#teacup cog

[centenaryobjectgathering]

Chapter 2 Page 34

[iliketangerines]

Please could you do something where Kung lao walks in on you masturbating? Like you both have feelings for one another, but this breaks the tension, and you guys just fuck. I'm having major Kung Lao brain rot rn, and I truly love your writing. Keep going with the amazing work!! ❤️❤️

i can help with that

a/n: i'm so down bad for this man it's not even funny

pairing: kung lao x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), overstimulation, pussy eating, finger fucking, creampies

you lay in your bed, blankets thrown off, legs spread, and vibrator pressed into your clit, and you try to resist the urge to pull away the vibrator as it all becomes too much

you whine and turn off the vibrator, too sensitive to have it pressed against your clit, and you let out a choked sob as your orgasm ebbs out of existence

it’s been a dilemma for you: fingers not enough to make you cum but the vibrator too intense to make you cum either

you feel like you’ve tried everything, but whatever you do, you can’t seem to bring yourself to an orgasm

especially with how desperate you’ve gotten over the past few weeks

you cover your face with your arm as you remember Kung Lao, how the sweat made his biceps gleam in the sun and how they flexed earlier that day

you can’t help but wonder if he would use hs strength on you in bed, and you feel yourself grow needy again at the thought of his cock stretching you out

but daydreaming about him had brought the ugly head of your need for pleasure, and being around Kung Lao every day, training alongside him, without being able to cum had started to affect your performance

your moves were slower, sloppier, worse than ever before with how you can’t stop thinking about Kung Lao and how you crave him

you pant into the air, deciding to just try one more time before going to bed, and you flick on the vibrator once more, throwing your head back as the vibrations assault your clit

your hips twitch away from the stimulation, and you’re too busy trying to focus on the pleasure rather than the twinges of pain to hear the door to your room open

you hear a cup fall onto the floor, and you immediately clamp your legs shut and let out a small whine as the vibrations on your clit grow more intense

you pull away the vibrator from your shut legs and see Kung Lao in the door, teacup fallen to the floor and his face flushed and red

you stutter, not sure of what to say, and he goes to leave, head turning away to try and hide the blush on his cheeks and saying he wanted to bring you some calming tea since you seemed so out of it these days

you’re not sure what possessed you, a sudden burst of confidence perhaps, but you tell him to wait, to stay with you, to not leave you

he freezes in his spot and looks back at you, eyes wide as his gaze travels over your figure, and your heart pounds in your chest as your spread your legs, showing your wet pussy to him

your voice is quiet when you ask him to help you, that you haven’t able to cum and that you need him, but he clearly hears you because he shuts the door, leaving you two in privacy

he approaches you slowly and kneels on the bed, and your legs jerk when he places a warm hand on the inside of your knee

his eyes flicker toward the vibrator in your hand, and you can see the cogs in his head turning before he finally lets a cocky smile settle on his face

he teases you, saying you need him to help you cum, and you turn your head away, confidence dropping rapidly, and you close your legs

his other hand flies up to keep your legs apart, and he spreads them even wider to fit around his waist

he takes the vibrator from your hand, and he places it on your bed before crawling up so he looms over you

he turns your chin to face him, and he laughs at your bewildered expression

he tells you to keep your eyes on him, or he’ll stop

he shimmies his way back down your torso and settles his shoulder between your legs and places his cheek on the inside of your thigh

you can feel his breath on your pussy, but you keep your eyes on him as told

he purrs that you’re already doing so well for him, and he leans his head forward and presses his flat tongue against your clit

you bite your lip, muffling your whine, but he tells you to make all those pretty sounds for him before diving down

he sucks on your clit, flicking it back and forth with his tongue while his hands grab and squeeze your thighs

he moans into your pussy, but he continues to watch you through half-lidded eyes

you struggle to keep your eyes on him, and your cheeks burn as he thoroughly enjoys the taste of you

moans spill from your mouth as he continues to lick broad firm licks on your clit, and one of your hands fly down to grip onto his hair while the other grips onto the sheets

he groans at the feeling of your hand tugging at his hair, and he brings one of his hands to slides between your pussy folds, collecting the wetness before sliding in a thick finger

you whine and throw your head bak, overwhelmed by the pleasure, but Kung Lao stops moving and slaps at the inside of your thigh

it jolts you up, making you open your eyes again and focus your hazy gaze on him

he purrs out to remember his rule before going back to kissing your sensitive clit

you pant out into the air and moan as his finger pumps in and out of you, and he adds another and prods around looking for your sweet spot

when his fingers nudge against something soft and you keen loudly while your eyes glaze over, he knows he’s found it

he thrusts his fingers into that spot, and you struggle to keep your eyes open as you keep watching him

he hums around your clit, and pleasure shoots through your body and electrifies every bit of you

your pussy clenches around his fingers as you finally cum, and stars fly behind your eyes as pleasure overtakes your body

your mind floats between reality and the stars as you bask in the overflow of your orgasm, but Kung Lao brings you back down to the present when you feel the familiar buzz of your vibrator press against your clit

you whine out, and your hips jerk away from the stimulation

you’re much more sensitive after cumming, and pain sparks through you as he presses it insistently against your clit

his shoulders keep your legs from clamping shut, and you throw your head back as tears prick at the edges of your eyes

but he keeps the vibrator firmly on you, obsessed with the sweet little sounds coming out of your mouth and how you’re already so sensitive

you start to cry and push at his arms, but your limbs feel like jello and it does little to deter the vibrations on your over sensitive clit

he pumps his fingers inside of your pussy and curls his fingers perfectly, and you moan as you cum all too soon again

but he keeps pressing that vibrator into your clit and turns up the intensity, and you squirm in his hold

he removes his fingers from your weeping pussy and holds onto your hips to keep you still and force you to take the pleasure

you cry out that it’s too much,that you can’t cum anymore, tears dripping down your cheeks, but he just looks up at you with an innocent smile and says you needed his help

and so he’s giving you as many orgasms as he can

your body shakes, and your throat goes hoarse as the vibrations wipes your mind of coherent thought and makes you arch off the bed

he flicks up the vibrations once more, and all you can is take the pleasure as he presses that vibrator into your clit and makes you cum over and over again

you grow limp on the bed and your sobs are reduced to small sniffles and hiccups

you feel nowhere close to your body, yet you can still feel every buzz of pleasure that Kung Lao gives you

you can’t think at all or even process it as you feel Kung Lao’s cock slap against your pussy and slide in

you whine at the stretch, whining at the pain, and he shushes you while fucking into you

but slowly, his thrusts get fast and faster until his hips snap against yours violently, and your mind fills with a different sort of pleasure

he moves his hand from your hip and presses down on the slight bulge in your stomach, and you moan at the additional pressure and pleasure filling you

the intense vibrations on your clit with the way his cock stretches and fills you has you arching off the bed, and Kung Lao groans as he watches you squirt and paint his abs with your release

