#the light green line work is not permanent. it's just so I can see the line work easily

[cecils-dragons]

Whoops, when semi silent again, sorry about that, having a really bad time(don't worry about it) but hey! Have my beginnings of my wind skin! Reworking an old design again for fun and trying to make it work with pinions as well. Wait is wind next? I have no clue now.

Referencing these two skins that I never printed(and one I never finished)

[natalievoncatte]

2. Courage

Her breath came in fits and starts as Kara knelt on the floor of her apartment. She told herself it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t permanent, that Mxyzptlk was creating illusions, but it felt real. It felt more real than the wood beneath her palms. She still gasped as if cold hard fingers closed around her throat and another woman’s broken heart bathed her in a murdering light. She was sure that if she looked over at the stand up mirror she’d see sickly green lines slicing through her skin, but when she looked that was nothing.

“Well,” said Mxyzptlk, “that was a close scrape, then. Shall we have another go? Perhaps a bit more carefully worded this time.”

Kara looked up, red sun fury boiling in her eyes.

“Get out.”

“Kara, perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Get out,” Kara snarled, her voice chasing dust from the ceiling thin streamers. “Your gifts are poison. And stay away from Lena, do you hear me?”

He threw up his hands. “Fine then, fine then, I’ll go, but if you ever need me… I still owe you a favor.”

“Out!” Kara raged.

After he vanished, Alex stumbled back into the room, looking at Kara with shock and alarm. She glanced at J’onn, who formed a fight frown and said, “Kara, when you’re ready, if you want to talk, we can talk.”

Kara nodded with a dismissive wave. The door closed a moment later and Kara glanced over to see Alex still standing there.

“Sis?” she asked, her voice small.

Kara swallowed.

“What did he do?”

“He cheated,” Kara snapped. “He twisted things. He said he would help me fix things with Lena but made sure it wouldn’t work. He… it was hell, Alex, he showed me hell. Everyone kept dying. You, my friends, her. Every choice I made set off some… some dick genie bullshit that made all my wishes go wrong. The last one almost got me killed. For real. I was so stupid.”

“What did you ask for?”

“I asked him to make so we never met so she could be happy without me, and instead she died in the helicopter attack and her mother brought her back as Metallo to kill me.”

Alex blinked. “Jesus,” she whispered.

Kara began to shake, hugging herself. As the righteous fury faded, the towering grief swept in to take its place, a freezing wind following the setting of a tyrant sun. She crumpled, falling back into the couch.

Alex was there in an instant, wrapping Kara in a protective hug as she began to sob.

“What did he want to show me? That it wasn’t going to ever work? That we were just doomed from the start?”

Alex tensed, sucking in a sharp breath.

“He came to you and said he’d fix your friendship?”

“No, he said he’s grant me one gift, and that’s what I asked for.”

Alex went slack for a brief moment. When Kara turned to look at her, there was an expression of absolute shock on her face.

“You… you didn’t ask for your parents. Or to save Krypton. You asked for Lena.”

“Yeah,” Kara sniffed, “why?”

Alex looked thunderstruck. Kara had seen this expression before, when her sister had grasped something difficult or complex. It was the look of an epiphany, a realization.

“I don’t think he was trying to tell you there was never a chance,” Alex said, softly. “Maybe he wasn’t trying to tell you anything at all. Maybe the only thing that matters is what you took from it.”

“All it took from it is that it’s over,” Kara whimpered. “It’s all over. I never had a chance.”

Alex rubbed her back for a while. She seemed conflicted, opening her mouth to speak several times before closing it again.

“Why Lena? Why does she matter so much to you?”

Kara choked back and swallowed, hard. “She was my best friend before I ruined us. She made me feel like a whole person, and she loved me, she loved Kara in a way that nobody ever has. I felt this peace with her, and she made me so happy and contented when I was with her protected her. I just want another five minutes of that feeling.”

Alex was quiet again.

“You could have had Krypton back, or your parents, or… or Jeremiah… and you picked Lena.”

Kara heard the way her voice hitched and tensed, a cold knife running down her spine.

“Alex I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I was so stupid…”

“No,” Alex smoothed her hair, “no, kiddo. Shhh, it’s okay. I understand.”

There was an unspoken even if you don’t.

“What are you trying to say?”

Alex swallowed hard, tensing.

“I think you need to hear this, Kara, and you might have to hear it from me. Buying CatCo was not a friendly gesture. One does not drop almost a billion dollars to chitchat and gossip with a buddy. Filling your office with flowers was not a simple thank you, and Lena did not take learning about your identity the way a close friend would. At all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, you just don’t want to see it because of what it means.”

“What?”

“Kara,” said Alex, “one does not burn their one wish on another person’s happiness unless they deeply care about that person. I don’t think I would have made a wish like that for Maggie.”

Kara’s head snapped up, almost dangerously fast. She stared straight ahead, past Alex, an electric fusion of terror and elation smashing together inside her like water on rocks. How could she be so blind?

“You think I’m in love with Lena.”

Alex nodded.

“Don’t think…”

“Office full of flowers,” said Alex.

Kara bolted to her feet, gently disentangling from her sister, and headed for the door.

“Kara?!” Alex demanded. “Please don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Kara paused at the door.

“I already did.”

When she touched down on the balcony, Lena was at her table in her kitchen, staring at a glass of scotch. The change in her heart rate and slight shift in her posture told Kara that she knew she was there.

Kara waited.

Lena rose, swallowed the last of her drink in a dramatic flourish, and stalked to the door. She swept it open and stood on the threshold, leaning against the frame to bar Kara’s way.

“Make it quick, I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara began.

“Not this again,” Lena sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Listen to me, God damn it,” Kara snapped.

Lena’s eyes widened at the profanity, and she didn’t move. She didn’t let Kara in.

She didn’t close the door, either.

“I’m listening.”

Kara swept her hands through her hair. She didn’t know where to start, so she just blurted it out.

“A fifth dimensional imp just gave me a chance to change history any way I wanted. Any way I wanted.”

“And this was the best that you could do?” Lena said, arching her eyebrow. She seemed so sharp and yet so lost and tired, the freighted eyes of a lonely girl hiding within her austere, cold beauty.

Eyes that Kara saw as a mirror of her own.

“All of the things I tried turned into monkey’s paw bullshit,” said Kara. “It was never going to work because getting a do-over was the coward’s way out. I can’t fix this unless I admit what I’ve done.”

“Oh, here we go,” said Lena. “Not the ‘I was only trying to protect you’, speech again.”

“You killed your brother for me and I was too cowardly to tell you my real name,” said Kara.

Lena’s face fell.

“I was too cowardly to tell you the truth. I was too scared that I might lose you. That wasn’t the worst part. I didn’t give you the faith that you put in me. I told myself over and over that you were the most important person in my life, and you know what? You are. I had a chance at anything, and I didn’t pick my birth family or my foster father or my culture or my entire planet. I picked you.”

Lena stared at her, visibly stunned.

“You matter more to me than anyone. If it was you or the chemicals I would have saved you and fuck the reservoir. If it was you or the city it would be you. If it was anyone or anything it would be you. Always you. But I didn’t treat you like that. I treated you like a threat, like spending to be scared of, and I took from you without giving, and I’m sorry.”

Standing up, Lena hugged herself, gaze locked with Kara’s.

“What do you want?”

“I want to fix it.”

“How?”

“We can fix it, together. I know you want to. You have a good heart, full of kindness. I just want to hold it in my palms and shelter and protect it and care for you always. I want it more than I want air to breath. If you want to fix and I want to fix it we can find a way. Not right now, not in five minutes, maybe not for years, but I will do anything to bring you back, and I don’t care what you do, I will never treat you like a villain.”

Lena licked her lips and looked away. Hot tears glittered on her cheeks as she pressed her eyelids shut and Kara ached with the pain of her revelation.

“If you don’t want to fix things with me, it’s okay. Just don’t do what you’re planning to do. Don’t hurt anyone, even with good intentions. Don’t let yourself become something you’re not because I didn’t have the courage to help you be all that you are.”

“Get off my balcony,” Lena choked out. “Go. Now, get away!”

Kara stumbled back as if struck, the force of those words crashing into her chest like a hammer, and she didn’t breath as she took off, careful to ascend slowly until she gained enough height.

Then she went hypersonic, her speed dragging out her shriek of rage and anguish behind her, Kara outrunning it even as she couldn’t outrun the fury and grief choking her chest. She flew and flew, past the clouds, flew as the air thinned, blasted into the very embrace of space until the air was gone and no one would ever hear her scream again.

She could hold her breath, she thought. Hold it for hours until she passed out and by the time her orbit decayed she’d be gone and her empty shell could tumble somewhere into the ocean and be forgotten.

A tiny voice whispered, you must live, Kara, so that we are not forgotten.

Kara let herself fall. She tumbled through the air, burning a crimson wake as she made reentry, slowing somewhere over the Pacific.

There was no hurry to get home. When she descended from her roof and walked down the stairs to her loft, she stumbled. There was not one heartbeat in her home, but two.

In a daze, she stumbled through the door and froze. Lena was sitting across from Alex, and for a wonder, Alex wasn’t trying to arrest or shoot her. They both had a beer in front of them and looked to be in mid conversation when Kara walked in.

On the table between them was Myriad. It looked so small, so inconsequential, this ultimate weapon built by her people to enslave their subjects.

Alex rose swiftly. “I’m going to get going. You two clearly have a lot to discuss.” She turned to Lena. “Hurt my sister like that again and next time I’ll fire the orbital fusion cannon at you.”

Lena glared, but said nothing.

Kara slowly pulled out a chair and sat down. Tentatively , she reached across and placed her hand on it, to pull it in. She froze as Lena’s hand settled on hers, fingers curling around Kara’s wrist.

“I’m sorry, too,” Lena offered, in a harsh whisper. “I’m sorry, Kara. I want to try, too.”

For the first time that night, Kara smiled.

It was not an easy or quick thing. A monument is not built in a day and things that last a lifetime are not easily forged. It took months, then years, for the trust to be rebuilt, its foundations made of bricks like lunches and sister night invitations, quiet shared meals and tentative questions that had already been answered, but in the end a wall rose, taller and stronger than ever before. Not a barrier that stood between them but a fortress that encircled and endured, made of stolen kisses and frantic nights and a pair of matching bracelets.

[wandasreallover]

Obsession|mean! Wanda x reader

College au!

Warnings: swearing, wandas a meanie, reader has a boyfriend

The air in the dorm room hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and the tension that had simmered between us since the first day of freshman year. Wanda Maximoff, with her messy brown hair, perpetually smudged eyeliner, and a smirk permanently etched on her lips, was sprawled across my bed, flipping through a textbook with complete disregard for the fact that I was trying to study.

'You really think you'll pass Professor Barnes' class with that level of effort?' she drawled, her voice dripping with mock concern.

I slammed my notes shut, the frustration building within me like a pressure cooker. 'Just because you can breeze through everything doesn't mean everyone else can,' I snapped.

She laughed, a sharp, mirthless sound that echoed in the small space. 'Don't be so dramatic, darling. It's not like you're actually trying to learn anything.'

'Well, maybe if you weren't constantly trying to sabotage my every attempt, I would,' I retorted, my voice tight with barely-contained anger.

She shrugged, her green eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. 'Just trying to keep things interesting, love. You're so predictable, it's frankly boring.'

This was our routine, a constant back-and-forth that had become the soundtrack to our shared dorm room. She loved to torment me, to push my buttons, to make my already stressful college life a living hell. I, in turn, hated her with a fierce, burning passion that I refused to acknowledge.

Later that night, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my reflection a pale ghost against the dimly lit room. I was exhausted, my face lined with worry, my eyes perpetually bloodshot. Every interaction with Wanda chipped away at my sanity, leaving me feeling drained and defeated.

As if sensing my unease, she entered the room, her movements a graceful panther prowling through the shadows. She stopped in front of me, her dark eyes boring into mine, her gaze sharp and unnerving.

'Going out with your little boyfriend again?' she asked, a sardonic smile playing on her lips. It was no secret to anyone that wanda maximoff hayed your boyfriend but quite frankly i didn't care, i find it amusing how worked up she gets over me seeing him.

