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sehtoast · 1 month

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Perfect Punishment (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | spanking, leg humping, technically supe!reader (vague), sublander, light choking | Fic Directory

Suffice it to say, you're never quite sure how you end up in these situations. Granted, the common denominator in all of them was that Homelander was an endlessly voracious man in need of an infinite amount of attention, and he'd go to any lengths to get it.

Even this.

“Mmm, harder…” He hums as your palm strikes his rear, a playful grin etching into his face at the resounding slap.

“I thought this was a punishment,” you say as you rub soothing circles over the red of his briefs. “Doesn’t really count if you like it.” You're almost ready to stop and leave him hanging as a real punishment.

“Right, right. Ah! Ow!”

You roll your eyes at his theatrics. You'd teased him about being such a bad boy, but it seemed like he was all too happy to fill that role. His behavior cranked past ten, and now here you are: The Homelander himself bent over your knee, underwear pulled down just a smidge and pants at his ankles.

You're not even sure who made the spanking joke first, but god knows his eyes practically lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention.

For his smart comment, you swat significantly harder. You could never actually hurt him– maybe just sting him a little. In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that the power dynamic reversal is what has him rocking against your thigh like the needy little thing he is. So pathetically horny at the idea of being weak and vulnerable for you.

Of being punished by you.

Not even his commentary could hide it.

“Oooh, that one tickled.” He snarks one more time, but his voice betrays him completely. A slight quiver in his words, a shaky breath exhaled, cheeks turning a light pink. “C'mon, babe. Give it to me. Unless you're all talk…”

Antagonistic little…

You grip his briefs and rip them clean off, revealing his bare ass to knead and squeeze to your heart's content. You loop an arm around his neck, restricting his throat between your forearm and bicep, tugging him just enough to make his back arch.

“You're a very bad boy,” you whisper, nails scratching his glutes. What little fabric survived the rip still miraculously covers his cock as he grinds against you unabashedly. You wind up for the swing and–

“Mmph!”

Like music to your ears, he chokes on the cutest little sound. Something squeaky and precious, surprise vocalizing high in his throat at your sudden brazenness and strength.

“You just wanted to hump my leg like a dog, didn't you?” You accuse, tightening your arm at his neck. You rub your last strike tenderly, letting your fingers slip along the curve of his crack. You can practically feel the way he shivers against you. “You’re makin’ a mess down there, aren’t you baby?”

Even pressed firm against your leg, you can feel his drooling cock twitch with need. The surviving scrap of fabric has to be drenched at this rate– you can almost feel the heated moisture and you know damn well his cock weeps practically the whole time he’s aroused on a regular day.

A breathy moan escapes his slack mouth the second your fingertips graze his sack, hips bucking forward to seek more of whatever delicious friction he'd found against your lap.

“You just wanted to lay on me and get played with like the little whore you are.” You trail your hand back and grip a cheek as hard as you can, nails biting into his flesh. “Admit it. You acted out for attention.”

“Mmm, yeah– fuck,” he confesses through a breathless whisper.

For his honesty, you reward him with a warm palm to his balls, feeling them tighten every time a pulse of pleasure surges through his body from how you play with him.

He keens softly, eyes screwing shut against the twist of bliss knotting in his core. He ruts even more brazenly than before, as if he wasn’t just getting spanked mere moments prior for always having to have his way. Your body rocks with the strength of his thrusts, so you angle your leg to press back against him. Sure, he was being ‘punished,’ but you’re not totally cruel.

“You wanna be my good boy, right?” You ask ever so innocently in his ear, breath fanning against the shell of it in a way that makes him arch further back. His mindless little nods make you grin sharply. “I thought so…”

Your hand comes down with a sharp crack against his right cheek and he writhes against you, mewling through his restricted throat.

“Count ‘em off for me,” you say, squeezing his neck a little more. You let off for a moment only to remind him to speak up if something’s too much, then squeeze again.

Slap!

“O-One!” He announces, hips bucking against you.

You can hear it in his voice– he’s like a time bomb ready to blow. His expression is infinitely more desperate. Hooded red eyes, cheeks burning a deep crimson, tongue peeking out just over the edge of his lower lip. If there was ever an image fit to sit beside whore in a dictionary, it was the sight of him like this.

“Tell me how good you’re gonna be for me after this.”

“I’m– I’m gonna be so good!” He promises through panted breaths. “Good for you– good f–”

You don’t let him finish before you swat his reddening flesh several more times in quick succession, watching with pure satisfaction as that mouth that never stops running opens to moan so loudly you’re almost sure the floor below must have heard it.

“N-Nine… No– no, fuck!”

Poor thing had to make a guess.

You tsk at him in false disapproval. “Good boys don’t lose count,” you say, even though he was definitely right. “Start again.”

And he did, too. By the time you make it back to the count of nine, his legs are quivering and his precum has soaked through the leg of your pants.

“Please, please, please!” He mewls desperately. “Let me– oh fuck, please let me come! Please, just– fuck I need it! I’ll be good!” He’s rocking against you without permission of any type as he spouts off promise after promise to behave himself for you. “Good– good b-boy… I’m your g’boy, I p-prom– ohfuckohfuckohfuck!”

And just like that, he’s blowing a thick, creamy load against you, legs spasming and glowing eyes rolling back in his head as you hold him through what must be an absolutely earth shattering orgasm if the full body trembling was anything to go by. Your name falls from his lips in a repeated prayer until all he can do is simply mouth it silently.

Your lips are to his ear the whole time, whispering affections and praise, adoration and love in droves.

“You are my good boy,” you say, accentuating your words with soft caresses to his sack. “My very, very good boy that I love so much.”

“M’your g’boy…” he murmurs weakly, eyes shut as he sinks into the glow. For a second, you think he might actually be calm for the rest of the evening.

Who are you kidding? He’s going to act up all night after this. You wager you've got about fifteen minutes of aftercare and snuggles before that switch flips and you're fucked on every horizontal and vertical surface he can possibly think of.

And you?

You’re gonna love every fucking second of it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #the boys #antony starr

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alasarys · 7 months

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Recommended books for the drivers from BookPeople, Austin, Texas (insta)

Daniel Ricciardo: Friday Night Lights – "... every Friday night from September to December, when the Permian High School Panthers play football, this West Texas town becomes a place where dreams can come true."

Lando Norris: Assassin's Apprentice – "Fitz ... must give up his old ways and embrace a new life of weaponry, scribing, courtly manners; and how to kill a man secretly, as he trains to become a royal assassin."

Alex Albon: My Brilliant Friend – "... a rich, intense and generous-hearted story about two friends ... a touching meditation on the nature of friendship."

Logan Sargeant: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood – "hilarious, delicious, and brutal"

Yuki Tsunoda: A Cook's Tour – "the unpredictable adventures of America's boldest and bravest chef."

Carlos Sainz: Great American Golf Stories – "some of the best classic writings, both fact and realistic fiction, that reflect the rich history, tradition, agony, and ecstasy of one of our most enduring and endearing pastimes."

Oscar Piastri: Iona Iverson's Rules for Commuting – "It turns out that talking to strangers can teach you about the world around you--and even more about yourself."

Lance Stroll: Infinite Jest – "Set in an addicts' halfway house and a tennis academy, and featuring the most endearingly screwed-up family to come along in recent fiction, Infinite Jest explores essential questions about what entertainment is and why it has come to so dominate our lives; about how our desire for entertainment affects our need to connect with other people; and about what the pleasures we choose say about who we are."

Charles Leclerc: Every Good Boy Does Fine – "[Denk] reminds us that we must never stop asking questions about music and its purposes: consolation, an armor against disillusionment, pure pleasure, a diversion, a refuge, and a vehicle for empathy."

Lewis Hamilton: The Boy with a Bird in his Chest – "A heartbreaking yet hopeful novel about the things that make us unique and lovable, The Boy with a Bird in His Chest grapples with the fear, depression, and feelings of isolation that come with believing that we will never be loved, let alone accepted, for who we truly are, and learning to live fully and openly regardless."

Max Verstappen: Atomic Habits – "Atomic Habits will reshape the way you think about progress and success, and give you the tools and strategies you need to transform your habits--whether you are a team looking to win a championship ..."

Zhou Guanyu: A Visible Man – "When Edward Enninful became the first Black editor-in-chief of British Vogue, few in the world of fashion wanted to confront how it failed to represent the world we live in. But Edward, a champion of inclusion throughout his life, rapidly changed that."

Pierre Gasly: Misery – "He's a bestselling novelist who has finally met his biggest fan. Her name is Annie Wilkes and she is more than a rabid reader – she is Paul's nurse, tending his shattered body after an automobile accident. But she is also his captor, keeping him prisoner in her isolated house."

Valtteri Bottas: Foundryside – "To have a chance at surviving ... Sancia will have to marshal unlikely allies ... and undergo her own transformation ..."

Fernando Alonso: The House of the Spirits – "an enthralling saga that spans decades and lives, twining the personal and the political into an epic novel of love, magic, and fate."

Kevin Magnussen: The Daily Dad – "366 Meditations on Parenting, Love, and Raising Great Kids"

Sergio Perez: Bad Feminist – "an inspiring call-to-arms of all the ways we still need to do better"

Building on the excellent work by @vegasgrandprix and @kritischetheologie

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livwritesstuff · 2 months

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So you know how parents always have that *one* story about a time where their kid scared them beyond this universe — like their kid could be a daredevil and constantly trying their patience but this particular story is the most harrowing, scariest situation they’ve been in. (This may not be universal but I’m hoping I’m explaining it right lol)

What do you think would be Steve and Ed’s stories for each of the girls?

tw: hospitals, illness, car accidents, in general proceed w/caution if sensitive to children sustaining injuries/illnesses

When Moe was about six months old, she got sick – really sick, hospital-trip sick. All Steve really remembers is that one minute her appetite wasn’t what it usually was, and the next her temperature had spiked to 104 and something about her breathing was not normal and they were on their way to the ER.

They'd ended up staying for three days, Steve didn't sleep the entire time, and because it was before Moe's adoption was finalized, they had all kinds of DFS paperwork to fill out in addition to the mountain of documents the hospital had given them. Steve remembers having to coordinate with Ed dropping everything off at the DFS office and thinking for the first time ever in their years of fostering kids how stupid it was that he was expected to focus on following DFS procedure instead of being there for his baby girl.

The scariest moment with Hazel was the time they lost her.

