. Yuno was the only one to make an odd comment after they stood, heading to the hallway.

“Back to work already? Maybe you should take today off. It’s… a good day to relax.”

“I’m fine, Yuno. There’s a bit more to get done,” they lied. 

Milgram’s paperwork and logs had been turned in weeks ago. Everything currently strewn across their desk was there for personal use. It was better to continue their endeavors in the privacy of their own room rather than be an annoyance out here.

“If you say so…” her voice lilted with a lightness Es hadn’t heard in a long time. “Just try and take one break out here, okay? We don’t want a repeat of last time, hehe~”

They nodded, her cheery tone only plunging them deeper into shame. The prisoners had every right to ensure they didn’t overwork themselves again. It must have been infuriating to be expected to care for their own warden. They had to spend a whole week watching over some helpless child who’d dragged their prison into despair.

That night, Mikoto further drove in the knife by repeating the request cheerily. He brought them a plate of dinner, stopping the door with his foot when they tried to shrug off his comments.

“Just a little change of scenery,” he prodded. If even he was offering advice about overwork, the prisoners must have been desperate. 

“Alright.” Es glanced down at the plate, knowing it would be going straight to the garbage given their current appetite. Something sweet sounded more palatable, but that would only sound childish to admit. “I’ll come out to grab some tea in a minute.”

The prison felt oddly quiet when they finally honored their word. They crept from the corridor into the kitchen. Es thought Jackalope maintained control of the meals, but the new mess of dishes told them the prisoners had made something on their own. Es felt a pang of guilt for throwing out their dinner; it may not have been as fur-infested as they originally thought.

They made their tea as silently as possible. The ache had returned to their muscles and temples. All they wanted to do was curl up on the couch in their room, grab a blanket to stave off this chill, and cry as silently as they could manage into their tea.

As Es approached their quarters, they realized they wouldn’t be so lucky. 

The door to their quarters stood open a crack, voices of the prisoners rising up from inside. 

“Hurry up! They’ll be back any minute now.”

“I thought you told them to leave their room?”

“I don’t think they were really buying it...”

Es already figured out the motive was out of selfishness rather than concern, but the betrayal still stung. They were the Warden, after all – they should have been far above falling victim to some mutinous plot to ransack their bedroom.

They took a measured breath. Their plans would need to wait. Es placed their tea on the ground, straightening out their uniform. They mustered up all the authority they could by lifting their chin and making the most of their height. They closed the gap to the doorway and hoped the stomping of their boots announced their arrival with enough intimidation.

“And just what do you think you’re do–”

 “Surprise!”

Es’ mouth hung open, the rest of their lecture falling away into complete bafflement. Their room had been transformed with homemade materials: paper chains hung like party streamers above. Colored crafts were strewn about, in various shapes but with a clear rabbit theme. The books on their desk had been cleared away to make room for a cake, on which Kazui was hurriedly lighting some colorful candles. The icing displayed a shaky-handed drawing of Jackalope’s face. 

“Happy birthday!” Muu beamed at them, unwavering even through her horrid veil. She linked her arms through theirs to drag them forward. “Didn’t we do such a good job?”

“I – what? My birthday…?”

Mikoto shrugged. “It’s close enough.”

“We figured you’d had enough bad surprises lately.” Kazui gave a guilty laugh. “We thought we owed you a nice one.”

Es’ shoulders sank. “No. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s good,” Amane said, “because Fuuta-san completely ruined your cake.”

“It’s going to taste fine! If you actually helped with the icing, maybe it wouldn’t look so bad…”

“I was busy making the chain.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Muu said. “We couldn’t surprise you with gifts, since you see our requests. But it was fun making decorations. We still don’t really know what you like, but we know you and Jackalope get along, so we thought you might like rabbits.”

They blinked. “Ah. Where is Jackalope?” There was no way he’d allow all this. After all, he was the one who specifically told them that a Warden of Milgram has no birthday, or age, or anything else to call their own. It was easier that way, he said. Es had agreed, at the time.

The others looked away nervously, but Yuno kept up her bright smile. “Kotoko’s cell. She never does party stuff like this, but I think she still wanted to help. She’s looking after him a bit.”

That sounded like a terrible idea. Es should go make sure he was still in one piece. Then again, what were a few more minutes to understand the situation…?

They eyed the cake. Though the decoration wasn’t the highest quality, there seemed to be a lot of work put into the dessert. “I thought you all were above petty bribery.”

“I told you they’d be a baby about it.” Fuuta crossed his arms. “No kid likes their birthday to be a big deal.”

 Yuno flicked his ear. “Every kid likes that! You’re just the weird one.” Before he could complain, she turned the attention to the flickering candles. “Now, you should make your wish!” 

“Mm-hm. Muu won’t eat it if it gets gross candle wax in it.”

The Warden shouldn’t sit around and share a cake with the prisoners under them.