Despite this my heart skipped a beat, a wave of heat rushing through me. I had desperately been trying to keep any real confrontation surrounding him from her to a minimum as this was my small, fragile sanctuary amidst the chaos she brought into my life. Trying so desperately to avoid any comments which admittedly make me slightly insecure, slowly chipping away my self esteem.

'It's none of your business,' I said, my voice brittle.

She leaned closer, her breath warm against my skin. 'Don't lie, darling. I saw you. You were holding hands, all lovey-dovey.'

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. I thought i had been so careful, so desperate to protect this part of my life as far from her as possible, and yet, she had seen through my attempts at privacy.

'So what? Are you going to try to ruin this, too?' I challenged, my voice trembling.

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. 'Ruin it? Why would I do that? I'm just interested, darling. Tell me about him.' despite her condescendingly sweet tone i saw through her, her facing plastered with a poorly surpressed smirk.

Unwilling to entertain her, her words hung in the air, a twisted invitation laced with an unsettling intensity. I felt a shiver run down my spine, a strange mix of fear and fascination coursing through me.

'I thought you didn't care,' I whispered, my voice barely audible, unprepared for the onslaught of any insults she may throw my way. However that doesn't come. A sudden silence descended upon the room, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator. Wanda stepped closer, her gaze unwavering.

'I don't,' she whispered back, her voice a low, mesmerizing murmur. 'But I do.'

Her words, spoken with an unusual vulnerability, sent a jolt through me. I looked into her eyes, the red depths swirling with emotions I couldn't decipher. Wanda is a mystery to me, despite all the time we are forced to spend together, never has she allowed herself to appear as vulnerable as she does now.

'What do you mean?' I asked, my voice a mere breath.

She took a step closer, the air growing thick with anticipation. 'I mean,' she said, her voice suddenly cold and barely a whisper, 'that I'm totally and utterly obsessed with you.'

The words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me stunned and speechless. I had been so focused on her antagonistic behavior, so consumed by the daily battles we waged, that I had completely missed the undercurrent of something else, something darker, something more intense. And now, it was spilling over, threatening to drown me in its depths.

'I see you,' Wanda continued, her voice a low hum against my skin, 'every time you walk by, every time you smile, every time you laugh. You're the only thing that matters, and I can't stop thinking about you.'

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my ear. 'I watch you,' she whispered, her voice laced with a strange, almost erotic, intensity. 'I watch you with him, and it makes me sick.'

I drew back, my heart pounding against my ribs. Her confession, the intensity of her obsession, the raw emotions swirling in her green eyes, it all felt so overwhelming, so terrifying.

'What do you want from me?' I managed to ask, my voice now trembling.

She smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down my spine. 'I want you,' she said, her voice a seductive whisper. 'I want you all to myself, and I'm going to have you.'

She leaned in again, her lips hovering just above mine. 'You're going to choose me,' she promised, her voice a dangerous murmur. 'And when you do, I will make you forget you ever knew anyone else.'

The air crackled with unspoken threats and suppressed desires, leaving me paralyzed with fear and a strange, unsettling fascination. I had no idea what was happening, what Wanda was capable of, what she intended to do with the power of her obsession. All I knew was that something had changed, the game had shifted, and the stakes had been raised to a level I could never have imagined.

A/n- i genuinely don't know how feel about this.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 2)

—

Tw: canon-typical violence (Batman), emetophobia at one point

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

Danny sat in the back of one of the transport trucks currently on the way to Arkham, his hands in his lap.

So far, everything was going to plan.

About a quarter of the team had gotten themselves admitted into Arkham in the days leading up to the raid, carefully sneaking in supplies and weapons for both themselves and the rogues they were going to free.

Half of the team was on trucks, ready to storm the building with their fancy new tech. A couple others were keeping an eye out for the Bats, and the last one was holed up in a recently condemned building, ecto-modified sniper rifle in hand, ready to fire.

Danny’s hands were cold.

He hadn’t always run cold, from what he remembered. Even after he died—hell, even after he started developing his ice powers—he had always been warm.

Now, though, his body was freezing.

Maybe it was because of the ecto siphoning he and Derringer had done the day before.

He couldn’t make the ecto guns work without fueling them, after all, and the only ectoplasm he had access to was the stuff inside his body. So, he had Derringer hook him up to a GiW machine and filter the ecto out of his blood.

The process was excruciating.

Not only did he get light-headed from the loss of fluids, the machine also chilled his blood considerably during the filtering process, and when it was pumped back into his body, it was freezing. Derringer had to cover him with heating pads and thick blankets to get him to stop shaking.

Still, that had been a little over eighteen hours ago, so that probably wasn’t it.

Maybe it was just another side affect of his time with the GiW.

Overuse of his ghostly wail, he had realized earlier, was the reason that he had lost his voice permanently. Maybe he had accidentally used his ice too many times the same way, and now his body was irrevocably changed. Maybe warmth was just another tiny privilege he had taken for granted, that had now been lost forever.

Danny stared down at his hands.

Maybe his body had just given up entirely on keeping him warm, on pretending to be human.

“Kid, you alright? We’re almost there.”

Derringer’s voice snapped Danny out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Danny signed, “just tired. And cold.”

“We’ve got to get you a jacket, kid,” Derringer said, “it’s not even winter and I already have to worry about you freezing to death.”

“I died a long time ago, it’s fine.”

“No,” one of the other men in the truck drawled, “it means you’ve got to be extra careful. You’ve got a second chance at living, so you better not screw it up.”

“What did he say?”

“Danny thinks that because he’s died before, he doesn’t need to worry about freezing to death.”

The truck went quiet for a few moments. Most of the guys in there didn’t know he had died before. He didn’t exactly like to advertise the fact.

“I have a cousin who had a heart attack, and it only made his heart worse,” one of the guys near the front of the truck offered.

“See, kid?” Derringer said, “I’m right. As soon as this is over, you’re getting a jacket.”

Danny crossed his arms, slumping over in his seat with a huff.

A few moments later, a loud clang echoed through the truck. Danny jolted, almost falling out of his seat.

The door opened, the driver looking at them with boredom written all over his face.

“Alright, up and at em. It’s go time,” he mumbled, smacking the door loudly for emphasis. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can leave.”

They all stood, hopping out of the truck and making their way to the fence line.

Danny moved his hand to the bandolier on his chest, fingers brushing against the small ecto-bombs he had attached to it.

There were five of them, their bodies made of tempered glass and black steel, and they glowed a sickly green in the night. They were designed mainly for combat; he had a few larger ones meant to blow a hole in a wall in his backpack, which was securely zipped shut.

His hand then drifted to the holster on his left side, and the ecto-gun nestled securely within it.

Most of his parents’ inventions were far too big and bulky to be practical in any real combat setting, so he had downsized them considerably. The weapon he had was modeled after a standard glock pistol, matte black paint covering the GiW white of the gun’s body.

The gun should be able to fire around fifty shots a minute without overheating, which was more than enough for Danny. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to fire a single round tonight. However, for whatever reason, the words should and hopefully didn’t inspire much confidence in him.

Danny followed the group as they snuck up to the facility, Derringer by his side.

Originally, neither of them were going to go on the raid, but someone on the patient list had caught Danny’s eye, so he decided he would investigate in person. Derringer was just along for the ride because Mr. Cobblepot wasn’t willing to lose an asset as valuable as Danny.

Danny would make it up to the bodyguard later, he decided.

Entering Arkham was, all things considered, pretty easy. Mr. Cobblepot had connections to a few of the orderlies, and it was all too easy to convince them to “forget” a few steps in setting up the security system for the night.

However, since nothing can ever just be simple, they ran into an unexpected patrol of nightshift guards just a few minutes after all splitting up to find the rogues.

Danny and Derringer were able to take them down pretty quickly, but not before they sounded the alarms. And, according to a few guys on the comms, they weren’t the only ones to run into guards where they shouldn’t be.

“They must have changed their patrols,” Derringer huffed, spinning the pistol in his hands, “c’mon, let’s go see about freeing our good friend Victor Fries.”

Danny nodded, scampering after the man as he sprinted through the halls.

The inmates, who had woken up from the loud alarm’s continuous blaring, shouted at them from their cells. Danny’s pulse was loud in his ears, drowning everything out.

Distantly, he wondered if those guards were going to die. Maybe they were dead already.

He supposed that it didn’t really change much if they were.

Soon, they were at the cell. It was custom-built to hold Mr. Freeze, constantly kept at subzero temperatures to avoid killing him.

Derringer hefted his bag off of his back, pulling out the suit and freeze gun that Mr. Cobblepot had procured. As he did so, Danny took a few of the larger ecto-bombs and placed them on the joints of the door.

They carefully moved away, putting some distance between themselves and the door, and Danny detonated it.

The explosion was loud. It shook the entire building, the shockwave knocking Danny to the floor.

Danny brought his hand up to his safety goggles, yanking a small piece of metal shrapnel out of them and dropping it on the floor. He was dimly aware of more pieces sticking out of his kevlar suit. Derringer was similarly peppered with metal, luckily uninjured as well.

They had come from the body and mechanism of the bomb, he realized. He’d have to fix that later.

Mr. Freeze emerged from the cell a few moments later, a scowl on his face. Derringer quickly shoved the suit and freeze gun into his hands and he retreated back into the cell for a few moments, getting dressed.

“I could have died from that, you know,” he hissed. “Killed by some amateurs with shoddy explosives.”

“The Penguin sent us,” Derringer said, ignoring the man’s clear annoyance, “our getaway car is outside. If you’d come with us…”

Mr. Freeze nodded sternly.

“Hurry up, then.”

Derringer and Danny hurried out, Mr. Freeze right behind them. Then, at a certain hallway, Danny paused.

He had to check.

“Kid,” Derringer barked, “we have to go.”

Danny shook his head.

“You go,” he signed, hands trembling, “I have to check.”

“Oh, what’s the problem now?” Mr. Freeze asked, his frown more pronounced by the minute.

“Danny…” Derringer sighed, “Danny thinks his sister might be in here. He hasn’t seen her in years. It’s the whole reason he was a part of the Arkham raid, actually.”

Mr. Freeze paused for a moment.

“Well, lead the way, then,” he said, clearly regretting his words as soon as he said them. Danny just nodded, scurrying forward, the other two men close behind him.

They came to the right cell quickly. Danny looked in through the glass, and he felt a piece of himself shatter.

That was Jazz, his sister, sitting in a padded wall wearing a straightjacket and a muzzle.

She didn’t bother looking up at them as they arrived, not stirring even when Danny slammed his hands on the door to get her attention.

Shakily, he attached an ecto-bomb to the door, hoping with all his might that she wouldn’t get hurt.

The door blew open, and Danny rushed in.

Jazz’s head swiveled to look up at him, her eyes narrowed.

He slipped the goggles up and his bandanna down, exposing his face as he came to kneel beside her.

Slowly, her expression shifted to shock.

“Jazz,” he creaked, his broken vocal chords cracking painfully as he spoke, “it’s me.”

She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Danny?”

He nodded, pulling her into a hug, careful not to let the shrapnel dig into her skin.

“I thought you were…”

“Very heartwarming,” Mr. Freeze snapped, “but now isn’t the time. We’ve got to go, now.”

Jazz nodded, leaping to her feet. Danny stood as well, slipping his mask and bandanna back on, and grabbing onto one of her arms for support.

They left the cell, Danny doing a double-take as he saw the frozen-over pathway that they had just come from. He looked to Mr. Freeze, tilting his head questioningly.

“There were guards,” he said flatly. “Now hurry up, we need to get out of here.”

Derringer grabbed the two of them, dragging them along as he sprinted through the hallways. They had to take a bit of a detour, coming out of the main entrance instead of the side one they had entered.

Unfortunately, there was an active gunfight going down.

Danny was roughly pulled behind a desk, just barely dodging a few rounds.

His hands shook as he pulled a small ecto-bomb from his bandolier, priming it and throwing it at a small grouping of night guards. They cried out as the pure ectoplasm collided with them, covering their bodies in burns.

The smell, while familiar to Danny, was still horrific.