They’d been at the New England Aquarium with all three girls on a Saturday afternoon – ridiculous, in both Steve and Eddie's opinion, and honestly they weren't even able to enjoy outings like these because they’re still in the stage where they spend the entire time anxiously keeping track of the girls (who were having the time of their lives, obviously – that's why they're suffering through it).

So when Steve did a headcount like he usually does every so often and came up with two, his heart flipped over. He checked again, and again only counted two.

Triple-checks. Two.

In real-time, they hadn't lost sight of Hazel for more than ten seconds, but it was the longest ten seconds Steve had ever lived by a mile, and he’d spent the whole time thinking that it had to be the worst-case for a situation like this because it was Hazel. If Moe or Robbie got separated from them, they would have no problem marching up to the first person in an NEA shirt they could find and demanding help finding their dads. Hazel, though, is quiet and shy and usually stuck to them like glue. She won’t talk to strangers in the best of moments, so there was no chance she’d find it in herself to try during a bad one.

Turns out, Hazel had been so mesmerized by the jellyfish that even after they all moved on to the next display, Hazel just had to turn back to get one more look, and Eddie had his head screwed on tight enough that day to think of checking there first.

Later, Steve reneged on their plan to take the girls to Boston Pride (which would have been in a few weeks) because it had been scary enough losing track of Hazel in an enclosed space where there were only so many places she could wander off to. The idea of it happening in the dead center of the city, with all those crowds of people, with infinite directions for her to go…no chance. They’d try again next year.

Between all three girls, the scariest moment by goddamn lightyears was Robbie.

When Robbie was fifteen – a high school freshman but placed in the senior-level band class – the school took their music classes (band, orchestra, chorus) to Disney World for the performing arts workshops they offer in the spring.

The student-adult ratio on trips like these is pretty terrible and, in Steve's opinion, there is too much unsupervised independent time for a group of high school students.

Way too much.

A few days into the trip, one kid – a senior with a fake ID who Robbie was friends with through band – managed to commandeer a car and convince a group of kids to blow off curfew and secretly explore the city.

Three hours and half a liquor-store’s worth of alcohol later, Steve got a call from one of the chaperones telling him that his fifteen-year-old was unresponsive in a hospital in Florida.

Planning their last family vacation had taken three entire months of planning and indecision and research.

It took less than five minutes for Steve to get flights booked for the next plane bound for Orlando.

“Maybe if she hadn’t gone on the trip in the first place…” Moe trailed off innocently as she watched her dads pack – she's anything but innocent though. Moe had been pissed to all hell that Robbie got to go to Disney World and she didn’t. She’d spent weeks trying to weasel her way onto the trip to no avail, and she’d been sulking the entire four days Robbie had been gone.

“Not another word,” Eddie warned her, his tone icier than perhaps he’s ever heard directed at one of his kids. Moe opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her off, "So fuckin' serious, Moe. Not the time."

Robbie had been in pretty rough shape when they finally arrived which was horrible to see – especially for Steve, who had always connected the way Robbie was similar to Eddie with the way Eddie almost died, so seeing her unconscious in a hospital bed, light brown curls strewn out over the sterile-white sheets and tangled amongst all kinds of tubes and wires was pretty much a nightmare come to life.

He was actually thankful for Eddie’s threats to find the idiot driving the car and murder him because he seemed pretty serious about it and making sure he didn't do that gave Steve something to focus on other than counting the hours Robbie had been in the hospital all alone.

#not a happy one folks #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: illness #tw: car accident #tw: hospital

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assortedseaglass · 7 months

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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Two

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Volume II Summary: Tom escapes occupied Europe to find home irreversibly changed. How will Tom and Bess cope when what was once familiar has changed forever?

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence (fairly mild), Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

A/N: Characters we haven’t seen for a while? Trauma from way back in volume one? You betcha. Posted in haste, will fix mistakes later.

Fucking war.

Tom ripped open the cardboard packet of his Marlboro’s just in case. Nothing. No Rita Hayworth. No Betty Grable. Not even Vera fucking Lynn. He lit a cigarette and sighed.

A pint of pale was put on the table before him. Through a haze of cigarette fog and beer-blurred eyes he looked at the barkeeper.

“We’ve had men in here trading their old cigarette cards. Anything for something new,” he scoffed and picked up Tom’s three empty glasses. “’Waste of resources’, ‘s’what they say on the wireless. You’d think a bit of leg would do everyone good. Keep morale high.”

Tom took a long gulp of the beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve. “Well, if you ever run for office, you’ve got my vote. Bring back the tart card.” He raised the half-drunk glass but the man had already walked away. “To Winston fucking Churchill!”

From their position at the bar, a few patrons looked over their shoulders at him. None could have been younger than fifty. “What?” Tom said to them, his volume a touch too loud, eyes dark over the rim of the glass. They ignored him.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom screwed his eyes shut. It had been hours, but still Grzegroz’s voice rattled around his mind.

“Dunkierka!”

How strange, incredible really, that he could be transported so quickly to the battlefield once more. One moment he was playing football with Jan in Mrs Chase’s garden, the next he was watching the man with the terrified eyes screaming at him on the beach.

“Shoot me!”

“Fuck.” Tom downed the rest of the beer. Eight o’clock. The pub was busying now. He’d arrived not an hour before, having walked from Mrs Chase’s back into town. Now, the shift’s had changed at the dockyard and the factory, and the weekend was free for these men to take.

The table wobbled as Tom used all of his weight to stand. He blinked hard. A rush of blood drained from his head and he faltered. A lifetime’s worth of bad memories did not mix with four pints and an empty stomach.

Tom wasn’t drunk. Not by his standards at least. Instead, he was balanced on a precipice. A precipice that could turn the night into one of infinite wonder or have him fear the world by 8 o’clock next morning. Would it send him down the Palais with Bess? Hadn’t she said there was a dance on? Or would it be a night in the pub, taking on any Tom, Dick or Harry that dared, and sleeping under a bench? Tom found he didn’t care which. One drink more would do him right. Let Lady Luck decide.

Tom wasn’t drunk. However, he did not slide onto the bar stool with as much grace as he would’ve liked and a few men tittered. “Another pint please.”

“Right you are, Tom.” The barkeep gave him a wary look but poured the pint all the same. He’d seen enough soldiers and marines to know that if they weren’t drinking in his pub, they were out drinking and making a nuisance. God knows he remembered the last war well enough.

Another pint appeared before him, and Tom watched the foam settle. He leant forward, caressing the cool glass, and took a long, pleasured sip.

“How’s the navy treating you anyway, Tom?”

“The navy? The bloody navy? Can’t even steer a pedalo.”

Tom jolted and looked over his shoulder. It had happened the night before too, and that morning. Drifting off, he’d heard his father’s voice. “My brave, brave boy.” Only to wake up and have reality hit him hard, all air leaving his chest before he’d taken his first waking breath. His dad was gone.

A glass smashed in the corner of the pub and a roar of laughter rang up.

“Watch it! You lot break anymore, and you’ll be paying.” The barkeeper sighed. “Tom?”

“You what?”

The barkeeper watched him. “Ah, don’t worry about it, son.” He patted Tom’s arm and made his way to the end of the bar. Tom’s eyes followed as the man collected a sweeping brush and gathered the broken shards into a pile. One of the men in the party was gesturing wildly around, trying in vain to help. It was Fergal Vaughn.

“Sit down, man,” the barkeep said good-naturedly. “You’re a hindrance, not a help.”

Fergal flopped into his seat, the beer he held spraying everywhere. The friends surrounding him laughed. Sweat gleamed on the old man’s brow, his face red and shining. When he spoke, flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, and he laughed so hard Tom feared he might keel over for lack of breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered into his pint. Well, at least the old bastard isn’t at home, bothering the girls.

There was a great commotion and Tom looked back to the party. Fergal had stood abruptly, his round belly pushing the table and knocking yet more glasses. He raised his near empty pint of Guinness in the air. “To my Cora, and to her Roger!”

The men cheered, raising their glasses and swigging their beers. “To her roger!” The two men nearest Tom cried and fell about laughing. Fergal swiped at them pathetically but giggled at their joke.

Tom should have laughed too. Should have joined in their merriment. But sat there, five pints deep, listening to Fergal Vaughn’s witterings while the ghost of his own father lingered just beyond reach, Tom felt his blood curdle. On the step of the stool, his leg began to bounce. The din of the pub’s patrons gave way to the swirling of blood and breath in his ears.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom slammed his fists into his eyes and tried to rub away the sound. Fergal guffawed behind him.

“You don’t think I’m genuine?”

“Are you, son?”

Bess’ voice joined the fray.

“You’ve never committed to anything or anyone. It’s not because you’re a womaniser, or because you don’t believe in the war. It’s because you’re a coward.”

“Just fuck off!” Tom shouted. He didn’t hear the way the pub stilled. Didn’t notice the way the man beside him got off his stool and shuffled away. Slowly, the noise around him picked up as everyone ignored the screwball at the bar.

He tried to calm himself and, naturally, thought of Bess. Almost half-past eight. She’d be at the dance by now. Hair rollered for once, a brush of lipstick. Tom’s body hummed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Who would she dance with, without himself or Albie there? Roger? From Fergal’s exclamations, it sounded like a night for celebration. Would Lois be there, singing with Connie? He hadn’t thought to ask Lois about her shift on the ambulance.

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

The last words Lois hissed at him before he crumpled and made his way back to Bess. She’d spat them at him like a weapon. She’d meant to hurt him, and hurt him it did. The moment she’d uttered them Tom saw every disheartened, disapproving and disappointed look that had shadowed his father’s prematurely aged face. Each one, directed at him.

Yet another glass was placed next to him. An amber tot of whisky. “From Fergal,” said the barkeeper. Tom glanced over his shoulder to where Fergal had another pint raised in his direction.

“To Tom,” he slurred. “No doubt he’ll be stealing another of my girls away from me.” Fergal smiled at him and the other men silently raised their glasses.

Tom pushed the whisky away. “No thanks.”

“Right you are,” The barkeeper said after a moment, taking the glass away while eyeing something over Tom’s shoulder. With a hard smack, a meaty hand landed on Tom’s back and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy breath and stench of ale told him everything.

“Rude to refuse a drink from your father-in-law-”

“You’re not my father-in-law.” Tom continued to stare straight ahead at the optics behind the bar.

“I’m as good as!” Fergal chortled. “And don’t you tell me I won’t be one day,” he tried to lean on the bar beside Tom but stumbled. Despite himself, Tom reached out a hand to steady him. “With Cora engaged, everyone will be looking to you and Bess.”

“Let them look.”