Kazui said, “it has berries in the filling – your favorite. At least, I thought you mentioned something like that to Shidou-san.”

The Warden should recall information about the prisoners, not the other way around. 

“How does that sound?”

“That sounds…” 

The Warden shouldn’t have a birthday, to begin with.

They tried to get a hold of their trembling voice. “That sounds…” Their throat squeezed itself tight. The others’ eyes widened. They started to cry.

“Oh, Warden-kun!”

“I told you, you’ve been working too hard!”

“Here, let’s get you some cake.”

“It’s okay!”

Es wanted to demand everyone stop with the coddling and the childishness. They didn’t need all this fake concern. But they were outnumbered – too many arms pulled them in and patted their back to fend off. Amane used a sheet of paper to blow out the candles, cutting a slice early.

Es was ushered over to the couch. With all the bodies around them, it felt warmer here. The plate of desert landed right into their hands.

“I… I don’t understand,” they said at last. “It’s not even my birthday. And even if it was, none of us are getting any older. After everything… I mean… You know I don’t deserve this.”

They hung their head. Yuno let out a drawn-out sigh, and they waited for her to agree with them. 

Instead, she nudged them playfully. “I know that everyone deserves something sweet on their birthday. And some company, no matter the homicidal status…” Es didn’t expect so many chuckles from the group. “And a wish.”

Amane reached over to place a half-melted candle into their slice. She lit it.  

It was mere flattery, they reminded themself. These prisoners had no reason to care, other than to get on Es’ good side in hopes of skewing their verdicts. There was nothing special about it – anyone would do the same.

They looked at the gazes surrounding them. Their smiles weren’t forced. But how could anyone tell what was real, anymore? They curled their legs up under them. 

Es closed their eyes, and made a wish.

[spontaneousful]

"Is this really the world we fought so hard for?"

It was a question that always seemed to be on Blondie's mind lately. It was the only thing she could think to say as she stood in Ashlynn Ella's castle, watching the snow fall atop her fresh grave.

Apple, her friend her once-upon-a-time lover her, Apple White, ruler of Ever After, glanced over at her. "Whatever after do you mean?"

Blondie stared out the window and tried to bite her tongue. This conversation was pointless, nothing she could say would change what was. But that budding investigative journalist inside her, the one who wanted to change the world, the one she thought was stamped out long ago, couldn't leave it alone.

"Did we really fight for a future where our friends drop like flies? And condemn those who didn't agree to death along with them?"

She laughed. "Don't be silly. I haven't sentenced anyone to death."

Blondie turned around to face her. "What about Raven?"

"What about her?" Apple's gaze was piercing.

Blondie stared her down, but Apple didn't falter. Instead, she returned the stare with intensity. Blondie sighed and looked away. She couldn't stand up to Apple, she never had been able to. But the flame of anger in her still burned, and instead, she shifted the conversation.

"How many of our friends have to die for you to admit you were wrong? How many have there already been? Briar, Ashlynn, Ginger, Humphrey, Duchess, Meeshell, we're in our thirties, Apple. And yet, I'm attending a funeral every other week."

For a moment, there was no response. Then, she heard the clacking of Apple walking away. "The Ella estate is sorted out. I believe we're done here."

Blondie wanted to stop her. She wanted to scream at her. To curse the unfairness of it all. How hypocritical of her, when she had played no small part in the war of destiny versus choice.

Why? Why had she ever agreed with the side of destiny? Why had she thought this was better? Why had her own happy ever after been worth setting up her friends for slaughter? Why? Why? Why?

[fidgetspringer-art]

Anyone want some angst? Cause I found some random angst laying around. With the bonus of Martin and Gabe interacting for the first time.

It’s 7am when Gabriel gets the call. The one he’s spent the last ten years dreading, knowing full well that sooner or later it would inevitably come.

-

Gabriel walks through the halls of the large hospital in a daze. Trying his best to follow the directions given by the nurse down at the front desk.

He pauses outside of what is supposed to be Noah’s room, staring at the door. His hand shakes when it comes up to twist the handle.

The figure in the bed at the far end of the room wouldn’t be recognizable if not for the fact that Gabriel could pick Noah out of a crowd with his eyes closed.

His face is so swollen and bruised Gabriel doesn’t think he could open his eyes even if he’d been awake to try.

His lip is split in several places, blood hastily wiped away.

His knuckles must be busted too, if the bandages covering his hands are any indication.

Gabriel sinks down into one of the free chairs in the room. There are two beds in here, separated by a thin curtain. The other bed is empty. Maybe just because it happens to not be needed right now, or maybe intentionally left as such, considering Noah’s case is likely a police matter.

Just a few more hits short of being a murder case.

Gabriel reaches out and rests his hand on Noah’s chest. Feeling the slow and steady beat of his heart against his palm. Just to remind himself that Noah is still alive.

In the countless times he’s imagined getting that call in the past, he’s never once imagined Noah still breathing at the end of it. It just hadn’t seemed likely.