with the way your pussy clenches down on him, Kung Lao’s hips stutters, and he cums deep inside of you, grunting as he continues to fuck you and push his cum deeper into you

he flicks off the vibrator when he’s spent, and you’re completely boneless on the bed

he watches his cum drip out of your abused pussy, and he wants to clean it up with his tongue and make you cum one more time

but with the way you barely move and how your eyes are glazed over have Kung Lao going off to take care of you

he brings you water and snacks, cleaning you up first with a cool damp rag before sitting you up and making you drink and eat

your mind is still fuzzy and gone as Kung Lao tucks you into bed, and he presses a kiss to your forehead before cuddling up next to you and falling asleep

he hopes that you want his help later as well

[crystaloregarden]

i don't want shiny genshin impact-esque smoothed over round-faced friendly zakuro. i want my zakuro with her permanent rbf intact and her harmfully aloof and rude behavior that was sometimes actually morally reprehensible. i want the zakuro that pulled quiche by the ankle and smashed his jaw because he used a child hostage

regaining a tokyo mew mew fixation due to streaming the og anime in my server and finding myself more and more disappointed with mew mew new the more i catch up. it's just that tired sailor moon crystal brand of "sparkly and pretty but no substance" reboot of a popular franchise for girls that annoys me to look at. also if they don't take my girl zakuro out of that ugly ass ponytail i'm gonna snap i swear to god

[galaxymagitech]

Robins on a Rooftop

This fic was written for the Batfam Secret Santa 2023 (run by @wait-whos-batman) for @howtokillavampire, and it is...still technically 2023. You can also find it on AO3 here.

Summary: An encounter with the Mad Hatter goes horribly wrong and Tim runs away. Better to quit than to be fired.

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Mind Control. While under mind control, Bruce attacks Tim.

***

The lights are blinding. Tim had wondered why everyone looked so squinty on stage during the Gotham Academy Musical, and now he has his answer. The lights are blinding, except for the Batman’s shadow, which engulfs Tim like a creature from his nightmares. Tim’s going to die on stage and there’s probably something poetic about this, but Tim’s no Jason Todd. He has a B in English right now and he does all his reading on SparkNotes. So, he’s a whole lot less worried about poeticism right now and a whole lot more worried about the burning pain in his ribs (broken or bruised?) and the sluggishly-bleeding cut across his torso and the gauntlets wrapped around his throat.

Tim closes his eyes. His mind is terrifyingly blank, racing to nowhere, lost in fear and confusion. He can’t look. If he looks, he’ll see the white eye-lenses of the cowl and Batman’s mouth curled into a grimace and Tim can’t. He can’t see that right now, not if he wants to live through the next few minutes and prevent Batman from becoming a murderer. His murderer, to be precise.

Going against all his instincts, Tim forces himself to stop trying to peel Batman’s fingers away from his neck. He’s a fourteen-year-old non-meta human; he’s not going to be able to break the Batman’s grasp. It takes all his willpower to make his thrashing legs go still and let his arms fall to the side, but Tim manages. Then, he rotates right shoulder to reach behind him, feeling around desperately.

The thing about Tim is he’s not that great of a fighter. He’s good, sure, but not compared to the other vigilantes stalking Gotham’s rooftops—certainly not compared to the Batman. But he’s a thinker, and that just has to suffice. Tim’s been keeping track of this battle from the beginning. Every move—the way the goons shifted into formations like the cogs of a well-oiled machine, the way Batman joined that machine once the headband was slipped over his cowl, and the way Tim’s bo staff rolled across the floor when Batman brutally disarmed him.

It would be a lie if Tim said he’d led the fight to this point so that he could win. He just got lucky. But considering how unlucky it is that the cowl’s anti-mind-control circuitry was the exact part damaged in the fire Firefly had set, well…Tim thinks he’s owed that luck. And the universe seems to agree, because if Tim’s right—and he usually is—his bo staff should be somewhere right behind him.

Tim’s fingers close around the cool metal of the bo staff and he compresses it, twisting his arm back towards his chest. And then, bracing one end of the bo staff against the floor, he looks straight into Batman’s eyes and extends the staff.

Batman doesn’t go flying across the stage, but he grunts in pain and topples to the side, his grip releasing. Tim coughs, lungs screaming for air as he scrambles away from Batman, bo staff raised in a sloppy defensive position. He’s surrounded by goons and Batman’s making his way to his feet and Tetch is in the front row seat, sipping calmly from his teacup.

Tim can’t escape from Batman, but he doesn’t need to escape. He just needs a few seconds. Tetch’s eyes go wide as the cup pauses just before his lips, but it’s too late for the Mad Hatter. Launching himself off the stage, Tim somersaults and lands right in front of Tetch. In a single, fluid motion, Tim swipes the hat from the Mad Hatter’s head. And the jolt of electricity that strikes him a moment later from Tetch’s taser, well—that doesn’t really matter.

The goons freeze, before collapsing to the ground. Tim sees the moment Bruce returns to himself, the way the man’s posture switches from aggressive to guarded, with only the slightest hint of confusion. The Mad Hatter begins to flee as Tim struggles to his feet, muscles burning and twitching from the electric shock.

“Robin, are you—”

The lights are no longer on the stage, they’re shining directly on Tim. The Mad Hatter must’ve made it to the lighting box area at the back of the audience. But why isn’t he fleeing? Tim doesn’t get it. He raises a shaking arm to shield his eyes, grimacing.

And then Bruce’s eyes fall on Tim and the bright lighting is the least of Tim’s problems. Tim can feel the weight of Bruce’s gaze, heavy as a lead uniform weighing down his entire being. He knows Bruce is cataloguing injuries. He knows Bruce is comparing them to what he observed in the fight before he fell under mind control. He knows what Bruce is thinking. But when Tim tries to speak, the words catch in his throat like barbed wire and he coughs and coughs and coughs. By the time Tim’s throat is no longer burning, the stage is empty.

Stumbling forwards, Tim struggles up the nearest aisle, clutching the railing. When he makes it to the lighting box, he sees it’s empty. Throwing open the exit doors, Tim steps into the theater’s lobby. And there he sees Batman hunched over Tetch, his fists pounding into the Rogue’s face again and again and again—

Tim rushes towards his mentor, boots pounding even on the lobby’s carpeted floor. “Stop,” he says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Stop, just stop, just—” He pushes weakly at Batman’s shoulder, but of course the man doesn’t budge. Tim doesn’t know what to do. He can’t hit Batman and he’s too weak to pull him off and he can’t shout and it’s like Bruce is in his own world. It’s like Tim isn’t even there for him. Just Bruce and the Mad Hatter and failure.

Tim’s supposed to be better than this.

Tim’s supposed to keep Batman from falling over the edge.

Tim’s supposed to be Robin.