Fergal wobbled, leaning forward slightly to observe Tom. Fed up, Tom stared back at him, watching the man struggle to stand straight.

“God, you look like your Dad.” Fergal said after an unnaturally long pause. Tom snorted.

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

“We all miss him terribly, me and Bess especially,” Fergal continued. Did Tom miss him? He supposed he did not. He hadn’t been given enough time to comprehend the fact he was dead, let alone miss him. “My favourite drinking partner.” Fergal finally found the bar and leant upon it.

“You’re doing alright, to me.” Tom watched the men in the corner watching him.

“Ah, but none were like your Da-A drink!” Fergal cut himself off. “Another whisky for me and Tom.” They appeared before them in an instant. Seemingly, the barkeeper hadn’t thrown them away. Fucking rationing.

“I don’t want it,” Tom pushed it back and Fergal made to sip his own.

“To Douglas!” The Irishman roared.

“Stop!” Tom grabbed Fergal’s hand before the drink could reach his lips. “Stop.”

“What’s gotten into you, boy? Used to love a drink with me and Albie and your Da-”

Tom stood from the bar and Fergal staggered backwards. “I’ll not share a drink with you, you fat old bastard. Not in my dad’s memory. Not when you’re like this.”

“Now just a minu-”

“You’re a drunk!” Tom spat in Fergal’s face. He was towering over the man now, and for a flicker of time, Fergal looked like a scared child. “I’ll not drink to my dad’s memory, when it should have been you in his place.”

Fergal looked like he had been struck. Tom didn’t care. A year’s worth of war, the immediacy of his grief, the way it awoke the longing he held for his mother, years of watching Fergal ruin his daughters. Tom felt every bruising blow life had dealt him, and was presented with the perfect outlet for his rage. The man before him.

“My dad fought for what he believed in. Did I agree with him? No, but I damn well do now!” Tom was shouting and the barkeeper laid a hand on his arm. He wrenched it from his grip but lowered his voice to a menacing hiss. “He didn’t have much, but he did enough to make himself proud. To make me proud. Gave everyone the time of day. Grafted. Put up with me,” his voice wobbled. “And then there’s you. What have you ever done?”

Fergal opened his mouth but Tom cut him off. “Who do you think’s gonna look after you now Cora’s engaged? Do you know what?” He grabbed the whisky and raised it in the air. “Here’s to Roger. If it weren’t for him, Cora would be left to a life looking after you with not one bit of thanks.” He downed the drink with a wince. “And Dot! You’ve spoiled her beyond reason. Five minutes in the real world will ruin her, Fergal! Don’t you remember the last time!? All them battered men coming back, what they did to the women waiting for them at home? And Bess!” Tom’s voice cracked and he jabbed a finger into Fergal’s fleshy shoulder. “Do you know how many nights she’s spent crying because you said she wasn’t woman enough, like Cora and Dot? Or how you never stood up for her at school? It was Etta marching down there every day to set Frank Smith and Walter Watson right. Etta giving the teachers a bollocking because you didn’t have the guts. What did you do? Fucking nothing. Only thing you’re good for is fucking fertiliser-”

It happened quick as a flash. Fergal grabbed Tom by the scruff of his collar and hoisted him over the bar. Glasses clattered around them and the murmuring of the pub crescendoed to an excited clamour. The edge of the bar was rammed into Tom’s ribs as Fergal held him there, leaning over and growling in his face. Any trace of drunkenness was gone.

“You’re one to talk, my boy.” He shoved Tom again, and Tom felt his head hit one of the pumps. “Fucking off to join the navy was the best thing you ever did. Brought nothing but shame to your father, and now you’re doing the same to my Bess.” At the mention of her name Tom struggled to get up. “You’re only courting my daughter because I see how happy you make her, God knows why, but when you get yourself blown up, well, it’ll be all the better.”

“ENOUGH!” The barkeeper bellowed, reaching between the two of them. Two of Fergal’s friends pulled him backwards off Tom, and he slid off the bar. “ENOUGH!”

Tom straightened his jacket, stared down at Fergal and laughed bitterly. By some miracle, Fergal’s whiskey still sat unbothered amongst the debris of their argument. Tom downed it in one and, with his hands in his pockets, swaggered from the pub and into the night.

“-our Florence tailored her mam’s old dress. I suppose Bess could help you with that. And Roger will have a mourning suit, won’t he? Or will he get married in uniform? Oh, that would be best I think, that beautiful air force blue. It’ll look excellent in your wedding photograph-”

On discovering Cora Vaughn’s engagement to Roger, Queenie Warren had not drawn breath. Her curls bouncing animatedly as she spoke, Queenie quizzed Cora on everything from the colour of her bridesmaids’ dresses to whether the cake would be fruit or Victoria sponge.

Bess had tuned Queenie out ten minutes ago. Instead, she leant against the bar, glass in her hand, cigarette between her lips, and watched couples spin around the dancefloor. She wondered if the Palais would ever be as full as it was before the war.

The red lights of the room hid a multitude of sins. The floor was becoming sticky under foot, and wallpaper was starting to peel from the high ceiling. The darkness did well to hide the few couples, and the fewer men. Indeed, it was mostly full of women from the factories. There were some fellas that Bess recognised from about town, and other uniformed men she did not recognise, no doubt visiting women they had met on the front, or nurses from the infirmary.

Dancing at the centre of circle were Roberta and the teacher from the primary. With so many of the men off fighting, it was the first time Bobby had been able to step into the light with the woman, under the rouse of needing a dance partner. Hiding in plain sight, Bess had never seen her happier. Indeed, when they turned so that Bobby could look upon the bar, she caught Bess’ eye. Bess winked, and Bobby giggled. Tough, feisty Roberta actually giggled.

“-you’ll have your hands full soon I expect, Bess.”

“Pardon?”

Queenie was watching her eagerly. “A wedding dress and bridesmaids’ clothes for yourself and Dot. That’s an awful lot to be doing.”

“She’ll have to ask me first,” with a smile Bess nudged Cora, who looked up from gazing at the modest ring on her finger.

Her betrothed was not far away, sharing a drink with Frank Smith and a few other lads from the air force. He was bright and merry, and though the others congratulated him, Bess noticed the glances they cast the bride-to-be and her sisters. Namely, herself.

Bess knew what she was doing when she’d stepped out that night. Bedecked in a pinstriped suit, she wanted people to look at her. She felt deflated after Tom’s flit from Mrs Chase’s and his inability to confide in her. This did just the job to make her feel powerful again. She’d seen Marlene Dietrich where something similar in a copy of Vogue she’d read years ago at the atelier. It just so happened that they had a pattern there too.

A man cut across Bess’ vision of Bobby on the dancefloor. “Fucking dyke,” he muttered as he passed. Bess stood straight, prepared to defend her friend from the man, when she faltered. As he passed, the man looked over his shoulder at her, eyeing her suit from sharp collar to perfectly-ironed trouser.

“Don’t be jealous she’s a better dresser than you!” Dot piped up, just as Cora took her glass.

“That’s enough sherry, Dot.”

Before Dot could so much as take a breath to retort, the Palais’ double doors burst open. Even over the playing of the band, the noise caused the sisters to jump and cast their eyes towards the doors.

Bess knew that silhouette.

Against the streetlamps outside, the figure staggered sideways before moving forward towards the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he nearly fell over, and a few people rushed to help him. He brushed them off and, ascending the steps to the bar, smirked lopsidedly at the group.

“Bobby,”

“Tom.”

The enmity that lingered between Bobby and Tom had dwindled of late, and Bess tensed at the renewed hostility.

“How’s your friend?” Tom wobbled as he glanced around the old ballroom, his words dripping with intentional sarcasm. Roberta said nothing. “Suits you well, doesn’t it? No men about.” He swaggered towards her, his body a millisecond behind the movement of his feet. Bess prickled with mortification. All evening she’d been worried about him, what he was thinking, what he was doing, and it turned out he was the same as any other man; leaving their problems at the door of the first pub they came to.

He staggered a step towards Roger and Frank. Frank, having experienced Tom’s devastating right-hook in childhood, edged backwards.

“Watch yourselves, lads, she’ll be giving your girls ideas.”

He can embarrass himself all he likes, but leave Bobby out of it. In three high-heeled strides, Bess placed herself between Tom and the others. “Enough,” she said warningly. Tom eyed her. There was a hint of pride in the dark blue of his eyes. Then he glanced at her suit.

“If I didn’t know you better,” Bess could smell the beer on him. The stale cigarettes. “I’d say you were going the same way as your Roberta.” He looked her up and down, amusement evident on his features.

At this closeness, Bess’ worry returned. When he’d returned, the first thing she noticed about him was the hollowness of his cheeks. The way the skin clung his cheekbones like wax. In the red light of the Palais, his pale skin looked near translucent, and his eyes…

His brow bone jutted forward, casting them into shadow. Below, the soft skin beneath his lower lashes sagged, as though gravity was working harder to root him in one place. She’d seen this dogged look before. On her father. What a sinister concoction; grief and grain.

Gently, as though calming a wounded animal, Bess whispered in Tom’s ear. “Go home, my love-”

“I haven’t got one,” Tom slurred, blinking slowly, that ridiculous smile still plastered on his face.

“Albie’s bed is always made up, just sle-”

“In a dead man’s bed?” The sisters and their companions each took a sharp breath. “I’ll not be tempting fate, ‘my love’,” Tom tapped Bess on the nose. “Besides, I’m here for a dance.” He held out a hand, the other still firmly in his pocket as he swayed on the spot. “Come on,”

“No,”

There it was. That wrinkled brow and jutted jaw. He knew he was pushing it. Still, as he always did, he carried on.

“Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? That’s what you do.” Vic’s voice joined the chorus of ghosts in Tom’s mind. He shook his head.

“Come on,” he waggled the hand he held out to Bess. “Gotta dance with my best girl while I’m back.”

“I said no.”

With speed unexpected of a drunk, Tom made a beeline for Bess. Just as his arms made to grip her close to his body, someone blocked his path.

“Go away, Tom.”

His held jolted backwards before his body, and he stumbled. “Fuck,” he said. In this light, in this state, the Vaughn girls all looked the same. Steely, dark eyes were boring into his. It was only the smaller stature of the girl before him that gave it away.