But he’s here. Lungs inflating in his chest, rising up to meet the gentle touch of Gabriel's hand.

Noah is going to survive this, just like he’s survived everything else he’s put himself through. There is no other option.

Gabriel just hopes he won’t be too changed for it.

Gabriel sits with him for a few hours. Just watching him rest. Hands never leaving him for long.

He thinks about the last time Noah was at the studio. How happy and carefree he’d seemed. Gabriel had known from the moment he’d turned up, exactly where he’d come from, could always tell when he’d been spending time with his cowboy.

Gabriel blinks. Martin.

Unlocking Noah’s phone is an easy matter. There are no secrets between them, not even pin codes. The phone is thankfully accounted for in the plastic bag holding Noah’s small collection of items.

Gabriel steps out into the hallway to make the call, he’s not sure why. It’s not like Noah is going to hear him. But he needs a moment to himself anyway. Needs to take a breath.

Finding the right name in the contact list isn’t an issue, there aren’t that many names in there, but actually hitting the call button is harder than Gabriel was expecting.

He rips the band-aid off and brings the phone up to his ear. Cracked screen rough against his cheek.

It rings for a long time, long enough to have him second guessing himself. He’s almost sure no one is going to pick up when finally the line connects.

“Noah?” It’s urgent. Scared. “Noah, where are you, what's wrong?”

Gabriel’s chest aches. He can hear himself in Martin’s voice. Knows that if Noah called him out of the blue like this he’s be saying exactly the same words. Knows that he too would be fearing the worst.

“Noah! Talk to me.”

Gabriel shakes himself. Shuts his eyes. “Martin Hart?”

“No.” Martin’s breath leaves him with the word. “No, no, no, no, please-”

“He’s alive.” Gabriel is quick to clarify. “He’s alive.”

He can practically feel the relief in the silence across the line. He opens his mouth to continue, but no words come out. Martin’s fear for Noah’s life has rocked him. To know that someone else cares as much about Noah as Gabriel does- it’s stunned him.

“But he’s hurt?” Martin asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Gabriel nods before he realizes Martin’s can’t see him. “He’s-” He swallows. “He’s unconscious. Broken a few bones too. They don’t know how long he’ll be out for, or if he’ll be himself when he wakes up, or-” His voice cracks. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but his cheeks are suddenly wet. “Can you-” He’s not really sure what he’s asking for, just knows that this is too much, even for him.

“I’m on my way, Gabriel.” Martin says, he must have assumed who was calling, there aren’t that many people in Noah’s life, after all. “You keep him company, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as I can, just tell me where you are.”

Gabriel rattles off the address. It’s a six hour drive from wherever Martin is, apparently. The thought of sitting in that hospital room alone for six more hours is enough to have Gabriel feeling sick.

He listens to Martin move around on the other end of the line, likely getting some things together before he heads out. The sound is soothing, less lonely, but then Martin tells him he has to hang up, that he only owns a landline, and Gabriel swallows down his dread and lets him go.

A nurse stops by a few hours later to check Noah’s vitals and to make sure he’s comfortable.

Gabriel watches her work with a numb sort of detachment. She’s humming and chatting, seemingly to the both of them, about nothing in particular, and Gabriel doesn’t bother answering her. He just gives her a tight smile when she comes to give him a pat on the shoulder before she leaves.

He can’t help the way he keeps checking his watch. He’s subconsciously counting down the hours until Martin gets here. He feels childish. Like he’s a kid waiting for an adult to come help them through a situation they can’t handle on their own.

He doesn’t even know this guy. Yet he sort of does. Noah is always talking about him, about his farm and his animals and the way Martin cooks for him. Real, actual food when Noah rarely gets to have anything besides junk food.

He remembers how distrustful he’d been towards this Martin guy when Noah had first told him about him. He'd imagined some older creep, manipulative and taking advantage of a young man desperate for his own place in the world.

He’d expected Martin to try to pin Noah down. Or to use him and discard him when he got too much. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But it’s been four years now, since Noah first met him. And every time Noah finds his way back to Gabriel’s studio after having spent time with the guy. He’s happy. Happier than Gabriel ever gets to see him.

Gabriel can always tell when Noah is leaving him to go stay with Martin too, even if he doesn’t let on that that’s where he’s headed. There’s an excitement to him that is unmistakable. Like he can’t wait to let his bike eat up the miles between them.

Of course there are times when Noah comes to him in a bad mood. They have their fights, every now and then. Mostly it’s Noah’s fault, but even so, Gabriel always feels a twinge of anger directed at Martin too, even if it’s almost never warranted. He just can’t help it.

With almost an hour left on the clock, there’s a timid knock on the door.

Gabriel doesn’t bother calling out or standing to open it, and he doesn’t have to, because only seconds later a tall, weathered man steps into the room.

He looks so much like your stereotypical cowboy it almost makes Gabriel want to laugh.