But, he thinks as Nightwing crashes in through the second story window, I was never a real Robin, was I?

***

It’s close to 5 am, but Tim doesn’t feel it. Only Friday patrols last this late—by now, he should be asleep in bed, under several layers of warm blankets. Instead, though, he perches on the edge of his chair, a mechanical pencil clutched tightly in his fingers. He’s holding it wrong, but that’s not the point. Pencil is erasable. It’s not the proper writing implement for a permanent resignation letter. Now that he’s drafted his letter, delayed as long he could, all that’s left is to write it for real.

It takes an effort to put the pencil down and pick up a ballpoint pen. And then, carefully, neatly, Tim copies his words onto a crisp, white sheet of paper. He tries not to let his hands tremble. He lets himself get distracted by how the wet ink shimmers in the lamplight, but only for a moment. When the letter is finished, Tim sets down the pen and lets out a long breath, feeling the air fade away through his half-open mouth.

Tim should be tired, but he’s not. And he’s certainly not excited either. And he’s not scared, he’s not. If Tim tries, he can still feel the pressure crushing his windpipe. And that’s terrifying, so Tim doesn’t try. Instead, he just feels detached, separated from the world, a second out of phase.

It’s fine now, Tim reassures himself. Tetch has been dealt with—brutally. Which is the real problem.

Tetch survived, but he’s been sent to the hospital, not Arkham. In the end, Nightwing had to pull Batman off of the Mad Hatter. It’s Tim’s fault. He was supposed to make Batman better, and maybe he helped in the very beginning, but all he’s doing right now is making things worse. Tim doesn’t know if he was just an excuse or if Bruce really was that angry over being mind-controlled into attacking Tim. But either way, if Tim wasn’t present to be hurt, Bruce wouldn’t have nearly lost control.

There’s an obvious solution there. And Tim tries to be a logical person, so when he sees a logical solution, he takes it.

He also takes the Robin suit, partially because he figures it’s safer to be out as Robin right now than a random (admittedly short) fourteen-year-old in rich people clothes. Tim will return it, eventually, but since he also kind of needs to do some break-ins (physical records are a pain and Gotham CPP is too messy to have converted fully to digital), he figures it’ll still be useful.

And it’s not—it’s not like Tim was going to last much longer as Robin anyway. Bruce would likely fire Tim for this mess. Maybe he’d phrase it as “I can’t bear to fail another Robin” and make Tim feel patronized instead of incompetent in a misguided attempt at kindness. But there’s no world in which Tim gets to stay Robin after how badly he messed up. Not just in the fire earlier that night or the fight at the theater, but afterwards, when Tim couldn’t tear Batman away from Tetch. He’s shown how useless he is, and Batman’s going to realize it soon if he hasn’t already. Better to quit before he’s fired. Better to leave now.

Tim really should be planning his break-ins, but instead he finds himself on a rooftop. He breathes in the smoggy air and tastes the strange cocktail of chemicals that makes Gotham home. From up above, the city looks beautiful, bright lights sparkling across a dark canvas. From down below, Tim would still say it looks beautiful, but from here—

Well. Tim can understand why, after all these years, Bruce has never given up on Gotham.

Tim doesn’t know how long he sits there, but he figures it’s got to be a while, because he hears the sound of a grappling line slicing through the air and then a whisper of footsteps behind him.

“Mind if I sit down?” Nightwing asks. Tim shrugs. Dick folds his legs into a seated position next to Tim and looks out at the glittering lights. “Bruce went to check on you and…he found your note.”

“My resignation letter,” Tim clarifies. It still hurts his throat a bit, but Alfred’s possibly-magical lozenges are a lifesaver. Technically, he was told not to talk, but all Bats are experts at ignoring medical advice.

“Yeah.” Dick turns towards him. “Look, I…we understand. Bruce understands. It’s fine if you have to get out for a bit. But what I don’t get is…why did you run away? It was terrifying, seeing that note and not knowing where you were. Bruce was in panicking and I wasn’t far behind.”

There’s something distinctly off about Dick’s phrasing, but Tim can’t put his finger on it. “It’s easier if I get a head start on things, you know?”

“A head start?” Dick tilts his head curiously.

“Well, if I stay then Bruce will have to call the CPP, and I don’t want to get swept up into social services and maybe get a social worker who’ll remember I existed and ask to meet my uncle,” Tim explains.

“What.” Dick says flatly. “Tim, you don’t have an uncle.”

Tim gives him an unimpressed stare. “Yeah. Which is why I have to fake one, and it’d be super frustrating to have to hire an actor to trick a social worker. So, if I leave now then I can resolve it all before Bruce has to deal with it.”

Dick puts his hands out like he’s pleading with someone. “Okay, um, can we back up here?” Tim shrugs. “Why would Bruce call CPP?”

“Because I’m not staying at Wayne Manor anymore,” Tim says slowly. He feels like he’s explaining it to a two-year-old, and—well, he knows that Dick is incredibly intelligent but right now it really doesn’t seem like it. “That’s…something you have to call CPP for? When the kid leaves your care?”

“Oh,” Dick says quietly. He looks away from Tim for a moment, takes a visibly deep breath, and then looks back. “I didn’t realize—That’s. That’s okay. It’s okay if you feel that way. You can stay with me, though. I registered as a foster parent a while ago in case something happened to Bruce. Robin can work with Nightwing and Dick Grayson can foster Tim. So, you don’t need to…invent a person.”

Tim throws his hands up in the air. “But I won’t be Robin!”

“That’s okay,” Dick says. “If that’s what you want, that’s okay.”

“But…it’s not a question of what I want,” Tim explains, looking down. “I left because quitting is better than getting fired! I don’t want Bruce to take away Robin, I’m not ready, but if I give it up, then…I can…I can pretend I’m okay.” It hurts to admit it, that he’s only pretending. Tim knew he wasn’t going to be Robin forever. He knew he was going to leave eventually. He had accepted that, he was fine with that, he liked that maybe he had a shot at actually surviving to an old age. But he’d always thought that he’d leave on a high note. After a good patrol. Bruce would congratulate Tim and thank him for his service, like a soldier retiring. And it would be like Batman was graduating or something, ready to exist without a Robin. Tim would know it was coming and choose it for himself. But, he’s not going to get that, so he has to pretend. “It’s easier if it hurts less. Cleaner. I—”

“Woah,” Dick interrupts. Tim freezes, gaze snapping to Dick’s face. “I don’t think we’re on the same page here. Why are you leaving again?”

“Because if I’m not Robin, then there’s no point in staying at Wayne Manor. I’m there—I was there because it was convenient for the Mission, that’s all.” No brainer.

Dick closes his eyes and leans back, before reopening them and scootching a little closer to Tim. “We definitely aren’t on the same page.”

“Why did you think I was leaving?”