“Dotty-”

“Go away-”

“Oh shut up, Dot. You’ll never get a fella with a mouth like that,” Roger and Cora straightened at the bar. Bess came to stand at her sister’s side. Frank gripped Queenie by the arm and steered her away. This was it. The showdown. The two cockiest kids in Longsight. Dot Vaughn and Tom Bennett. “Shut up and use your mouth for something useful-”

SMACK

The force with which Dot walloped Tom near gave him whiplash. Like a felled tree, he hit the ground hard. No sooner was he looking up at the three red-headed furies, was someone dragging him along the ground. For the second time that night, someone had Tom by the scruff of his collar. His feet struggled to find footing as whoever had hold of him pulled him towards the door. He looked up.

“Fuck me. Didn’t think you had it in you Rog.”

The pilot said nothing, only continued to drag Tom from the Palais. The clacking of high heels followed the pair, and as Roger hurled Tom onto the damp road outside the dancehall, Cora came into view.

Tom lay there for a few seconds, looking up at the dark sky as drizzle speckled his face.

“Get up.”

“You gonna fight me, Rog?” He received no reply and, with great difficulty, stood up. His head was beginning to pound, as though his brain was fight to break free from his skull.

Roger’s arms were folded against his chest. Tom had never realised, despite Roger’s lanky height, how imposing he was. In his uniform, he looked like the perfect poster boy for the British military. Beside him, Cora glared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was quiet, challenging him to dare to fight back. Tom rolled his shoulders and squared his jaw.

“Pub.”

Cora tutted. “I might have guessed.”

“Saw your dad there,”

“I’m sure.” Cora’s eyes hadn’t left Tom’s. Her feet hadn’t faltered. All that distinguished her from a statue were the few strands of hair waving in the cold night air.

“Gave him a piece of my mind-”

“A very small piece then.”

Tom snorted. “Was there celebrating your happy news. Congratulations, by the way.” He added as an aside. “Never seen him at the pub so happy, usually there to forget his own fuck ups. Wouldn’t catch me in that state-”

“You’ve got a nerve.” Cora snapped. “Dadda’s got his faults but don’t think for a second that you don’t have your own, Thomas Bennett.”

Cora walked towards him, her steps so slow and purpose that for the first time in his life, Tom was scared of her. She folded her arms and looked at him with disgust.

“You’re not the only one that’s suffered-”

“Tell you about this afternoon, did she?” Tom shouted. Cora raised her eyebrows and he silenced like a petulant child.

“No, Bess didn’t,” Behind her, Roger watched on. He didn’t move, flanking her like a sentinel solider. “But I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a jumped-up little shit who never put much store by other people’s feelings, BE QUIET!” she shoutedwhen Tom opened his mouth to argue. “You’re not the only one that’s fighting. That’s lost someone. Roger flies over Germany every other night, looking at the destruction we’re wreaking. Coming home to discover who he lost along the way. You know Vernon was the last to go down? Disappeared over the Channel. I don’t suppose you’ve thought for one second that Lois lost her father and her fiancé?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“That we loved your father too? That we lost our Albie?” Cora’s voiced wobbled and a few tears fell from her eyes. Her gaze, however, did not waver. “I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve seen, Tom, but it isn’t plain sailing here. The fear of getting bombed every night, worrying if we’ll ever see you all again? Pretending it’s all smiles when you come home in case you see the cracks and crumble. Because what’s the point of fighting for a world that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Finally, she brushed her tears from her eyes. With a shaky breath, as if to set herself right, Cora straightened.

“It’s not the world against Tom Bennett. I know it feels like it-”

“No you don’t.” Tom said bitterly. “You don’t have a fucking clue.” And with the little pride he had left, he turned on weak legs, stumbled down the nearest ginnel, and vanished from sight.

Next morning, Bess rose as the sun crept over the brick red houses of Longsight.

Beside her, Dot and Cora were sleeping soundly, their arms cast over each other’s waists. Slowly, so as not to wake them, Bess drew back the quilt and crept onto the landing. The floorboards creaked and she stilled. No-one stirred.

Tentatively, she opened the door to her father’s bedroom.

He was slumped, half sat against the cold wall, atop his bed. Albie’ remained empty, his folded jumper and photograph sat neatly on top of the covers.

A swell of dread rushed over Bess and she felt sick. So it had been dadda stumbling around the house, not Tom.

Fergal’s misuse of alcohol was no secret about the street, and every neighbour knew his routine. His daughters knew it better. Six o’clock. If Fergal wasn’t working as an air raid warden, he would arrive home from the dockyard, ready for his supper. After reading the newspaper and listening to the girls talk about their days, he would depart for the pub at approximately twenty past seven. If drinking at The Crown, he would be allowed room under one of the tables and arrive home next morning with the milk float or the postman. If The Red Lion took his fancy, Old Arthur, for that was what the girls had always called the publican, gave him board in the small flat he kept above the pub. Only if Fergal drank at The Swan did he stagger home, for Mrs Mallory always cast him out at eleven o’clock.

On tiptoe, Bess hurried down the stairs. The hammering of her heart doubled. Tom was not slumped on the piano stool, nor was he at the table or in Fergal’s armchair.

This was it. His years of aggravating, pestering, hiding, skiving and shirking had finally caught up with him. Or, someone had caught up with him.

Terrified, worried and entirely unsure of what to do, Bess busied her hands by rummaging through the Welsh dresser drawers. Flicking through dressmaker’s patterns, ones belonging to herself, her mother and her sisters too, she pulled out a set for women’s slacks.

For Kasia¸ she thought. Well, that was that job done.

Curled up in her father’s armchair, Bess watched the world beyond the window wake up. Mrs Mason collected the milk bottles from her front step. Dennis Warley, the miserable postman, began his rounds. A few men Fergal’s age cycled to work. She looked at the clock. Half past six. At seven, she would wake Cora, and together they would hunt from Tom. What good was it now, when most of the city was still sleeping? Who could help?

A sudden wailing caused Bess to startle. She jumped up from the armchair, clutching the trouser pattern to her chest. Dot looked lazily up from the table. Cora placed a plate of bacon and eggs upon it, and hurried to the window where baby Vera, in her Moses basket, continued to cry.

“Got used to living alone and don’t want to share the bed?” Dot poured herself a cup of tea.

“Probably fed up of your snoring,” said Cora good-naturedly, the delight of Roger’s proposal radiating from her. “But Bess, love, why were you sleeping in the armchair?”

“I must have just drifted off,” Bess brushed the frizzy hair from her face. “Went to check in on dadda’s room. Tom didn’t stay last night, Cora.” Much to her surprise, Cora did not seem worried. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Bess felt the temper she inherited from their mother spark into life. “Cora?”

“Connie said she saw him last night, on her way to her shift on the ambulance. Was with Frank and some other lads.” Dot said through a mouthful of food. Cora tutted.

“He-oh. Ok,” Bess deflated, relief Tom was alright and embarrassment at her assumptions fighting for pitiable dominance. “Connie was here?” She moved forward to take the now whinging Vera from Cora.

“Mhmm,”

“Dorothy Vaughn. Don’t eat with your mouthful.”

Dot swallowed pointedly at Cora and turned back to Bess. “She brought Vera over.”

“Why?”

Dot faced her sister fully and grasped her cup of tea eagerly in her hands. After new dresses, Dot’s favourite thing was gossip. “Lois had to go to the infirmary. Was helping a family out of a house that got hit in the raids last night over in Fallowfield, and the house came down around her. She’s fine,” Bess had gasped. “Cut her head but just fine. That’s why Connie brought Cora. Lois is resting.” Dot punctuated her news with a long slurp of tea.

Bess sat at the table beside her sister, Vera now settled back to sleep. “Tom won’t know, about Lois, he’ll have no idea-”

“Doubt she wants him to know.” Dot said matter-of-factly. Again, Cora tutted.

“Dot, stop being cryptic and-”

“Well,” Dot launched herself into hurried speech. “Connie told us that Lois told her that her and Tom had an argument the day he got back-something about Douglas dying and him not knowing-anyway he got all angry with Lois saying that if she’d been there then he-Douglas that is-might not have died-”

“Breathe, Dot.”

“-and of course Lois didn’t like that and gave him a piece of her mind about working on the ambulance and doing her bit for the war effort, and then Tom-get this Bess-Tom turned round and said her job was to look after Douglas and Vera!” She took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

The anger caused by Cora’s apathy was nothing compared to the flame roaring into life now. Bess’ cheeks reddened, her eyes darkened, and a rigidity settled in her bones that God himself could not have shaken.

“Oh he did, did he?”

Three miles away, in a terraced house that edged Cringle Park, Tom Bennett woke. The bedsprings beneath his back were hard, a few pressing into his bony side, and the frame wobbled as he struggled to get up.

Bile rose to his throat and he lay down again. Above him, the ceiling spun. At its centre, the ceiling light had been draped in a rose silk scarf. Turning his head slowly so that it lolled on the pillow, Tom looked over the vanity table. Make up covered its counter, and few dresses in reds, pinks and purples were crumpled on the stool.

Beside him, the clock read just after eight o’clock. Its ticking was so loud inside his head it sounded like machine gun fire, and he groaned. The knock that came at the door was thunderous and Tom thought the sound alone would make him vomit.

“Morning, pet,” A high voice said. “Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” a soft hand touched his forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom rubbed his bleary eyes and took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

Notes: Cigarette cards (sometimes called tart cards, if they had women on) were banned in Britain at the start of 1940 because the government indeed declared them a “waste of raw material”. I don’t know about elsewhere, but in Britain “to roger” someone is to have sex, usually in a bit of a rough manner. In research, I also read a study about the increase in domestic violence post-WWI, in households with soldiers returning to civilian life. Fuck war and fuck the men that start them.

Thank you to @arcielee, who helped me unfuck this chapter more than she realises! There’s a line direct for one of our chats in here. And thanks again to @theoneeyedprince for help with the Polish. Below is the inspo for Bess’ outfit. Saw it and knew she’d wear it.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey@multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234@babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandompromptsside @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol@beiigegalx@skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools@aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #the seamstress & the sailor #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x ofc x oc #world on fire #ewan mitchell fandom #hotd #bess vaughn #tom bennett x bess vaughn

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 1 year

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Err on The Side of Awesome

(Not my gif)

Kol Mikaelson's Daughter Headcanons

Requested by: @katherinereilly19

Here lies my Masterlist

You were adopted by Kol and Davina Claire-Mikaelson at age six from a Catholic orphanage run by nuns who all thought you were some sort of demon child.

See, like your adopted father, you were a witch and had come into your power rather early. Davina had been sensing some odd power flares in the area and, when she and Kol had gone to investigate, there you were - a sweet, little bundle of mischief with more power than you knew what to do with.

To say that you had Kol wrapped around your little finger from the first second he saw you would be no exaggeration. Seriously.