He’s wearing a red plaid shirt with an old work jacket pulled over it. He’s clutching a brown hat to his chest, just as dusty with red dirt as his well worn jeans and boots.

He freezes in the door, eyes going wide at the sight of Noah on the bed. He looks like he’s been physically stuck by the image.

Gabriel wonders then, how often Noah comes to him with bruises on his face. If he reserves that privilege for Gabriel alone, or if it’s just as common of an occurrence for Martin as it is for him.

“Hey.” Gabriel says, his voice comes out hoarse, raspy with disuse.

Martin doesn’t startle exactly, but he snaps out of his shock enough to look over. He blinks. “You Gabriel?” His voice is deep. He almost sounds stern, except Gabriel can tell he isn’t trying to be.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You speed all the way here or what?” He has to have been, to have gotten here this early.

Martin just shrugs. He slips out of his jacket and pulls up a chair, sitting next to Gabriel, facing the bed. He stares at Noah for a long time, silent.

“He woken up at all?”

Gabriel sighs. He reaches over and places his hand back on Noah’s bandaged one. “Not yet. They don’t know how long he’ll need. Something about the swelling on his brain going down first.”

Martin nods. “Do you know what happened?”

He knows Martin must have drawn the same conclusions as him. That he must have assumed Noah had a wreck until he saw his injuries. The way they don’t line up with those of an accident.

“Not really. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Thought he was out your way.”

“He was. Left a few days ago, said he was heading this way but, you know-”

Gabriel does know. Noah has always been bad at keeping him in the loop. He knows he’s even worse about doing so for Martin. “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Martin smiles at him, and for a second he understands why Noah was drawn to him in the first place. He has a warmth to him, a steadiness that is sorely lacking from Noah’s life. He feels like a rock, sitting beside Gabriel like this, even as he’s clearly going through a lot in his own head, he projects an outward calmness that does a lot to soothe Gabriel’s worries.

“Thank you for calling me. I’m grateful for you letting me know. God knows he’d never call me himself.”

Gabriel huffs. Doesn’t he know it.

“I figured he’d want you close, when he wakes up, even if he would never admit to wanting either of us here.”

The cowboy deflates. “I hope so. I hope I’m not overstepping, I never quite know where I stand in all this.”

Gabriel feels a stab of sadness for the man. He clearly cares so much about Noah, and true to form, Noah is making loving him as difficult a choice as possible.

“He would want you here. I know he would.” It doesn’t feel like enough, so he adds. “He never stops talking about you, you know.”

Martin looks over, eyebrows raised. “That true?”

Gabriel nods. “I think I could name every single one of your chickens by now.”

That makes Martin chuckle. Deep and hearty. “He loves those birds.”

“He sure does.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just the beeping of the machines filling the room. It’s getting later in the day now. The little bit of sunlight hitting the far wall through the curtains is golden against the stark white of the walls.

Gabriel sighs. The sound drawing Martin’s attention. “I need to go see if I can track down his bike before it gets stolen, if it hasn’t been already.” He stands up, wishing he had thought to bring a jacket with him. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

He gives Martin the pin code to Noah’s phone and shows him how to find his name in the contact list. It’s obvious the guy has never held a smartphone before, but he figures it out quickly.

“Go.” He says, when Gabriel hesitates in the doorway. “That bike is his whole damn life.”

And isn’t that the truth.

Gabriel spends the next two hours scouring the streets of the downtown area for any sign of the bike.

He knows from the nurses where abouts Noah was found, but it was down a back-alley in an industrial area. Far from the usual kind of place Noah might haunt. And not an easy area to get a motorcycle into. He opts to rule out the more likely places first before trying his luck there.

He checks the streets around every single bar and pub and club he can find, peering into alleys and side streets with no luck.

Next he checks the local motel parking lots. No bike.

Every time he sees a parked motorcycle on the street his heart skips a beat. But it's never Noah's.

He’s about ready to give up and head back to the hospital when he decides to finally go look at the area Noah was found in. He just feels the need to see it for himself. Like maybe it will clear things up somehow. Give him some answers.

Finding the exact alleyway isn’t hard.

There’s police tape all around it. It’s a full on crime scene.

Gabriel doesn’t go beyond the tape. Scared to disturb anything that might be important to finding whoever did this to him. Even if he knows the investigation will inevitably end up closed before anything comes up. It’s not worth the resources. Not for some homeless biker with a track record of petty crime and picking fights.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning over the tape, Gabriel looks down into the darkness between the old buildings.

He doesn’t even need to bring his phone’s flashlight up to see the pool of blood on the ground.

There’s a pallet by the wall that’s splintered, like something impacted it. Fell on it maybe, or was pushed. Between it and the pool of blood lays a rusty old steel pipe.

It paints a picture well enough.

Gabriel turns away before he makes himself sick. He knows he should head back to the hospital, but he can’t bring himself to go just yet. He feels like a failure, both for not having found the bike, but also for not doing more to prevent this from happening in the first place.