“Well…” Dick shrugs. “Bruce did attack you with a batarang, bruise two of your ribs, and attempt to strangle you. And he was mind-controlled, but you still have that memory, so…we could understand if you need a break.”

Tim blinks at him, because that thought…never really occurred to him. He thinks of how his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his ribcage, how his mind turned terrifyingly blank, how Batman’s gauntlets dug into his throat, and—yeah. Yeah, that might make things a little awkward. But that’s Tim’s problem and he’ll get over it, because Batman was mind-controlled and Bruce would never, ever do that. And besides, he’s worked with people he was genuinely terrified of before, he’s worked with Lady Shiva, so even if he did suddenly develop a fear of someone who he shouldn’t logically fear, Tim would be fine. Right? Tim would make himself fine. “I’m fine,” he says, because he realizes he’s been silent for way too long. “It was Tetch doing that, not Bruce. I’m fine.”

“Bruce isn’t going to take away Robin, Tim,” Dick says. Tim hums disbelievingly, turning his head away and swinging his legs. He counts the thuds of his heels against the stone masonry. “But, even if he did—you don’t need to leave the Manor. You’re not here just because it’s convenient. You’re part of our family and you have a place here, Robin or not.”

“He isn’t going to take it away because I quit before he could,” Tim responds. It feels like he’s talking in circles with Dick. He should be breaking into Gotham CPP headquarters right now, not having pointless emotional conversations on a rooftop. “I failed tonight. I let him get mind-controlled and I couldn’t stop him from nearly killing Tetch. I failed as his partner and I failed as his light. And I’m not part of the family.”

“No. Batman isn’t going to fire you. You didn’t fail, and even if you did, you’re still learning. And you are part of the family. You’re Robin.” Dick smiles at Tim, and even though Tim knows he’s spouting complete BS, it warms something behind his two bruised ribs.

“Being Robin doesn’t make me part of your family,” Tim says. “And even if it did, Dick, I’m not Robin anymore, so I don’t belong with you guys.”

“Nope!” Dick says, overly cheerful. “You’re one of us now. No takebacks.” He shifts, expression turning serious. “For Bruce, Batman’s like a mask. A persona he puts on. But for us, Robin is…different. Robin isn’t a character we’re playing. It’s part of us. It’s who we are.”

“It’s who you are,” Tim corrects. Dick is the one who created the title. The first Robin. The one who defined what Robin meant. Jason continued the line and added his own flare. But Tim? He put on a uniform and went to work. “Robin’s always been temporary for me. I always knew I’d retire and just move on with the rest of my life.”

Dick shrugs. “Even if you quit, that doesn’t change a thing. We’re Robin, Tim, and that means something.”

“It means I saw a need and I filled it. Dick, I’m not—I wasn’t—a real Robin and you know it.”

“It means we took an oath. But—it’s more than that. We spent part of our childhood fighting crime from Gotham’s rooftops. Only we know what that’s like. Not Batman, not anyone else. Just Robins. We know what it’s like to fly. We fought to save a city that should’ve been fighting to save us. And we were so stubborn that we convinced the most paranoid and smothering father in the universe that the best option for us was blatant child endangerment. Tim, you stalked Batman to collect evidence of his recklessness, followed me to Haly’s Circus, and had the guts to present all this evidence to him and force him to make you Robin. You’re a Robin, Tim. It doesn’t matter if you never put on a domino mask again. You’re part in this family, whether you like it or not. You can’t leave.”

Tim snorts, before realizing that Dick is completely serious. And engaging with ridiculous arguments, especially Dick’s ridiculous arguments, is usually a path to disaster, but…Tim is tired right now, and Dick is right there, and this may be the last time Tim speaks to him ever again. Suddenly, he desperately wants to keep the conversation going for as long as possible. “Okay, one. That sounds insanely creepy. And two, shared trauma and poor self-preservation instincts don’t make a family.”

“They make this one. You’re not getting fired, but you’re definitely not getting kicked out of the family. I promise. So, please, Tim. Come home.”

And Robin lies and Nightwing lies, but…

…they don’t break their promises. They don’t break their oaths. Dick promises, and he means it.

So when Dick stands up, offering a hand, Tim’s fingers twitch. And then, almost against his will, he places his hand in Dick’s and pulls himself to his feet.

***

When they arrive in the Batcave, Tim barely gets a chance to take a few steps before Bruce is right in front of him, cowl off, hair disheveled. “Tim! Are you okay? Dick, where did you find him? Do you—” He freezes, before taking several steps back. “Sorry. Is this better?”

“I—” Tim begins, before Bruce cuts him off.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I didn’t keep track of the fight and you paid the price for it and I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s—”

“And I understand if you want to stay with Dick for a little while or if you don’t feel you can be Robin anymore, but if there’s anything that would help, I would, I would—” Bruce is getting genuinely choked up and Tim needs to calm him down but he can’t get a word in edgewise. Tim turns to Dick with an expression of pure panic. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“B,” Dick says loudly, rolling his eyes. “Let Tim speak.”

Bruce pauses and then bows his head slightly.

“I’m not scared of you, okay?” Tim says. This situation feels genuinely bizarre. “I’m not scared of you, I’m not—I’m not upset with you?” He thinks, looking at Batman, that if he wanted to feel scared, he could. If Bruce put on the cowl right now, so soon after the incident, Tim can…Tim can imagine how he might get scared. And if he does getscared, then he’ll figure that out. But looking at Batman, all he sees is Bruce: a mess, bags under his eyes, out of his mind with worry. “We’re fine,” he says.

“Oh,” Bruce mumbles, and Tim can see him smiling ever-so-slightly. “Oh, that’s. That’s good. But I’m—”

“Don’t say it,” Dick mutters.

“—sorry.”

Tim feels like he should ask if he’s going to get fired, but he’s not going to suggest it if Bruce hasn’t thought of that yet. This doesn’t feel entirely real. He’s not 100% sure that he’s not still on the theater’s stage, running out of oxygen, about to die. That seems a whole lot more plausible than this image of Batman in front of him, looking like—

—looking like a father who thought he might have lost his son.

“Bruce,” Dick says. “Tell Tim you’re not firing him.”

“What?” Bruce asks, bewildered, and Tim feels his heart sink. And then, because the universe apparently likes to play games of yo-yo with Tim’s organs, Bruce turns to Tim and says, firmly, “Of course not. You’re not fired. If you want to be Robin, then you can still be Robin.”

“He thought that you—”

“Stop it,” Tim hisses.

“This is important, Tim. Bruce, he thought you were going to kick him out, too.” Bruce stares at Tim wordlessly. Dick makes a vague encouraging gesture with his hand, but Tim can’t tell who it’s aimed at. “Bruce, are you going to kick Tim out?”

That shocks Bruce out of whatever confusion he’s in. “No!”