Kol had never thought himself fit to be a husband, let alone a parent. It still baffles him some days that Davina agreed to marry him - most days in fact - it just seemed too good to be true. They traveled the world for a while and then… Well, Davina, she…

She said she wanted kids.

She didn't say that she used to want kids or that she would have wanted them had she married someone else. Davina said she wanted to be a mom. With him. She said she wanted to have a kid with him and she wanted Kol to be that kid's dad.

At first, he almost thought it was a joke. Who in their right mind would trust him with a child? But no, Davina was serious.

And it terrified him.

Kol is well aware of just how miserably his parents screwed up their job and he's pretty sure he couldn't do any worse but that doesn't mean he'd do well.

But the guy took just one look at you and he knew without a doubt that there was no alternative realm, no obscure future, and no minuscule probability in which he could cause you any harm.

For the first little while, you were convinced (thanks to the nuns) that you would have to be an absolute angel of a child in order to be wanted by your new parents. You helped clean things, refrain from using your magic, made your bed, brushed your teeth, and never asked for anything.

Three months in, you dropped a plate and broke down crying, begging Mr. and Mrs. Claire-Mikaelson (because you wouldn't dare call them mom and dad) not to send you back.

What began as your average Tuesday afternoon turned into a deeply formative experience when Kol sat you on his knee, looked you in the eyes, and said:

"Y/N, darling, I want you to listen to me very closely, alright? There is absolutely nothing on this earth you can do or say that will make your mother and I love you any less. There is no such thing as good enough - there is no bar you have to meet - only what you are. Now, a plate is infinitely replaceable, but you are our daughter and I will love you until the end of time. That makes you infinitely more valuable than a plate. Okay?"

"O-okay… dad?"

That was a day you never forgot as you grew older.

Speaking of growing, no matter how old you get, Kol can and will pick you up by the ankle and hold you upside down. It never gets old.

Also, piggy-back rides.

You did go through a phase where you were convinced there was a monster in your closet.

"Dad! There's a monster in my closet and it wants to eat my toes!"

"Really? Well, I must applaud the audacity."

There were quite a few nights you spent cuddled up between them as Davina braided your hair and Kol told you a story until you fell asleep.

Kol always refers to you and Davina as "his girls".

He's always willing to play with you, whether it be a game of tag or a complex drama plot with your dolls. (His personal favorite was when you decided to reenact the French Revolution in Barbie form.)

Daddy-Daughter Days are 100% a thing. The two of you are huge movie and arcade goers. Not to mention huge fantasy nerds. From Deltora Quest to Harry Potter to the freaking Wheel of Time - your fascination with the fantastical never fades as you grow. You never thought yourself too old to be read to at night, so Kol never stopped the tradition.

You're a little (a lot) spoiled. But not in a bad way. You're not ungrateful but let's just say you have quite a few pets.

Auntie Bex is always more than willing to babysit when your parents want some time to themselves. You remind her of Kol when he was a kid and she adores that.

Play-Dates with your cousin Hope mean quite a few headaches for your uncles Klaus and Elijah. Aunt Hayley thinks you're absolutely hilarious while Aunt Cami is convinced you're like 4 different varieties of insane. She might have a point there.

When you're old enough to be in school, you can always count on your parents to help you with your homework. You never would have made it through middle or high school without your dad, Kol is insanely good at math and chemistry. However, when it comes to anything to do with history or government, he passes the torch to Davina because even though he lived through it, he literally never paid enough attention to remember anything.

Parent-Teacher conferences are always interesting.

"Y/N is so intelligent. Truly a joy to have in class."

"Is she now?"

Neither of them buys it for a second. You have a mischievous streak a mile long, the teacher just doesn't know that you're the one putting tacks on her chair. Kol is honestly proud and Davina may try to be the voice of reason but she can't help laughing at just how alike father and daughter turned out to be.

Now, if Hope is "miraculously well adjusted" then you're probably something like a thirty-year-old in an eight-year-old body. You're like the most chill child perhaps ever. However, just like your father, your maturity level varies with the situation.

For example, Klaus once decided it would be a good idea to whip out the "You're not even a real Mikaelson" card at a family reunion. It wasn't long before Davina had thrown Klaus into a wall and Kol and Marcel were at each other's throats.

You honestly weren't even bothered. You knew your parents loved you and that was enough so you simply said:

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

And went back to eating your dinosaur chicken nuggets.

Marcel - apparently still a little touchy on that subject - was the last to sit down again. Little did he know just how proficient you had become with teleporting objects. Naturally, you were smirking when the whoopie cushion did its noble work.

Kol is terrified that he'll lose touch with you as you grow older.

This fear never comes to fruition.

The trust between you and your parents is something every other child ever would envy. They trust your judgment and, in turn, you trust the very few restrictions they put in place for you. It's crazy because they honestly never get mad. Like ever.

However, their disappointment is the worst thing you'll ever endure.

They told you not to go out one night because an old enemy of Klaus' was wandering around town. You went out anyway and you were attacked. Now, you were powerful enough to fight off your assailant and kill him, but you didn't come out of that fight unscathed. You had to limp home and tell your dad what had happened.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I've done much worse in my life, for much dumber reasons. To be mad at you would make me a hypocrite. I just know you're better than this - Y/N, you've shown me that you're better than this. I'm not angry with you. I'm just extraordinarily disappointed."

It happens only once and never again.

Growing up with those two for parents ensured that you quickly mastered your magic and became one of the most powerful and skilled witches of all time. But don't think for a second that you would ever be used. They would never allow that to happen.

As you reach middle and high school, a rumor begins going around that your dad is a vampire. You just snort really loud and make no further comment. It leaves everyone wondering.

First boyfriend?

Heaven help the poor sod.

"If you ever lay your hands on my daughter against her will, you will find that you no longer have hands. I will use the bones of them to fashion myself a new pen, with which I shall write your death certificate. Do I make myself clear?"

Once you're old enough, the basement becomes something of a witchy lab space.

Explosions are… frequent.

*Coughing* "Thank goodness your mother wasn't home for that one."

"Think again, Mikaelson."

"Oh shi-"

"Uh… Hi mom!"

You're probably the healthiest Mikaelson.

When the time comes for you to graduate, it's a hard dose of reality for Kol. He understands he has to let you live your life and he would never dream of taking that away as it was taken from him, but it's just hard.

You'll never stop being his little girl.

Special thanks to: @her-violent-delights

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pigeonwit · 8 months

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In all honesty, Jack does kind of like the piano music upstairs – perhaps it’s a little invasive, but screw it, it’s kind of nice, especially when he’s caught up in his painting bliss and can allow himself to lean back and drift away on twinkling keys, or when he’s spacing out when he’s cooking and needs a rhythm to sway to, as if it were holding him by the waist as he did so.

(Crutchie had raised a brow when Jack shamefully admitted that to him this over their weekly coffee meet.

“Dude.” He’d said, dry and deadpan and entirely done with Jack’s shit. “You need a date.”

“Wh- fuck you, you need a date!” Jack had spluttered indignantly - and Crutchie’d only grinned and waggled a napkin adorned with not one, but two phone numbers from the hot and terrifying baristas he’d said no more than three words to.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, dear Jack-a-boy, we’re trying to find a way to fuck you, here – try to keep up.”)

Putting Crutchie’s youngest-sibling bullshit aside – as it stands now, Jack is hung over and miserable and not in the mood to be woken up at ass-o-clock in the morning (ten-thirty, a more than reasonable time to play piano on a lazy Sunday, but still, fuck Piano Guy, fuck the world, fuck everything, God, his head kills) and he is going to make it everyone’s business.

“You have neighbours…” Jack groans, nowhere near loud enough for Piano Guy to hear him, as he pounds the handle of a broom against his ceiling. “Stop with the Mozart!”

There’s a pause, one that Jack will feel more guilty about when his brain isn’t pulsing out of his skull – he waits for a second, then two, then ten, and breathes a sigh of relief, about to flop back into his bed and let the bliss of sleep reclaim him-

And then the keys start plinking again, fast and staccato and horribly major-scale and – oh, son of a bitch.

Right. Jack rolls his shoulders back, cricking his neck into place and immediately wincing, but that’s not important – what’s important is that no upstairs-person smartass is going to play Dear Evan Hansen at him while he’s hungover and expect it not to mean war.

He tries everything he could possibly muster in his pathetic, sleep deprived state – which of course means he smacks the ceiling with his broom for a good five minutes, and that gets him nothing but a medley of songs that vaguely mention knocking – from Waving Through a Window to Crash! to that one part of Michael in the Bathroom to an old vaudeville Jack remembers from Medda’s theatre, about five and a half years ago. It’s good, honestly – perfect, exactly how he remembered it, capturing the melody he kept stumbling over and losing in his own head, and sending a pang down to the soft and tender part of his chest where his nostalgia lies – but it is not enough to make Jack not hate him.

(It is enough to make him forget about his headache until halfway through Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation, but Jack decides to put a pin in that for now. He has a neighbour to destroy.)

After that resounding failure, Jack spends the next day blasting music from his own speakers, starting from the nichest heavy metal band he can find on Crutchie’s playlists until he’s belting Before He Cheats at the top of his lungs. Jack’s about to count it as a win – he’s not sure if Piano Guy’s still playing, but he certainly can’t hear him, at least – until his next door neighbour, an adorably sweet volunteer at the local pet shelter, knocks on his door and threatens to feed him to a hoard of chihuahuas. Jack almost would’ve let the whole feud go on that threat alone, if Piano Guy didn’t start playing Anything You Can Do in the smuggest key Jack can fathom the second she left.

So Jack, in his infinitely petty wisdom, follows in his sweet mother’s footsteps and writes a strongly worded note.

dear piano guy,

please christ stop playing your pretty boy music all day or i swear to god i am going to make the most osb obscene sex noises you can possibly imagine until you stop.

love B7

He’s snickering to himself the moment he hears Piano Guy’s door open. He tracks his steps across the ceiling, sneaking into his own bedroom as if Piano Guy would somehow be in Jack’s apartment rather than one floor above. He can hear the scrape of a chair, the slightest plink of a key or two – hesitant, almost, which sparks a soft feeling in Jack’s stomach that he can’t identify – and then a clash of five different notes, as if a whole hand had smashed against the keys by pure mistake. There’s a long, pronounced pause – Jack can hardly contain his snickering – until he hears the pounding notes of Rihanna’s S&M, and realizes two things very quickly.