He should have been a better friend. Should have talked Noah out of this kind of lifestyle, kept him safe.

Not that it would have done anything except push Noah further away from him.

He walks down towards where he knows the river will be. The old docks are silent around him. The only sound the humming of the lights illuminating the area, and the occasional seagull looking for a place to hunker down for the night.

He’s getting dangerously cold. He’s been walking around for hours, having left his car back at the hospital so he could ride the bike back if he found it. Now it’s looking like he’ll be walking back too. He’s not dressed for this. He should go before-

He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s following the river back into town when he passes underneath a bridge. The rumble of traffic above him loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It’s pure chance that he glances up and into the darkness underneath the cover of the overhanging structure.

It’s Tansy.

She’s tucked up against a massive support beam, half covered by Noah’s trusty old tent haphazardly pitched against her side on the asphalt.

Noah’s things are all there, by some miracle. His backpack is hidden inside the tent along with his helmet, and upon closer inspection, his saddle bags are untouched.

Gabriel shakes his head at Noah’s luck. It’s always a theme with him, luck. He seems to have endless amounts of it, always working in his favor. Even now, stuck in a hospital bed with injuries bordering on incompatible with life, yet he’s facing decent odds, if the doctors are to be believed.

Pure luck, they’d said, that he wasn’t worse off.

Gabriel swallows down the bile in his throat and starts taking the tent down to pack it away.

Noah’s keys feel good in his hand when he pulls them out of his pocket, and he feels a surge of pride and relief when he turns it in the ignition and kicks the bike to life.

Tansy starts up just as willingly as she always does.

Gabriel lets her idle while he puts Noah’s helmet on. It’s far too tight on him, and he can already tell he’s going to have a banging headache by the time he makes it back to the hospital.

“Did you find her?” Martin asks as soon as Gabriel comes through the door. He’s sitting in Gabriel’s chair now, pushed up close to Noah’s side.

Gabriel holds the helmet up in answer. “Pure luck. But I did, in the end.”

“Good. Here, I’ll-” He goes to stand up, but Gabriel stops him.

“Sit. It’s alright. I’ve been with him all day.” Martin looks unsure, but he nods and sits back down. The way he takes Noah’s injured hand in his own is so achingly tender Gabriel has to look away to keep himself from letting his already worn thin walls crumble.

He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but he can do this. He can hold it together for a while longer.

[marchingbandnerd]

Man, I have never had an obsession period where I’m obsessed with like 4 things at once before.

At least they somewhat make sense cuz they’re all toons derived from older cartoon shorts and they’re all ships and they’re all somehow connected by ducks and- Starscream????- when did you get here 😭

[chericherilvr]

“domestic jun han save me…save me domestic jun han!” I yell as they drag me away to the crazy house

DOMESTIC JUNHAAAAAANNNNN this is giving date vlog with a camcorder just for the memories of your relationship,,

the first pic is after you tell him something crazy, maybe even a full ass lie "did you know scientists have said the earth is indeed flat?!?! like it was everywhere on the news today!!" (he is shocked at first like 🤨🤨 and then when he catches your bullshit he just pretends to act shocked, "naur way babe, we live in a real life vinyl record")

[slowd1ving]

Hi, I was just looking through and my attention got caught on the theology student/roommate sunday lil synapses from a poll and I'm just, intrigued (I absolutely adore how you write all these different lil guys, very in character for them tbh ✨️)

Anyway, I hope your studies are going well/have gone well and that youre taking some time to take care of yourself too! -🦡 (I'm feelin badger lately so imma tag as that I guess)

ok so first of all dearest badger anon I am unbelievably ecstatic you brought this up like I would have absolutely went ham into the slowburn had it been voted number one but alas (I'm not complaining though ouroboros was so fun to write), and thank you for the well wishes about my studies (finals went stupendously amazing but I'm now stuck slowly preparing for next year </3)

secondly I'd just read nerd project at the time and was struck with divine inspiration... kind of since I would've written both sunday and reader as nerds.

anyways to give you more expansion on the plot (figuratively and literally lmao):

this is set in the same university AU as the blade roommate/dan heng bandmate universe (blade roommate), but an AU of that AU if that makes sense. It's the same tense situation with your previous roommate, but you're mostly staying over at your gf's apartment

to give a rough timeline, the Blade roommate AU occurs in second year when you've already established yourself into the Trailblazers, while the Dan Heng prequel happens in first year - so this sunday student au also happens in your first year as a physics student, but it involves the music society more than any collaboration with departments (no academic rivalry 💔💔)

Music society throws quite a few events - including house parties like the one shown in the dan heng fic, but also some more formal concerts that are difficult to get into even for members, hence there's a sort of raffle system for entry if you aren't a paying member of the public. You win several times, much to your surprise, and just go for the fun of it, with formal wear that's seen better days, though nobody's paying enough attention to you to actually see the fine wrinkles, the loosened tie around your neck, the wildly inappropriate socks that just about peek from the bottom of your trousers. No one cares - not with the entrancing medley of classical pieces conducted by a grey-haired man filling the space, nor with the beguiling opera that coils through the air from your friend Robin (actually, she may have been the very reason you had such luck in the raffle)

You are a chronic backstage loiterer, with a small strawberry cake in your hand for the star of the show. On the third instance of loitering, it's where you pass by the conductor, and he takes you in. Eyes critically assessing the way you've folded your tie, the scuff marks on your shoes, even the way your glaring socks are sliding down. He's made his judgement. His mouth presses into a thin line, and though his expression is perfectly neutral, you can sense someone's abject disappointment burrowing into your back.