They took a few shots off at the night guards, trying to take them down. Their group was efficient, but with the rate they were going at, it wasn’t going to be enough. Only adding to that, the gun Mr. Cobblepot had prepared for Mr. Freeze had broken after just a few uses, leaving them unable to create an ice wall.

Then, Danny heard the sound of a gun’s safety being turned off behind them, and his vision went white.

He grabbed onto Jazz and Derringer, making them intangible right as the night guard opened fire.

Waves of nausea hit him all at once and he doubled over, his vision swimming. Danny was only dimly aware of Jazz taking the guard down with a high kick right to the head, and Derringer pulling him into a protective hold.

Ignoring everything, he pulled the last of the large bombs from his bag, throwing it into the air, pulling everyone behind the desk.

The entire room went white.

Danny’s ears rung as he scrambled out from behind the reception desk, dragging Jazz with him.

Luckily, none of the hired hands on his team had gotten injured, but the guards…

Danny looked away, trying to ignore the taste of bile in his mouth.

It was fine. He was fine. Everything would be okay.

The next few minutes were a blur. He knew that he had puked only a few seconds after they had left the building, and that Derringer had picked him up afterwards, carrying him to the truck with Mr. Freeze and Jazz in tow.

Danny’s entire body was wracked with tremors, an unbearable phantom pain passing through the still-healing surgical wounds in his head and torso like lightning. He dry-heaved, shivering uncontrollably.

They drove off soon after. Luckily, no one had been left behind. Someone, probably Derringer, helped Danny rinse out his mouth and got him a bottle of water to drink, wrapping him in his jacket.

As soon as the truck doors were opened within one of Mr. Cobblepot’s safehouses, Danny became aware of the sound of wailing.

Hopping out of the truck, most of his mind still far away, he saw a man being rolled out of the room on a stretcher. He was one of the people who had been on the other truck, Danny realized.

Beside him was a teenager, probably only a few years younger than Danny, who was screaming and crying uncontrollably. They wailed at Mr. Cobblepot, who only stood there with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Oh shit,” Derringer breathed. Danny pulled on his sleeve, tilting his head at him questioningly.

“The guy on the stretcher, that’s his sibling.”

Danny just stared, a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Jazz, her arms now freed from the straightjacket, pulled him away from the scene. Danny let her.

—

[brandogenius]

hiii hun how are you?

A while ago I saw a trend on tiktok where girls were coloring their partner's tattoos using blush/eyeshadow and I would really love to see the reader coloring Naomi's tattoos :(( <3

I would really appreciate if you use this idea :p 💌

hi baby!! i’m doing great! how are you?

ofc!!! i love it so much it’s so cute!

edit: i wrote this at ljke 5am so it’s not that good i’m sorry D: (not proofread)

‼️RPF‼️

ONE SHOT - naomi x reader - watercolours

word count: 603

“good morning honey” you greeted naomi. your makeup was all over the small table as you worked outside on the chair. it was a perfect sunny summers morning. the birds were chirping, the small breeze was blowing past you.

your small mirror was propped up onto the table, shielded by the big umbrella over the table. naomi walked out in their pjs, hair messy and all over place.

“ you have a good sleep?”

“it’s too warm” naomi replied with a frown. they say across from you, a curious tilt to the head“why are you doing your makeup here?”

“i got up early. i thought it’d be nice to do my makeup in the sun” you leaned forward; pressed a small kiss to naomi’s forehead. the older smiled in return, their eyes closed contently.

“well, it looks good. you carry on, i’ll make myself some coffee. do you want any?” naomi got up, hand up over their face to block out the sun.

“yes please” you answered back, making sure to not smudge your eyeliner. “iced with vanilla”

“how did i know?” naomi teased from the kitchen. you could hear the grin.

you grabbed your makeup brush, adding some eyeshadow to your final look. naomi came back with two glasses of coffee, setting them down on the table. they took their place back across from you.

“you want some makeup on too, baby?” you turned to look at your partner. they were staring at you with curious eyes. scanning over your face and the brushes.

“nah- i just like watching you do your makeup. being all pretty and shit”

“you have a way with words, my love” you put the brushes down, finished with your makeup for the day.

the morning sun was truly something else. you and naomi settled into a comfortable silence. disturbed occasionally by the sound of ice as naomi stirred their coffee with the straw. it was your turn to stare at your partner. taking in the way the sun kisses their skin, showing off their tattoos in the bright light.

you loved their tattoos. often finding yourself tracing over the black lines on their arms at night. you loved hearing naomi ramble about what each one of them mean.

“can i try something?” you spoke up. naomi turned to look at you, confused. “what?”

“can i colour your tattoos? i think it’d be cute” you didn’t wait for an answer. sitting up and dragging your chair over to naomi.

“sure. go ahead” naomi chuckled, placing their arm on the table. you took your brushes out, placing them neatly on the table along with your eyeshadow.

“i’ll make them look very pretty” you were determined. colouring the small details with your eyeshadow. naomi was watching while they sipped their coffee.

“ i think it looks very pretty” you finished one tattoo, admiring the work you did. the tattoo had shades of pink, blue, yellow and green.

“it’s a bit of a shame it’s not permanent.” naomi admired their arm. taking out their phone and snapping a quick photo. “it looks like you watercolour painted it”

“it wouldn’t be good for your skin, baby” you took out one of your other pallets, getting to work on another tattoo on naomi’s arm.

“well. maybe i could take some photos and ask someone to colour it in for me? so technically your work is on my arm. i’ll admit it’s pretty cool”

“you think so?” you beamed up at naomi. they nodded their head, excitedly

“i think it’d be cool. i get to say i have my girlfriends artwork on my arm”

[take-taker-taken]

Hi lovely! I'm the person who requested the ministry taker x gothic female reader fic. I'd absolutely love a part 2/continuation with smut. As for kinks, I'm a green light girly on pretty much everything lol. Bdsm, impact play, hair pulling, choking, slapping, the works honestly. I feel like ministry taker would be the absolute best dom so yeah. Feel free to run wild and have fun! Thank you so much 💕

Ok, here it is! I went for firm but (mostly) gentle domination, as I feel that would be Ministry’s style - thank you for your patience as I worked on it!

Link to Part One is at the bottom.

Lessons

“Very well, girl - you leave me no choice but to teach you some consequences for your teasing.” He dips his head and kisses you again before drawing back to nip at your lips with his teeth. You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck and let your head fall against his chest as he carries you from the room while muttering dark, lustful promises.

He doesn’t stop in the bedroom as you’re expecting, but carries you through to the annexe that’s attached. It’s essentially his own private dungeon and a room that terrified you when you first saw it, but now you feel a thrill go through you as he sets you down on to your feet. The lighting is permanently low, with shadows in all the right places… he made you stand in a corner in here once and it was so dark that it felt as though you may as well be locked in a cupboard.

“Do not move.” He says and carries on over to a trunk against the wall which he opens and reaches into. He turns back to find you twisting the ball of one foot nervously against the floor. “I told you to be still, girl.” There’s no hint of the playful man from before and so you instantly freeze in place and instead track him with your eyes as he moves to a wooden cabinet on the wall. Your heart is pounding and you can feel goosebumps rising on your skin even though the temperature is fine.

He advances and stands before you, whatever items he’s selected hidden in his cavernous sleeves.

“Remove your clothes.”

No response from you is required other than obedience and so you quickly do as he says until you’re naked before him. You lick your lips nervously because you can see the glint in his eye as he produces a simple leather collar. You raise your chin slightly as he steps behind you and buckles it firmly around your throat. The collar going on signals the beginning of one of your sessions and you gasp quietly as something is draped firmly over your shoulder, but you don’t move to try and see what it is. He moves into your line of sight and you’re transfixed as he removes his cloak in a swirl of velvet, revealing a sleeveless leather vest. You stare at his chest until he moves in closer and tilts your head back with a nudge of one long finger.

“I said that I would teach you some consequences, little one. Are you ready to learn?”

“Yes, master.” Your voice is soft and you wish he would kiss you. He smiles at your response in that quietly leering way.

“A little pain is in order, I think - to focus the mind, but first...” He reaches up and you brace yourself for a slap but then realise that all he’s done is remove what he placed there just now. It’s dark purple jute rope, worn soft by many uses. He turns it loose and then with a hand on your shoulder, turns you to face away from him. “Put your hands behind your back.” You do as he says and his cool fingers guide you until your arms are set the way he requires. He first ties your hair back and then works quietly and efficiently, making knots and smoothing the rope as he creates a beautiful shibari chest harness, the rope sitting snugly as a support for your breasts. The ends of the cord tickle as they dance across your skin but you resolutely keep still and close your eyes as you enjoy the gentle restraint.

You open them again when you realise that he’s completed his work and watch as he crosses to the wall that houses a huge array of impact toys. You’d struggled to think of them as ‘toys’ at first, unable to reconcile the idea of being hit with that term but now it’s commonplace to you. He stands there, contemplating, a couple of times reaching for an implement only to change his mind and retract his arm. When he does turn back to you, he’s holding a riding crop and your breath catches because you know how versatile it can be in the right hands. He stops a couple of feet away and uses the keeper of the crop to raise your chin.

“You will keep still.”

You stare up at him in trepidation as you give a tiny nod and whisper, “Yes, master.”

He moves behind you and it takes a lot of willpower not to turn and look, especially since he’s stood far enough back that you can’t detect exactly where he is - not that it matters, really. A sudden small explosion of pain blooms against your shoulder and you gasp and twitch, but manage not to move beyond that. A few seconds later the next one lands on the back of your thigh, and then another in the middle of your back, just above where your hands are tied together. After that the blows come more quickly as he moves around you in a slow circle, the blows raining down. Strikes land on your stomach, your backside, the top of your breast and then a particularly hard blow that lands directly on to your nipple. Unable to stop yourself you bend forwards as you cry out, resulting in him taking hold of your hair and straightening you up again.

“Much as I like to see you to bow to me, I told you to keep still.” Keeping the grip on your hair, he steps up close and runs his hand over each of your breasts in turn, giving a gentle tweak to each of your nipples.

“I’m sorry, master - I’ll try harder.” You pant softly as you enjoy the feel of his hands on your skin and in your hair.

He guides your head to one side, leans down and bites where your neck meets the shoulder before answering. “I’m sure you will little one, but the fact remains that you’ve earned a penalty for your disobedience.” He reaches into a pocket and draws out a pair of silver clamps connected by a chain and then without further commentary, attaches them to each of your nipples in turn.

You whimper through gritted teeth but at the same time feel that rush of moisture. He steps back and uses the tip of the crop under your chin as a silent command to look at him. As you bravely meet his intense gaze, one corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk. Seemingly satisfied he takes up where he left off, moving around you and delivering random blows. Each one does the job of taking your mind off the constant, low-level pain in your nipples but as he finally sets the implement down to one side you mentally breathe a sigh of relief.

“It pleases me to see you bearing the marks from my whip,” he says, delicately taking hold of the chain that links the clamps. He tugs on it lightly and you watch the links glinting in the low light, and stare down at the reddened, squeezed flesh of your nipples and then open your mouth in a silent scream as with a flick of his wrist, he pulls the chain hard and wrenches the clamps off. You don’t even have time to react when he steps forward and envelopes you in his arms, holding you tightly as with your face turned to one side, you groan the pain into his upper arm.

“Thank you, master.” No matter how much it hurts, you know to always thank him for such concessions.

He soothes you, with his fingers gently scratching across the nape of your neck. “There’s my good girl. You’re to kneel down for me, now.”

He releases you from his hold and steps back as you carefully lower yourself to your knees, secretly delighted. You love to be down on the floor as he towers above, and you make sure to kneel up straight, your breasts thrust proudly forward by the harness he’s placed you in.

You watch as his fingers move to his waist and undo the ties of his leather pants. He loosens them bit by bit… methodically, just like he does everything and then pushes them down his thighs. Unconsciously, your tongue darts out to wet your lips as his hard length come into view - and it’s in proportion to his size in general. You manage to stop yourself from leaning forward, knowing that it would earn you an instant reprimand and instead settle for gazing up at him, waiting for the moment when he looks down at you.