Thing One: Piano Guy, for all his flaws, somehow possesses a sense of humour – a good one, at that – meaning that Piano Guy is a real, actual, potentially decent person, and isnot just some invisible stuff-shirted maestro Jack’s been insisting on hating for one incident when he was hungover.

Thing Two: listening to someone passionately playing the piano above Jack’s bed immediately after threatening sex noises upon them is giving Jack some terrible, terrible realizations about who he is as a person.

#i really... REALLY dont like this one but i gotta practice my jack voice somehow #dont like it! feels way too... cosmo-esque? but i'm barrelling towards a writing slump and i gotta write something so. we stay silly #anywhore.#newsies #uksies #javid #javey #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #pigeon scribbles

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infinitebrians · 4 months

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Favorite Games of 2023 Part 2: Super Mario Wonder

What a weird thing to say but this really is the best Super Mario has been as a 2D platforming game since the Super Nintendo! An overall creatively fresh look on that guy Mario and what he can do when he’s only got two directions to run around in. Just a true delight all the way through, I never had a bad time playing it. The new features like the badges and wonder seeds all gave the game a fun amount of variety and character to the game always keeping a sense of surprise in each area that at their very worst was easily ignored. Also a very lovely game visually that gave character to its characters and a fun new set of weird critters to appreciate.

A unique aspect for my playthrough of Mario Wonder was I insisted on playing through the whole game using my new snackbox leverless controller (arcade stick controller sans the stick). I’ve been wanting to try that controller with a side scrolling game because I kept hearing people play other side scrollers with it and it sounded like a fun perfect test case for that idea. I had a blast playing through the whole game with it. Using it’s button based directions felt entirely natural to play through the entire game with it and I’m absolutely going to be using it for any further similarly structured games in the future. The only time the unique button controls did not feel natural was when I was in situations involving four way direction like the water levels or those surprisingly frequent times where you turn into slime. That controller rules and I always feel bad I don’t like using it too much since I don’t always want to just get absolutely destroyed at fighting games all the time.

The thing though that I will always remember Mario Wonder is surprisingly enough it’s online feature. When this online aspect of the game was announced, a feature while you’ll see and be able to lightly interact with live ghosts of other players who are also playing the same level as you, I joked about Mario Wonder being the second ever strand game. Now having played the game 100%, I am absolutely standing by that statement. I’ve had numerous tiny but memorable experiences with other players with that feature either dancing around, spamming the simple emotes, or even helping each other out through tricky parts of the level. One experience of that in particular, the one this post’s drawing is referencing, happened during the final final challenge level where a Japanese Nabbit player and I were helping (them more to me than me to them) each other through a series of areas in that level. We would emote chirp at each other, cheering us on, and more importantly, wait at the room exits so when we left the room at the same time we’d maintain our online instance together. It happened for a whole checkpoint’s worth of that final level and it would’ve been longer if I didn’t screw up immediately with the infinite sprint badge room LIKE A FOOL. That player was a huge help to me with the few of the toughest rooms of that whole challenge and a very appreciated companion.

These little stories and memories I gathered from such a silly little feature gave me such a warm feeling toward everyone I was playing with in the game, we were all here to help push each other forward. A mechanic that gave people the encouragement to help each other out and feel good in the process of doing it, a fun look at what can be done with online semi anonmyous interaction. I’ll always appreciate that Nabbit player, I hope they’re having a happy new year.

#drawdogs #art #pixel art #writing #favorite games of 2023 #super mario wonder #toadette #nabbit

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tanglepelt · 9 months

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Acts Unmasked -2

prev master ao3 next

JL meets and the truth of the situation revealed

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As he led the two to their temporary quarters. Bruce couldn’t help but notice the constant lack of attention from Daniel. He was going to guess it was him dissociating, which was problematic. He noticed the look of awe on Danny’s face. The way he focused in on any passing windows. He was positive this was just more than fanboying over space. Even with how Danielle was reacting to the situation. Rolling her eyes when he muttered something about space. Even smacking him upside the head. The best bet would be to get the two situated quickly. It had to have been a rough few hours on these two.

Given the intense reaction to space, he’d have to ensure when Danny joined the conversation there were no open windows. Perhaps that would help him keep focus.

Martian Manhunter had looked very unamused and frustrated when he arrived with the two. Both Danny and him has seemed to focus on one another. Up until when Danny put a hand up to his head. They should probably get that checked out.

He had to practically shove the two children out of the room when John made his appearance. Just gaping at the duo. Not a good sign to say, however, he hoped that meant he had some insight into the situation. A confirmation of their positions or anything else.

He really could have done without the immediate confrontation upon returning to the main entry room on his way to the conference room. John could have waited until all eyes and ears were present.

“Please tell me we did not bloody touch royalty of the infinite realms. It was bad enough with just ecto beings. Some of those belong in this bloody realm. Those are the ones we thought we were dealing with. Low on the food chain. But the royalty, they bloody stay in the infinite realm. Ectoplasmic beings from there could and would just destroy everyone. How in the world have we not been attacked? You Americans just must fight anything that moves.”

At least the very least John had waited until both Danny and Danielle were in a room to confront him about the situation.

“You can tell?”

“Enough. The girl is bloody saturated with the king’s essence, not like his frickin soldiers but with the same signature. She must be family to the king. Too weak to be anything else, even factoring in the fact she's part human. That just don’t track. A human with ectoplasm powers didn’t end well, that a human with a core. Never seen that before.”

A grunt of acceptance “Get anything from the boy.”

“Can’t feel a core, been near the actual king. It’s not emitting from him, but I can certainly feel the king’s aura. Liminal at minimum as well.”

“Claims to be an ambassador?”

“They don’t bloody have those. It’s more of a you f around they wipe ya out. The last king took to bloody turning dimensions into enthralled victims. Left the heel hole with a warning for humans not to come to the realm.”

“Not a single soul spared according to the yeti. New king did away with all that. Freed all the enthralled according to Deadman. Bunch of dimensions let go of his hold, those actually faded away. Who knows what he’s done? The very few begin who would know are tight-lipped about this new king” John gave him a pointed look. As if it would do anything. “What was bloody done to her, how screwed are we.”

“Conference room.” With that, he just kept walking to the conference room. Unlike John, he wasn’t going to repeat himself.

They needed to get started on the four non-negotiable items. It would be best to get that rolling and at least make some headway. Danny would have to join them at some point, likely in a secondary meeting. Unfortunate effects of being a so-called ambassador.

Wonder Woman would have to talk to her connections in the UN. Not only will they get the anti-ecto acts revoked in the US and ensure guaranteed protections for this species. It would be in the best interest of the universe. They would also need to figure out how the contact was engaging. If their dimensional and time travel has taught them anything a device had to be powering the connection. It does not often contact with a secondary dimension that was stable all on its own.

The trace amount of the mystery radioactive substance in Amity’s general airways could be a sign of it in that area. Given the reports of these beings overflowing Amity Park, it was the likely area it happened. Danny mentioned an ecto filter. Was something filtering out or in this ectoplasm?

Much to get started on. Four key aspects are to be met.

What else could the realm ask for? Danny said he’d have to contact the council. Hopefully, it won’t be bad news. Cass was positive he could do what he said. Guarantee he wouldn’t end the dimension if the four points were met. The thought that a 15-year kid had the power to determine the fate of an entire dimension was concerning. They’d have to investigate his character, even if it was just to assure himself, they weren’t one bad day from being destroyed.

A full background of his entire family would be run and friends to be on the safe side for that matter.

His sister, she was easy enough to get a history for. Oracle already sent that information over as Red Robin and Black Bat were out hunting her down. Currently, she was attending Gotham U. Mandatory year on campus dorms for out-of-state students and according to Red Robin an apartment in the narrows. One with Danny’s name on it as well.

Danny had mentioned emancipation early. Having separate housing was a requirement. He had the feeling Danny didn’t want to stick around his parents for much longer than just today.

For now, that two-bedroom apartment. He’s sure it was a makeshift safe house. A place for worst-case scenarios. While Black Bat kept looking for Jasmine, Red Robin had done a thorough search of the apartment. See if there was anything of interest. Long lasting food, emergency supplies, but not particularly looking lived in. Apparently, it was otherwise empty. There were passports and IDs hidden away. None with the last name Fenton. They were ready to ditch the town at the very least.

If they pushed Jasmine to gain custody of the two, which did fall in line with the demand, they would at least stay in an area with a league member. Jasmine and Danny seemed to be the only ones with an actual traceable identity. Both with birth certificates and school records. The third and supposedly youngest sibling Danielle Fenton just did not exist at all. The yeti, Frostbite did say forged in ectoplasm. Was she a manufactured member or could this be a worse situation?

They had to ensure eyes on this group of siblings. Allowing Danny to be emancipated means he would have the legal right just to leave and do whatever he pleased. That just wouldn’t work. Tying him and the youngest to their oldest sister they would at least give them this school year. The school was already past its refund state, and leaving didn’t seem likely. That time would be a good way to try and get at least one of his children to gain trust with any of the Fenton children.

Build up a connection. The more in this dimension they cared about the better.

His being in custody would also ensure a better life. One with people who would care for him.

It had only been an hour since Black Bat sent a text in the group chat. They were already taking bets on how long it would take for him to “call the guy”. That wouldn’t happen here. Jasmine was an adult, and she would have custody of the two by the end of the day.

Black Bat should be focusing on finding Jasmine, rather than discussing his personal habits.

He is sure the others would agree.

Normally he would be the last to arrive and emerge from the shadows. Always best to check the league's situational awareness. John’s badgering, while understandable, would not allow his normal slipping into the conference room.

No time like the present to get this started.

Around the table already waiting for the meeting to commence was Superman, Zatanna, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Aqua Man, and the green lanterns. Yet again the flash was running late.

“We're in the bloody room. What did they do to the girl with a connection to the bloody ghost king?

“Depends” Before he could continue the flash decided to finally show. “Flash, your late”

“Ghost king?”

“Wonder Woman, you’re in contact with the UN already in regard to the anti-ecto acts already, correct?”

“Yes, I’ve made them aware of the acts.”

“There's a new issue, these acts are a lot bigger than originally thought. It's not only meant to go after the ecto-beings in America. But against an entire dimension and a monarchy. The two kids” Flash looked confused at that “the ones mentioned in the emergency notice have made claims of one being the girl Danielle is supposedly the princess of the infinite realms. The second claim is far less confident, likely not entirely the truth; the boy claims to be an ambassador.”

“Yea, and what was bloody done to them?” John cut into his explanation.

“I’m guessing the American Government after this apparent princess,” Aqua man asked.

