#this was supposed to be a thirst and it exploded

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Fashion

It all started with a stupid bet. Tucker had dared Danny to do the “Ultimate Strut Challenge” for his livestream—walking down the halls of Casper High like he was on a Parisian runway. Danny, never one to back down from a challenge (and honestly a little bored), played along. He channeled his inner supermodel, flipping his imaginary hair and sauntering down the hall like he owned it. Tucker, feeling competitive, did his own exaggerated version, adjusting his glasses with a smolder and flashing a dazzling smile at the camera.

The video was supposed to be a joke. A quick laugh for Tucker’s followers. But within hours, it exploded online.

By the next morning, “#FentonFoleyFierce” was trending on every social media platform. People weren’t laughing at them—they were thirsting over them. The internet was losing its mind over how unexpectedly hot Danny and Tucker looked when they actually tried. Fan edits, slow-motion compilations, even dramatic art pieces started flooding the web. One particularly detailed oil painting of Tucker was titled “The Seduction of Glasses.”

And then, the email came.

Subject: Modeling Opportunity – S.T.Y.L.E. Agency

Danny read the message about five times before he turned to Tucker. “Dude. This is a joke, right?”

Tucker snatched Danny’s phone and skimmed through the email. “Nah, man. This is legit! S.T.Y.L.E. is huge. They rep actual models. Like, real models. Not just two dudes who were goofing off in the hallway.”

Danny groaned, flopping onto his bed. “I’m not a model! I fight ghosts! I do homework—badly! I don’t walk down runways!”

“Correction: You do walk down runways. And apparently, you do it well enough for a major agency to want you.” Tucker grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Dude, this is fate. We’re gonna be famous! Plus, imagine the free snacks at photoshoots.”

And somehow, against all logic, they were.

A week later, they found themselves in a sleek, modern studio in downtown Amity Park, being prepped for a test photoshoot. Danny, in a fitted black suit with his messy hair styled just right, was told to give a “mysterious bad boy” look. He tried but mostly ended up looking constipated. Tucker, rocking a high-fashion streetwear ensemble with his signature hat slightly tilted, was encouraged to play up his confident charm—which he interpreted as “finger guns at the camera.”

The camera flashed. They posed. Danny tripped over a light stand. And the moment their pictures hit the agency’s social media, the world really lost it.

Fashion brands wanted them. Magazines asked for interviews. Someone even made a fan calendar. The modeling world had spoken: Tucker Foley and Danny Fenton were the next big thing.

The only problem? Danny’s ghost-hunting schedule didn’t exactly mesh with high-end fashion shoots.

Cue the chaos. And an accidental ghost fight in the middle of a fashion gala.

Then came the second email.

Subject: Exclusive Inquiry – Phantom Partnership

Danny’s stomach dropped as he read the email. S.T.Y.L.E. wasn’t just interested in Danny Fenton. They wanted Danny Phantom too. The ghostly glow, the white hair, the piercing green eyes—apparently, his spectral form had an untapped aesthetic that designers were desperate to capitalize on.

Tucker nearly choked on his soda. “Dude. They want you to model as a ghost. This is next-level ridiculous.”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I can’t just go ghost in front of cameras! What if someone figures it out?”

“They’re offering bank, bro. Like, stupid money. Enough that you could buy actual good snacks for once.”

Before Danny could protest further, another email pinged. This time from a luxury cologne brand. They wanted to market a new fragrance—Phantom Essence—with Danny Phantom as the face of the campaign. The tagline? Mystery. Power. Otherworldly Allure.

Tucker was in hysterics. “You’re literally becoming the undead equivalent of a fashion icon. What’s next, a ghost-themed runway show?”

Danny groaned. “At this rate? Probably.”

And sure enough, two days later, an invitation arrived for a high-end haunted fashion event—where Danny Phantom was expected to make a dramatic entrance. What could possibly go wrong?

Danny refused to be the only ghost haunting the runway, so he convinced Ember McLain to join him. It took some negotiating—mostly promising she could debut her newest song at the afterparty—but Ember, ever the dramatic performer, finally agreed.

“This better be worth my time, dipstick,” she said, adjusting her flaming blue hair as she examined the wardrobe options. “I don’t do low budget.”

Tucker’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, trust me. This is gonna be legendary.”

And just like that, the fashion world wasn’t ready for the supernatural duo of Phantom and Ember.

The moment their first joint photoshoot dropped, fans went wild. Phantom and Ember weren’t just modeling—they were smoldering. The chemistry between them was undeniable, even to those who had no idea about their history. Hashtags like #GhostlyGlamour, #PhantomAndEmber, and #HauntinglyHot dominated social media.

Tucker, scrolling through the comments, cackled. “Dude, people are shipping you two so hard right now.”

Danny, face burning red, tried to act nonchalant. “It’s just… photos. We were posing.”

Ember, leaning against him in a striking black and blue ensemble, smirked. “Oh please, Phantom. You were totally into it.”

Danny opened his mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she flicked a ghostly spark at his nose. He was not going to give Tucker more material for his teasing.

Meanwhile, Ember was enjoying the attention. “I gotta admit, this is kinda fun. The cameras love me, the fans love me… and you, Phantom? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Danny groaned, hiding his face in his hands. This whole modeling thing was getting out of control. But if the growing feelings he was desperately trying to ignore were any indication… maybe it wasn’t all bad.

[misaerabl]

MUTED 𝝑𝑒 - masterlist

✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ gamer&commentary creator!e x influencer!u (enemies to lovers) SUMMARY : wc... ? ˙⋆✮˙ A lifestyle creator with a flawless feed. A reaction channel with a talent for starting drama. Your world is all soft lighting and subtle shade—Ellie Williams is loud edits, louder opinions, and a fanbase that lives for her chaos. You and Ellie were never supposed to cross paths. But one reaction stream, one too-perfect subtweet, and the internet writes its own narrative: a rivalry they can’t get enough of. You’re curated. She’s unfiltered. You go viral for routines. She goes viral for ruining them. It should’ve ended online—but now you’re stuck sharing a cabin, sharing space, sharing tension that won’t stay hidden behind screens. Ellie is frustrating. Fame is relentless. And somewhere between stolen glances and snarky remarks, the line between content and connection starts to blur. Because when everything is made to be watched, the most dangerous thing you can do is feel.

˙⋆✮ READ THE REST ON AO3!

PROLOGUE -- "not sorry"

ellie.exe is live...

The screen is dimly lit in cool purples and flickering LED strips. A soft lo-fi playlist hums beneath the click-clack of keys and the occasional irritated—

“Dude, seriously?”

Ellie, tucked into a hoodie and headset, squints at her monitor, brows furrowed in the way that makes her fans screenshot the stream and tweet things like “she’s so baby when she’s mad”.

She's midway through a stream of some hyper-buggy online multiplayer game her chat begged her to play. She’s not good at it. She’s not pretending to be good at it.

Which is, naturally, why thousands are watching.

“Okay, there is no way that hit me. Roll back the tape. That’s cheating. That’s hacking, actually. I’m reporting him.”

The chat explodes:

lmaoo classic ellie L NOOB.exe pls check out @/reader’s new vid tho omg 😭 she’d beat this game faster than u lmao grwm girl supremacy!!!

Ellie groans, tossing her controller onto her lap and reaching for the watered-down iced coffee she’s been sipping since the stream started. The condensation leaves a faint ring on her desk.

“Okay, okay—pause. I need hydration and emotional support.”

Sip. Grimace. Another sip.

“Wait, who are you all yelling about?”

The chat floods with one name: your username, a wave of heart emojis, thirst comments, and “SHIP??” spam.

“Reader?” Ellie squints at the screen. “The GRWM chick? Seriously?”

A few more keystrokes, a few clicks.

“Okay, I mean… sure. Gotta give the fans what they want.”

The game feed shrinks into the corner. A new window opens on her overlay—your latest video.

GRWM: Night Out Routine (Even If You Cancel Last Minute) 💄🍷

The video fades in. You’re cross-legged on your bed, silky robe slung off one shoulder, hair twisted up with a claw clip, all soft lighting and softer skin. You’re smiling at the camera, walking through a lineup of glassy skincare bottles like it’s second nature.

Ellie leans forward slightly. Just a bit.

“She’s giving Vogue cover, but also… does she even sweat?”

Chat starts twitching:

UR EYES R TOO WIDE STAND UP she plugs her sephora code every 3 minutes she’s got you in a chokehold already babe 😭

“Like, does her skincare budget exceed my rent?”

She pauses—lets the silence sit there a second.

“I’m not judging—I’m just confused. Does she live at Sephora?”

The chat absolutely loses it.

no bc the tension already you’re just in love just say it someone ship name this rn you guys are delusional. ellie hates people like her

Ellie lifts her hands in mock surrender.

“Chat, I’m not a hater—I’m just a broke, bitter lesbian. Calm down.”

She smirks. Just a little. The kind that makes her left cheek dimple slightly, which only makes her chat explode even more.

nah she’s BLUSHING for real

She minimizes the window. Boots her game back up.

“Anyway. I’m going back to getting absolutely smoked in this trash server. Thanks for the detour, creeps.”

But it’s already too late.

The screen recordings are circulating. TikToks are multiplying like bacteria in petri dishes. The fan edits are being born—dramatic music, soft fades, your skincare and her flustered commentary spliced together.

Meanwhile, on your end. Your phone buzzes with a flurry of DMs. Some from fans. Some from mutuals. All of them saying the same thing:

“girl... ellie.exe just reviewed your grwm and i’m SOBBING” “you gonna let her talk to you like that or...?” “you got her blushing on camera 😭”

You scroll. You find the clip. You raise a brow.

Fuck this girl. Fuck her.

You stare at your screen for a bit before hitting post on the tweet.

you @/yourhandle ✨ skincare hits different when your lighting source isn’t a 3am Twitch stream 😘

Your mentions explode. The war has begun.

You swipe through your mentions, catching glimpses of your own face edited onto Mortal Kombat fighters, people tagging Ellie and begging her to respond. You tell yourself you’re over it. That you’ve said what you needed to say. That she doesn’t matter.

And then someone DMs you again.

“uhhhh did you see her tweet 💀”

You open Twitter.

ellie @/ellie.exe some ppl act brand new just because the sun hits them once and they didn’t burst into flames. proud of you 😇

You blink. Read it again. Your jaw actually drops.

That smug, passive-aggressive, “not-a-reply-but-yes-it-is” tone practically has her signature all over it. She didn’t tag you. She didn’t have to. It’s as good as a shot fired.

Like she didn’t start this by coming for your routine with her crusty gamer hands and talking about you like you were a mall display instead of a person?

Oh, hell no.

You set your phone down. Pick it back up. Type. Delete. Type again. Your jaw clenches as you pace your room, bare feet dragging across a fluffy rug as the late afternoon sun pours across your floor—the same one she saw in your video. The one she smirked at like it offended her personally.

You finally hit post.

you @/yourhandle ✨ no hate to the gamers but if your selfcare knowledge is based on your reflection in a loading screen… maybe hush 😘

You don’t even wait to see the fallout this time. You toss your phone onto your bed like it burned you and go to pour yourself something strong and unnecessary.

By the time you come back, Twitter’s already turned your quote tweet into a meme. Your face on a skincare ad. Ellie’s on a GameStop receipt. Someone edited a fake YouTube thumbnail:

“GRWM to fight a gamer lesbian (gone wrong) (emotional)”

You try to laugh, but it comes out tight.

Your blood is hot. Not quite angry, not quite amused. It’s something in between. Something irritating and unfamiliar. Something that smells like obsession.

comments: “they’re gonna make out or kill each other, no in between.” “this is the weirdest foreplay i’ve ever witnessed and i’m here for it” “ellie.exe called her sensitive and now she’s dismantling her entire existence 💅”

You actually exhale a disbelieving, “Oh my God,” into your empty room.