He looks you in the eye as strokes himself gently, a pleased smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth and then with his free hand he gently pulls you forwards. You open your mouth but with a grip on your hair he stops you short.

“Are you enjoying your lesson?” He rumbles and you give him a tiny smile and nod as best you can.

“Yes, master, thank you. Please… please will you let me taste you?”

He quirks an amused eyebrow. “Hungry for me to ruin that lipstick are you, little one?”

You nod again. “Very, master.”

“So be it.” With that, he guides you forward again and you take him into your mouth, exhaling with a soft moan as your senses are filled with him. The flat of your tongue presses against the hard column and you move your head as you explore the familiar territory. You draw back and sure enough, a smear of your carefully-applied lipstick is left behind on the pale skin. You shift slightly on your knees as you suck on the head, flickering your tongue over the spongy flesh and teasing into the slit.

He hums appreciatively and you flush with pride that it’s your actions that have caused the sound, and so you frown with slight concern when moments later he uses his hold on your hair to gently remove you.

“Would you like me to ruin that pretty eye make up, too?”

You lick your lips and take a breath before purposely straining a little against his hold. “Yes please, master… teach me a lesson, just like you promised?”

He tightens his grip on your hair and you feel his knuckles brush the back of your head. “You little slut,” he mutters in a tone of dark delight and then without further ceremony he pushes his dick roughly back into your waiting mouth. He plunges intentionally too far so that you choke, holding you tightly to prevent you from pulling away. Your eyes instantly cloud with tears that spill over and run down your face in hot trails. He draws his hips back and you gasp for air before he pushes back in and holds you tight again. Having your arms tied behind your back adds another level of vulnerability and you instinctively try to swallow around the obstruction which makes you gag and choke again.

“Remember that you asked for this,” He says blandly as he once again pulls you off his dick and graciously waits while you cough, strings of saliva hanging from your lips. He bends down and looks you right in the eye as he repeats, “You asked for this, little one.”

You stare back into the hazel green eyes and think how beautiful he is as you nod dumbly and press your thighs together. You open your mouth again and he nods back before straightening up and guiding himself back between your lips. His pace is slower this time but he still forces himself into your throat and seems to take delight in watching your body strain for air as he holds you in place. Just as you think this part of your session might be over he ups the speed again and you sob and just hang in his grasp as he uses you. The next time he stops and withdraws, he brushes a thumb over your cheek, collecting the tears on the pad of his huge digit.

“Well, I would deem that a success,” he says, showing you the make-up stained liquid before wiping it across your forehead. “Your face is a mess, little one.”

You pant for breath and when you speak your voice is cracked due to the abuse of your throat. “Th… thank you, master.”

“Good little slut,” His small smile makes it all worth it and then he’s urging you to your feet. He takes a minute to run those big hands over your shoulders and upper arms, sneaking in some hard pinches and twists to your nipples. The bondage harness he has you in is comfortable, but he wants to make sure that your limbs aren’t under too much pressure. Satisfied that your muscles aren’t under duress he slides one big hand down, fingers questing as they find their way between your thighs and without any pre-amble he pushes one inside you.

With a gasp, your hips tilt towards him as he pumps his finger slowly in and out and then he withdraws it and shoves it roughly into your mouth, making you gag again before you carefully clean it. His other hand, which seems to have taken up permanent residence in your hair, then steers you from the dungeon room back into the bedroom that you share. He walks you up to the bed and then stops, pulling you back against him and running his hands over your body.

“You are here for my pleasure,” he says quietly, his finger stroking the edge of the leather collar as your lean your head back against his chest. “Over,” he adds, pushing you forward and switching his hold to the ropes that bind your hands together behind your back. He kicks your feet apart and then you feel his cock pushing at your entrance and you let out a whimpering sigh as he slides inside you. His strokes are slow and deliberate and you bring yourself up to tiptoes to change the angle and try to feel him even more.

“So hungry for me aren’t you, little one?” He speaks as you feel his fingers picking at the ropes, though the movement of his hips never ceases. “So wet and needy…”

You murmur an agreement, too caught up in the feeling to manage to form a proper sentence. You notice the ropes loosening where he’s been working at the knots and then grumble slightly when he withdraws. It earns you a sharp smack to your backside before he quickly dismantles the harness and manhandles you on to the bed. You lay on your back, staring up as he kneels astride you on all fours with his long hair hanging down, the ends gently brushing your skin.

“You’re quite the sight there, little slut.” He leans down and you’re sure he’s going to kiss you but he stops just a few inches from your mouth and says, “Want me to finish the job?”

You wriggle beneath him, trying to spread your legs wider. “Yes, master… please!”

He climbs up again and slowly divests himself of his clothing, casting each piece aside without taking his eyes off you. It’s a gargantuan effort not to delve your hand between your thighs and start without him, so you lay with your arms spread wide and fingers gripping into the sheets, feeling for all the world like a willing sacrifice. Your gaze fixes on his straining erection as he takes himself in hand and gives it a couple of firm strokes before returning to bed and taking up his former position.

“You are mine,” he says, giving your lips a soft peck before drawing back again and then with no warning he thrusts into you hard, driving the breath from you in a shout. He holds still inside you and adds, “Mine to use however I see fit.” He dips down and kisses you again as he starts to move slowly.

You dare to move a hand and rest it on the back of his neck as he breaks the kiss. “Yours, master.” He intertwines his fingers with those on your free hand and you whimper at the feeling of being overpowered as he pushes it firmly to the mattress. “Please… please master, more… harder… please…”

Your hand falls from his neck and he instantly covers it with his own and grants your request, picking up the pace and driving into you with a force that would push you across the bed if he wasn’t pinning you. His eyes are constantly watching your reactions which means he sees you staring hungrily at his rippling biceps and his broad chest. You would love to touch him, but the counterpoint is the submissive rush you get from being denied as he holds you down. You bend your knees and squeeze your thighs around his hips - the move seems to make those green eyes flash and he moves one of his hands to settle on your throat.

“Desperate little slut,” he growls, and this time his voice betrays his exertion. He squeezes gently on your neck and it’s as much as you can do to hold off climaxing there and then. “I can feel you grasping around me, little one.”

“Please can I come, master?” Your voice is small and you push your neck against his hold as much as you dare. “Please let me…”

He slows his pace and the smirk returns as he sees an opportunity to tease you some more. He leans in close again until he’s practically murmuring against your lips.

“This is supposed to be a consequence for your impudent behaviour earlier,” he says. “I’m not sure that you deserve to come.”

Your eyes go wide and you bite your lip before squeezing his hand as hard as you can and replying, “I’m sorry, master - I’ve learned my lesson, I promise! Please will you let me… please?”

He does kiss you then and you whimper brokenly into his mouth because this is too much… the sensation of him inside you, his unrelenting grip on your hand and the pressure on your throat as his tongue explores your mouth… You open your eyes as he breaks the kiss and then his hand shifts from your throat and taps your cheek as he says quietly,

“Come for me.”

He grinds himself against you, giving you the pressure you need and you cry out your orgasm. You feel in torn in two directions, with wanting to drag him even closer as well as back off from the intensity. He holds you tight, lips pressed to your temple as you ride the waves, even as his own pleasure drives him into you even deeper than before. His movement slows and then stills and he pushes his long hair back from his face to reveal a tender smile playing about his lips. He slips gently from you and rolls to one side, bringing you with him so that you lay facing one another.

“Lesson learned?” He asks, one arm curled around you.

“For now… master.” You reply with a shy smile, snuggling in against his shoulder.

“You did very well, little one - I’m proud of you.” Out of everything that’s happened, it’s those words that make you blush and you whisper your gratitude into his tattooed skin. He carefully shifts around so that he can hold you better, enveloping you in his huge arms. “Do you want to keep the collar on for a little while longer?” He asks quietly.

“Yes, please. Can… can I sleep in it?” You reply and he hums and kisses the top of your head.

“If you wish, though it might not be very comfortable. Perhaps I should get you another that’s softer and more suitable for that kind of thing.”

“I’d like that,” you answer with a smile, excited at the prospect. You extract your arm from where it’s trapped between the two of you so that you can hug him properly.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, rubbing his thumb in small circles on your shoulder while he gropes for the covers with his other hand. He draws them up over the both of you and you close your eyes and sigh with happiness as you lay in contented silence. After a couple of minutes he shifts and slips out of the bed but you don’t move until he returns and gently nudges your shoulder. “Sit up a little for me; we need to take the rest of that make up off.”

Reluctantly, your eyelids flutter open and see that he’s brought all the relevant supplies and you sleepily shift as directed until he’s sat behind you. It’s him that works to gently remove the smeared mess that he created, punctuating the task with small kisses and whispered praises, determined that you needn’t be pulled from your relaxed state. Job done, he sets everything aside before guiding you back under the covers and holding you tightly as you drift off, the fingers of one hand resting against your collar.

TTT

Previous

[yandere-yearnings]

I HAD THE BIGGEST EPIPHANY!!!!

Imagine reader colouring on Laurent’s tattoos!!!!!

NONNIE THIS IDEA IS PERFECT!!!!! i've been thinking abt this ever since you sent it in actually🥺🩷 pls assume skin-safe markers are being used here❗❗ also, this kinda got off topic and turned into some sort of comfort drabble which i apologise for, but i hope it's still okay😭💕

Red and green looked good on him. You sat back with a content smile, admiring your work. The grand dragon that had been inked intricately into tan skin seemed to coil out towards you now that it was coloured in. You wanted to give it a name, hand reaching out, tracing over lines with a gentle glide, only to have Laurent's light laughter bring your attention back to him.

"That tickles, Y/N," the lower half of his face was covered by the book he'd been reading, but you could see the smile in his eyes. He tapped your wrist, "how am I supposed to concentrate?"

"Ah, my apologies," you uncapped another marker, "rude of me to be disturbing the boss while he's relaxing. Continue, continue. I'll try not to be touchy on the job."

"Oh, you're thinking of it as a job now?" One thick brow arched, Laurent put his reading aside and sat up. The movement had the nib sprawling, blue over borders that spoiled your work and had you swatting at him.

"Hey!"

Laurent chuckled, and you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to jostle you. You can wipe it off, right?" His fingers dipped down, smeared the pigment into the ridges of his abdomen until it was no longer visible. "See? Good as new."

"I guess..." you trailed off, poking his side. Though the scar tissue had mostly been covered up, you could still see it if you looked close enough. Reminders of the dangers that circled around him every day, that these peaceful moments didn't really hold any permanence. It suddenly had you melancholy.

"My eyes aren't in my ribs, y'know?" Laurent pulled your head up, and maybe he saw the sadness in your eyes, maybe he just knew, but his voice came out even softer. "Where's your mind going?"

Sincerity faced you, kind and gentle; it was a struggle not to feel its warmth. "Bad places," you answered.

"Without me?" Strong arms wrapped around you, brought you to a broad chest and beating heart that was all for you. "Don't do that." You dropped your pen to cling to him, aching to tell him not to leave again in the morning — to stay with you, even if you knew you weren't the only person he had to care for. "Take me with you," he pulled back, beamed at you, "wherever it is, I can protect you."

You should've been the one to say and do all of this. Instead, in his embrace, you cried, and Laurent stroked your back, held you through it so easily.

[s0ft-d3cay]

Worrying Thoughts of You

Mike Schmidt x Male Reader | I don't know if you're all seeing the pattern, but I need cuddles with a pretty boy. Side note, I have a cute fun fic with this adorable doe eyed man coming up soon as well as a new charater! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!!!

Warnings: reverse comfort, established relationship, they cuddle, reader is eepy(me), mentions of being overworked, light mentions of longing and loneliness, they worry for each other, mentions of knowing each other during childhood, Y/N is used

WC: 695

Mike, still wide awake in bed staring up at his Nebraska poster. Another late night for his partner Y/N, his was often more demanding than Mike’s security guard shifts. Sighing he turns to his digital clock, 4:14am, reflected back in thin green lines. A chill of unease runs through the man, the unease soon morphs to dread for his partner, Mike cuddles to his pillow as he awaits for Y/N.