“I mean, if I’m still Robin—”

Bruce looks vaguely sick. “Tim, you being here isn’t dependent on you being Robin.” He sighs, and Tim can see Bruce’s gaze flicker over to Jason’s memorial. “It’s not conditional on anything. You are always welcome here, in this manor, in this family.”

Dick grins. “Told you, Tim. You’re stuck with us.”

Tim smiles too. Mostly to mimic, but—

He thinks he believes them. And he couldn’t think of a better family to be stuck in.

[shyamanuensis]

Distractions - Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Drabbled as I get myself reacquainted with writing. Feedback appreciated. Enjoy the fluffy drabble of Sebastian Sallow and f!MC xoxo

Divination class was just meant to be a waste of a free period...

You had become distracted. Again. A hot flush of desperation coloured the apples of your cheeks almost art like. Your gaze had been fixated for a little while too long at the red head boy who had, like time and time again, caught your attention from the opposite side of the divination classroom. Between the two of you, there was a coy, ambivalent smile shared which you’d photographed into your memory. A keepsake. Breathing in deeply the scent of freshly brewed tea and ink drawn quills, a helpless sigh slipped from between your lips. It was a puppy like lust that you could feel pulsing through your veins like an unexpected tsunami. Unfortunately, a hoarse clearing of a dry throat came from the seat beside you which snapped you back into reality.

“Could you stop doing that Y/N.”

It wasn’t quite a question or an insistent request. Just words dryly spoken by a friend which caused your brows to twitch softly as you turned to look at them. Sebastian, unlike yourself, had been focused on actual coursework. Divination was just a subject that two of you had taken on Thursday afternoons. To waste a free period. Resting your elbow lazily upon the desk you both shared, your palm caught your falling head, and your lips tightened – corners puling along with your eyes into an irritable scowl.

“Stop what?”, you whispered, noting that Professor Onai was nearing as she did her lap of the classroom which better resembled a cross between your grandparent’s attic back in London and an old-fashioned tea shop. In a hasty attempt to make it seem like you were involved in the coursework, you shuffled your seat across a little closer to where Sebastian sat and peered over his shoulder at the teacup, you’d earlier drunken out of that he was examining, firmly clutched between his hands.

“You know exactly what”, Sebastian replied, tilting the tea cup from side to side as he attempted to read the dried dregs and stumble across any patterns or shapes he could find. “Your ridiculous ogling at Garreth Weasley.” The name of your Gryffindor classmate left Sebastian’s tongue barely audibly, but heavy with annoyance.

“Firstly, I don’t ogle”, you started an explanation off; the four words causing Sebastian to roll his eyes unconsciously, but you had indeed noticed. “And secondly”, you continued, sweeping some loose hair behind your ear, “may I add that Garreth Weasley is just… so… so… dreamy. I’m sure that I’m not the only girl in history to have ever glanced his way.”

Fingertips gingerly reaching out to pick up the teacup that Sebastian had drank from draining away on the dainty saucer in front of you; you peered in past the rim, hoping to move forward from the conversation you were both having. Tessomancy annoyed you. Palmistry frustrated you. Crystal-gazing you were utterly unenthusiastic about. But taking divination meant that one – you could spend more time with your friends, two – lust quietly over Garreth Weasley and three – continue to be a thorn in Sebastian Sallow’s side which it seemed you quite enjoyed.

“Stars…”, you muttered, “I see stars.” You had to squint, twist your head and move the cup around in any and every angle imaginable but you were certain, to an extent, in what you saw. “Luck, I believe”, you recalled the symbolism from earlier in class when you’d been paying attention. Anyone who was looking at you was sure to see that the expression you wore matched the cogs turning inside your head. “…and a heart”, you continued as you came across a blob of dry dreg which loosely resembled the scribbles you’d drawn all over your parchment with your quill.

“SEBASTIAN… ARE YOU IN LOVE?”

The question was meant only to be for discussion between the two of you however not realizing how quiet the classroom was or how loud your tone had become, it seemed that everyone – Professor Onai, Sebastian, classroom of students included, had heard you and were staring. Snickers, smirks, mocks and hushed whispers began to lively fill the room, and you looked around, eyes laced with concern. Eventually, you glanced in Sebastian’s direction, ready to apologise however you were met earlier than you could speak with words you weren’t expecting.

“I have better, more important things to waste my time on.”

Harsh. Sebastian knew how you felt about love. You’d discussed it with him many a times as you felt it was one of the most important feelings in the world. Something that should be nurtured – delicately – that would paint the skies in hues of warmth and hope and illuminate the darkest of souls with a bright burning passion.

“Like?”, you barely managed. It was as if Sebastian had pressed a mute button on your voice only allowing you to utter a few syllables.

“Research..”, he trailed off. You noticed his shoulders tense before dropping. “..conversations which actually amount to something and don’t have the entirety of a classroom now chattering about me because of something ridiculous you’ve said. I don’t believe in love. Or lust. Or whatever fuzzy description of the term you plan on giving me.”

“Perhaps that’s just because you’ve never felt it”, you suggested with a small smile, placing the teacup down. The patterned fine China had done enough damage for today. “All I’m saying is that if you opened your horizons to the possibility that it could exist then maybe….”

You were cut off by Sebastian placing a finger across your lips. For that single second it took you to realise what was happening – everything slowed down; silenced. You had always romanticised blue and green eyes; but upon reflection into Sebastian’s own, you noted how his brown eyes were deeper and darker than woods you’d wandered in the Forbidden Forrest. A shade which held a mystery of unfathomable anguish and a warm promise of tenderness - that complimented the freckles which drew eloquently across his face. Although you’d been surrounded by it a hundred times before, his sweet boyish scent suddenly threw your head into a spin. You suddenly had no further thoughts. No further distractions. Sebastian’s lips curled into a sheepish smirk.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

As Sebastian pulled his finger away, you couldn’t bring yourself to shake your head or create some kind of smart retort and response to his question. Professor Onai wrapped up the lesson with homework you didn’t bother paying attention to the instructions of and you still hadn’t managed to move. Garreth Weasley was definitely dreamy… but Sebastian Sallow?

Perhaps he could be just a little dreamy distraction too.

[darkmetaknightspussy]

continuum cog is llike a spoiled little teacup dog possessed by a skittish victorian child and literally nothing bad has ever happened to it in its whole entire life. timekeeper feeds it so many treats and table scraps and gourmet plant food.

[stark-park]

If RWBY had Pokémon - Teachers

When choosing Pokemon I’ve gone off aesthetics, personality, lore, but most importantly: vibes.

Professor Ozpin

Xerneas - let's start with the legendary. I chose a legendary because of who he is, all he's been through etc. I chose this specific legendary because it's the Pokémon of creation. Ozpin has magic and I felt this made the most sense. He tries to keep life going while Salem tries to destroy it.

Drifblim - the idea is that these balloon Pokémon... Steal children... And uh, well he's not always the best at keeping kids out of danger.