She’s insufferable. Infuriating. Smug. And you hate—hate—the way her face lingered in your head after watching her watch you.

You were supposed to win this. You were supposed to make her shut up. So You make her... By Clicking the block button.

KEEP UP! KEEP UP!

prologue... (you are here!) - "blocked. not sorry" part 1. - "fuck the algorithm" part 2. - "room for conflict" part 3. - "for the record" part 4. - "under your skin" part 5. - "pull focus" part 6. - "bad timing" part 7. - "talk about it" part 8. - "white noise" part 9. - ??? + more!!! (next parts will be posted daily! see you tomorrow!, please comment to be added to the taglist!)

[sparrows4bats]

Royal Damian, who was raised by the Al Ghuls and just regular person Jon got me in chokehold.

I like to imagine that after Ras died and Talia inherited the League, she and Damian revived and reformed it together.

Damian leaves Gotham to become what he was raised to be, the new leader of the League.

His father tries to stop him, but Damian goes because he believes that the League can be what he was supposed to be. Better, and Damian can use all that he has learnt with his family to make it so.

The new League focuses on the betterment of the world. Environmental programmes and safeguarding land and habitats.

They rescue people, refugees, and people with nowhere else to go. Many stay with them.

They stop taking contracts and trade in medical research, biomedical advancement, pharmaceuticals, rare herbs, and other plants, and occasionally, information.

Damian and Talia use their many degrees to revolutionise health care and engineering worldwide.

Nanda Parata becomes its own nation, under the rule of its royal family and council of diplomatically elected officials.

The world loses its mind when Nanda Parat enters the world stage and becomes a staunch defender of independent human rights globally.

It loses its mind further when they realise the prince of this new nation is the youngest son of Gothamite socialite Brucie Wayne!

Queen Talia releases a statement confirming the rumours and announcing their marriage along with wedding photos.

There is frenzied debate on whether Brucie is royalty. Tim and Jason get Nanda Parat citizenship just so they can claim to be part of the royal family. They expect Damian to be annoyed, but he laughs in their faces and assigns them public appearances and paperwork for months.

Dick, Cass, and Duke are also kind of royals, but Damian doesn't torture them.

Talia and Damian become media darlings and fashion icons. They are beautiful, rich, and intelligent. It's the first time anyone questions whether Bruce married up. Especially after Talia and Damian get papped at the beach.

Damian has fan accounts, edits, and thirst posts within hours of his official introduction. He is elegant, refined, and poised to be one of the most powerful people in the world by age 30.

So when Damian accidentally reveals he is dating someone in a tiktok Dick films, the Internet explodes with speculation.

Every eligible male celebrity around the globe is asked whether they are Damian Wayne Al Ghul Mystery Man. They all reply no, but many answer that they would date the prince in a heartbeat if given the chance.

Fans make lists of who they think might deserve him, others spin wild conspiracies about who it might be.

It grabs headlines after one particular theory about Damian potentially dating Robin goes viral.

Imagine the reaction when Jonathan Kent is photographed kissing Damian outside the UN.

Pandemonium.

Who is this man?

How did they meet?

He is very pretty for a farmboy, but how did he land a literal prince?

What does Talia think?

The answer comes when someone shouts something rude at the boys one day outside a gala. Talia holds the fool at swordpoint while threatening them with charging them for harassment of the royal family.

Safe to say, Jon Kent is made an icon for standing at the side of his iconic husband.

He is living the dream.

[heartfullofleeches]

"If I don't jerk off in the next twenty four hours my dick is going to explode."

Legs laid bare upon a throne of pillows, the cuff legs of your tight shorts amplifies the volume of your rear as taunting laughter floods your partners bedroom.

"Oooo, seven days in and you're already throwing in the towel, V?"

Hands sorting through his hair, fingers tugging at the roots - V kneels at the end of his bed as they moan in frustration. "This would be ten times easier if you weren't laying in my bed with your ass cheeks hanging out the backside of your shorts! How the fuck am I not suppose to stroke my shit for a month like this!"

"Hey." Rolling onto your backside, you meticulously drag one knee over the other; shirt rolling up your midsection as you stretch out across the mattress.

"You agreed to the terms and conditions. Not me. Neither you or I pay for the heating so I'm perfectly fine shedding a few layers while I'm here. It's so warm in here I might take off even more."

The throbbing in his jeans at those few little words makes V want to cry. The passage of time never meant alot to them, but this cursed month has got to be the longest he's ever endured. Haunted by their thirst for your flesh, the end goals ring clear in his mind.

Cat ears. Maid dresses. Cheerleader uniforms. Cuddle sex. All that and more if they win this stupid bet.

"If you do that I will literally throw myself out that fucking window. December first I want you on your hands and knees the second midnight hits."

"Them's were the rules, V. It's up to you if you can last."

[hyunjincanraptoo]

first of all, congrats!!! u really deserve the 500 followers, your writing is sosososo incredible <3

im begging you to do number 3 🙂‍↕️ tysmmmm <3

Hi, baby! Tysm 🤭 I'm so so so sorry it took SO long. I was really busy but now I'm back. This prompt was supposed to be small and suggestive but I got carried away and honestly turned out to be the best comeback hehe please enjoy 💜

3. Flirting during his insta live

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sub!hyunjin, sex toy (idk if the toy actually exists irl but in my fic it exists)

Alexa, play Hotline Bling by Drake

Hyunjin’s live starts late.

His hair’s a mess, fresh out of the shower judging by the damp strands tugged behind his ears. He’s in a loose white tee, collar stretched just enough to reveal his collarbone, one side of the fabric sliding dangerously off his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep”, he murmurs, eyes flicking to the comments, “Figured I’d keep you company”

The chat is exploding, but one comment makes his lips twitch.

‘You couldn’t sleep so you came here to thirst trap us. Be honest.’

He huffs a laugh through his nose. Looks into the camera like he knows exactly who sent that.

“Some of you are very… confident tonight”, he says, sipping his water slowly

You send another:

‘Pull that collar down a little more. For science'

He chokes, coughing into his fist.

“I think this shirt’s already struggling for its life”, he murmurs, fingers ghosting over the edge of the neckline. His thumb dips under the fabric like he might give it to you

Then he stops and smirks

“Nah. Not for free”

The chat is in chaos:

“WHAT IS GOING ON??”

“WHO is he talking to???”

“Hyunjin why are you RED?”

Another comment:

‘Don’t act shy now. I’ve seen how you get when you’re desperate’

His lips part. He sits back, letting out a slow exhale, like he’s trying to behave.

“You’re very brave behind a screen”, he mutters, “Want to say that with your mouth full next time?”

The room goes silent for a second before he realizes

Instantly, his eyes go wide

“I MEAN! Like… Full of… tea. Or food. Because you’re eating. Clearly”

He buries his face in his sleeve, muffling his laugh while fans go feral.

You don’t let up:

‘You’re twitching your thigh again. Getting worked up, baby?’

His leg immediately stops. He shifts in his seat, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“I hate you”, he says with a grin, “You know exactly what you’re doing”

More chaos:

“IS HE FLIRTING??”

“HYUNJIN YOUR THIGH IS WHAT??”

“Oh he’s GONE"

You finish him off with:

‘If you end this live without calling me, I’ll remind everyone what your voice sounds like when you moan’

He freezes.

His mouth falls open. He slams the screen with his hand like it’ll shut you up.

“Okay! Alright. That’s ENOUGH. This was nice. Love you guys. Goodnight, BYE…!”

The live ends mid giggle, his face and ears red

Seconds later, your phone lights up:

[Jinnie 💜]:

You’re so devilish.

I'm hard and mad.

Call me now.

You reply to him:

No. You call me

Just like that, your phone rings ten minutes later.

You answer without a word, smirking as you picture him pacing his bedroom, hoodie probably yanked off already, hair still damp, frustrated fingers raking through it.

“Are you out of your mind?!”, he says low

“Hi to you, too”

“You made me hard in front of a hundred thousand people!”, he groans, “Do you have any idea what I looked like trying not to shift in my seat?!”

“Oh, I know exactly what you looked like”, you stretch out on your bed, “Leg twitching, thigh flexed, little pout. The usual”

“Stop”

“Why? You like it”

You listen to his breath turning heavy

“You really said moan” he mutters, disbelieving, “I almost threw my phone across the room. My manager texted me with question marks!”

You laugh softly, “What did he say?”

“‘Was that meant to be public?’” Hyunjin mimics in a mocking voice. Then, he adds lower, “I told him it was improv”

“You’re welcome for the material”

Another pause.

You hear him exhale

“I had to sit still for ten minutes before calling”, he confesses, “I was so hard it hurt”

You bite your lip, “And now?”

“Now I’m on the edge just from hearing your voice”

He sounds wrecked already, like the tension hasn’t left his body since the second you typed that last comment.

“Say something else”

“What do you want?” you murmur, “Something filthy, or something sweet?”

“Something that’ll make me lose it”

You smile into the phone.

“I’m picturing your hand right now”, you whisper, “Fisted in the sheets or wrapped around your cock… I don’t know which, but I know your eyes are fluttering. You’re biting your lip. You’re wishing it was my mouth, aren’t you?”

A strangled sound escapes him, halfway between a groan and a curse.

You go on, just a little devilish

“Bet you keep replaying my comment in your head. Wondering if they could hear it when you moaned for me last night”

“Fuck”, he breathes, “You need to come over. Now”

“Why?”, you tease, “So I can finish what I started?”

“No”, he says, voice shaking, “So I can shut you up with my mouth”

Another silence falls between you.

Then, he adds

“I’m not even touching myself yet. I’m just hard. Just… imagining your voice and trying not to come in my sweats like a desperate loser”

You hum, “Then let me talk you through it”

He groans when you say it. His reply is barely audible, more breath than sound, “Please…”

You hear rustling, clothes shifting, probably the slide of his sweats down his hips. Then another sound— skin on skin, a slow stroke, a long exhale

“God, I’m so hard” he whispers, “Feels like I’ve been edged for hours”

“Is it leaking?”

“Of course it is! You ruined me on live and now you ask like you're innocent!”

You hum, smugly

“Wrap your fingers around the base. Squeeze just a little. Pretend it’s my hand”

“Shit…”

“Slow strokes, baby. I want you aching, want you whining”

His breath catches at that, a soft whimper spilling out before he can stop it.

“I miss your mouth”, he groans, “I’m picturing you on top of me, licking the head, taking me so well and slow and deep… I’d go crazy”

“Good”, you whisper, “Because if I were there, I’d keep my tongue just barely on you. Teasing your tip, watching you twitch, making you beg”

Another needy moan.

“I’m close already”, he confesses, voice shaking, “Your voice is… fuck, it’s too much”

“Then stop”

He freezes, “What?!”

“Take your hand off. I want you desperate”

You hear his breath hitch.

“You’re cruel”

You laugh, “No, baby. I’m careful. You’re not cumming yet. I want it to feel unbearable when you finally do”

He groans, deep and guttural.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep talking like that”

“Then don’t touch. Be good for me”

He breathes hard for a few beats, trying to obey. You can feel the tension even through the call— his thighs probably clenched, abs tight, cock dripping and untouched.

You lower your voice, letting it wrap around him like a spell.

“Tomorrow, I want your knees on the bed and your hands behind your back. I want to see how long you last with nothing but my mouth and my voice. You won’t get to touch me. You’ll be so good, Hyunjin. You’ll cry for it.”

The gasp that leaves him is shattered and helpless

“Please, Yn. I… I can’t. Let me come. Please”

“Not yet”,you murmur, wicked, “Get your toy. The one I bought for you. We’re not done”

You hear the shuffle of him getting up again. You hear his grunt followed by the sound of a drawer opening.

“I hate how fast I knew where it was”, he mutters.

You grin, “No, you love it. Now lie back, be a good boy and put it on”

He huffs— you can feel he is half aroused, half embarrassed.