Exhaustion claws it way through Y/N as he parked his car outside Mike’s house, eyes barley staying open as he gets out and walks to the front door. Quietly opening the door, sneaking his way to his boyfriend's room. The man’s tired eyes flash over Mike as he enters, seeing him awake and waiting for him. Y/N’s gaze glosses over in guilt and worry.

"Y/N?" The doe eyed man mumbles out, sitting up in bed. Wordlessly, Y/N takes his shoes off and climbs over the covers. Laying between Mikes leg as he cuddles his torso, arms around the man’s back, nuzzling his cheek to his sternum. Mike’s arm instinctively hold his boyfriend closer to himself, his other moving his hand up to play with the other man’s hair. Y/N visibly relaxes, his heavy eyelids closed before he answers back. "I think I might need some early morning cuddles for a while."

"You can have all the cuddles you want, just rest baby." Mike softly replied, watching Y/N with a loving gaze. His earlier worry now replaced with familiarity and warmth, that buzz of silence he always found comforting in. The man below him hums back in acknowledgment.

"I don’t think I have the energy to even joke back right now…but I have one last question for you before we both pass out." He utters in a low, sleepy tone, almost a whisper it's so quiet. Mike pulls the man closer at his request, his own voice mirroring his boyfriends. "And what would that be?"

"Why are you still awake right now?" Y/N gently asked, the words warm like coffee. No accusatory or worry filled, instead it was in genuine curiosity for the man. Mike knew without his boyfriend they’d both be getting no sleep. Selfishly he wanted to brush off the question as sleep, Y/N’s hair made him think otherwise. The unique feeling had a way of softening him up.

"Worrying about you…I can’t just lay here and sleep knowing you out and working yourself to the ground. And I…can’t sleep without you." He answers in a hush, leaning back against his pillow. "So do you…" Y/N replied, a tired giggle following suit as he continued.

"I know you worry about everything else except yourself. You need some of that worry too, can’t be strong for other people when you’re exhausting yourself." The man’s arms tightened around Mike’s body as he nuzzled his cheek to the other man’s stomach. At the mention of his own exhaustion, Mike’s eyes began to flutter closed his lips softly grow to a bashful smile. His breaths growing deeper and steady as he lets himself embrace the edges of sleep.

His hand playing with Y/N’s hair slows, he whispers back. "What did I do to deserve someone like you?" That question makes Y/N grin, indulging the pleasant warmth between the two. Allowing the sentimental moment to linger before his drowsy brain responses for him. "You were nice to me and gave me snacks when we were kids. And like an outdoor cat, I always come back for food…and those amazing head scratches."

Rumbles of giggles make their way out of Mike, the image of Y/N as a cat now permanently stuck in his mind, his smile now widening. “Ah, so you came back here because you needed someone to look after, spoil you with snacks, and baby you in bed?” He questions in his slurry whisper.

“The babying and spoiling are an added bonus…and I may have grown to start liking your presence at some point.” Y/N answers, adding a little heartfelt confession as he drifts to unconsciousness. “I also might have grown to like your presence around here too…a lot.” Mike says, following his boyfriend to a peaceful sleep.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights of any of the characters I write about, all the rights go to their respective creators.

[magistralucis]

Home sweet home [Trazyn/Orikan snippet]

(Working on a full version of this necrontyr Trazyn/Orikan request from @beril66 from some weeks ago. This is a snippet near the very beginning of the fic. Trazyn accepts Orikan's invitation to visit his private sanctum, under the condition he refrain from touching things without permission; given that they're flirting shamelessly before they've had the chance to sit down, you can see where this will end. 😂

Fic will be NSFW but this snippet isn't. Just two wise men having a wander.)

------------

"By the gods." Trazyn exclaimed in a whisper as they stepped past the door. "What is that?"

So Sannet had kept his secret, after all. Orikan was pleased. "It is the void, my lord."

"Over Mandragora?"

Orikan nodded. Trazyn had little choice but to accept it for the time being, but through the initial minutes of their entry he kept glancing up in disbelief. After all, despite the cryptek's claims, this void contained absolutely nothing of the Mandragoran skyscape.

The sanctum was about the size of a banquet-hall. Shelves and desks partitioned out each section, and the boundaries of the room's ceiling melted permanently outwards to a night sky swirling with stars. Since Trazyn had seen the tower building was domed, sealed over in other words, this was unusual; what was more, the skies over Mandragora were hazy at this time of year, whereas the sanctum's void was as clear as nowhere on the planet was. The works of sandstorms, towering industrial complexes, and falling stars did not exist in this place. Frozen in time, the mastery of chronomancers.

"Please come in. There's so much more to see."

Trazyn's cane clicked softly on the ground. Orikan lit a gauss-lamp and slipped his hand into the lord's. Save for starlight that was the only sort of illumination in the sanctum, glowing from standing braziers and orbucula studded along the walls, tinting everything viridian.

Laid out on a platform were several pieces of sempiternal weave, given to me by the Ogdobekh to examine, lord archivist. Lining the shelves were the tomes Orikan had collected over a lifetime of learning, including the ones recently gifted to him by Trazyn, copied in the archivist's own exquisite hand. Small elaborate glassworks dotted one cabinet, each refracting trapped light into infinite pools, hints of his interest in plasmancy. Trazyn rather thought they resembled Orikan's eyes. "Green they are, as green as spring, yet simmering with the void's furnace. They seem to me the way you gazed when we were met for the first time."

"Really?"

Orikan looked askance at him, somewhere between startled and smiling. It was not generally accurate to claim the Diviner saw anybody, for his eyes held the emptiness of oracles, forever unfocused and unbound to present realities. Most necrontyr lords felt this to be unbearably insolent (one of the many reasons why chronomancers went veiled) so for an overlord to remark on it fondly was a change. "I confess I'm skeptical they seemed like anything, since I was under my veil at the time."

"Now the master doth protest too much," Trazyn sighed in mock-aggravation, much to the Diviner's delight. "I still saw you, Orikan, we were many days at Gheden together. Do you not recall the tea-breaks, those long recesses, the banquets we the Nihilakh threw in honour of our guests? You had to lift the cloth sometime."

Orikan stifled a laugh. In those days he'd been an untiled cryptek, and Trazyn a young brash lord of Gheden, and they had probably spent more time being scolded by their respective dynasties than talking to one another. Still, they'd made an impression. "But then it isn't right to say it was the first time, would it?"

They moved further into the sanctum. Homelike objects began to appear, tea-things and cushions and robes hanging against the wall, and Trazyn surveyed each aspect with a different kind of fascination than before. "Whether it was or wasn't, it was enough times to promote your starlit eyes to truth. You look at me perfectly well nowadays, I've years of empirical evidence to prove it." He glanced back, fondly exasperated. "For the love of the solar gods, Orikan, would you rather I said they were dull?"

In other words: it's a compliment, dear one, learn to take it. The astromancer thought that was fair. "I suppose not, my lord."

"Trazyn." The archivist turned fully to face him, their hands still joined in the middle. Already his flesh burned with want. "You know you may call me Trazyn, like before. I'd rather gotten used to it."

Orikan smiled playfully. "Lord."

At that the archivist broke his word and drew the cryptek into an embrace, kissing him fiercely at once. Orikan allowed it, for as far as silencing methods went, he enjoyed this one greatly. With that they established that the rules were malleable that night, and that with a little patience and creativity, something wonderful might come of it.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 8 Flight of the Noldor.

Yavanna cannot make the Trees again because That's How Things Work. At least we get a clear statement (again) that she did create their light, so sorry musicals, the Trees did not contain the Flame Imperishable. (I know in one abandoned later revision they kind of maybe did, but also it is like nails on chalkboard to me)

And Yavanna says that their harm would be undone and Melkor's evil would not reach its goal. Very Yavanna thing to say, very "where's the undo button". I'm not a fan. Like, I get her and it's not evil or smth… but… sorry, my pretty green lady, this doesn't work like this.

Tulkas. Can't you just sit still? (No, he can't.)

"Not the first one"! This line always makes me smile, it's just so "random oneliners to say". (I don't think Namo is rude, I think he's just quite alien and doesn't understand CoI and their psychology)

Despite being left to brood in silence, Feanor is paranoid anyway. :(

Capital D Darkness again — it's Ungoliant's stuff.

Finwë died on the threshold of Formenos — defending the house, but it is assumed, I think, because everyone else ran away. Either he had a weapon in hand, or they just assumed he was not trying to run away. Anyway nvm the narrative frame, the indent is that he was defending the house, so ok, why not. Very brave of him.

Feanáro curses a lot:

curses Melkor and renames him

curses Manwë's summons (so it was Manwë who ordered him to come? This would be some overstepping. I'll assume it was Manwë inviting him personally to come and Ingwë ordering him. Or just Manwë ordering him to come not as his ruler, but as ruler of this land, like "if you want any chance to be unbanned from Tirion, you must come")

curses the hour when he left home (very puzzling thing to do imo, but it is a genre thing I suppose)

Melkor wanted to kill Feanor mostly. So the book says. i am honestly surprised he didn't— oh wait. Maybe putting the Silmarils on his face and the pain was what made him shift from "kill Feanáro and his kin" to… well, all those stuff he did with Maedhros.

Morgoth can't ditch the spider. :D I suppose this confirms that now he is fixed in his body. She calls him Black Heart (derogatory, I suppose?) which nobody else does. It is kind of cute when your overgrown ex-pet murder spider has a pet name for you. :P

The "I rule the worls" stuff. I think this is the first time we see him say it (at least in the well-established canon timeline).

The Silmarils are in a box, and they still start burning him. So:

the burning increases or at least increases until it reaches its full level

they are small enough and Morgoth is big enough that he can hold the box with them all in his hand (right. does it have any meaning?)

It's confirmed that Morgoth had given Ungoliant some of his power and she'd grown and he'd lessenned. I assume it was during their initial negotiations.

She puts a web on him if not a full cocoon. The Balrogs have to free him with the flaming ...I forgot the word.

Also, the Balrogs were hiding in the deep dungeons after Angband, which suggests they did not work for/with Sauron. they seem very much like Morgoth's private guard. Also, they free him without question despite the fact that he seems pretty weak at this point.

The Balrogs have no problem chasing away Ungoliant, I attribute it to their connection with light (or at least fire. But fire is a kind of light, even their fire).

Yavanna was afraid that the Silmarils would be eaten by the darkness. this sounds very much like her.

Morgoth:

calls himself king of the world (the contrast of this and his situation...)

his hands are permanently black with burns and always in pain (which angers him even more)

also his crown seems to hurt him

seriously what is wrong with you?

you need therapy

seriously is insane at this point

also has a super powerful aura of fear

The Valar sit and (think, I guess), their courts (Maiar and Vanyar) cry about the Trees, the Noldor go back to Tirion. Suddenly Feanor. Who technically is still banished, which I think is more of a case of "the Valar had other priorities and he didn't ask" or "we aren't going to let him back to his brother in this state of emotions because there wil be more murders" than "revenge for not giving the Silmarils o Yavanna".

Also, now, of all times, is when many of the Noldor learn about the Men being a thing. Because before that Melkor told a few in secret and tehy apparently told Feanáro in secret… Peak unfortune timing. Peak planning on Melkor's side (not that he could now appraciate it).

Also, in Polish it's not "jealous gods", but "jealous Valar" which is interesting, but I think it makes sense. Still, it is out-Tolkiening the Tolkien I think.

Oh. Another part I need in English, because it's so important.

After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’ [src]

Oh my. It is so much.

First, it is obvious that "reclaim the Silmarils" is (in his mind) the relatively easy, or at least short, part.

Second: "We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda!" I don't think this needs any comments.

Aaaand then they swear the Oath.

It's just one huge downward spiral, and he talks himself into it. Yes, trauma, but why are you pouring gasoline on it??? They all need… a lot. And to stop pouring gasoline on everything.

Fefe. I am so dissapointed with you. I am sad. I don't have the words for this. Also, you hate Morgoth, but you two are so similar sometimes.

Oh, and in the Silm they do not call Eru, they call the Everlasting Darkness to claim them if they break their oath. At least according to the translation. also, yes, revenge and hatered is mentioned, but no requirement to succeed in killing the offenders.