You forget about it as soon as you spot your friend, a wide smile on your face as you bring forth the cake. Sunday doesn't - that annoyance is enough to seep into his long-term memory, buried deep until something reminds him of it.

"Something" being the particularly poor soundproofing between two of the practice rooms. The piano accompaniment he's improvising is being infiltrated by the wild, spiraling chords from next door: harsh twang of electric guitar bleeding into the fluting notes from the piano, poisoning the calm smile on his face into something far darker, far more annoyed. There are no other rooms left. His only option is knocking on his neighbour's door and hoping that they're reasonable enough to "keep it down, please."

His eye twitches as the door swings open and he comes face to face with you, of all people. You're much more polite than he anticipated, and just as messy with your appearance as he expected: band shirt so worn there's thin holes starting to appear, belt covering one of the loops of your pants, same scuffed shoes you wore to the concert (on further inspection, they appear to be trainers).

"Sorry, man," you say cheerfully, and he privately wonders how you can appear so blithely incognizant of others. You turn the amp down, but his day is nonetheless headed towards ruin.

Actually, I lied. Joint philosophy class you took as one of your additional credit classes, alongside some ancient language and programming. For some reason, you've been feeling on edge lately - your girlfriend has been laying out some pressed shirts for you to wear, and you've caught her staring at the worn clothes you can't bring yourself to wear. A fifth disdain, the rest an emotion you can't quite place. She gets you some high-end perfume. You've smelled it somewhere before.

You're late to that philosophy class, searching for some old cargos stashed deep inside the drawer you keep your clothes when you stay over - and the only seat left is next to the conductor, too intimidating for anyone else to squeeze behind. You let out a groan mentally - he seems like he fucking hates you, after all - but as you're setting your stuff down, you freeze.

It's the same perfume. Must be a coincidence, you think, all while Sunday's observing you in turn, wondering how someone can be so guileless about philosophy. Is this a filler class for you? Must be. He'd feel more pity for you, if you weren't scribbling crude comics in the back of your notebook. Is this what you do in whatever you major in, too? He could almost sneer.

You glance at him, and he looks away. Pressed shirt, chinos in the same shade that your girlfriend bought you - coincidentally. There's a growing pit in your stomach - borne from the orchestral ticket that went missing at her house after you told her about it, claiming she hadn't seen it.

It's a messy breakup, filled with an even messier follow-up as you return to your dorm, only to find your roommate problem worse than ever before, tears threatening to well as you explain yourself to the rooms officer who allocates you to the only person without a roommate on the other side of campus.

Of course it's the fucking guy your girlfriend had a crush on. You stand like an idiot in the doorway as he eyes you disdainfully (just like she did), the smile freezing in horror on your face as you meet his eyes. His pressed shirt seems to judge you as well, while the wings on either side of his head move backwards, as if in distaste.

"Let's get along?" Some form of those tentative words stretch into the awkward silence, but you already know it's a lost cause. Avoiding him would be the best solution to your problem; putting your head right down and working to maintain your stellar grades in physics.

Except, he seems to be everywhere you are. In the library while you put your headphones on max and bang out waves and optics, knocking on the practice room door when your slot is up and instantly developing a frown when you open it, pouring himself tea while you caramelise onions for your food, getting paired up with you for a stupid philosophy project in a class that you would've dropped if you could.

It's only when you fall asleep on the couch, partial differential equation sheets slipping from your grasp, laptop open on your chest, one tab on a surprisingly well-done powerpoint on analysing Plato's Forms, the other on an email from a supervisor with a link that he accidentally clicks while moving the laptop to the low coffee table next to you. It's an article, with your name emblazoned across the top. Scholarship student wins prestigious physics award - and he thinks, surely it must be a mistake. He shuts the laptop and searches the article up, scrolling through details of pristine grades and a short interview pasted under a photo of you with the award. His brow furrows, as he belatedly realises that, despite the stupid drawings coating your philosophy notebook, you never walked away from an exam with a frown or a downcast expression like many other classmates did.