“You’re so lucky I’m in love with you”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even ready for what I’m going to do when I get there”.

The sound of him gulping fills the silence before you hear a click. Then,a quiet vibration hums through the phone line.

“Fuck… it’s cold”, he gasps, “But it’s… shit… oh my god”

“Feel good?”

“Feels perfect. It’s just barely moving but it’s already driving me insane”

“Great. Now imagine me straddling you, using it on you while I kiss your neck. My lips are right on that spot behind your ear you always twitch for”

He moans— throaty, desperate.

“Keep your hands off”, you warn gently, “I want your hips jerking on their own. I want you to just take it”

He whimpers and the sound shoots heat straight down your core

“‘Jinnie”, you whisper, “I want you so ruined for me that your legs are shaking when I finally ride you”

“I’m already shaking”, he breathes.

The vibrations intensify a little, his breath stutters as the toy pulses against his leaking tip.

“You sound so pretty”, you murmur, “So needy. I could keep you like this for hours. Wet. Hard. Helpless”

“I’m gonna come”, he gasps suddenly.

“No, you’re not”

He groans loud, long and filthy. You can hear the tension in every inch of him, the fight to obey even while his body begs to finish.

“Please, baby… just a little, just let me…”

“No”, you whisper, “Not until I say so”

He cries out again, frustrated and fucked out already, hips twitching as the toy drags him through wave after wave of denied release.

And then softly, broken and breathless he begs again,

“…I can’t wait anymore. I need you”

You smile, voice softening into something sort of indulgent.

“I’m already in the car”

The drive takes just ten minutes. You keep him on the phone the entire time, teasing him with words that drips into his ear like venom.

“Are you still shaking, baby?”

His breath is ragged, “I can’t even think”

“Good. Keep the toy on the lowest setting. Don’t you dare touch yourself”

He groans, completely tortured, “It’s throbbing. I’m so close, just from your voice…”

“Don’t finish, Hyunjin. Not yet. You want me to take over, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please. I want… fuck, I want your hands, your mouth, anything”

You smirk, pulling into the parking lot.

“I’m outside”

He whimpers

“Open the door for me. Don’t cover yourself. I want to see everything”

A pause. Then a resigned, ruined, “You’re actually evil, aren't you”

But he obeys.

When the door opens, he’s wrecked— shirtless, sweats pushed down just far enough to expose the head of his cock, the toy snug against it, humming softly. His hair’s a mess, his lips are parted, skin flushed pink, and his thighs tremble from restraint.

You step inside without a word, setting your bag down slowly as you drink in the sight.

Then, finally you say, “Back on the couch. Hands behind you”

He sinks into the cushions, eyes wide and glassy with lust, trembling as he folds his hands behind him. You sit beside him, trailing one finger over his knee.

“Look at you”, you whisper. “All this from a few comments on your live”

He exhales shakily, jaw clenched, “You knew what you were doing, Yn”

You hum, “And you knew you liked it”

Your hand slides up his thigh, but without touching where he needs you most. Not yet, just light circles, featherlight pressure, making him twitch and groan and beg silently with his eyes.

“You’re going to take your punishment so well, aren’t you?”

He nods frantically, “Please. I’ll do anything. Just, please…”

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then ask nicely”

He chokes on a whimper.

“Please let me come. I can’t take it anymore. I want to come for you, please… please, Yn…”

You smile.

“Then lie back for me, babe”

He lies back like you told him, chest rising in shallow bursts, the muscles in his thighs drawn tight from holding back.

“You’ve been so good”, you murmur, kneeling between his legs, “So obedient for me”

“Please”, he whispers, voice cracking, “Please just touch me”

You wrap your fingers around the toy, guiding it in slow circles over his tip, cruel but sweet. His entire body jolts. His head tips back with a strangled moan, hips twitching off the couch.

“Shh” you coo, “you’re almost there”

You finally take the toy off, and his cock slaps against his stomach— red, leaking, aching. He cries out at the loss, desperate now, every inch of him trembling.

Then your hand wraps around him— finally— and he sobs your name.

“You’re gonna come so hard for me”, you whisper, starting to stroke, “You’ve been so good. Just let go, Hyunjin”

His eyes squeeze shut. His mouth falls open. Your pace is steady, slick, punishing, your thumb dragging over the slit with every upward motion.

“Yn… fucj, I’m gonna…”

“Yes”, you whisper, “Come for me. Right now. Show me how much you need me”

He breaks with a loud, shuddering moan— violent, helpless, beautiful. His back arches off the couch as he spills hot across his stomach and your fingers, legs trembling uncontrollably, voice reduced to gasps and half sobs.

But you don’t stop.

You keep stroking, slow and firm.

“W–wait... fuck... Yn!”

His whole body flinches, hands flying up instinctively, trying to push you away but you catch his wrists easily, pinning them against his stomach with one hand.

“No” you whisper, breath hot against his neck, “You don’t get to stop yet. Not after how filthy you were on that live”

He lets out a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching painfully sensitive under your touch.

“Please... oh my god, please.. I can’t, I...”

You kiss his neck, sweet and unhurried, while your hand works him through the overstimulation— his moans breaking, turning into gasps, into high pitched sounds he probably didn’t know he could make.

“Look at you", you whisper, “Shaking so pretty. All for me"

He’s gone. Eyes glassy, voice cracked, body trying to twist away from the unbearable friction even as his cock stays hard like a rock in your grip— needy even after release, aching for mercy.

“Please, baby”, he whines, “It's enough... please, please...”

You finally ease off, hand releasing him slowly, trailing your fingers gently up his stomach.

“Next time you whisper, lips brushing his ear, “you’ll think twice before reading my comments out loud”

He’s still panting when he looks at you, dazed and completely ruined.

“You’re insane” he mumbles.

You grin, brushing his sweaty hair

“Better than my comments on your insta live?”

He lets out a tired laugh.

"I’m never going on live again"

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

[themdera]

George Clarke replied to your story.

2,172 words. Green circle. Red Circle. what’s the difference?

It all started a few weeks ago when George had posted a random Instagram Story asking fans to add him to their close friends lists so he could rank them for a YouTube video—“best, funniest, cringiest, whatever,” he’d promised with that ridiculous smile. Your group chat had of course collectively lost their minds.

“Oh my God, we have to do this,” someone had declared, already tagging him in a story.

You’d rolled your eyes at first. Sure, George was funny, creative, and admittedly attractive, but you weren��t about to feed his ego by crafting some elaborate story just for his amusement. Still, in the chaos of everyone else freaking out, you’d ended up adding him anyway. Not to make the cut for his video—you didn’t post anything remotely funny or interesting enough—but just to shut the groupchat up. And honestly, you forgot to remove him after.

Then came the thirst trap.

It wasn’t even planned. You’d been bored, playing around with some poses, when your friends dared you to post something from the many photos you’d sent them, a simple selfie where the light hits your face and hair in the perfect way, just to mess with people. It had been a joke, like everything else on your close friends, and you’d captioned it, “This one’s for just you ;)” to really sell the bit.

No one actually expected him to see it.

But George Clarke, the man with an unbelievably high screen time, saw everything. The notification came in mere minutes after you posted it. GeorgeClarkeey replied to your story

“Me?” one word. That was all it took.

“Girls” You typed very quickly

Cue the group chat imploding.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” your friend types back know the message “Girls” meant something had happened.

“George replied to my story”

“HE WHAT?”

“He’s going to think it’s serious.”

“Can we talk about how he responded in record time???”

“He’s going to make this a thing. I feel it in my soul.”

The replies came in at record speed. Sure enough, George wasn’t done yet.

Another message popped up while you were still processing the first: “Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. What the hell was going on? George Clarke had a talent for this shit, and now you were directly in the middle of it. Of course it wasn’t specifically for him. It was a joke, a dumb joke fueled by group chat dares and late-night boredom. But now George Clarke was in your DMs, actually engaging, and you had no idea how to navigate this.

You sat down on your bed , unlocking your phone to stare at his messages through your notifications like they might explode if you opened them. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Me?”

“Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

It wasn’t for him. Not really. But at the same time, it wasn’t not for him, and there was no universe in which you could explain that without sounding ridiculous.

Your phone buzzed again.

“Take your time, I’ll just sit here wondering 😏.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just scroll past like a normal person? Better yet, why did you still have him on your close friends list in the first place?

The group chat, of course, was zero help.

“Just say it was for him. What’s the harm?”

“Tell him it’s a metaphor. Keep him guessing.”

“Confess your undying love and ask him to follow while you’re at it.”

You sighed, finally flopping onto your bed and opening the messages.

“What if it was?” you typed, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach. What had you just done? Before you could spiral too deeply into regret over your reply, another notification popped up on your screen.

GeorgeClarkey started following you.

You froze. What the actual fuck was going on? Was this some elaborate joke for his video? Was he about to screenshot your profile and blast you to his friends and his followers as part of his next roast video?

Panic set in almost immediately. You scrambled to your profile, fingers flying as you opened your highlights. What did I even have on there? Your close friends was one thing, but your highlights were public.

The first highlight was fine. A sunset. Very normal. The second was a random dog you’d seen on a walk. Also fine. The third? Oh God, the third. A blurry photo of your face captioned, “Why am I like this?”

You cringed, hitting the delete button, but before you could delete anything else, another notification lit up your phone.

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story:

“Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Your group chat exploded before you could even blink.

“HE FOLLOWED YOU?!”

“Shut up. He did not.”

“Bestie, you’re famous now.”

“Oh my God he did! i checked his profile! Did he post anything? Has he said anything else?”

You ignored them, heart pounding as you stared at the notification. This couldn’t be real. George Clarke, internet golden boy who had every teenage girl in a chokehold, was actually engaging with you.

What the hell were you going to do?

You stared at George’s message, your mind racing: “Ok but…jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Before you could fully process it, your fingers moved almost instinctively, opening the group chat. You switched to voice notes because typing just wasn’t fast enough to convey the absolute thoughts in your head.

“Guys,” you hissed into the mic, pacing your room. “What the actual fuck is going on? George Clarke just messaged me again. AGAIN. And he said—wait, no, let me read this. He said, ‘Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?’”

You paused, pacing more furiously as all your friends started typing back.

“I don’t know what to say!” you continued in the next voice note, your voice slightly higher now. “Like, do I admit it? Do I deny it? Do I block him and change my name? HELP ME.”

The replies came in almost instantly:

“Post the screenshot right now.”

“Oh my God, you’re in a rom-com.”

“Say it was about him and see what happens. Do it for the plot.”

“Voice note us back with the drama or don’t bother replying at all.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you hit record again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll reply. But if this ends with me being clowned in one of his videos, you’re all accomplices.”

With one final deep breath, you typed out:

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. What’s it to you?”

Your thumb hovered for a second, but then you hit send, immediately regretting it as your phone buzzed with another notification.

“Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

You groaned, sending yet another voice note to the group chat.

“I AM GOING TO SCREAM. He just said it’s ‘something to him.’ WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?”

Your friends weren’t helping, their replies now a chaotic mix of screaming voice notes and unhinged texts.

“He’s into you, bestie.”

“We’re living for this. Keep us updated.”

“I’m adding popcorn to my grocery list.”

Whatever George was playing at, it was… kind of fun.

You stared at his message: “Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

Your heart thudded as you typed out a response, fingers moving on autopilot: “How come?”

For a second, you debated deleting it. Was that too straightforward? Too bold? But before you could overthink it, the message was already sent.

The group chat was on fire.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY???”

“Tell me you asked him why. PLEASE.”

“I’m pacing my room like it’s my drama, what is happening???”

You sent a quick voice note: “I asked him how come. Like, if he’s going to be cryptic, I’m making him work for it. I can’t just let him drop a winky face and get away with it.”

Your phone buzzed before the group could reply. Another message from George.

“Because now I’m curious. Was it really for me?”

You blinked at your screen. Curious? Curious?! Why did he have to phrase it like that? Like this wasn’t a throwaway Instagram post but some grand mystery he needed to solve.