Galadriel is enthusiastic about Feanáro's plans, even though she dislikes him. :P

Manwë is silent, because he doesn't want to stop Feanor. Because he careas about the Noldor feeling enslaved! At least the translation says it pretty clearly. They (the Valar, or at least M&V) sit and watch, hoping that the Noldor will calm down.

Politics, politics… Fingolfin goes because Fingon, and the people, and he promised. Mentioned in this order.

90% of all the Noldor go (to Alqualonde and north, it's unclear how many came back with Finarfin). I wonder if it is of all the Noldor or just of the male Noldor. Because most of the women seem to stay.

Eonwë (not named, but seems like him. Technically it may be another Maia) comes to give them advice. Just an advice. Explicitely says that the Valar will not stop them and they came freely, they can leave freely.

Finarfin and Finrod and all the "wisest of Noldor" are in the back and carry a lot of stuff. Good for them.

Túna was nearly at the equator! Oh. interesting. They are very, very far from the Helcaraxe, and I assume nobody invited navigation without seeing the shores (sorry I don't know the English one word term for this). So they have a logistics problem.

The Teleri seem to refuse any help because they don't want to go against the Valar. Even though the Valar did not forbid it, they just said it was a bad idea. The Teleri just trust them, because Ulmo is cool. Also, they don't have much experience with Morgoth and assume "the Valar will fix it all".

An arguement ensues.

Fefe leaves, broods, and returns to Alqualonde when he has enough army. Then he starts seizing the ships. The Teleri push the Noldor to water, a fight ensues. Fingon join them and assumed that the Teleri were ordered by the Valar to stop the Noldor and attacked them. So, Finarfin and his team was not there. Fingolfin might not be at the battle either?

Olwë calls Ossë for help (so, he did survive), and we have the hilarious "I can't because the Valar forbade us to stop the Noldor. However, my wife, who has a clear recorc, will drown them with her crying anyway."

Blatant ad for the Maglor. "…for more details, see the Noldolante…" This is hilarious.

so they all go far, and it takes a long time. Some (most trusted by Feanor) go on the ships, other on foot. they travel from the equator to, idk, but a pretty cold area.

And only then, after probably weeks of travel, they get Namo(or is it?) and the Doom of the Noldor. (I need to correct one of my fics. This fact makes it 3 times more hilarious. even with the Maiarin teleportation).

Finarfin comes back, and he walks all the distance back. Has a lot of time to think, I guess. Many elves join him, but no number estimates or percentages. :(

The rest go further north.

Helcaraxe was assumed impassable. So no, nobody could predict Fingolfin would led his people there.

This was a very, very long chapter.

[lizzerswillpoststuffmethinks]

So. Another rant under the cut

I'd like to start this with; Elizabeth might be the animatronic that talks the most in FNaF, because bro does NOT SHUT UP!!! She's like me frfr. Anyways HEJAKHD

This is gonna be a silly rant. She's my favourite character, I probably went through her voice lines multiple times, but hey It won't hurt to do that again right

So, starting with.... No, i'm not gonna comment on Sister Location, that woman talks more than Phone Guy 😭

HOWEVER, FFPS HAS INTERESTING STUFF

For example she has a line saying "You don't really know who your employer is, do you?" Which is interesting. Very, very interesting. She's obviously talking about Henry, the line is directed at Michael. So how did she even knows Henry runs the whole thing?

Then, she has 2 other voice lines; "you're not who I expected to see" and "you should've known I'd find you". These two lines are SO confusing, they contradict each other in a way. She didn't expect Michael, but Michael should've known she'd find him? Weird. But sure. We'll take the doubt FOR THE MOMENT

Then she has a "It feels like home" voice line. Which. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it's because everybody is there? Except for her mother and little brother. It could be. But also It doesn't feel like It would be for that reason, why would she feel like home with Scraptrap and Michael? I'm sure she doesn't even know Michael was there, she wouldn't attack him if so. And Scraptrap would be the only one she has left, how does It "feel like home"?

Then, of course, my favourite voice lines; "I guess you forgot about me" she has two of these, in one she seems ti remark the "me", in the other she'd just sad. She says that to William, since it's in UCN. Sooooo. Hm. I guess that says something about the Aftons! Then my point that she wanted to kill William, not Michael, gets yet another proof with the "want to see the scooping room?" Voice line

And Scrap Baby seems incredibly hateful, she's just. 😨 In UCN. Why does she treat William well in FFPS but wants to tear him apart in UCN? Well. Good question. Who knows, maybe she realized William does not care yet again

She's unhinged in every game don't mind her

I mean unless it's in FNaF AR cuz she's coming to kill you!!1!1!1!!1!1! Anyways her voice lines in FNaF AR is just... Hmmm comparable? To UCN Scrap Baby. "I can hear you breathing, but not for long." LIKE. hUH. It's kinda funny how in that same voice line she's just "I can hear you breathing✨✨✨✨💞🫶🫶🫶 but not for long 😠💀💀🫵" if that makes sense. If It didn't make sense then L womp womp

Like GIIIIRL WHY SO OMNIOUSSS "I wonder what will happen when I try to scoop you out of your..."Carton"..." GIRLLLL 😭😭 STOP SCOOPING PEOPLE CHALLENGE IMPOSSIBLE 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Can you tell it's 7AM and haven't slept yet

Anyway the way she kinda threatens you but also doesn't is a bit creepy because. Literally her voice lines. Like she's obviously threatening but also giving you "tips" on survival? Like "If you are very, very quiet, maybe I will not find you". She's saying she WILL find you but if you keep quiet maybe she won't. Threat and also a tip for survival

Then we have the "soon you will be as broken as I am" I don't know if she means I will die or if I will get trauma because both work in this situation /silly

Dude in FNaF Help Wanted she has the funniest lines that don't have voice yet (??) or something the wiki doesn't have an audio 😭

ALSO 😭 I find It funny that she goes "TISK TISK"

The minigames. She says It so mischeviously and FOR WHAT. "Red light 🤓, green light >:)"

"Looks like you are underperforming. This will go in your permanent record" NOOOOOOO dude i'm 100% sure she just heard this going around the restaurants or just William or something 😭

OR MY FAVOURITE VOICE LINE ☝️ "do I need to call HR?"

I need the audio I didn't hear It but it's the voice line ever

"I like it here. It's safe, safe forever." Sometimes her voice lines make me think she didn't want to get out of the circus. Maybe William and her family made the world seem like a dangerous place to her. Like how maybe they did to Evan. Or maybe she just thought she made some kind of new family in the circus, which could be a possibility too, except everybody is also insane. Maybe she simply likes being the boss of something, and, in the circus, being the face of Circus Baby's Entretainment and Rentals was what gave her the chance to be the boss of her own group. Maybe nobody complained there or she felt approved in that envieroment with people that understood her and were in the same situation as her. Why wouldn't she want freedom? She mentioned It was "safe here". The circus could be maybe considered a second home for her. Why would she "want freedom", is what there is to ask. It's not like her concept of freedom is the same as everybody else's. Freedom could mean not be trapped underground for some, how do we know her freedom isn't the ability to do whatever she wants? She's the "boss", so she can do whatever, and the rest would listen, because she's CB, she's the pre assigned leader of the circus

Anyways she's so silly AND so right

Anyway she can also ask what makes you so special, more stuff to think about!!1!1!!1!!!!1!!!!!!!!

Aaand we all know she ends up giving you ice cream. I find It a funny moment, because you KNOW you're going to die like Elizabeth if you take the ice cream, but she keeps telling you to take It which makes you think you'll die either way if you don't take It either

Anyway. She doesn't kill you if you take the ice cream. She may manipulate you and backstab you to use you as a skin suit but she would never betray you and offer you ice cream just to take It everything (including your life) away 🫶

[olympeline]

I've definitely been bitten by the writing bug for Hetalia. I just started a FrUK superhero AU fic based on a certain mid-00s movie. Going well, but I'd still love to have a beta look over it. Especially since I've been out of the fandom for so long and am rusty on details. My usual beta isn't into Hetalia so she can't help me, which is a bummer

So yeah, if you're a beta who's available and might be interested in taking a look over this fic, maybe get in touch? I'd be super grateful!

If not, please just enjoy some FrUK fun :>

Mr. & Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland

He was going to be late.

Francis rolled back the silk sleeve of his costume and checked his watch. Night had fallen outside the dingy warehouse where he and his allies were waiting, but on the ceiling a light blinked weakly. Providing just enough illumination for Francis to see the numbers on the face of his rolex. Scratch that, he was already late. Arthur would not be pleased, and Francis’s husband was never one to be shy about sharing his displeasure. Especially recently. Francis wasn’t foolish enough to have his phone on him at times like this but, if he had, he knew it would soon be blowing up with texts from his rightfully irritated spouse.

They’d quarreled about Francis’s lateness just last night when he’d come in long after dark. Francis’s excuse was work as always. Arthur hadn’t been in the mood to hear it.

“Too many nights in a row, Francis! For God’s sake, tell someone else to do it!”

“I can’t, cher. We are just so busy with the new line. They need me.”

“You’re telling me there’s not a single designer at Saint Bonnefoy who can fill in for you for one sodding night?” Arthur’s angry tone was laced with disbelief. “What the bloody hell did you hire them for, then?!”

“Forgive me, mon amour. This is too important. I will try to be home sooner tomorrow.”

Arthur had glared at him, eyes narrowed to green slits. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but had stomped back to the kitchen to stress bake instead. A plate of charcoal scones for his dinner was a fitting punishment, Francis supposed. He also supposed that Arthur might not have let Francis off the hook so easily if not for the fact he often worked late himself.

“Sorry, love. Had to look over Lovino’s latest before leaving. Needed a lot of revisions.”

“Of course, lapin. I understand.”

Francis was a fashion designer with his own label and a permanent slot on the roster of every catwalk in the world. Arthur worked as a journalist for the French branch of a world renowned London newspaper. Both of them put in long hours and had done so ever since they’d met. They each knew the demands of the other’s career and Arthur, like Francis, usually showed a lot of understanding. Usually. His patience had frayed recently from night after night spent alone in their apartment. Missed dates, dinners, and outings galore. Guilt gnawed at Francis along with deep seated irritation and regret that he couldn’t just explain his constant absences. His other life had been making great demands on his time as of late.

What was Francis’s other life? An outsider might have guessed an affair but Francis would never. No, no, nothing so gauche as cheating. The truth was that Francis Bonnefoy-Kirkland was a supervillain. A deviant with an alter-ego known and feared throughout Paris and beyond. By day, he was Francis: the gorgeous, chic, undisputed king of couture. By night, he was Rose Noir; florakinetic, thief, and - before he met Arthur - gentleman seducer extraordinaire. Sometimes he worked alone, sometimes as one third of Night’s Europa: a villainous trio composed of himself, Matador, and the Teutonic Knight. Or Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt to their friends.

For three years Francis had balanced his marriage, his job, and his heists with the practiced ease of a multi-tasking, metropolitan CEO. Recently, this had changed and Francis suddenly had far less time to devote to Saint Bonnefoy and, more importantly, Arthur. Antonio and Gilbert were in the same boat and often brought gloomy tidings of the diminishing harmony in their respective personal lives. 

All thanks to the man who had become the default leader of Night’s Europa for the last half a year: General Winter. The villain that all members of the trio now had to listen to whether they liked it or not.

And Francis most certainly did not.

Neither did Antonio or Gilbert but unfortunately there was nothing they could do. Not if they wanted to go on living. Life had been so much sweeter when they were a simple team of three out for riches. Then one day Matador walked into their hideout with a strange, tight expression that Rose Noir and the Teutonic Knight could see even through his mask. He told them he’d been approached by Killer Frost (one of the General’s subordinates) with a “request” from the big boss: an alliance between the Blizzard gang and Night’s Europa.