It's a mistake. It's a mistake that he looked up your name, a mistake that he wakes up at night in a cold sweat to find your bed rumpled and the door ajar, a mistake that despite all reason, he stumbles awake and follows the lingering scent of your detergent down the accommodation stairs, a mistake that he leaves the keys in the dorm as it closes silently behind him, a mistake that he witnesses an argument in the foyer he has no business witnessing. A woman is pleading with a man with his back to the grey-haired Halovian, holding a box filled with clothes and textbooks that he recognises as the same ones you grimly ordered new a few weeks ago when you first moved in, staring blankly at the package when it came.

"What's going on here?" he asks coldly, only for her to immediately go silent as she notices him, face turning an ugly shade of puce, lips opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The man turns, and he realises it's you, realises that your normally cheerful expression has turned bitterly emotionless.

"Nothing," you say, and that's what your frigid tone also indicates. "She's leaving."

"Mr Sunday! I apologise for the commotion," she starts, syrupy sweet. It's cloying. "But I had to talk to my boyfriend-"

Sunday feels a strange bout of annoyance - a fresh wave following the one that came with waking up at such an ungodly hour.

"Don't call me that anymore," you interrupt. It's the first time he's ever heard your voice sound so resolute, so disgusted. "Don't call me, don't text me, don't waste my breath by arguing-"

For the first time since like ever, his hand finds your shoulder, and he can feel the feverish heat of adrenaline pulsing through you. You startle, surprised, but you only give him a cursory glance back before you turn to her.

"Let's go," he tells you quietly.

"How do you know him?" she asks you suddenly, as though she has any right to. He vaguely remembers her sitting next to him in a divinity lecture, asking about the brands of what he wore, and he begins piecing things together. The emotions radiating from her rankle him.

"Get out before I call security," Sunday replies in your stead, and it seems this is what finally pushes her to the edge - tossing the box with your stuff at your feet while you stare blankly at the floor. It's not until the door slams shut that he finally notices the tears rolling down your cheeks, the hollow look you sport as you crouch to pick up the clothes spilling out past the cardboard. He doesn't know what to say to you. In fact, he doesn't know why he's still here, but despite his better judgement, he crouches down and picks up a worn copy of Sears and Zemansky's University Physics, carefully placing it amongst the pile of shirts that smell just like you. You don't thank him, you don't say anything, and neither does he - two people crouched on the foyer floor at the absolute arse crack of dawn, two idiots-

"Shit," he swears, patting himself down. He never swears, but tonight he can feel everything going wrong. It's then that you look at him, bewildered. "I forgot to bring keys."

Bizarrely, you laugh - half in shock, half in mania, and he gazes at you as though you lost your damn mind. The rooms officer is out, it's pitch black outside, and the two of you are still dressed in pyjamas - you in a particularly heinous ensemble.

"Library," you finally say after composing yourself, and it's not like he's got any other choice but to follow you, but he faintly remembers that it's... well... also closed at this time of night. You take a route to a small door at the back of the building that miraculously, swing open, and he glances at you in surprise: a strange feeling settling in his stomach as you rummage through your belongings to find an old wallet, grabbing two protein bars from the small vending machine and tossing it to him.

There's a question burning on his tongue as he follows you in between the rows of books, sitting down opposite you as you place your head in the crook of your elbow. It's silent, with only the sound of your breathing as he finally asks. "Isn't this against regulations?"

Your voice is muffled when you reply. "I fell asleep in here once after getting locked in, and the librarian's left a side door open since. We'll just leave close to dawn."

When he glances at the digital clock glowing bright green in the darkness, he inwardly curses - 3 AM. The two of you are due to present at 9 AM, and he can't afford to simply get a few meagre hours of sleep from dawn onwards.

He copies you, wearily placing his head on his forearm, but he finds he can't sleep - not with a looming deadline, not when he's rushed out full of adrenaline and annoyance. He glances up when he hears rustling, only to see you with a thick book cracked open, protein bar peeled open and half-eaten. "Can't sleep?"

The question startles him, as if he couldn't be anymore surprised. "I don't think I've ever had my sleep disturbed like this."

You turn the page. "I understand."

"Are you used to this?"

You glance at him, appearing to be contemplating your words. "Yes. I can handle the speaking tomorrow."

"Today," he corrects, but it feels less hostile than it might've had it been a different night. "What are you reading?"

It's... small talk - something that should've occurred when you first moved in, but now represents the most miniscule of thaws.

"Sci-fi." Another page turns.

"To poke fun?"

"Yeah," you look up, surprised - and it's clear that it comes from assuming he didn't know anything about you. "How'd you know?"

"Your assignments," he mumbles sheepishly into his sleeve, as if he hadn't read a whole article about you.

"Ah, yes, the joys of differentials. You know, the mode of transport they're using is labelled superluminal, but that..."

He's never realised it, but in the hazy green light filtering through the cold air, your voice is pretty relaxing - and before he knows it, he's drifted to sleep, your name resting faintly on his lips.

anyways was meant to be a lot shorter but I just went ham tbh, hope you like the expanded plot anon

also anon if you saw the notification and wondered where the post went I do apologise since I posted this when it was still half-finished and had to private it until I completed it </3

[secretobsessionstuff]

A Fantasy Drabble?