You hit record on another voice note.

“GUYS. He said he’s curious. What the hell does that mean?!” you whispered furiously. “I’m spiraling. Do I double down? Do I back out? Help.”

The replies were just as unhinged as before.

“Double down. Always double down.”

“Tell him it’s his fault for making you curious too.”

“Can we just talk about how into this he clearly is? Like, bestie, he’s invested.”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you typed your next message.

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But now I’m curious—what if it was?”

Your thumb hovered for a moment before you hit send, already bracing for whatever chaos George Clarke was about to unleash next.

The notification popped up almost immediately:

GeorgeClarkey: “Well, if it wasn’t, how come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?”

Your jaw dropped. Oh, he was good. Too good. George Clarke wasn’t just playing along—he was winning.

You immediately switched to the group chat, hitting record on a voice note.

“Guys. He’s onto me. He said—and I quote—‘How come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?’” You paused, your voice rising in pitch. “WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?”

The group chat blew up in record time.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

“Oh my God, this man is flirting.”

“Deflect. Blame it on the algorithm. Lie if you have to.”

“No, no, you need to hit him back with something. Don’t let him win!”

You sent another voice note, pacing your room as you spoke.

“I don’t even know why he’s still on my close friends! It’s not like I planned this—he asked to be added for that stupid video, and I just forgot to take him off. But if I tell him that, he’s going to think I’m some kind of idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list!”

One of your friends sent a voice note back, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Bestie, you are an idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list. But now you’ve got him interested, so lean in. Own it. Say something mysterious.”

You sighed, staring at George’s message for a long moment before typing:

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Your heart was racing as you hit send, half-expecting him to call your bluff immediately. Instead, the little typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”

You practically screamed, sending another voice note to the group chat.

“Guys. GUYS. He’s not just flirting. He’s doubling down. What do I do now?!”

The replies came back rapid-fire:

“Marry him.”

“This is officially fanfiction territory.”

“No, seriously, keep him on the hook. This is your moment.”

You didn’t George’s last message—“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”—because honestly, you needed a minute to think. Or maybe several. So instead of spiraling over how to respond, you stuck to your plan.

Ignoring the little red dot on his message thread, you switched to Instagram stories and posted something casual to your story: a cozy shot of your coffee on the table, framed by the warm tones of a London café from last weekend. The kind of post you always shared on quiet afternoons. You added the café’s location tag for good measure, captioning it simply: Need this.

The group chat was, of course, waiting.

“Update: just posted,” you said in a voice note, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s a café pic. Totally chill, very me. If he reacts to this, I’ll… I don’t know, scream.”

You barely had time to put your phone down before it buzzed with a new notification:

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story.

Your heart jumped as you opened it.

“Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?”

You sat there, staring at the message like it was in a foreign language. George wasn’t just reacting—he was flirting. Again.

“GUYS,” you hissed into a new voice note, pacing your room. “He replied. And get this—he said, ‘Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?’ Like, is this man serious?!”

The chat erupted in chaos.

“Shut up, he did NOT.”

“He’s basically asking for a date. I’m calling it.”

“You better reply, right now.”

But you weren’t ready to give in that easily. Typing back too quickly would make it seem like you were waiting for him (which you definitely weren’t). So instead, you left his message on read, letting him sit with it while you debated your next move.

Another voice note: “I’m ignoring him for now. Let’s see if he doubles down.”

And honestly, you weren’t sure what thrilled you more: the fact that George Clarke had replied, or the fact that he was now waiting on you.

———————————————————————-

a/n my first george fic! there will be a part two! the formatting hasn’t worked the way it should have but i’ll work on it!

would like to thank George Clarke for seeing my close friends which then let to @pretendyoucantseeme who gave me the idea and @authortelevision for supporting the delusions. love you both😂

if you wanna be tagged in part 2 please let me know!

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[hisfavegirl]

Hey girl, I love your HOTD reactions sm! What about like how they would react if you did a VS or Skims collab for a Valentine’s day set or something??

HOTD Characters Reaction To Your Campaign With Skims

Aegon was in the middle of scrolling through his phone, lazily lounging on the couch when his screen suddenly froze.

The SKIMS Valentine’s Day campaign.

Your face. Your body. Draped in lingerie so sheer it might as well be a second skin. Red silk, lace, curves accentuated perfectly—a vision of absolute sin. The shot that made his blood boil the most?

You, on a plush pink bed, biting your lip, fingers tangled in your hair—wearing nothing but a dangerously tiny bra and lace garters. The caption?

“Indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day. ❤️ #SKIMSLove”

The likes and comments were flooding in, men thirsting over you in real-time:

“THIS is what I want for Valentine’s Day.”

“Bro, she’s actually unreal.”

“Forget flowers, I’m sending divorce papers to my wife.”

“I just know her man is LOSING HIS MIND.”

Yeah. He was.

Aegon shot up, phone clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His jaw? Tight. His eyes? Dark. His entire body radiated possessiveness, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.

His first instinct? Call you. Right. Now. But then he thought—No. No, you fucking knew what you were doing. Posting this without telling him? Letting the entire world drool over you while he was just supposed to sit there and take it?

His next move? Damage control.

The internet absolutely lost its mind.

The moment Aegon dropped the video on his Instagram story, everything went insane.

The clip was short but devastating—you, bent over his bed, skin flushed, your bare back marked with his claim, trembling, moaning his name like a prayer, wrecked beyond comprehension. Aegon’s hand came into view, gripping your waist, his voice low and smug, whispering,

“Didn’t think I’d let that SKIMS stunt slide, did you, baby?”

The internet? BROKE.

Twitter/X Exploded:

“THIS MAN JUST ENDED THE ENTIRE MALE POPULATION WTF”

“Aegon Targaryen is the pettiest, most unhinged man alive and I respect it.”

“She posted SKIMS, he posted HER. This is WAR.”

“HOW is this allowed on Instagram? WHO reported it? WHOEVER YOU ARE, WE FIGHT AT DAWN.”

“Bro turned Valentine’s Day into a public execution.”

Instagram Comments on His Last Post:

“Sir. Some of us are SINGLE.”

“That’s it. I’m deleting my boyfriend.”

“Y’all seeing her LEGS SHAKING??? Nah this man is different.”

“I’m not okay. I will never be okay.”

“We were thirsting over her SKIMS shoot and Aegon said ‘bet.’”

TikTok Reactions:

POV edits of Aegon with captions like “When your man reminds the world who you belong to 😵‍💫🔥”

Audio clips of “I want what they have” over slow-mo replays of the video

Girls fake crying into the camera with captions like “Me realizing I’ll never be this girl”

Reddit Threads:

r/popculturegossip

“Aegon Targaryen just HARD LAUNCHED his revenge arc, and I’ve never felt so single.”

“This is the most unhinged flex of all time, and I need therapy.”

“So we all agree he’s the pettiest man alive, right?"

Instagram eventually took the video down—but it was too late. Screenshots, edits, and memes had already flooded the internet. Aegon had won the war, and the internet was never recovering.

The second Aemond saw the photos—you, draped in delicate lace, barely covered, staring into the camera with that knowing, sultry look—his jaw clenched so tight it could snap.

His phone nearly cracked in his grip as he scrolled through the thousands of comments under the post:

“Mother is mothering.”

“Aemond is officially the luckiest man alive.”

“The male species has been defeated. We are but peasants.”

“You’re telling me this woman goes home to HIM??? Jail.”

A deep, dark chuckle left his lips—but it wasn’t amusement. It was pure, seething possession.

His eye twitched, his breathing heavy as he saw the likes flooding in—from men. From verified blue checks. From random nobodies who had no business looking at you like that.

“The fuck is this, darling?” His voice was deadly calm, but the way he stalked toward you, phone in hand, told you everything.

“A campaign.” You blinked at him, innocent. “For SKIMS.”

“A fucking campaign?” He scoffed, throwing his phone onto the table as he cornered you. “So that’s what we’re doing now? Letting every goddamn man on the internet see what’s MINE?”

He was pissed. Jealous. Possessive. His fingers traced up your arm, then gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

“Tell me, did you enjoy it?” His voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. “Did you like having them all drooling over you?”

His eye burned into you, jaw tight as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Because now you’re going to remind them who you belong to.”

Aemond never lost control—but tonight? You were in for it.

The second Aemond posted the video, the internet broke.

It wasn’t just a thirst trap. It was a declaration. A warning. A final nail in the coffin for every man who thought they had a chance.

The clip was grainy, filmed through the dim light of his bedroom—his signature aesthetic. You were wrecked on his bed, wrists bound, body shaking, barely able to form a word except his name—moaned like a prayer, like a confession.

And Aemond? His signature smirk could be heard in his voice when he murmured:

“This is what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

Instagram Exploded :

“IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED???”

“So we’re just posting full-course MEALS now????”

“The way she’s literally trembling… yeah, I lost.”

"‘This is what happens when you forget who you belong to’ BRO CAN WE BREATHE???”

“The SKIMS campaign was for US. This? This was for HIM.”

“Aemond said, ‘You wanna model lingerie? Fine. Now model MY BED.’”

“The way she’s just a mess for him… If my man doesn’t love me like this, I DON’T WANT IT.”

Within minutes, Twitter (X) was on fire.

#AemondTargaryen

#SheBelongsToHim

#TiedUpForAemond

#OneEyedKing

Trending. Everywhere.

TWITTER/X MELTDOWN:

“I HAVEN’T EVEN RECOVERED FROM HER SKIMS SHOOT AND NOW THIS????”

“This man really said ‘revenge’ and ENDED US ALL.”

"Aemond Targaryen is a MENACE. I hate him. (I’m lying. I love him.)”

“THIS IS THE MOST POSSESSIVE, FILTHY, UNHINGED, HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. HELP ME.”

TIKTOK COMMENTS UNDER THE VIDEO:

Pinned by Aemond Targaryen : “Revenge is sweet, baby."

“My FBI agent just logged out. This is TOO MUCH.”

“This is NOT just a revenge post—THIS IS A WARNING.”

“Imagine posting a SKIMS campaign and your man drops THIS as a response… She WINS.”

“Her Skims photos were for US. Aemond’s revenge was for HIM.”

Meanwhile, Aemond? He just sat back, smirking at his phone as he watched the world come to terms with what they already knew.

You were his. And there was no escaping it.

Jace never had an issue with you modeling. Until now.

He was in a meeting when his phone started blowing up. At first, he ignored it—until Aegon sent him a link with nothing but:

“LMAO. You good, bro?”

Frowning, Jace clicked.

And there you were.

Draped in red lace. Skin glowing. Eyes hooded. Posing in a way that had every man on the planet foaming at the mouth. The SKIMS Valentine’s campaign had dropped, and you were the star.

The moment he saw the lingerie—saw the way your body looked in it—his jaw locked so tight it could crack.

And then he saw the comments.

“I just KNOW Jace is punching the air rn.”

“She’s too fine. If he won’t wife her, I WILL.”

“Jace, be so serious… How does it feel to lose?”

“Why does she look single in these photos???”

“Jace, if you fumble, I’m RIGHT HERE.”

The moment the meeting ended, Jace stormed out of the office, grabbing his phone and calling you immediately.

You picked up, cheerful—which only pissed him off more.

“You having fun?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You giggled. “Jacey, baby, did you see the campaign?”

“Oh, I saw it. So did the rest of the fucking world.”

You hummed, unbothered. “And?”

Jace ran a hand through his curls, breathing hard. He could see the photos in his mind—how every man was lusting over you.

His girl.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing.

“And,” he growled, “you better be home when I get there.”

“Why?” you teased, voice all sweetness and sin.

Jace let out a dark chuckle. “So I can remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

One minute, people were thirsting over your SKIMS campaign, and the next?

Jace dropped a bomb.

A video.

A very explicit video.