From a tactical standpoint it made sense. Many villains had migrated to Paris in recent years, which in turn led to a surge in heroes arriving to try and control them. Once heavy hitters like Freedom’s Eagle and the Jade Dragon arrived and started throwing villains in jail left and right, the writing was on the wall: making friends was a good idea if you wanted to stay free. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert all wanted to refuse the alliance even so, but they couldn’t. Everyone - hero, villain, or civilian - knew what happened to those foolish enough to cross General Winter. Even Freedom’s Eagle, the world’s current no.1 hero, struggled when up against the General. Feared him too, if villainous scuttlebutt was to be believed.

Saying “no” was off the table. So the three villains reluctantly sent their acquiescence back with Killer Frost, and Night’s Europa entered an uneasy alliance with the Blizzard gang. They met with them soon after in the dockside warehouse that the four Eastern Europeans used as their base.

“I am very glad you all are agreeing.”

The General’s voice was high-pitched for a man of such huge stature. His blank, white mask hid his face completely, but Francis could hear the smile in his voice.

“I am thinking we will be very good together, da?”

Francis, Antonio and Gilbert nodded in silence. Da.

Everything had changed after that. The alliance between the Blizzard gang and Night’s Europa was supposed to be an equilateral one. General Winter had promised that they would decide on the details of each heist democratically. Technically, he had told the truth: they did vote. The reality was that Killer Frost, Snow Warning, and Ice Winder all voted however General Winter did. Not out of loyalty, but because they were simply too terrified of their leader to do otherwise. They’d seen his brutality up close.

Night’s Europa had that pleasure not long after the first meeting. A bank job interrupted by a naive, suicidally stupid, young hero trying to punch far above his weight. Heroes were enemies and Rose Noir took pleasure running rings around them, then leaving them bruised and humiliated. That didn’t mean Francis would ever forget the look in the young man’s eyes as he died. The sounds of his screams as the General slowly broke and tore him apart, inch by inch.

“You are very naughty boy,” the General cooed over all the pleading and sobbing. “Very naughty. Naughty children must be-” a wrench, a snap, a shriek of agony. “-taught.”

By the time the hero was dead, the white of the General’s costume had been dyed a deep red all the way up past his elbows.

They’d been forced to watch the entire sadistic spectacle. Afterwards, once alone, Francis had staggered to the nearest alleyway, pulled up his mask, vomited everything in his stomach, and kept retching long after that. Then he went home and clung to Arthur all night. As a supervillain, Francis was certainly no angel, but this was something else. This was evil. This was sick.

“Don’t,” Killer Frost said when Matador and the Teutonic Knight had confronted him after that first murder. “I know what you’re going to say. Just don’t. Please…just do what he says. Just obey him.”

“Why stay with the psycho?” Gilbert demanded. “You saw what he did! He’s fucking insane!”

“I know,” Killer Frost replied in an accent Francis guessed was Lithuanian or close. “I know that. How could you think I don’t?”

“Then why listen to him? Why not fight back? It’s three against one!”

“Six with all of us,” Antonio put in.

“Ja, totally! Come on, freezer burn, we could take him!”

But Killer Frost just silently shook his head and would not be moved. Neither would Snow Warning or Ice Winder. Without their support, what could be done? Francis wasn’t confident they could take on the General even with their help. Without, it was suicide.

“If you try to leave over this, he’ll kill you,” Frost said dully. “It’s you or them. And if he can’t get to you, he’ll get to someone you love.”

“He doesn’t know who we are,” Francis argued.

“He’ll find out. Trust me, he’ll find out somehow. And then…”

Killer Frost’s breath hitched.

“Just…don’t make trouble, Rose. Please. Please just don’t.”

Francis wanted to brush off Frost’s words, but they had sparked a sickening fear in him in spite of himself. Francis thought of Arthur. Winter getting to him may have been an empty threat, but could Francis really afford to take that risk? He pictured coming home and finding their apartment wrecked, the General waiting for him in the rubble, his costume once again soaked with blood.

Blood staining the carpets. Blood splattered on familiar furniture. A body on the floor. Blond hair turned scarlet hanging limp over a caved in skull. Green eyes open but seeing nothing.

The terror was too much. Francis decided to behave himself. Antonio and Gilbert must have felt the same fear because they didn’t raise any more objections. Just kept quiet and pretended not to see or hear what they could never hope to forget.

What bitter irony that the man who called himself their ally was giving Francis more turmoil and sleepless nights than his nemesis ever had.

Francis heard the metallic creak of the door opening and pulled himself free of bleak thoughts.

“We are here! And look: I bring someone for a visit.”

The General was back at last. Back and dragging another unfortunate victim. A very familiar looking victim. Francis did a double take.

Speak of the devil.

The man General Winter dragged was a hero. One that Rose Noir knew well; from the white plume on his hat, down to the hem of his famous red coat:

The Pirate Gentleman.

One of Europe’s premier superheroes and a member of the international J7 team led by Freedom’s Eagle. Famous in equal parts for his aquakinetic powers, his checkered past as an ex-supervillain, and his hot temper complete with salty mouth and angry tirades that would put the most ornery sailor to shame. He also happened to be Rose Noir’s arch enemy.

“Though not a very nice guest, I am fearing. So rude. Very uncooperative, also.”

General Winter shoved the Pirate Gentleman out in front of him and the smaller man staggered and then went down hard, unable to keep his footing. Francis saw blood matting the back of his hair. This and the way he moved suggested a concussion. The Pirate was bloody all over: battered and bruised like he’d been set on by a heavyweight boxer. Which wouldn’t be far from the truth if he’d been brawling with General Winter. Who was nearly as strong as Freedom’s Eagle on top of his infamous cryokinetic abilities.

“But then we talked,” the General suddenly giggled, high pitched and chilling. “Talked and talked and talked, yes, yes! YES!”

He drew back a steel tipped boot and slammed it into the Pirate Gentleman’s unguarded ribs. The hero choked, heaved and spat out a glob of blood mixed with saliva. Francis tried not to wince and risk drawing attention to himself. That kick had to have cracked a few bones. Those that weren’t cracked already.

These last four years, the Pirate Gentleman had been, if you’d excuse the irony, a real thorn in Rose Noir’s side. Ever since he’d left his native London to help combat the French capital’s rising supervillain problem. Prowling the streets looking for trouble, he’d soon bumped into Night’s Europa and, rather than wait for backup, jumped into the fray to take on all three himself.

“Fucking ballsy,” Gilbert said afterwards. “Gotta admit it. I’m gonna break every bone in the shitty limey’s body next time I see him, but still. Gotta say it like it is: guy’s got a pair on him!”

Francis and Gilbert had to grudgingly agree. Grudgingly because they’d just lost the night’s jewels to their pop-up foe and giving him any kind of compliment stung, however deserved. Such beautiful specimens of emerald. Much better to be adorning Rose Noir’s elegant hands than cooped up in some stuffy museum. Francis still might have forgiven the Pirate Gentleman and allowed him to slip down into the category of “easily ignored irritation” like most of Paris’s other heroes. If the foul mouthed rosbif hadn't had the bare faced nerve to insult Francis’s professional pride the next time they met.

“Didn’t realize I was still in the West End! Who designed your outfit, frog? Andrew Lloyd Webber?”

Francis’s jaw had dropped. Worse, he was so distracted by the hero’s appalling remark that he’d let his focus slip enough that the Pirate had almost pinned him. If not for Matador and the Teutonic Knight, Rose Noir would have ended the night in jail.

After that it was on. Oh, it was on.

Rose Noir’s gift gave him power over plants, including the ability to grow them fully from seed in seconds. Meanwhile, the Pirate Gentleman’s gift was controlling water. A substance in plentiful supply thanks to the pipes and canals that ran through the city. Butting heads, scuffling, and brawling, they soon found out they were evenly matched. All over Paris they’d played their game of cat and mouse and Francis lost many a treasure to the Pirate’s exasperating dogooder ways.

Even so, Francis would not have wished this on him. The man was a foul mouthed, uncultured, pest, but even he didn’t deserve what was surely coming to him. All he had left to hope for now was a quick death.

“But perhaps all is too hasty. Perhaps our friend has been thinking it over and now has a new perspective, hm?”

General Winter rolled his prey onto his back and pressed his boot down on those wounded ribs. The Gentleman Pirate gasped and wheezed, a line of blood bubbling and trickling from the corner of his mouth. He probably had a punctured lung.

“Perhaps he reconsiders the Blizzard gang’s kind offer? Perhaps he remembers his past and knows the leopard isn’t changing its spots so easily? Perhaps he sees friends of snow all stronger and better together, rather than sad and alone…?”

Ahh, so that was it. The General took pride in the fact that all the snow and ice based supervillains were part of the gang he’d founded. Making them part of his twisted family whether they wanted it or not. The Pirate Gentlemen’s power over water gave him some cryokinetic skills. He’d be a perfect addition to Winter’s little “collection.” General Winter must have approached him the way he did Night’s Europa, but the Pirate Gentleman would have turned him down flat. Everyone in the hero/villain community knew he was reformed, ferociously so. Too bad for him the General obviously hadn’t taken the rejection well.

The Pirate’s lips were moving. General Winter bent down and cupped a hand to his ear.

“Sorry? You are saying what?”

“F-f-fuck you…”

The General slammed his boot down. They all heard the sickening crack. The Pirate Gentleman jerked forward as much as he could while still pinned, mouth open in a silent scream. Then he fell back; twitching, jerking, and choking on red froth. Even Gilbert looked nauseated.

“You are very silly man,” General Winter said serenely.

He reached down and pinched the corner of the Pirate Gentleman’s mask between his forefinger and thumb. Francis’s eyebrows jumped up in shock. Surely, he wasn’t going to-?

“Silly, silly, silly. Let’s see the silly, silly face.”

The General tore off the Pirate mask in one fluid motion. Revealing the bloody and bruised face beneath.

Francis’s heart stopped.

Arthur.

Arthur. It was Arthur. Francis’s husband. The man he’d pledged his life to and promised to love till the end of his days. The Pirate Gentleman was Arthur. His Arthur.

He had been all this time. Every time they’d fought, it had been Arthur under that mask.

Francis couldn’t take it in. It was like he’d stumbled into a dream, it was-

General Winter’s hand was wrapped around Arthur’s throat. Francis had seen him snap necks like toothpicks many times.

“NO! STOP!”

[siphersaysstuff]

New for G2!

Know what I haven't done in a hot minute? A Patreon-backed @tfwiki pic thread about toys from before the turn of the century! Ha haa god I'm old.

Anyway, let's look at some of the new toys made for GENERATION 2, easily one of my all-time favorite eras of TF. I was the exact target demographic for the original TF line, but it was just one of many toylines I liked. I never had a lot. But G2 came when I started having disposable income, and at the dawning of internet fandom, and the innovations it made turned me into a TF FAN and long-time collector.

And before we start, everyone give thanks to Takara designer Takio Ejima (江島 多規男). He designed SO MANY TFs from this era to today, and is responsible for creating the light-piping and balljoint articulation that first appeared in these years.

The "Autobot Cars" became instant favorites (especially Rapido). The European releases were called AXELERATORS (a far cooler name) and had gorgeous hot-pink translucent parts instead of the US versions' smoky black. (Skram, Windbreaker, Rapido (old pic), Turbofire (old pic))

Of course, the "Decepticon Jet" counterparts, aka SKYSCORCHERS, were also adored. Weapons stored in vehicle mode were still rare, and thankfully the US versions kept that lovely bright-green translucent plastic. (Windrazor, Terradive, Afterburner (old pic), Eagle Eye (old pic))

The LASER RODS didn't just have light-up parts, they were the first super-articulated TFs! They used the G.I.Joe O-ring and steel hips construction, which was very awkward and made standing them tricky. (Electro, Volt, Sizzle, Jolt)

Following up are the LASER CYCLES, which use the Cyberjet ball-joint tech for much more stable advanced articulation. Road Pig and Road Rocket (old pic) also keep their lights permanently plugged into their weapons, where the Rods had you move the light from engine to hand.

On the other end of the articulation are the GO-BOTS, small and simple toys designed to work with Matchbox/Hot Wheels-scale playsets. Gearhead here was first released with clear parts, then again in the second wave with opaques… the first of many, MANY redecoes for this lot.