Klinklang - no brainer. Aesthetically it works great but also it makes me think of his office with all the cogs.

Bisharp - chess Pokémon and he's the kind of person who would play chess, keeping his cards close, sacrificing pieces when necessary.

Sinistea - tea. Teacup. Tea!

Sawsbuck - this Pokémon changes with the seasons which relates to the maidens.

[big-ass-magnet]

I literally could not stop myself help.

"I do appreciate your understanding, Lady Heterodyne," Tiffany said, trying to sound as grown up as possible when her feet did not quite touch the ground in the chair she was sitting on. "It's much easier to get them to focus if I let them get it out of their system, first."

The Lady Heterodyne delicately filled Tiffany's teacup and shook her head.

"I completely understand. You're actually doing me a favor--things have been a little slow around here lately, and if I don't give them something to do, they have to entertain themselves." Her eyes flicked to a nearby box, which was full of what looked like knitted socks, scarves, hats, and mittens, all of varying quality and expertise. "The exercise will do them some good."

The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly, and Tiffany stared out the window with wide eyes as a small clocktower crumbled from the bottom up, all but disintegrating into a shower of bricks and cog wheels.

"Lemon square?" asked Lady Heterodyne, brightly.

"Yes, please," Tiffany said, quickly.

"And I told you," Lady Heterodyne said with a smile as she sat down, "Call me Agatha."

"Are you sure? I'm afraid I have to insist on Miss Aching. It's a witch thing." She needed that steadiness, now. Mechanicsburg was built on solid rock and fertile soil, but it was full of holes and tunnels, and there was not a single sheep to be seen in this world of clockwork and steel.

Tiffany wasn't even sure these people had cheese.

"Miss Agatha, then," Agatha said. Tiffany allowed herself to relax a little. Agatha seemed a very sensible lady, especially for nobility.

"So these…" Agatha hesitated.

"Nac Mac Feegle," Tiffany provided.

"The Nac Mac Feegle, you said your grandmother built them?"

"Er...no, she knew them before I did, but she didn't build them. Nobody built them. They're people."

On the wall behind Agatha was a large fireplace, currently unlit. It had a wide mantel, on which were lined up several small figurines of polished green and purple stone. Tiffany was very, very sure she had just seen one of them move.

"Of course they're people, but where did they come from?"

"Fairyland," Tiffany said, trying to watch the figurines from the corner of her eye while keeping her focus on Agatha. "They served the queen of the fairies, until they quit."

Agatha looked blank, then nodded slowly.

"I see," she said, in a way that meant she wasn't entirely sure she did. "But they don't serve you. I believe I heard one of them shouting something about no kings or masters?"

"They take their independence very seriously," Tiffany said. Abruptly, she blurted out "Are you sure you don't mind? Most people are usually a little more...tense when they first find out about the Feegles."

"A group of men with distinctive appearances and strange accents, who think any day they don't fight is a day wasted, fiercely loyal to each other and following the orders of a teenage girl?" Agatha said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pretty inured to the concept, by now."

"Don't forget the drinking," Tiffany said, starting to smile herself.

One of the figurines very slowly began to slide along the mantelpiece towards the edge, and Tiffany's smile vanished.

"They're also very fond of stealing, although I promise absolutely nothing will be stolen from your town, and especially not your castle and, definitely not this room that we are sitting in right now, because all of the Feegles are down in the main square fighting or I will know why."

The figurine stopped moving. There was a sudden patter of rushing feet, and a tinkling sound as a teaspoon appeared beside Agatha's hand.

Agatha only smiled wider, and she picked up the spoon and began to add sugar to her tea.

"I think you and they would get along quite well in Mechanicsburg," Agatha said, helping herself to a lemon square. "I'm curious, if they're not constructs, are there any female Nac Mac Feegle?"

"Yes, but not very many. They tend to be a little more…reasonable. And sensible."

"Ho! Dun dot sound familiar." A tall woman with bright blue hair ducked slightly as she entered the room. "Hokay, Mizz Agatha, Hy gots de girls getting de casks all filled und de hard liquor in de unbreakable bottles." She looked at Tiffany and grinned with a mouthful of fangs. "Hy luff hyu hat, sveethot, vere did hyu get it?"

"A creature called a hiver purchased it while it was possessing my body. After I taught it how to die, I kept the hat as a reminder."

"Yes," Agatha said, "you will fit right in."

I think Ankh Morpork and Mechanicsburg would be sister cities.

[centenaryobjectgathering]

Hey COG fans!

As we compete on the next challenge, I wanted to let you guys ask us some questions to get to know everyone a little better!

Just make sure to state which contestant(s), or hosts, you’re asking- and I’ll be sure to let them know! Or just drop a question and we’ll see who’s up for it...

-MB

[teardropbfdi]

friday nights foggy streets and christmas lights

[dont-hug-me-aesthetics]

Steampunk Tony Aesthetic For Anon! 

x x x x x x x 

[r4inwing-pride-parade]

I brought you a few things, I have a teacup, and pen and a feather and an old rusty cog. Thank you for letting me into the room, you can have it :]

I am in a room. the door opened before I could say it, and you are now in this room with me. Isn’t this nice?

[pixiemunsons]

insatiable (a.b)

a/n: hi I literally can’t stop thinking about the bridgerton men as dads. it’s got me all hot and bothered. this is only a tiny wee drabble so enjoy!

talk of being pregnant and pregnant bodies, bit of breeding kink, anthony is a sweetheart

 anthony first thought something might be wrong with you when he couldn’t keep you off him. not that he was complaining; he quite enjoyed every second he spent deep inside you, his name falling from your lips as he took you in bed, over the desk in his office and once, not that he’d ever tell anyone - including benedict - on one of the chairs in the lounging room. you had been so desperate for him that he had bent you over right where you were with a hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear what a terribly dirty girl you were, and you had only just finished pulling your clothes on when colin had walked in, side-eyeing you both suspiciously.

he hadn’t mentioned it to you, of course. he was quite enjoying himself, even if a nagging voice in the back of his head was reminding him of a conversation he’d had with a married friend not months earlier.

‘she keeps asking me,’ the lord had chuckled after a few too many drinks in the men’s club one night, ‘if i will bed her. we’ve been married a year and she can’t keep her hands away from me.’ it had not been a month later that she had announced that she was with child. you and anthony had discussed having children, of course, but never quite talked about when, and he was too scared to break the newlywed trance that the two of you were so clearly enjoying.

───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。���*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───

unbeknownst to your husband, you were having similar concerns. daphne nearly choked on her tea when, on an afternoon visit, you asked if she’d ever experienced such bouts of… neediness.