You, bare, ruined, trembling on his bed. Voice completely gone. Every breath ragged. Body shaking violently. Jace’s hand on your ass, smacking every time you tried to move away. His voice? Dark. Dangerous. Possessive.

“Was it worth it, baby? Hm? Letting the whole world see you like that? Look at you now—can’t even talk, can’t even move. Next time you wanna tease me, remember who the fuck you belong to.”

And his caption? Head Shot.

“Since y’all were so thirsty for her SKIMS campaign, here’s what happened after. Enjoy.”

Instagram Comments :

“JACE, WTF IS THIS? I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“He saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘bet.’”

“NAH, THIS IS BIBLICAL. HER VOICE? GONE. BODY? FINISHED. JACE?? LAUGHING IN HER EAR?”

“This man took it PERSONAL LMFAO.”

“I ain’t never seen a man HUMBLED this fast 😭”

“THE WAY HE’S WHISPERING TO HER AND HIS HAND?? Y’ALL. I NEED HOLY WATER.”

“Her body shaking and his palm smacking down… Yeah. Yeah. That’s a man.”

“Jace saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘MY GIRL. MINE.’”

“You just KNOW he was PISSED when he saw those lingerie pics 😭.”

“She went from SKIMS model to Jace’s favorite meal real fast.”

“THE WHOLE VIDEO IS JUST HIM RUINING HER LIFE AND HER LETTING HIM 😭.”

“I need everyone involved in this video ARRESTED.”

“Bro uploaded this like a warning. Like, ‘you thought you were single in those photos? Here’s your reminder.’”

“HE REALLY POSTED THIS AS REVENGE FOR SKIMS. THIS IS A POWER MOVE.”



TWITTER REACTIONS : Trending Topics:

#JaceVelaryon

#JusticeForHerVoice

#SKIMSRevenge

#IsSheAlive??

Comments :

“Jace is actually insane for posting this. HER BODY IS SHAKING. HER VOICE IS GONE. AND HE’S JUST THERE, WHISPERING AND LAUGHING??? HELLO???”

“You KNOW he was mad about SKIMS cause why is this video a whole RESPONSE??? 😭”

“If my man doesn’t ruin me like this after I piss him off, I don’t want him.”

“Jace: ‘You wanna do a lingerie campaign and let men thirst over you? Cool. But they’re gonna watch you break for ME.’”

“Jace really saw those SKIMS pics, picked up his phone, and said: ‘hold my beer.’”

“THAT MAN POSTED A WHOLE MOVIE. AMAZON PRIME COULD NEVER."

TIKTOK REACTIONS: Viral TikTok Caption

“POV: Jace Velaryon took his SKIMS revenge to another level and now we’re all screaming, crying, throwing up.”

Sound: Cardi B screaming “WHAT WAS THE REASON?!”

“Y’all, Jace didn’t just claim his girl. He PLANTED HIS FLAG.”

“Her legs shaking and him laughing about it…? Yeah. I need therapy.”

“Jace’s hand on her ass, the way she arched, the way he smacked down??? I HAVE NEVER KNOWN PEACE.”

FINAL VERDICT:

The internet is absolutely UNWELL. Jace won. You? Finished. The SKIMS campaign? Irrelevant.

The moment Daemon sees the SKIMS campaign, his entire demeanor shifts. He had been lounging in his office, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone—until your face, your body, wrapped in delicate lace, fills his screen. His jaw clenches, his grip on the phone tightening as he watches you pose effortlessly, seductive and stunning, every inch of you made to be worshipped.

And so were the thousands of comments under the post.

“She’s an angel AND a sin. How is that fair?”

“I need her. No, actually, I’ll die without her.”

“Whoever her man is, I hope he knows he lost her to the world today.”

Daemon lets out a dark chuckle, but there’s nothing amused about it. His blood is boiling, his possessiveness clawing at his insides. Lost you to the world? They had no idea who they were talking about.

With a sharp inhale, he slams his phone down on the desk and gets up, pacing the room. His mind races. He knows you love teasing him, knows you like pushing boundaries—but this? This was a direct challenge. A test. And Daemon Targaryen does not lose.

Grabbing his car keys, he heads straight for you. No calls. No texts. You knew what you had done. Now? Now, you’d deal with the consequences.

The internet exploded within minutes of Daemon’s post.

No caption. No explanation. Just you, completely wrecked—your expression dazed, mouth parted as soft whimpers left your lips. His hand cradled your face, slapping your cheek with a teasing, mocking rhythm. And though his other hand wasn’t in frame, the wetness sounds that filled the video left no room for imagination.

Twitter/X:

“WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WATCH???”

“Daemon just said ‘she’s MINE’ without saying a single damn word.”

“This man saw the SKIMS shoot and said ‘bet’ 😭”

“HELP ME I CAN’T BREATHE WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE SOUNDS???”

Instagram Comments:

“Okay but the way she looks at him?? That’s not just lust, that’s ruin.”

“He posted this just to remind everyone he owns her and honestly? It worked.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS TO BE ON MY FEED??? I have work in the morning.”

“I feel like I just saw something I shouldn’t have… and yet I can’t stop watching.”

TikTok Reactions:

Edits of the SKIMS shoot transitioning to Daemon’s video with captions like:

“She teased him, and he answered.”

“SKIMS said ‘sexy’—Daemon said ‘MINE’.”

Compilation of reactions to the sound alone, with people throwing their phones across the room or covering their faces in shock.

Reddit Threads:

“Daemon Targaryen just changed the internet forever.”

“The SKIMS campaign was a declaration. Daemon’s video? A WAR CRIME.”

“How do we recover from this? WE DON’T.”

While some were losing their minds over the intensity, others were spiraling at the undeniable claim staked in that video. Daemon wanted the world to know—you were his, and no amount of cameras or campaigns would ever change that.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons @callsignwidow

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your dividers ❤️‍🩹

[aoelustious]

"FUCK HAMILTON” – A College AU Tragedy (I EXPLODED WHEN I COME ACROSS THIS ART 😭😭)

(Or: How Three Enemies Accidentally Created a Hamilton Fanclub/Thirst Cult

Jefferson: (passing out flyers) “Are you tired of one pretentious, overachieving, espresso-chugging gremlin ruining every debate, lecture, and group chat? Join us. The ‘FUCK HAMILTON’ club. First meeting this Friday.”

Burr: “You have to clarify what that means.”

Jefferson: “If they know, they know.”

Madison: (wheezing) “They don’t, Thomas. They really don’t.

Friday, 7:00 PM. The Lecture Hall.

Jefferson, Burr, and Madison are sitting smugly. They’ve got a PowerPoint titled:

“Why Hamilton Sucks: A 12-Point Manifesto”

Then the door opens.

Enter: John Laurens, bisexual chaos incarnate.

Laurens: “Is this the club about f***ing Hamilton? Because. Yeah. Where do I sign up?”

Jefferson: “No no no no no—this is a hate club.”

Laurens: “Buddy, I hate how much I want to climb him like a tree. That count?”

Madison: (whispers) “Abort. Abort.”

Enter: Maria Reynolds. In thigh-high boots.

Maria: “Hi. I assumed this was an anonymous hookup support group for people who’ve slept with Alexander Hamilton and have… regrets.”

Burr: (choking on his latte) “He slept with you too?”

Maria: “I mean, does crying after count?”

Enter: Angelica Schuyler, terrifyingly intelligent, dangerously hot.

Angelica: “I thought this was a fantasy processing space. I haven’t touched him. But emotionally? Disastrously entangled.”

Jefferson: “This was supposed to be a slander session, not a thirst trap circle.”

Angelica: “Too late. I brought wine.”

Enter: Eliza Schuyler. In Hamilton’s hoodie. With a tray of muffins.

Eliza: “Hi. I saw the poster. Thought I’d bring snacks. I assumed this was just for people emotionally exhausted by my boyfriend.”

Maria, Angelica, Laurens: “...Boyfriend?”

Eliza: (smiling sweetly) “For now.”

Jefferson: screams internally

Cue Hamilton showing up late with two Monster cans, a 10-page apology for something no one asked about, and his shirt inside out.

Hamilton: “Hey. I heard my name. Did y’all start a fan club?”

Laurens: “Define ‘fan.’”

Angelica: “Define ‘club.’”

Maria: “Define ‘boundaries.’”

Eliza: “Define ‘polyamory.’”

Jefferson: has left the Zoom

[fukcnoplease]

Things always go wrong pt5

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

 The man immediately rushed to correct her, tripping over his words as his hands moved wildly, too fast for her to see. Dani knew this wasn't any kind of kidnapping or imprisonment. They couldn't catch her if they tried, not without ghost equipment, but it was kind of fun to mess with this giant of a man. Who clearly had super speed as his hands and words began to go so fast she couldn't understand either. Concerning, sure, but not enough to thwart her thirst for chaos or the urge to poke fun at this seemingly superpowered teddy bear. 

“Am I gonna die here?” She asked, putting on her best scared kitten act. The man froze as he made an interesting set of noises in response to Dani’s question. She wasn't entirely sure they could be made by humans but she wasn't too worried. Her vague understanding of the superheroes around the world did mean she knew at least a few aliens existed in their ranks. She didn't know any of them by name though.

“I hope you understand that no one, no one, on this station would ever try and harm you.” The man said after taking a deep breath. A little rich since Batman had only recently tried to stick them in a lab but it was the thought that counted she supposed. He seemed to get more uncomfortable if she just stared at him silently though, so she kept silent in her scared little kitten act. Honestly it was kind of a riot seeing the man panic over things she knew were unimportant.

“Look! I’ll bring you to Batman and he can explain everything. How about that?” He said and Dani frowned. Batman likely wouldn't be as much of a help as Wonder Woman but if this guy wasn't going to bring her to the lasso lady then might as well go to Batman. Maybe she could even convince him to let her leave. 

Dani nodded, shyly as she could muster, at the big man and he relaxed. He went to pick her up but she stepped away, not even as an act, and he fumbled with his hands before nodding briskly and turning towards a hallway. She followed him a little ways in a big meeting room, extra long dining table with too many chairs and another big, massive computer at the end of the room. It was a little scary how many way too fancy computers Dani had come across in only 24 hours. 

Well, only two, but that was still more than the average person would in their lifetime.

Batman stood at the computer and typed at a raised keyboard. Dani had seen Jazz use a stand up desk, she said it was good for back posture and stress. She always talked about how posture was important and how it could affect you when you were older. Probably didn't mean much with ghost genetics so Dani never cared. 

“BR-” The red caped crusader almost shouted as he walked in but was cut off by something hitting him directly in the forehead. He cried out when it exploded in his face as well. Dani would be lying if she said it didn't make her flinch, which is why she didn't say anything.

“Batman.” The man said again, rubbing his blackened forehead, “I wanted you to explain to- well, this child? That she was not in danger while on the station nor that she was kidnapped or imprisoned.” 

Batman looked at the man then at Dani and scowled. Now that Dani was feeling better, and a little distracted from her brother dying, she started to notice how rude Batman was. He always scowled whenever they interacted and while she wasn't the best person in the world she certainly wasn't that bad. Well, not according to her anyway. “I want to leave.” She said. The caped man, she was really struggling not to just call him Teddy, looked shocked at her sudden firmness but Batman just stared her down. She racked her brain for a way to sound regal and vague when Batman cut her off with a simple answer. “No.” He said. “What?” She and Teddy said in unison. “No. Its been established that you are not safe on earth. We had medical bays if you need them and we have yet to confirm your royal status. There are heroes on the way to help with that. You will stay here.” He said. Dani could feel her ectoplasm churn and her core thrum with anger. “You don't have the right to refuse me passage back to earth. My allies can aid me more than you can and I will force my way to them if I need to.” She growled. Batman’s scowl only deepend. “There is no way we can confirm your allies are safe and until we can confirm your status you are as much of an unknown threat as they are. The Watchtower has all the facilities needed to help you. You will stay here.” Batman said before turning back to the computer. Dani was fuming, if Danny wasnt potentially withering away in another room she would have destroyed this place. “Batman, I know you feel the need to protect them but they are just kids. Can't we at least hear them out?” Teddy said and Dani felt immensely grateful for him. Maybe she would even lighten up on her bullying. Maybe.