So he told them what was necessary. The video footage albeit grainy did show a being in the crown collecting Danielle, the claims Danny made, the mind control claim on the federal level, and the fact this wasn’t a new movement. Nightwing and Robin themselves had overheard the ghost investigation ward discussing other specimens and the mentions of the dissection. Danny had claimed it had been going on for a year and that he did actually summon one of the beings to him. There was no solid evidence of him being an ambassador but it did make sense if the girl was royalty. John himself said he felt it on her.

The looks of rage and disgust range for each member. The mentions of specimen dissection and the girl being sold off left them all enraged. Martian manhunter especially.

“So you're saying.. the fate of this universe is up to a teenager. The same one who just had to help his sister escape the government.”

No one had the chance to say anything else as John spoke up.

“A direct attack of the bloody infinite realms then. These acts were bad enough. That was just when talking about the natural ones that pop up here. Those cause enough bloody damage. But no.”

“The realm keeps to itself. That lot shouldn’t even be on Earth. Those beings stick in the realm. I only know of ‘em from ending up in the realm myself. Got out of that one thanks to a helpful yeti bloo-“

John was cut off by an alert from the main computer. Looks like the door to the room had been opened. Getting the cameras online and going back about 30 seconds they witnessed Danielle looking human phasing through the door a furious look in her eye. Followed by Danny rushing after her screaming her name.

A mad meta? Half human half inter-dimensional being? And a teenager who kept zoning out and dissociating only 30 minutes ago. What could possibly go wrong?

They’d have to send someone after them. There was always the chance this whole thing had been a ploy.

“I’ll go after them” the Martian manhunter spoke “I doubt a human or human-looking person would be ideal.” Not giving a chance for anyone to respond he took off.

The boy had looked at him in awe prior to being led away and zoning out.

“Superman?” He asked looking over at him.

“I can only hear the boy. No other additional heartbeats either” Superman replied.

“The girls headin straight this way. That signature reeks of the king.” John actually helpfully informed.

That didn’t bode well.

Danielle popped up, now with white hair and green glowing eyes, apparently uncaring of secret identities, through the middle of the conference table. That really didn’t bode well.

“As the being the U.S. government decided to buy and princess of the infinite realms. I have my own demand. If not met. I’ll tattle to the ghost king himself.”

Well, this was just great.

#dcxdp #dpxdp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #shared core au #dannielle and dannys lack of sleep is causing lapses in judgement #there just along for the ride #th JL/JLD not a fan of the American government in this

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anonymousoneshots · 10 months

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Thing For Me (Part 3)

Roman Reigns x Reader

Rating: 18+ NSFW

Warnings: Dry Humping, Kissing, Public

A/N: I know this is a shorter chapter, but I have so many ideas for this. This is just the beginning. Let me know if you want to be part of the squad! And please let me know your thoughts about that ending. 😉

Squad: @pusiqw @fame-ass-ers @lux-angels @fictitiousbeing @southerngirl41

It was Saturday of the following week and you were heading into the backstage area at a house show, your first event since Wrestlemania. Your encounter with Roman had consumed your every thought. You couldn’t shake the feel of his fingers gripping your bare thigh, or his voice so close to your ear. You also couldn’t forget how quickly his demeanor had changed, and how awful he made you feel before you left. Your mind was chaos, and Roman was in every whirlwind.

Why had he acted so crass? How could he be so magnetic and warm, then suddenly go rigid? Was I a disappointment? God, he was probably grateful for Jimmy’s interruption and to be rid of having to please me. I was a fool, and this was most definitely a game to him. I fully expect everyone here to know what we did, how I threw myself at him. How many girls has he run dry? And if he’s really that bad, then why does my stomach flip at the thought of his touch, why does my mind keep defending him? How do I shake this thing for him?

Despite your hurt, there was a piece of your heart that leapt at the thought of seeing him. What a mess he’s made of me. You turn the corner lost in your thoughts, and nearly walk right into him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say before realizing who it was. You glance up and meet his gaze, and your stomach drops. He looks bored. You wait for him to say something, but instead he steps past you and continues walking down the hall. You stand there for a moment, stunned. The bastard didn’t even acknowledge me. What is his problem? You sigh and shake your head, continuing down the hall, which now seems infinitely emptier.

The whole night you were avoiding everyone. You refused to meet anyone’s gaze, and kept to yourself with your head low. You just had to make it until the end of the night, then you could continue avoiding everyone until Monday. You pretty much had a successful night of no interaction until you best friend, Serena, spotted you walking and jogged over. She was one of the seamstresses for the women’s ring gear.

“[y/n]! Wait up. You look like someone ran over your dog,” she remarked. You stop walking and begrudgingly turn to face her. You suppose you did look rather distant, maybe even a little disheveled.

“I’m fine,” you managed, and smiled at her. In an effort to change the subject, you pointed over to her work station.

“Who’s gear are you fixing up today?” She narrows her eyes at you, but thankfully decides not to pry.

“Becky’s, and I’m way behind. I’ll catch up with you later?” She kisses her fingers and lightly touches them to your cheek before turning around and heading back to work.

“Perk up! Roman’s match is next,” she calls over her shoulder.

Despite yourself, you watch Roman’s match. Despite him being an asshole and leaving you in the dust, you couldn’t turn away. He was thriving off the heat from the crowd, and you caught your lips turning up at that cocky, satisfied grin that plastered his face as he circled his grounded opponent. He was a wolf, and your skin was prickling at the memory of him eyeing you like that. Shaking the sensation creeping up your thighs, you click off the TV and turn away. Screw him.

Roman’s match was the last of the night. After packing up your things, you moved to head out of the arena as quickly as possible, throwing on a pair of black sweats over your ring gear. Winding through the labyrinth that was backstage, you pass lots of familiar faces. And each time you glance up at a face that isn’t Roman, your heart stumbles. You’re nearly at the exit where the buses are waiting for you when you overhear a conversation.

“The Bloodline don’t lose, man!” It was Jey’s voice. You quickly steal behind an empty hallway and peer around the corner, listening. Jey and Jimmy were standing in front of Roman, clearly fired up about something.

“Wait until Monday, we’ll hand his ass to him,” Jimmy chimed in. Wait. Roman… lost? Your gaze drops to the floor as your eyebrows furrow, not grasping the fact that he actually lost. That hasn’t happened in years. A small laugh of disbelief escapes your lips. Serves the asshole right. Karma is a God. You glance up to notice Roman’s eyes drilling into you. You’d been made. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you quickly turn away and start down the hall. Shit.

“[y/n].” This was some serious deja vu.

“Why is it I’m always catching you sneaking?” He questions you.

“You lost tonight,” you say, and turn around to face him. This is the first conversation you’ve had since you stormed out of his room.

“You sound surprised. Didn’t watch your Tribal Chief tonight?” Roman teased, a wolfish grin playing at the corner of his lips. You unconsciously squeeze your thighs together. Roman referring to himself as Tribal Chief made heat rush to your core. You tilt your chin up defiantly, refusing to let yourself melt for him

“Maybe you’re to blame for my loss.” Roman steps closer to you, and you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You can smell the scent of his sweat mixed with soap, teasing your senses. Roman leans in closer to you, speaking softly so only you can hear.

“Maybe you need to be punished.”

“And you need to get over yourself,” you retort, despite the pooling at your core. “I’m not a toy, Roman.”

You turn on your heel and start to walk away, but he grabs your wrist and whirls you back around. A playful smile rests on his lips.

“But you can be. And I promise you’d like it.”

You immediately drop your gaze, extremely flushed. So much for defiance. Roman is still gripping your wrist, holding you in place, so close to him. Suddenly you come to your senses about where you are, and worry that someone will witness the interaction. You tug your arm and try to release his grip, but he doesn’t budge.

“Roman,” you say, looking up at him, a bit of panic alight in your eyes, “someone could see.”

His grin expands as he releases his grip on your wrist and takes a small step back.

“Where’s the fun in being cautious?” He asks.

“If your idea of fun is being reckless and a grade-A dick, I’m not interested.”

Roman lets out a laugh, and walks around you like a predator planning how to enjoy their meal. Your heart picks up speed, and you take a deep breath in. He really is toying with you. And fuck him and your senses, because you’re so turned on by it. He makes his way back to face you, and reads you like a book. Suddenly his hands on on your waist and he’s pushing you backwards, lifting you up and setting you down on one of the roadie trunks. His body is positioned between your legs, and his face is inches away from yours.

You can feel his dick hardening through his pants, pressing into your aching core. He places his hands flat on the trunk at your sides, leaning in closer. Your lips part in anticipation of a kiss, but he just studies your eyes. You’re both breathing rather heavily, waiting for the other to make a move. You can’t take the tension anymore as what feels like minutes pass, so you crash your lips into his, gripping his bare chest. He kisses you back hungrily, grabbing your wrists and pulling your hands away from him, wrapping your arms behind your back.

Your core is pulsing, and he’s grinding his dick against you with every movement. You want more of him, all of him, right now. But he still has your arms pinned behind your back, and you’re helpless. He pushes his tongue past your lips and explores your mouth. He tastes like peppermint. You start to try to wriggle your arms free as he devours you, needing so desperately to touch him, but his grips just tightens. He pulls away a moment later and studies you, breathless with reddened lips. You swear you can feel his dick twitch though his pants. You don’t want him to stop. You need more, more, more.

“Is that your idea of not interested?” Roman remarks, allowing you to catch your breath. “You were just so worried someone would see us standing close together then you dry humped me on the roadie cart,” he says playfully.

Your face flushes as you remember you’re in the middle of the hallway backstage, where anyone can walk by. You quickly wiggle free of his grip and push him away as you hop off the trunk. You start to glance around to catch any witnesses, but Roman, grabs your chin and makes you look at him instead.

Roman laughs again. “I’m going to have so much fun playing with you.”

“Screw you,” you say, as you tear your chin out of his grip and take a step back.

“I know you want to,” he replies smoothly, “but you’ll just have to wait.”

Suddenly you were seeing red, so filled with rage at him for playing with you and finding your frustration and panic amusing. You were about to tear him a new one, when you notice Jey down the hall, staring at you both.

The smirk on Jey’s face told you all you needed to know. He just nods his head as your gaze falls on him, and you swear you see his adjust himself through his sweats.

You’d been made. And if two was dangerous, what makes three?