‘i’m sorry to ask, daphne, i know he’s your brother. but…’ you leaned in close, hoping that the maids scattered around the room wouldn’t hear you ‘it appears i can’t stop myself from touching him. i feel like i need him all the time. i know we have just married but it’s as if i’m being pulled to him by some sort of… force.’

after she had gotten over her initial shock, a mischievous glint had appeared in her eyes, and the ghost of a smile whispered over her lips.

‘i found myself in much the same way, dear sister, not long after i married simon.’ she took a long sip of her drink, peering at you from over the top of her teacup ‘it turned out i was having a baby.’

once you processed the initial shock and calmed daphne down from her initial excitement (‘i’m to be an aunt!’ she had declared loudly, and you had hit her arm in a very unladylike fashion to shut her up), you made your way home, deep in thought about your discussion. you hadn’t been married but two months, how could you be-

oh.

you had been married to anthony for seven weeks, four days and around eighteen hours. you rushed upstairs to the toilet, looking down at your very clean underwear. no monthly. not this month or last.

shit.

───

you were sat very primly on your bed when your husband walked in, undoing his neck tie and loosening his sleeves as he rambled about something you weren’t really paying attention to.

‘so i told him, if he can’t pay his debts, then he needs to… y/n, darling, are you quite alright?’ at the sound of your name you looked up, and anthony saw for the first time that there were tears in your eyes. he immediately came to sit by you, taking your hand in his and rubbing over it soothingly, only serving to push a fresh wave of tears to brim at the surface. he reached a hand up to stroke your face, and almost burst out into tears himself when you pulled away ever so slightly.

‘you’re going to be so upset with me,’ you cried, and slumped into his lap, sniffling into his trousers. you could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, trying to work out what you were talking about. ‘have you run up a debt at the modiste? broken something? did you hurt yourself dancing with gregory again? i keep telling him to be more gentle with you,’ he exclaimed, rubbing your back with a strong hand.

‘i’m going to have a baby,’ you whispered, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you when two firm hands gripped your hips and pulled you up to face him. you painstakingly dragged your eyes to his own, expecting to see disappointment but instead being met with a gaze so intensely loving you almost felt the need to flinch away from it.

‘why,’ he breathed through his nose, ‘would i ever be mad at you for carrying my child?’ he questioned you intently, his right hand moving slowly from your hip up to your stomach, where he touched you with a feather-light brush of his fingers. a huge grin spread across his face, and you squealed as he suddenly stood up, picking you up and twirling you around. 

‘i thought you might be. we’ve only just got married, and-‘

‘well, you know what this means?’ he quirked a brow as he planted you on the floor, taking your lips in a searing kiss. ‘i’ve got plenty of years to put plenty of babies in you yet. we’ve just got started.’

───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。✰*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───

you panted as you kissed your husband, his tongue slipping quickly between your lips as his hand wandered down your neck, fondling your breasts briefly as he made his way down your blossoming belly to where you needed him most. you reached a hand up to tug on his hair, eliciting a low growl from anthony as he slipped first one finger, then two, into you.

‘i could get used to this,’ he moaned lowly into your mouth. ‘six months round with my baby and still, you’re absolutely insatiable.’ you chuckled breathily at his words, turning onto your left side as he curved his body around yours from behind, kissing down the side of your neck. ‘every morning, every night,’ he murmured, ‘and even sometimes inbetween.’ you turned your neck to admonish him lightly, but he just wiggled his eyebrows in return. as he freed himself from his sleeping clothes, he continued.

‘i wonder if you’ll be like this with every baby?’ he moaned out, grasping your nightgown in his other hand and gathering it up around your full waist. ‘ wanting my cock…’ he accentuated this with a full thrust into you, settling himself in right up to your womb as he had been at least twice a day every day for the last five months. you cried out his name, reaching behind you to hold his hand over your hip. ‘i do want it anthony, want it so much’ you babbled, rocking yourself back against him at every thrust, desperate for more.

‘careful sweetheart,’ he brushed some hair back behind your ear and reached down to kiss your neck gently, ‘this is what got you in this situation in the first place.’ you chuckled as you leant back against his chest, allowing him to do all the work as you laid in bliss.

if this is how it feels every time, you thought to yourself, i’ll have as many babies as he wants.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

[metaldragoon]

Today marks 10 years since I made my Tumblr account, probably.  It’s, at the very least, 10 years since my current oldest post on my main account.  I was 21 years old and living with 4 other people in a house for $500 a month, had been working at the same place I still work for about 15 months part time, and I was a pretty big Mega64 fan at the time I guess.  If you are not familiar with Mega64, the relevant piece of information to why I say “I guess” is because I was listening to all their podcasts at the time, which they’ve been doing since like 2004 or something.  They had their own forum which is how I was able to listen to all the archived podcasts, and I remember some girl on the site that I thought was hot had a link to their Tumblr page so I checked it out.  I am not really sure I even ever followed her or just creeped before making an account.  Mega64 are also prone to discussing anime, and I remember a young Derrick Acosta riding a teacup at Disneyland on one of their podcasts praising how good the soundtrack to an anime known as “DEATH NOTE” was, so I went to watch that (he was right) and sort of became addicted to anime in general from that.  Not really addicted, I feel like I still got a lot of hater fuel in me keeping me safe from addiction, but I am definitely stuck in the viscous goo, never truly able to escape anime’s grasp from that day onward.  Toaru Kagaku no Railgun which is the anime in the thumbnail above these paragraphs you’ve been reading was probably my first foray in to just watching whatever had a cute girl in it and truly becoming a degenerate.  I wouldn’t say I look back with shame but I’ve definitely reeled myself back and just watch the snobbiest, most-elite anime now.  It was also the first anime I GIF’d, January 15th of 2013 according to the archives.  Sort of surprising how quickly I got on it because I really hate doing anything for other people to perceive because if there’s one thing to know about me it’s that I can’t handle the slightest amount of criticism without spiralling down the darkest hole of depression imaginable.  Have these past 10 years been good? I don’t really know.  The last year has been really hard, since September 2021 I have been considering the current times “the worst year of my life,” but at the same time I guess it’s rolled on and I’ve made progress.  The only major relationship of my life ended this year and that was always kind of my rock for feeling like I meant anything to anyone.  I constantly find myself thinking “distance myself from everyone so that when I kill myself it won’t hurt anyone” since last January.  Overall being with someone I loved for 6 years made me a much better person, but just emotionally it’s quite a valley afterwards.  I didn’t have my dog for as long as a lot of people, but he was with me for 7 years and I had to put him down because of liver cancer in September which I already wrote about, but, I mean, that was really hard and I still get emotional about it a surprising amount.  Work’s good but sucks at the same time and just feels like a suppressant to everything in life.  Just stand there and exist, go home in 8 hours, one day closer to the end of my life sentence of being a cog in the machine.  Lots of old man injuries along the way but I’m pretty hard on my self physically so I can’t complain too much about a few torn tendons and ligaments over a decade.  Can still run and hoop, and I guess that’s good enough.  Hard to remember who you were ten years ago, but I guess the biggest thing that’s changed is not being afraid of aging.  31′s getting up there! but with newfound perspective it’s really not.  Barring unfortunate circumstances 80′s probably a safe minimum age and that’s more than twice as long as anything I can even perceive.  I think I’ve always had old man energy anyways so I look forward to being a crotchety miserable old grandpa complaining about everything as part of a “bit” that only I know is a bit. 