“Kids can be more dangerous.” Was all Batman said and Teddy huffed.

“Yours, maybe, but we can't hold every kid to the standard of a robin, can we?” Teddy said and Batman finally looked back at him.

“Not every kid is a meta either.” He said and went back to work. Dani could feel Teddy flex as he grew more agitated.

“Batman.” He said lowly, and Dani instinctively took a step away from him. Batman didn't respond, but he did pause at where he was typing. There was a silence before the clack of keys started up again. Teddy took a deep breath before pressing something on his wrist, a light flashed red and he spoke into it. “Wonder Woman? Can you please come to the main meeting room? There is a young child who wishes to be escorted home.” He said. Dani looked as shocked as Batman did but she recovered faster. “Thank you!” She cried as she launched at Teddy and hugged his neck. He stiffened in shock but relaxed quickly enough to hug her back before she pulled away.

“Superman.” Batman said, he sounded angry but not enough to concern Dani. She did spin to do a double take at Teddy though.

“Wait, Superman? You’re superman?” She asked incredulously as she looked the man up and down. His costume made sense for the name, both the S on the front and the absurdity of it. “Yes?” Superman said, confused by why Dani was so surprised, “Did you not recognize me?” “Well, I guess I just expected Superman to look more… I don't know. Super?” She said. Someone laughed from the entryway and they turned to see Wonder Woman laughing at the doorway. “Praytell, how did you think he would look?” The woman laughed as she entered the room. Batman gave a grunt but was ignored in favor of the child now deep in thought. “I guess like, red skin? Fire hair? Maybe extra arms?” She said, “A cooler outfit?” Superman looked like a wounded puppy at her words and she felt a little bad. Wonder Woman started laughing again and quickly closed the distance between them, which Dani was surprisingly OK with.

“I suppose that truly would have been super,” She chuckled before composing herself, “Now what was this about a child wanting to go home?” Batman stepped forward this time. Dani felt the humor wash out of her as she glared down the man now officially holding her prisoner. “Until royal status can be confirmed both the metas will be staying on the Watchtower until further notice.” He said. Wonder Woman hummed as she looked at him, hip cocked in a friendly but challenging stance.

“And you?” She addressed Dani and Dani fumbled to find the right words. Batman couldnt look more sour if he tried.

“My friends are in Gotham, they can help more than you can but I need to get to them.” Dani managed as Wonder Woman watched her. It didnt feel as challenging or doubtful as it did when she was looking at Batman but it was still intimidating. “I see. And would you let us meet your friends?” She asked. Dani blinked. She hadnt thought of that. If they were in Gotham they would end up on Batmans turf regardless so the chances of him meeting the phantom gang was already pretty high. If they initiated though, maybe it would be easier when they eventually cause problems in the city? Or it would be worse because Batman would already know where to find them. “I can ask.” Dani said as she pulled out her phone from her torso, which shocked the heroes present. As Dani began typing, Wonder Woman turned to Batman. “I appreciate your desire to ensure there wasn't a dimensional war threat but there is an ill royal ambassador. Having an ambassador die under our care would have a similar effect to attacking them directly. Especially if we were denying them what could be life saving treatment.” She said. Batman grunted and stepped away from Dani, creating a small circle of just the heroes. Too far for normal hearing perhaps, but not for Dani’s enhanced hearing. “We have a medical bay on the Watchtower.” He grumbled and Wonder woman sighed. “Yes, but we cannot force them to use it. If they wish to use their own medicine that is their choice. Especially since we know nothing about them.” She scolded. Dani could have sworn Batman almost winced at her words. She sped up typing.

TravelerOfWorlds

Ok so 1) the heroes want to meet you guys

2) I think Wonder Woman is my favorite hero

3) Batman is my least favorite hero

EcoTerrorist

Why do the heroes want to meet us?

TravelerOfWorlds

Unclear. I think its just to establish you are real and not going to kill us.

EcoTerrorist

We are real. Depends on what Danny did to end up more dead.

But I am willing to meet a hero if thats what it takes to get Danny here.

TravelerOfWorlds

As in just one?

EcoTerrorist

As in just one. 

And only if we get Danny first.

Dani squinted at the screen and sighed. She had lost where the heroes conversation was going but that just made it easier to interrupt.

“Excuse me?” Dani waited for Wonder Woman to hold a hand up to silence the arguing men as she turned to Dani and nodded for her to continue. “My… allies decided that they are willing to meet one hero. Just one. And only if my ambassador gets dropped off first.” Batman grunted but it was Wonder Woman who stepped up to talk. “Would you be willing to settle for a hero helping you drop off the ambassador?” she asked and Dani nodded.

“Yeah, I think that will work. They just need to get to the ambassador as soon as possible. I dont think they care about much more than that.” Dani said. Batman shifted behind Wonder Woman and Superman glared at him.

“Thats fine then. Do you know where you need to be dropped off?” Wonder woman asked and Dani sent another quick text asking for the address before nodding. “Somewhere in Gotham. I have the address if that helps.” Dani said. Wonder Woman paused thoughtfully before smiling, a bit too wide. “Well, Batman knows Gotham the best. Im sure he can help you and I think it would be best if he was the one to meet your friends. If your staying in Gotham, its probably best to know the local hero you can call upon.” She said. Dani scrunched her nose and Batman scowled. There was no way Dani was going to be asking Batman for help. Not if she had anything to say about it. 

Except she didnt, because just as she was about to argue a crackling static filled the air around them. It sounded like tv static but layered underneath was the high pitch keen of electricity and a faint scream. Dani would recognize Danny’s ghost speech anywhere and was moving before any of the league had recovered from hearing the eerie sound. 

Batman was first to recover, closely followed by Wonder woman and Superman as they followed the young, alleged monarch through the hallways of the watchtower. Dani didnt struggle to find her way back to the small room, Danny’s call for her being something of a homing beacon.

She slammed her hand on the keypad and the door opened to a tangled-in-sheets Danny who was face planted half off the bed. When he saw her the keen of electricity shifted into the pops and bangs of fuses blowing and he reached a hand for her.

She was quick to grab it and help him back onto the bed, untangling him as her own ghost speech layered on his. Her static overlayed with the sound of bubbles escaping liquid and splashes of something more viscous than water.

Once Danny had her in eyesight and her hand in his he started to calm down. The static dimmed and eventually stopped but he never stopped looking at Dani. It would be disconcerting if Dani wasnt freaking out about Danny using his ghost speech so publicly. 

Some weaker ghosts used ghost speech regularly because it took less energy than projecting feelings core to core, distinct words were even more taxing, but Danny was powerful. He was the King of the Infinite Realms. He hated broadcasting the sounds of his death and he always had the energy to project entire paragraphs into someone's core. 

“We need to get him to Gotham now.” Dani said and she moved to try to pick Danny up but was pulled back by Wonder Woman. She wanted to growl or hiss or something but Batman was already moving to pick up Danny, who was still carefully watching his little sister.

Dani moved quickly to stay with Batman as he made his way to the boom tubes. Behind them she caught the barest whispers between Wonder Woman and Superman.

“He is an impressive warrior. He never let his gaze waver, even in such a state.” Wonder Woman commented. 

“Still worrying. With all the powers she has casually shown, I have to wonder what got him in such a state in the first place.” Superman added. Dani lost the conversation as they moved away and towards the metal cones.

The journey back was moderately better than the journey there, especially now that she knew what to expect. She still made sure to grip Danny’s hand tightly and send comforting thrums to his core as they passed through.

His eyes flashed a brighter green and he shuddered when they exited the swirling vortex but that was all and Dani was going to count that as a win.

The crazy batcar rolled up in front of them before they had even stepped off the boom tube platform and the doors popped open. Batman carefully put Danny in the back and Dani climbed in after him. The doors closed as Batman got situated in the drivers seat and they were off. Down the same path they used to enter, the crazy bat cave shrinking behind them until it was swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel.

Batman didnt pull up any directions for the address, didnt even give it a second look, he just drove in silence, which Dani was grateful for. She didnt have much choice but to go with him since Danny needed help sooner rather than later and arguing with Batman would have taken too much time. Time that Danny desperately needed. It didnt mean Dani had to be happy about it though.

They exited the tunnels into the dingy light of a clouded sky, blinding Dani. Huge gothic buildings towered around them, modern skyscrapers awkwardly built in between the historical stone. It was actually kind of endearing. The mish mosh of styles and buildings and the giant gargoyles on every building. If it was under different circumstances Dani might have loved visiting Gotham.

As it were they pulled into an alley next to a nicer skyscraper, one that was clearly trying to bridge the gap between modern and historic. Batman parked by the dumpsters and went to pick up Danny. “I can carry him.” Dani said, pulling the dazed halfa towards herself. Batman paused, a frown permanently pasted on his face, but stepped back. He moved to the nearby staff entrance and opened the door for Dani. After some cajoling and awkward shifting, she had Danny in a piggyback hold. It wasnt the most comfortable but after a few years Danny had stopped being the small teen and grown into a lanky young adult. Sure he weighed nothing to Dani but his awkward length made him unruly to carry with her smaller body. She still wasnt going to let Batman carry him though so she could suck it up.

The door was clearly a staff entrance so Dani was a little surprised it had been left unlocked but elected to not focus on that. Batman led them through the staff walkways and to the elevators, thankfully no one was around. Dani might have keeled over if someone had seen her getting into a fancy elevator with THE Batman. 