(No really, the six Go-Bots were released in like TEN different decos each all told over the course of eight years. It's amazing the steel molds weren't cheese by the end of it.)

The last toys released in G2 (in the US at least), the AUTO-ROLLERS (Dirtbag & Roadblock) are absolute units. Their back/lower halves have involved gearing that, when you flip a switch, makes them auto-transform to robot when rolled forward, or to vehicle when rolled back.

There's loads more delightful toys in this line, but I've already done pics of most of them, like the water-shooters (sadly my US versions are pretty rough), Rotor Force, Heroes, and the Australia/New Zealand exclusive Power Masters. Try 'em, you'll like 'em.

And if you enjoy these looks back on TF toy history and want to see even more pics per month, please consider joining my Patreon. Every little bit helps out. You can find it at

www dot patreon dot com slash gregstfwikipics

[mamamittens]

Should be asleep, you know what that means!

Side note before the tangent for my OC for serotonin and rubber ducking, got the sketch done for my next December event piece. And work is almost optimistic about letting us out at a normal time again. We'll see if that holds... Tuesday traffic is the worst. Saw someone once peel onto the main street from a side road across the two lanes going the other direction to wildly swerve into the proper side of traffic, nearly run into the green covered median with a tree, wildly swerve and nearly hit a car, only to settle down in the far left lane line they didn't go about 20 miles too fast for that shit.... Thankfully traffic was light at the time and barely anyone on that particular road, but still!

Okay, so here's a hilarious fun fact about myself.

I'm actually quite scared of heights. Like, unimpeded heights get to me. I need solid walls and minimal contact with a window to feel comfy and looking down still wigs me out. And my fear response is actually freeze except under very specific conditions (if I know someone is fucking with me, that freeze turns into burning hate and I either explode or freeze to keep from catching a charge). I remember being on the... Lily pads??? In a water park and getting scared halfway and the guards having to help me get down cause I was in tears despite thinking I could handle it. Also nearly drowned in the wave pool cause I was dumb enough to park right under the guard chair near the end where the waves were biggest and was exhausted by the time it calmed down... Anyway!

Point being, it would be interesting to put that into a character. I often see fear presented in running away, misdirection, or pondering. Rarely do I get to see a character be afraid and emotional about it in a complicated way. Usually because I acknowledge that from an outside perspective it's really annoying if you're not invested in that fear. Like, do we really have time for the theatrics? Get over it already???

Where was I going with this??? Oh! Flying!

I thought it would be interesting to have Nikia fear heights! Being pretty timid in general, actually. Scared to take risks. So when she realizes her wings are growing so much so that she could fly shes so excited at first! But then when she goes to the updraft area to practice she's frozen. She can't move. She knows in theory she should be fine, even without her wings being big enough for independent flight, but it's still scary as hell.

So she chickens out and goes home incredibly upset. Possibly for days, barely eating because she just can't do it even though she really wants to. Ashamed, embarrassed, and angry at herself. Maybe it leads to a bonding moment with her pirate dad over fear and risks. Reassuring her and getting a glider to fly with her so she's not alone. And going back every time until she finally says it's okay if he stays behind.

He'd go in secret anyway, so damn proud that she's doing it despite being scared still. He'd likely drill flight and escape plans into her, aware that she's not totally safe from harm up there. Including the inspiration for her favorite takeout move of pretending to get hit, spinning 'out of control' and using it to take a pot shot at her attacker.

His crew would likely also teach her how to defend herself with something a little more personal. Haven't decided what exactly, but I like the idea of something that doesn't appear to be deadly or aggressive. Defensive in nature like a staff or fans. Something she can fidget with and carry easily. Possibly childish in nature due to reasons that I'll get into later. She may still have knives and a spare revolver on her person but that's more of a 'i need a permanent solution' type of deal. Her wings can also work in a pinch but she's reluctant to use them primarily because it's so hard to treat injuries on her wings due to their size. Does mean they hit very hard though.

Now, she really hates sparing because she doesn't believe in hurting people she loves. Sparing goes against that really hard because to learn you need to go all out at least at first. And it's just too anxiety inducing until someone suggests she treats it like a game. So she never gets worked up (she's slightly competitive despite trying not to be a sore loser whoops) to take it too far and finds her customer service voice creepy. Really comes off as sadistic, ngl

[sonseulsoleil]

tagged by @twosoulsinonehome (thanks Mia!)

> Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics, then tag ten people! If you’ve written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway. <

Alright, they're all gonna be Heartstopper/narlie fics. I almost waited to do this until I post a lotr fic (because...it's gonna happen) but I need to finish the books first. And they are long. Anyways. From most recent to least recent:

it's not simple to say (most days I don't recognize me) 

It starts the night Charlie—it starts the first night Charlie is in hospital. Nick isn’t allowed to see him—only family can stay overnight, and no matter how much Nick loves Charlie, he still isn’t legally family. 

2. hush, hush (don't give it away) 

Nick Nelson and Charlie Spring had been dating for almost four months—three months, two weeks, four days, eighteen hours, and 11 minutes, to be exact. Not that Nick’d been counting or anything. 

3. it's much too early in the game (but I thought I'd ask you just the same) 

Nick shivered in the cold December wind and pulled his blue coat tighter around his body. Despite the multiple layers he was wearing, he could still feel the bitter cold seeping into his bones.

4. sugar, butter, flour (what a mess I'm making) 

Nellie's Nibbles was a small bakery, with pale blue walls and two large front-facing windows. Nick had picked the space for the windows, loving the flood of natural light that spilt in through them every day.

5. Fantasyland

“My feet hurt,” Charlie announced. “I think you should give me a piggyback ride.” 

6. come sail away with me 

Charlie sat at his desk, going over his packing checklist for the Menorca trip and trying not to overthink and work himself up into a panic. He was only somewhat successful.

7. never saw you coming (and I'll never be the same) 

Nick Nelson was filthy from head to toe. Rugby practice had been wet and muddy—the true struggle of rugby being a spring game—and the walk back to his flat had felt endless.

8. hurts like heaven (and it feels so good)

When the large box first appeared in their flat, Charlie didn’t think much of it. It’s not uncommon for Nick to buy things for his classroom—even large things, like a desk chair that won’t do permanent damage to his spine. 

9. the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air 

“I cannot believe Mum made me do this.” Charlie walked down the pavement with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. Olly ran ahead, giggling delightedly, pretending to shoot webs out of his Spider-Man costume. “I’m supposed to be at Tao’s right now, getting pre-buzzed for Harry Greene’s Halloween party.” 

10. I make sense of the madness (when I listen to your voice) 

Rain falls in a gentle drizzle outside, and the soft pitter-patter creates a soothing rhythm. Charlie taps along to the sound of the shower with his fingers on the kitchen counter, counting the beats in his head.

This was fun! And made me realize just how often I write from Nick's POV lmao. I'm tagging @unacaritafeliz @galwithalibrarycard @thetourguidebarbie @hmslusitania and anyone else who wants to do it!

[titanicfreija]

Thank You

After Freija went to bed, Sunny lingered at the fire. "Thank you. Really. I haven't known what to do."

"She wears it on her face," Thomas said, a small scowl crossing his lips. "She looks haunted." He looked at the sparkling Ghost and tried to imagine the damage they described. "She hasn't slept, either, has she?"

Sunny bounced side to side. "She has, but it brings nightmares. She had one about crushing me, it's been hard."

Thomas nodded. "Worried about that. The war would end, or at least the big one and everyone would expect to just be cured, no need to heal. Some of us have been at this a thousand years. Five hundred." He waved a hand. "Four," he said, gesturing at the Titan's dangling tent. "Our whole lives, all of us. She'll adapt best but slowest. Saladin's probably better off staying with the Cabal."

"Don't act like that," sighed Sunny. "There's more than enough fighting still to do."

"Fair enough," he agreed. "There's no way Xivu's changing course now."

"No way," agreed Sunny. "You defended the wall while we were gone?"

"Held ground as the last line of defense at the refuge line. Held the established Green Zone and received refugees. Rarely saw any action, but running Solar helped me a lot with rescue and delivery and medic duties. Only one real break in the lines, but we stopped it at the front.  Me and a Titan got a thing going where he gave me Invictus for the Well, kept me going for a while. Didn't expect to see so many Hunters with us, I don't know why not. Usually not the ones I see in defensive positions, but this little network stalked the yellow zone and took out anything that looked suspicious, until the break. Full fireteam of them appeared out of nowhere and dumped so much power on their heads that it hurt my eyes. Ran right to the Well and unleashed and unloaded. Titan bubble just to the left, everyone spraying Light all at once, I could put down another Well before the first one fell and we forced them back so completely that we had to push an advance, because they were spilling around to flank."

He smiled. "I don't like working with my fellows, except when I do," he admitted, shrugging. 

"You gonna look into the Light and Dark together stuff?"

"Yeah. In a while." He shrugged again. "I want to cool off, too."

Sunny remained with the fire and the other two, contrary to expectations, and eventually Thomas asked, "What is it?"

"Thank you," she said again, but her modulator warbled. "She… she cussed me. For. For doing it. And. I'm still confident that I'm right, I was right, I did the right thing that I had to do and anything else would have been wrong. But she's also right. I killed myself and I made her pull the trigger." The Ghost bobbed lightly, slowly drifting lower. "And she's right to be hurt by that, and I can be sorry all we like, it doesn't undo it."

Thomas nodded. "Yeah. She knows, too. She said that. She's learning how to cope. It's okay."

"I feel really bad," Sunny mumbled. 

"It was hurt your Guardian or sentence yourself and everyone else to permanence," he said.

"I would still do it again but I feel bad anyway," Sunny iterated. "I feel like I should do something for her. Not to apologize, really, she knows I'm sorry and she knows we did what we had to do, both of us. But I want to comfort her. And I haven't been able to, because I don't know how. And you helped us a lot, today. Just letting her sleep like that helped a lot."

Thomas nodded, but she wasn't saying something.

"She wants advice," Rex said.

Ah.

Thomas knew he wasn't great for advice, but he could help break down the situation. "She's still nervous. She probably feels betrayed by you. Sorry, but that's just kind of how it would be, from my point of view. I would be, and if she’s cursing at you, I can't think of any other reason. And this is all complicated, which makes her angry on its own."

Sunny bobbed her affirmative. 

He figured. He shrugged at the Ghost. "Time and patience is the best I can think. Love. It's going to be a while. Is there anything you can think of that makes her feel safe?"

Sunny twisted a negative. 

"Not surprising. How about something you two haven't done together in a while?"

"I was hoping Iron Banner would help, when Saladin came back around," she said. "That always cheers her up, but not this time."

"Yeah." He frowned. "Has it always been patrolling?"

Sunny bobbed an affirmative. "It was really hard to come up with stuff that wasn't when I was trying to help her calm down. If it's not patrolling, it's bigger."

Thomas nodded again. "Been down to the artists? The Eliksni Quarter? Have you been in the city at all?"

"Not yet. That's a good idea."

"Yeah. Give it time. You're trying to rush."

Sunny blipped harshly at him and he chuckled. 

The silence sat heavy, and Sunny remained. 

Thomas finally let the question out. "You died in her hands?"

"I couldn't take it," Sunny mumbled. "I could hardly… I was… I was dying. Like she said."

"Yeah. Been there, done that." He scowled. "Yeah, I'm sure she's real hurt by that. I was worried I was gonna hurt Rex. You guys knew you weren't going to walk away, and you went anyway and you made her follow."

Sunny drifted side to side, as if on a pendulum, and her back half tick-tocked metronomically. "She said she earned it. Plate of her own cooking is the phrase, I think it must have been an idiom when she was alive."

"Taste of your own medicine is the one I know but hers makes more sense without context. That's rough. Yeah. You're gonna have to ease up. Have you guys practiced any calming exercises? Freija said you guys were working on it."

"Yeah. It's kind of a poem mantra thing we made for her to use when she's remembering…. Anything."

Thomas nodded with a soft grunt. "What's triggering the memories?"

"A nightmare, last time. She's been doing good in general, but she's agitated. Angry. Wants to fight but is never satisfied when she's done. I almost wish she was having episodes like after Neomuna, this constant stress is hard."