[etruatcaelum]

“Well,” Ozpin said, contemplative.

(Not for the first time, he felt fervently glad that he’d chosen not to enlist after he graduated from Atlas Academy. He remembers being a soldier, in other lives, hazily but well enough to know that he fears what they become when pressed into so strict a mold; and the Atlas military seemed no different.)

“I know that James filled you in regarding the essentials of my… situation,” he murmured, and lifted his teacup. The hibiscus blend, floral sweetness with the slightest kick of ginger, soothed him when little else could; would that it were that simple for the young woman before him. Ozpin shut his eyes momentarily to order his thoughts before continuing, “I’ve lived so many lives.”

Thirty-eight. But he found an air of ancient mystique too useful to puncture it by disclosing their real age.

“Only a very few of them have been individuals of historical note. King Osiander, of course, was my most recent form but one. Before him, Azaria of Pinemoor; the explorer Henyk Ozâka; the philosopher Azar Ištrimul… Emperor Zartosht–” (a wince) “—although that life is… difficult to remember. Every other soul with whom I’ve been paired has been… smaller. Ordinary people.”

He smiled faintly.

“I suppose one could call those smaller souls mere cogs in the machine of a divine plan much greater than any one individual; that is… in a way, the very purpose of my curse. Perhaps the Brothers erred when they entrusted the fate of their world to one person, or perhaps they knew that no one person could ever accomplish what was needed to stop Salem—”

The lie fell so easily from his mouth now that Ozpin could almost believe it himself, if not for the subterranean ache in their chest: that drowning pain.

(They’ve drowned before. Asena and Osher, sailors both; Zartosht who fed himself to the waves as penance. Four lives Destruction claimed before Osiander at last pried it free from the pitiless depths of Lake Matsu.

Every time, they think of her.)

“—but I do not think it matters, in the end. I am,” Ozpin said quietly, “the accretion of countless men and women all joined together by the thread of a single destiny. Some of them believed that they might be—enough—certainly Osiander saw, for a time, the culmination of all this… struggle within his reach. He was wrong. For all the good he achieved in his lifetime, he did still fail. This unprecedented peace of ours is so fragile, in need of such careful protection.”

He paused.

“It takes time, when I return. Never have I found my way back in less than a decade… and what I’ve learnt from all these lifetimes is that I am never as important as I fear.” His eyes crinkled at the corners with the genuine warmth of his smile. “The world turns. The sun will go on rising. If you should fall, even if the Winter Maiden should be lost, we’ll keep forging on. No good deed can be undone by misfortune. If it could, I would surely be counted among the vilest creatures on this planet.”

Head tilting, Ozpin tapped his thumb on the rim of his cup and added gently, “However, it occurs to me that it might ease your mind a little to decide an emergency successor now. It is—usually, not a matter we would discuss with a maiden who hasn’t yet even begun her training. I… to be blunt, and I don’t mean you any insult in saying this, your comfort speaking frankly of your own mortality is uncommon, particularly at your age; we try to be delicate about broaching this subject. Did James explain to you the specific means by which this magic is passed from maiden to maiden?”

Impassive ice blue eyes set in an equally impassive face tracked the Headmaster’s movements, a response to discomfort Winter had learned in early childhood — and since she was placed with her back to the door, it was the only thing keeping her even remotely calm. …Well, perhaps not quite the only thing; one clawed hand tapped the notation of her favorite violin piece, where it rested on her crossed knees. (The other held her teacup.)

The last time she had been in Vale, she had been eight years younger, participating in the Vytal Festival Tournament with her fractured Team; still, three of them had almost clinched victory for Atlas. And while some things remained the same (the welcoming atmosphere of the school and city, for one), others were very different. But all of that was irrelevant, just now. Words had escaped her — as always — entirely without her permission.

“One can only imagine how many times I have been lied to.”

The new Winter Maiden didn’t believe her statement was intended to be… bitter, or scathing, but. Much as strangers — or, rather, everyone she did not know very well — were complete blanks to her, Winter had always had a difficult time reading herself; utterly unpracticed at identifying her own emotions and tone. Yet, if how she had spoken bothered Headmaster Ozpin, he made no note of it. (Not beyond a momentary pause, which she couldn’t be sure was even related.)

As for how he addressed her, it was (perhaps?) only a return of her own introduction. Major Winter Schnee, sir, Commanding Officer of the Atlas Military’s Special Operatives Division. As always, she had remained crisply At Attention until explicitly told to sit down, at which point she had been handed a teacup. When the pause ended, and Beacon’s Headmaster continued, Winter exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Pathetic trauma responses.

“I have experienced many more overwhelming things, sir,” the Faunus stated plainly, after thanking him for the tea. (A fragrant herbal blend, if her nose were telling her correctly.) “Raising my younger sibling was overwhelming. Realizing I am a woman was overwhelming. Nearly losing my best friend, and holding together the shattered remnants of our Team afterward, was overwhelming.” A sip of tea, enjoying the warmth.

“This, however? I was already aware that I do not know everything about the world — that General Ironwood informs me of only the things that I am required to know.” Blank and dispassionate as always, though after a more contemplative sip of tea, the snow leopard frowned a touch; tail swishing and ears beginning to fold against her skull. “…It is not the information itself that is overwhelming, sir,” the soldier finally admitted, quietly.

“It is the change that has… put me a touch ill at ease.” Though Winter was revealing something almost personal, her expression smoothed over, while her ears and tail relaxed. As ever, her posture was perfectly straight; spine erect, shoulders back, chin raised; gaze direct, even sans eye contact. “I have conceptualized my place in the world as merely a soldier, merely a woman, since I was old enough to understand such a concept.

“A cog in the machine; needed, but not particularly important. Yet suddenly, I am more. Suddenly, I am a wrench within my own machinery; important enough to the world that, should I die unexpectedly — without a successor in place — I will cause an upset in The Balance great enough to easily invalidate anything good I have ever done and will ever do.” A deep breath; outside of therapy, she wasn’t used to speaking so much.

Gathering her thoughts, Winter continued, switching to holding her teacup with both hands; now, claws delicately tapped against porcelain. “Unless you are able to soothe something that stems from my autism, sir, then no — I do not, at this moment, have any questions for you.” As for his thanks for “indulging” him, the Major shook her head. “I execute my orders; I was told that you wished to speak to me in person, and so here I am.”

Simply put because, to her, it was simple.