She might keel over just having to be in the fancy elevator with the Batman. It was a long elevator ride to experience in complete silence, excluding Batman’s breathing. Damn, Sam’s parents for getting them a penthouse on the top floors of a skyscraper.

~~~ Hey gang sorry for how long this took, lots of stuff happening hopefully the next bit will be out sooner than later

thanks for waiting and for all the positive feedback this isnt beta read so sorry about the grammar

[mleighd94]

Eternal Hunt Chapter Eleven – The Vermilion Oath

The mausoleum loomed at the edge of the woods like it had grown out of the earth itself — all crumbling stone, cracked angel statues, and rusted iron gates. Moonlight barely reached it, and what did seemed reluctant, like even the sky feared what was buried beneath.

“Place gives me the creeps,” Felix muttered beside her, flicking on his flashlight. “Too quiet.”

Chan didn’t speak. His hand hovered near his gun, but his eyes never left the strange crest etched above the mausoleum doors.

For the one who carries the thirst, but not the curse.

Y/N stepped forward, the breath catching in her chest. She didn’t know why her hands were trembling. She didn’t remember this place. And yet… every cell in her body whispered you’re home.

The heavy doors groaned as they pushed inside. The scent of old stone, dry earth, and something ancient filled the air. The main chamber was circular, lit only by the faint silver of moonlight filtering through shattered stained glass. A narrow staircase spiraled downward into shadow.

No one spoke as they descended.

At the bottom, a long corridor stretched into a darkness that swallowed the flashlight beams. The walls were lined with stone coffins — all empty. At the very end of the hallway, a vaulted chamber opened wide, and there, beneath an arch of blackened bone and silver, sat an altar.

And above it—

Floated a sword.

The air around it shimmered, like heat rising from asphalt. Crimson veins of light pulsed along the altar’s surface, almost in time with Y/N’s heartbeat. The sword hovered upright, tip-down, suspended in the air by nothing but silence and time.

It was beautiful. Terrifying. Like it had been forged by something not quite of this world.

The blade gleamed with a dull silver shine, etched with unreadable runes. Its hilt was wrapped in worn leather the color of old blood.

It hummed.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She took a step forward.

“Y/N—” Chan started, but she didn’t hear him.

The pull in her chest was magnetic. The world around her blurred. The blood in her veins sang.

The sword turned.

Without warning —

It flew toward her.

Felix shouted. Chan reached for her. But the sword didn’t strike.

It settled into her outstretched hand like it had always been there.

The chamber lit up.

Crimson light exploded around her in a swirling rush of wind and magic. Symbols on the altar blazed to life. The ground shook. A voice echoed in her head — not words, but something deeper. Recognition. A promise. A bond.

Her hair whipped around her. Her eyes glowed silver-red. The sword pulsed once in her hand, and then—

Silence.

The light faded, the last flicker of red magic curling into the stone like smoke.

Y/N stood still, the sword cradled effortlessly in her hand — as if it had always belonged there. As if it had been waiting.

For a moment, no one moved. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

“Holy shit,” Felix whispered.

His voice cracked the silence like thunder. “That thing flew at you.” He blinked, wide-eyed. “I mean, full-on Excalibur-launching-into-the-chosen-one flew. I nearly had a heart attack.”

Y/N barely heard him. Her chest was rising and falling fast, but she didn’t feel out of breath. She felt charged, like electricity was coiled in her veins.

Felix looked from her to the sword and back again. “Are you okay? You look like… I dunno, like you absorbed something.”

“I didn’t absorb anything,” she murmured. “It found me.”

Chan stepped closer, eyes scanning the altar, then the runes that still pulsed faintly on the stone walls. His voice was low, careful. “This isn’t just an ancient weapon. It was bound to you. That kind of magic—it doesn’t just choose randomly. It’s blood-forged. It knows.”

Y/N turned toward him, fingers curling tighter around the hilt.

“This blade,” Chan continued, “was meant for someone who kept their heart. Who survived everything they were never meant to. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—and is anyway.”

His gaze locked with hers. “You’re not just a part of the story anymore.”

Y/N met his stare, her voice quiet but unshakable.

“I’m the ending.”

And the sword pulsed once in her hand — like it agreed.

[50shadesofstuckony]

It's Friday

(or it was when we posted the work yesterday)

Rating: Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships:

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Additional Tags:

Werewolves, Fantasy, sort of fantasy and sci-fi, not steampunk though, Rough Sex, Alchemist Tony, king steve, mad scientist-esque tony stark

Summary:

There are rumours of a werewolf loose in the mountains of King Steven's land. He brings his trusted alchemist along as he investigates.

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65604253/chapters/168907825

This was a gift prompt for @tedrakitty

Lord of the land, tall, blond, handsome and all-round good guy Steve Rogers waltzed into his favorite person's workshop just in time to hear a cacophony of noises — Crash! Bang! Wallop! — followed by a stream of muttered curses, the distinct clatter of metal hitting concrete, and the unmistakable hiss of something sparking that definitely shouldn’t be sparking. He froze in the doorway, one hand still on the latch, as a wrench went skittering past his boots and embedded itself in the wooden beam behind him.

"...Everything okay in here?" he asked cautiously, leaning in just enough to see a grease-smudged face pop up from behind a smoking workbench, eyes wide. A small man covered in soot and hair sizzling sticking out everywhere, his nicely toned bare chest also covered in soot and scorch marks from whatever had just exploded came stumbling out from a corner.

He bellowed over the top of the noise, “Sorry, Sorry, SORRY!"

Turning to face the other man in the room, he lifted his goggles from his eyes to rest on his forehead, whiskey eyes shining bright from within a rim of grime. “What can I do for you?” It wasn't unusual to see the lord of the land in his workshop. The man seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for his gadgets, whatever they may be, not to mention he was also the town's weapons maker.

“Anthony. What are you breaking this time?” Steve asked, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His voice carried a familiar blend of exasperation and amusement—no matter how infuriating he found the man, Tony’s antics always managed to charm the lord.

“Nothing,” Tony replied dismissively, giving a casual wave of his hand just as a loud crash echoed behind him, something clearly having hit the ground. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he continued to fiddle with the holographic display in front of him, as if this were all part of the plan.

Steve, who had been watching Tony with a mix of amusement and disbelief, raised an eyebrow. “Tony, what was that?”

Tony didn’t look up. “Oh, just a small, um, minor really, setback. Nothing to worry about.” Another crash echoed—this time followed by the unmistakable sound of something cracking.

Steve huffed in exasperation at the alchemist, “Anyway,” Steve continued, his tone shifting to something more serious, “there are rumors, talk of a werewolf, supposedly unleashed from a ship that arrived from the north. I was wondering if you’d accompany me to investigate. Given your… particular area of expertise?”

For a moment, Tony seemed to weigh the proposal, his expression unreadable. But he couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of excitement that lit up his eyes. A real werewolf? Here, in their lands? The thought alone sent a thrill through him, and though he tried to keep his composure, his curiosity was already getting the better of him.

"I suppose, I could be persuaded to join your escapade," Tony said with an exaggerated sigh, as if the very idea of stepping outside his workshop was an immense burden, though the spark in his eyes betrayed his intrigue.

The lord’s eyes lit up at the alchemist’s response. “Great! We leave tomorrow!” he declared, clapping his hands together with boyish enthusiasm.

Tony froze mid-tinker, the small gear in his hand slipping from between his fingers. “Tomorrow? But I won’t have time to prepare!”

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Steve said, stepping forward at the first sign of his friend’s rising panic. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. You won’t get hurt.”

Tony waved him off with a scoff, batting Steve’s hands away like a bothersome fly. “That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, disappearing into the cluttered depths of his workshop, swallowed by shelves of strange gadgets and the eerie glow of an orb humming softly on the table.

“It’s not danger I’m worried about. I have so many things to pack. Or—wait, maybe I could rework the design, change the ignition mechanism, or even…”

He trailed off as he pulled a crossbow from what seemed like thin air, tapping it thoughtfully. “Adapt this, enhance the draw tension and finally test those enchanted bolts I’ve been theorizing about…”

Steve shook his head, both amused and a little concerned, watching the chaos unfold. Still, his grin never faded.

“Tomorrow, Tony. First light!”

[octaviasdread]

Dead Poet Date Hc's

Anderperry - Chased by Walt Whiskers

When Todd's publisher demands that he use social media, his manager, Ginny, couldn't have envisioned this.

Accidental sweater thirst traps aside, it's Walt Whiskers driving Todd's media engagement. It's Walt Whiskers who guest stars at his poetry readings, and it's Walt Whiskers who Ginny hires a social media manager for.

Who knew his anxiety aid could be such a traitor?

Because when Todd meets Neil his life goes to shit.

Working in media had, of course, given Todd the expectation that his cat's manager would be attractive. Todd can work with attractive. He can ignore attractive, usually.

But nothing about Neil is normal. He's tall, extroverted, and a Shakespearean actor to boot.

He's not arrogant, gym-obsessed, or suppressing the temper of a stage mom. Neil is a regular guy so in love with his poorly paid job that he decimates his sleep schedule and runs ragged to pay his rent by managing the city's theatre socials.

So Ginny, like any good friend, ropes Neil in before her boss at Todd’s publishing house even finishes the call.

Unfortunately, Todd is a homebody. He is a poet with a Wikipedia page branding him a 'recluse,' and the thing about influencers is they have to exist outside.

Ginny compromises at first. Every shoot is scheduled in darkened, private spaces.

Todd watches each time as Neil's brows raise in perfect, incredulous arcs. He doesn't comment. Instead, Neil hoists Walt onto one of his ridiculously high hips and takes a walk to 'check the light.'

Todd's lungs expand.

To Neil's credit, he tries. Todd finds indoor photoshoots awkward enough as he poses with his lacklustre smile, torn notebooks, and Walt Whiskers perching irritably on his lap.

The outdoor shoots are worse.

"Poetry is supposed to stir you up!" Neil's voice projects through Central Park as he gesticulates wildly. "You look as stirred up as a cesspool."

"I'm not like you."

"Don't you think you could be? People listen to your words, Todd. Now let them meet you."

"I thought you were here for Walt."

Neil rolls his eyes, "you are Walt, dummy. Come on, let's break for coffee."

So they order drinks and commiserate through quotes, exchanging words from Tennessee Williams and Kafka until Todd is comfortable enough to allude to his own.

And when Todd isn't looking, Neil gets the Instagram reel. It's the perfect shot of Walt Whiskers wearing Neil's glasses as he slowly blinks at Todd quoting from his supposedly 'aesthetic,' ink-stained notebook.

With a trendy sound bite, the post explodes.

Todd's latest book flies off the shelves. So naturally, Ginny hauls them into her office to talk strategy.

Strategy, in Ginny's world, translates to valentine date.

"It's logic," Ginny dismisses. Tinny music pours from the speakers as the Hudson River Company keeps her cell phone on hold. "Your latest collection is called, Tides of Love, Todd. I'd be an idiot not to set up a romantic dinner cruise for PR.”

"I'm not sitting there with my cat." Todd turns and appeals to Neil for help. "Tell her what people will think."

Neil opens his mouth, but Ginny cuts him off.

"No." She shoots a firm look at them both. "I know for a fact that neither of you have valentines plans. Take the cat together and secure us a bestseller."

They take the cat.

Todd spends all night pulling at his tux. Walt has no such reservations with his mini paw-printed bowtie. Instead, the damn cat has every waitress sneaking chicken under the perfectly pressed tablecloth.

If he were a better pet owner, Todd would've noticed. In a better world, Todd would've stuck to the no-chicken diet Walt's vet prescribed. But in this world, his cat's manager is wearing a tux.

Neil could be a Hollywood star sitting there under candlelight. With the wine in his head and the river waves in his stomach, Todd wants to take Tides of Love and write it anew.

But he doesn't.

Todd pokes at his Michelin star meal. It may be pathetic, but valentines are valentines no matter how fake.

He crumples a napkin and drops it over the camera lens.

There are no witnesses when Neil pets Walt, his long, delicate fingers brushing Todd's own. Nobody shares how they linger, how they curve, almost taking Todd's hand to hold.

And when Neil makes a determined and tipsy climb up the deck, Todd doesn't turn, doesn't direct his stare away. He finds himself laughing and scrambling to race against Neil's impossibly long legs. With a fire inside, Todd snatches up the lookout post, throwing drunken taunts out in his wake.

With flushed cheeks and Walt warm in his arms, Todd isn't a tentative poet or a hermit half in early retirement. He's Jack flying high through the clouds. He's bold and he's reckless in his dreams, and in his love for a Shakespearean Rose.

Like every ship, Cupid's Arrow sweeps Todd happily into the deep.