An EMETO fantasy drabble!

------

"Jonathan, come in. Have a seat."

"What can I do for you, your Highness?"

"Keene has informed me that you are feeling unwell this evening. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, sir. It is only a small matter, though I wanted to inform you, considering our later plans."

"What troubles you?"

A blush rose to Jonathan's cheeks as he placed his palm above his navel. "Supper is not sitting well with me, your Highness. It is quite bothersome to be honest."

King Rowyn frowned. "I apologize on behalf of the kitchen staff. I shall have the chef look over his ingredients for the future, seeing as you will be supping with me for quite some time I hope."

"I hold the same hopes, your Highness." A loud gurgle emanated from Jonathan's middle. He winced from the pain and embarrassment. "However, I understand if you wish to postpone our nightly plans. I fear I would not perform to my usual standard."

Rowan chuckled deeply in his throat. The hand he had placed on Jonathan's leg rose higher towards the man's crotch. "It seems to me that you are performing just fine."

"Not even a blade to the abdomen could douse the fire I feel for you, let alone a mere stomach ache. I always look forward to our nights together, your Highness. I'm sorry we cannot have our time today."

"Says who? Did I say your condition has changed my mind about our plans?"

"Oh sir." Jonathan swallowed thickly. "I would gladly suffer through this nausea if it means we can go through with our nightly ritual. I should warn you though, I do not know how long this meal will stay down. Is that acceptable, my king?"

"Jonathan," King Rowan began as he rose from his chair. He traced his hand up the consort's stomach and chest. "I would just as soon have you bent over this desk and fuck you while you whimper and moan about your poor constitution."

"Sir--"

"You think so little of me, Jon. How could I keep my hands off your body when you come into my study, so apologetic and weak? The sweat on your brow makes me want to tear your clothes away right now."

"Then do so, your Highness. I am yours to do with as you will."

Rowan hummed lowly, his hand creeping up towards the soft skin of Jonathan's neck. "In that case, I'd have you retching over my desk with each thrust until you came with the same force."

Jonathan's eyes fluttered with anticipation. "As you wish, my king."

[atimesfeeler]

Wade feeling insecure and missing his hair.

“Do you think people with hair are funnier?”

Logan sighed and tore his action away from Friends that was playing on the TV.

“Like pretty privilege. Would we laugh at Phoebe’s jokes if she was bald? Or is it less annoying because she’s blonde and pretty?” Wade mused.

“Hair doesn’t have anything to do with it. She’d be annoying either way,” Logan said.

Wade gasped, “You take that back!” but he fell silent after that, watching with a far away look.

After a few minutes of mulling the words around his mouth, Logan spoke up without taking his eyes off the TV.

“You were just as annoying with hair as you are without, bub,” Logan said, “Trust me.”

In his peripheral vision he could see Wade perk up and a tentative smile stretch across his face. He heard what Logan really meant.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

it's the quiet days sanemi enjoys the most. quite on contrary to his normal behavior, he finds that the moments spent in silence are the ones he finds the most solace in. yes, he would never pass off for days full of chaos and nights lost in the roads, but if he had to choose, his favorites were the ones where he lay on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. sometimes it was purely to find time to relax, and to let everything that had happened that day process. sometimes it was to let his mind draw blank—allow every thought to seep out of him and into the air. most of the time, he ends up drifting into semi-consciousness, partially aware that he's on the verge of sleep but letting that knowledge balance him on the edge. on the few times he remains wide awake, his thoughts racing, he turns and focuses on the window, or something in the room. watching the lights from outside flicker, and wondering where they're coming from on times he can't tell in his position. he pretends he's a pencil on his desk, or a pillow against the sheets. lives his life doodling on notebooks or providing comfort at night. often, he comes to the conclusion that it would be so much easier to live without living. to simply exist, without a conscience. without consequence. thoughts as such seem to lull him to sleep, eventually, and he dreams of being a stop sign in the sidewalk, or a car along the streets. there's never sound in dreams like these. they're always quiet, nestled into his mind and allowing him to rest, away from the noise of existence. his dreams like the quiet days, too.

[that-daddy-domme]

Morning thoughts

Cockwarming. Just sitting on my knees between her legs, not worrying about things, not thinking. While she relaxes occasionally pressing my head closer listening to me gag around her cock.

Domme fucking me nice and gentle and slow. Listening to me whimper, and brushing the tears off my cheeks. Finding every sensetive spot and leaving nips and bites all over my neck and shoulders.

Using her girl cock or stap and praising me for how well I take it. Wrapping her hand around my throat.

Mmmm seeing her smile at the subspacey look on my face. Just totally out of it, and submissive for her.

I'm so out of it and sensetive and she keeps calling me pretty boy, or darling. Making me come around her cock.