It's only with his hangover the inevitable sinking begins. His iceberg is the size of date night floating up his fyp with over 20,000 hits.

A heart-shaped button has never cut so deep.

But with engagement comes sales and not one, but two, NY Times bestsellers, so the poet and media manager keep taking Walt on contracted dates.

Cafes roll into museums, picnic dates, and late-night Broadway shoots.

Walt poses while Neil charms and draws Todd closer and closer into their extroverted orbit.

By April, Todd's poems hang from the walls backstage at Circle in the Square. He walks between frames correcting and composing while Walt scurries beneath seats, and sniffs for wet food pouches stashed under stacks of Neil's scripts.

It's a routine, Todd tells himself. It's enrichment to exercise Walt. It's his typewriter stored as a video prop amongst the leafy crowns and Yorick skulls at home in Neil's dressing room.

It's this home the poet follows, each purr and smile like catnip until he finds himself curling up during rehearsals behind painted, woodland sets. His poems layer across the orchestra, snatches of Neil's soliloquy, and the beat of paws on wood as Todd opens his words and world to TikTok Live.

With these unique readings come sponsors, and with sponsors come trips.

As spring creeps in, Ginny packs them off on a brand deal supplying a '57 Chevrolet Corvette for the road Coney Island.

They shoot Walt in the driver's seat like a city-dwelling Grace Kelly in sunglasses and a scarf. In a second snap, Neil lounges on the red bonnet in a line of Times Square traffic, and Todd is blurrily backlit by Battery Tunnel in a final car shot, the winning polaroid cover for his upcoming collection, Epigraphs for Nostalgia.

The road to true love has never felt so smooth.

Todd knows it can’t last, but he clings to this day straight from the brand’s vintage guide to teenage dates.

Roll after roll fills with charmingly juvenile snaps.

They wave from Deno’s Wonder Wheel. Product placement smears Coney Cone's ice cream over Walt's nose, while Neil and Todd squabble over film and notebook sheets which fly loose to scatter like snow on the boardwalk.

"I told you," Neil whoops, "those dead drafts want to fly!"

Chastened by staff, but thrilled with the candid, self-timer snaps, the poet and media manager take one more shot.

"Come on," Todd grumbles, wrestling Walt into an admittedly dingy photo booth. "You can't take care of yourself."

Walt meows in protest. But the curtain falls and traps both man and cat as Neil slides onto the bench.

Flash. Walt pressed nose to nose with Todd. Flash. Todd squawks while Neil howls at the ice cream Walt smears on Todd's nose. Flash. Walt leaps and Neil dives into Todd's lap in an effort to catch the escaping cat. Ding!

Pink hearts float in bubble letters like cotton candy across the screen: Kisscam Count.

Descending digits blink in and out.

Three.

The poet freezes. His cat's media manager glances up, his body still sprawled across the poet's lap.

Two.

Neil inhales.

One.

The final lines of Epigraph for Nostalgia linger on the seam of Todd's lips.

“Carpe Diem," he mutters.

There's a flicker.

An image appears of an Instagram crashing kiss.

[parismemes]

sentence starters from the mountain goats - full force galesburg

"you've had it up to here with my west country talk."

"you can hardly understand a word i say."

"the shortest tree around here is a hundred feet tall."

"it's gonna rain today."

"i am not getting through to you."

"this morning i know who you are."

"the things you try to say to me make my blood run cold."

"i've learned to read your movements."

"i'm learning how to read your mind."

"i can feel you in my arms but you're hardly even with me."

"the dice were loaded against us ever seeing eachother."

"one of us had nowhere else to go."

"i know who i am."

"i know who you are. or who you were just an hour ago."

"static interference on the radio tonight."

"i know what i know."

"it's too hot out there tonight."

"why'd you tell me this?"

"were you looking for my reaction?"

"most of the air has got to choke you."

"most of june i spent in jail again."

"i am losing control of the language again."

"you were looking down at me, and you sure looked good."

"i wanna follow you all the way down this time."

"i want to see what it is you're going down for."

"i want you more than i want anything."

"i want you the way you were."

"just then, the gleam in your eye made my blood freeze."

"i used to love you so much that i was sure it would kill me."

"i know what my weaknesses are. probably better than you do."

"i thought i knew what my weaknesses were, anyway."

"there was nothing in it but pain for me."

"i know what can hurt me real bad, and what can't hurt me anymore."

"i know how to rise up with the sun."

"i am learning what sleep's good for."

"i thought i'd figured out the world in its circular way."

"i feel like i'm gonna drown down here."

"i don't speak the language down here."

"heaven is my resting place; god is my salvation."

"i will burn all the calendars that counted the years down to such a worthless day."

"on the day that i forget you, i hope my heart explodes."

"we've got an unquenchable thirst in our throats."

"we are, for some reason, all the time bleeding."

"we are friendless."

"they seem to know something nobody else knows."

"we are burning up all of our choices up here."

"the sky's opening up like an old wound."

"we can taste fresh blood in our mouths again."

"we tally up all our possessions, we're going under."

"some of our promises were binding."

"we had our ears to the ground."

"it was ringing as clear as crystal."

"it was shining as bright as gold."

"i tasted chocolate on my tongue."

"i heard firecrackers popping next door."

"let me be your witness."

"let me walk out on the edge."

"the sun refused to shine on my backyard today."

"i felt the shock when you were knocking."

"thought a little while about you."

"this is an empty country."

"i picked myself up off the ground."

"i should not be allowed to touch anything."

"we boxed with our shadows like a couple of kangaroos."

"your eyes were glacial and your promises all rang true."

"things are happening here while we sleep."

"i can feel it in my boiling brain."

"i am dreaming in blood-red color."

"they'll have to carry me out on my back."

"they'll have to tear me to pieces."

"we are warm in our hidden room down here."

"we've got stars in our eyes tonight."

"let the water sink down into the soil."

"god, the humidity is something."

"i recognize the song."

"we may throw the windows open later."

"we are not as far west as you suppose we are."

"while we stay here we imagine we're alive."

"there's something waiting for us in the hot, wet air."

"i can barely draw breath."

"i am not afraid of death."

"the sun up above us is trying to kill himself."

"i was sure my heart would break."

"i wanted to warn you."

"it's all coming apart again."

[eldritch-spouse]

A while back, I thought about how the Rings would celebrate Halloween- Of course, initially they didn't celebrate this, but as it became popularized and started giving Hell a chance to basically explode onto the surface freely while being accepted, the Rings grew rather fond of it and sought to have their own festivals.

And no one can best Wrath on Halloween.

Sure, a lot of these parties and grand events take place in the Common Rings, each of the sins has its own thing going on, naturally.

And, of course, it just so happens that the Ring of Perdition who understands terror, gore, fear and rage the most is Wrath. So the best displays take place there!

The hype is brutal enough that even the other Icons visit Wrath on Halloween. And as you might guess, the head servants are supposed to accompany them as well, preferably dressed for the occasion.

Lacai doesn't put that much of an effort into it, just enough to cause a bit of thirst and pretend to blend in with the more bloodthirsty crowds...

[anon-e-miss]

Hazing - 5

Jazz was a patient mech. He needed to be in his line of work. Though it irritated him that Tarantulas was running free and unsupervised with Prowl’s bitty, he knew this was an instance when he could not be rash. Sentinel’s favourite could not be removed without consequences and though Jazz did not fear the Prime’s vengeance for himself, he had places to disappear to, kin who would guard him, Prowl was not so fortunate. He did not want to see Prowl punished for his impatience. Thankfully, Sentinel’s energon thirst was unending and it was not long before the saboteur heard tell of plans to test Tarantulas latest weapon of war.

He laid in wait, within view of the test site with a carton of popped gears. Jazz nodded as a familiar yellow and blue mech joined him and offered the mech, his originator a servoful of the greasy snack. This had been a tradition of their since Jazz had learned to arm a bomb. Punch did not wear the Autobot’s brand, neither did he wear the Decepticon’s. The fact his creations wore these brands was his doing. They were his optics inside these lumbering armies. No Autobot knew Jazz’s twin was amongst the Decepticons, just as no Decepticon knew Jazz was Ricochet’s twin. Neither he nor his twin considered the other an enemy. Their deeds in this war were a means to an end.

Down below, Jazz saw Tarantulas, his mandible clicking as he spoke excitedly about his latest creation. Each time Jazz saw the mech, he was that much more a freak of his own making. Jazz feared what his creation might look like, what Tarantulas might have done to the poor little thing. He took another servoful of popped gears and took a twig of Kremzeek. Sentinel Prime tapped his ped with impatience as his prized madmech raved about his marvelous new weapon. Jazz smiled as he watched the Prime rebuke the freeze. Looking sullen, Tarantulas pulled out a remote and pressed the button. Hundreds of small, buzzing missiles shot up into the air. For a fraction of a nanoklik they flew towards the Dead End, the Prime’s favourite dart board, but then they flipped about in midair and changed direction. Every last one raced towards the Prime. Sentinel transformed but he was not fast enough to get away. He exploded into thousands of pieces. His Vanguard descended on the scientist. His screams rose up from the crush.

“Nicely done,” Punch said.

“We’ll see what sorta Prime the Matrix comes up wit next,” Jazz said.

“Could be a worse mech than Zeta or Sentinel,” Punch declared.

“Could be,” Jazz agreed. “Or the Matrix might just surprise us all.”

Ori stuck around as Jazz went forward with the next phase of his plan. They neatly sidestepped his crude traps and walked deep into his lab. There were half finished inventions, schematics and prototypes all over the place. It did not seem like he focused on any one project but a dozen at once. In the middle of the lab was the skeletal structure of a warbuild. He did not think he wanted to know what plans Tarantulas had held for that thing. Jazz listened intently and made his way deeper into the lab, searching until he found the freak’s living space. There was a carefully wrapped bundle in the middle of a spider’s web. Jazz cut it open, revealing a bitlet. The little one yawned as Jazz pulled him from the web.

“A bitlet?” Punch asked. “What was that freak doin’ wit a bitlet?”

“Sired ‘m,” Jazz explained. “On the tac attache for Spec Ops.”

“Ya took a fancy to the mech,” Punch guessed.

“Oh yeah,” Jazz agreed. “That I did. ‘N I fancied his creation was better off wit’m.”

“Seein’ as Tarantulas was a madmech, I can agreed to that,” Punch replied. “Ya plannin’ to be geni to this bitty?”

“Mm,” Jazz hummed. “Seein’ as I moved his ori into my hab, I suppose I am.”

“Did he tell ya the bitty’s designation?” Punch asked.

“No,” Jazz replied. “Seems like he didn’t even get to hold this lil thang. ‘M surprised he’s sane to be honest wit ya. But he’s sane ‘n he’s sharp. ‘M sure y’re Ori’s got somethin’ in processor for ya.”

“Lemme know when I can visit,” Punch said.

“Maybe ya outta come now,” Jazz offered. “He ain’t got experience at this sorta thing. ‘M sure ya can help.”

“I’ll leave’m be if he’s uncomfortable,” Punch replied. “Some oris wanna village ‘n some wanna nest in peace.”

Jazz knew Prowl would be waiting at home. He had fragged him so well the dark-cycle before, Prowl had elected to work from home rather than show off his limp to his new colleagues. Poor mech was shy of letting on that they were fragging but most of them if not all of them knew. Hound and Cliffjumper could hear them every time Jazz helped Prowl with his paperwork and if Hound knew, Mirage did as well. They might keep it to themselves but Jazz thought it would not be hard for the others to catch on. The fact they were not trying to take advantage of this information was good for them. Jazz would not be forgiving of blackmail attempts.

The bitlet was an armful, Jazz mused as he adjusted his grip. Underneath all those mods, Tarantulas’ natural build had been quite a lot bigger than Prowl. Considering how big the bitty was at only a few quartexes old, he must have been quite the big newling and yet Prowl had not only given emergence to him naturally, he had recovered incredibly quickly. He was a natural brooder, Jazz thought. It was something to consider for the future. For the moment, bitty cooed happily as they approached Jazz’s door.

“Know yet ori’s waitin’ for ya, don’t ya, Sweetspark?” Jazz cooed. He knocked once.

“Taught’m yer knock?” Punch asked.

“Tarantulas snatched ‘m from home,” Jazz explained. “Taught ‘m ya ain’t e’er completely safe.”

“Jazz?” Prowl sounded anxious as he called to him as Jazz opened the door.

“I brought company,” Jazz told him. “‘N y’re bitlet.”

“You really found him?” Prowl asked, he peaked around the corner. “Hello.”

“Don’t mind me,” Punch said. “‘M the rascal’s ori ‘n he thought ya might want support from someone that’s been there.”

“Maybe?” Prowl said.

“Poor thang, y’re in knots,” Punch crooned. “Ya go have a seat. Jazz’ll give ya yer bitty ‘n no one will take’m from ya again.”

“You are not an Autobot,” Prowl said. He sat on the couch amongst the pillows Jazz had piled up for him when he had moved in.

“Not a Decepticon either,” Punch assured him.

“Ori keeps everyone honest,” Jazz explained. He lowered the hefty bitlet into his originator’s arms. Prowl immediately teared up as he held his creation tightly in his arms.

“There there,” Punch crooners “Ya been through an ordeal. Everythin’s alright now.”