#reader insert #wwe x reader #fanfiction #one shot #wwe #fan fiction #fanfic #smut #wwe one shot #roman reigns x reader #x female reader #roman reigns #jey uso #x reader

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lar-mx · 8 months

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mission: save the wedding

Well, I don't know if someone has done this before, but imagine this: Danny and Zatanna are dating and actually they were and are still trying to get married, but the universe is a bitch and keeps finding ways to screw them over. Examples:

.-Observers objected the first (and second) time they tried to get married because "how could the king of the infinite kingdoms be with a mortal" or "that woman tries to trick the king and force him into a submission contract (this is Constantine's fault he said something stupid when he shouldn't)." .-the fifth time clockwork, accept that the wedding will take place in a space out of time, just as they were about to get to the i accept part both danny and zatanna ended up being swallowed by different portals that threw them to different points in time (clockwork was flabbergasted because that shouldn't have happened). the point is that someone is conspiring so that the two of them are not together and after 17 attempts things get a little heavy between them, they really love each other but that "fate and/or universe" doesn't let them deepen their ties really It's starting to affect.

(My English is bad, so if you don't understand something, don't hesitate to ask and I'll try to answer your questions as best I can.)

#dc x dp #danny phantom #zatanna #Danny and Zatanna's friends have to work together to figure out what the hell is trying to break them up.#Constantine may have caused two (well three but that last one is only half his fault #the other is Batman's) of the attempts to end badly #Lady Gotham is the one who officiates the wedding every time (maybe that has something to do with it?)#ellie is danny's daughter and she really likes mom and doesn't really care that things don't have that level of officialdom #but understands that it is important for both of them.#The wedding is not just a symbol or a glorified role #it has a deep sense of unification of the couple's destinies.

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baalzebufo · 3 months

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the road ahead

a little fic I wrote immediately after finishing Infinite Wealth... spoilers for y8 including the finale, tread with caution. heavily implied kazumaji. enjoy my treat

‘You- ah. You have a visitor, Kiryu-san…’

How long had it been since people had called him his name- his real name? Too long. It almost felt strange responding to it after all this time. Kiryu began propping himself up in his bed, grunting- he caught the nurses eye. She looked anxious, her fingers drumming on the door frame. He couldn’t tell if that was a bad sign or not. Before he could open his mouth to ask, the sound of heels clicking in a light jog grew louder and louder down the corridor behind her, until-

‘Kiryu-chan, ya’ in there?’

A familiar face popped up behind her shoulder, and she shot straight up with a startled yelp. Majima couldn’t help himself, letting loose a cackle at the reaction. Kiryu sighed with relief. Much as he hated to admit it, he had missed that laugh. He gave the nurse a sympathetic smile.

‘You can leave him with me, it’s okay.’

‘Are you sure?’ She asked, lips drawing into a thin line even as Majima rocked on his heels behind her, eager to squeeze past. She kept herself firmly in the door between them. She turned to face him then, glaring at Majima.

‘Aw, don’t worry, I won’t stress him out or nothin’. Best behaviour. I promise!’ Majima raised his hands in deference. After a moment of staredown, the nurse shook her head. Best not to argue. She moved aside to let him through, casting a glance back at Kiryu over her shoulder- call me if you need help, she mouthed. Not fully convinced of the man's intentions.

Kiryu wasn’t surprised. He may not have been a yakuza anymore, but it didn’t stop Majima from dressing like one. Even to someone with no knowledge of his reputation as the Mad Dog, to a complete stranger who didn’t hear the bloody rumour mill around his life, he came off as someone with a couple screws loose. Of course, that was his intention from the start. And Kiryu hoped by now he knew Majima well enough to tell that.

He slid the door shut behind him and looked down at Kiryu. He sauntered over slowly, hands shoved in his pockets before slumping on the guest chair next to his bed. He leaned over, tilted his head, looked right into Kiryu’s eyes.

‘Ya still look like shit.’

Kiryu couldn’t help it- he laughed. The sound made Majima perk up instantly.

‘It’s nice to see you again too, nii-san.’ He smiled weakly. He knew he must have looked an awful state. He’d let it get so bad for so long… He reached for a glass of water on the stand beside him and took a sip. He’d thought about it the other day when he caught himself in the mirror- saw his sunken cheeks and tired eyes. He had a flicker of regret then, the yakuza desire to die young rearing its ugly head until he snuffed it out. No, none of that. He may have looked like shit, as Majima eloquently put it, but at least he was alive. Frankly, he appreciated Majima’s honesty. In the time after he had put the glass down and focused back on the present, he realised the uncomfortable silence between them had begun dragging.

‘How are you?’ He hesitated.

‘Pffa- me?’ Majima scoffed. ‘You’re the one in the damn hospital, and you’re asking how I am!’ He shook his head.

‘Forgive me for being concerned for your wellbeing, nii-san. I won’t do it again.’

‘Aw, knock it off…’

Majima sighed, crossing his arms. His foot was tapping. Kiryu could tell he was putting on a brave face by showing up here. He may have written off Majima a long time ago as impossible to read but he had learnt to pick up on things here and there. He was about to attempt more small talk, when Majima interjected.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you again.’

Kiryu blinked, uncertain.

‘When ya’ left that first time.’ Majima clarified, fiddling with one edge of his glove. Kiryu remembered all too well. Remembered the way Majima had called for him as he left them behind in the snow, and it sent a heavy feeling into his stomach. It had been warranted at the time, certainly- more lives than his own were on the line- but he couldn’t deny how cold it was of him.

‘You really were going to get yourself killed, weren’t you?’

His accent was faltering, Kiryu noted to himself. But he couldn’t deny what he said. At the time- he truly wanted to die. He nodded.

‘I was.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I thought it was the only way. I’m… thankful that I realised it wasn’t.’ He swallowed hard.

‘Yeah?’ Majima’s voice was barely above a whisper. His hands were still itching to do something. Kiryu noticed. He reached his own hand out and took Majimas, to stop it from picking at himself. He felt the way he startled under his touch. Kiryu stopped. Let him pull away, if he wanted.

Majima didn’t.

His hand went loose in Kiryu’s, who squeezed it gently.

‘I’m sorry, Majima-san.’ Kiryu blinked hard. His emotions had been a lot harder to keep in check, lately. ‘I shouldn’t have put you through that. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.’

‘Kiryu…’

Majima sniffed, grinning lopsidedly. ‘Ya’ idiot. Don’t apologise, I oughta be doing that. We were so caught up in our own shit we didn’t wanna see a light outta the darkness, ‘cause it would’ve hurt our eyes.’ He squeezed Kiryu’s hand back. ‘Thanks for kickin’ my ass into gear. I needed it.’

‘Let’s… both agree to apologise to each other, then.’ Kiryu nodded. He brought his other hand over to clasp Majima’s. He nodded back, and the two sat there for a moment in silence.

Kiryu had a habit of noticing things at the strangest times. Like right now, all he could think about suddenly was the texture of the glove under his fingers. The leather was softer than he remembered it being, every time Majima’s fist had collided with his own. Then again, he’d never gotten to touch them like this before. Majima must have noticed him drifting.

‘Hey, ya’ in there, Kiryu-chan?’

‘Hm? Oh. Yes. I was thinking about your gloves.’

Majima choked out a laugh, incredulous. ‘My gloves?’

Kiryu’s brow furrowed as he nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve never gotten to hold your hand before, so I’ve never felt them like this. It’s a new texture for me, and- stop laughing, nii-san.’

‘Sorry, sorry!’ Majima bowed his head between giggles. ‘It’s just- God, that’s so you, Kiryu-chan.’

‘What do you mean.’

‘You’re so goddamn weird.’

Kiryu frowned. ‘That’s awfully rich coming from you, nii-san.’

‘I know!’ He cackled, grin spreading across his face. ‘It’s perfect! We’re both so fuckin’ weird!’

Kiryu couldn’t help it. Despite his confusion, his desire to be grouchy with Majima, his laugh- he had missed that laugh so much. For years, he felt like he wouldn’t hear that laugh again. He smiled, and he laughed with him. He laughed until he felt as if he were about to cry again, taking deep breaths to avoid setting off his heart monitor. He would die of embarrassment if that happened.

‘Ahh…’ Majima sighed. ‘I missed ya, Kiryu-chan.’ He smiled. ‘But I got one thing I gotta ask ya’, okay?’

‘Yes?’

‘No, no. You gotta promise me.’

‘This isn’t going to be something weird, is it.’ Kiryu frowned.

‘No, it ain’t- I swear. Hear me out, Kiryu-chan.’

Kiryu hesitated, but…

‘Okay.’

‘Don’t leave again.’

The lump entered his throat instantly. Majima’s dark eye was looking at him, pleading with him. He couldn’t keep doing this to him- he knew that. He had spent so much time running away from him, his family, his old life- running away from everything. He was so tired of running. Kiryu nodded, swallowing heavily.

‘I promise.’

‘Cause I’m not leavin’ you, now.’ Majima continued. ‘I mean it! It’s back to 24-7 fuckin’ surveillance for you, Kiryu-chan!’

‘Oh, god.’ Kiryu groaned- he thought those days were behind them. The days of chasing each other through the streets of Kamurocho, beating each other half to a pulp. He hoped they wouldn’t be doing that again. Well… not to say he didn’t enjoy it. But his poor bones likely couldn’t handle it for a while.

‘I mean it. Yer never getting rid of me, Kiryu-chan.’ He tittered, squeezing his hand a little tighter. Kiryu wasn’t sure if he should interpret that as a threat or not, but…

‘Thanks, nii-san. I mean it.’

‘Good. Remember-’ Majima leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘You ain’t allowed to die until I say so! I staked that claim years ago, ya remember? I’m-’

‘You’re the only one allowed to kill me.’ Kiryu finished for him. A threat that Majima had made so many years ago, and one that he kept renewing. A threat, an attempt to scare him- it had evolved into something more. It wasn’t a threat anymore. It was a promise. A promise that he wasn’t going to let Kiryu throw his life away. Was it odd that Kiryu found the thought comforting? Perhaps. But they were always odd people.

‘Yeah.’ Majima nodded, his own eye glistening slightly. ‘So- no goin’ out before me. Okay? Gonna see you through this shit. Gonna hassle ya’ every chance I get. I’ll fuckin’ help you out.’ He sniffled, doing a poor job at hiding his own welling emotions. ‘However long ya’ got, I’m gonna be there for ya.’

‘Thank you… Goro.’

Majima stirred. Looked up in shock. His lips quivered, as if he was uncertain how to respond. Eventually, he smiled.

‘No prob, Kazuma.’

Kiryu shut his eyes. It wasn’t going to be an easy road ahead. Recovery was going to be rough. He wasn’t even sure how long he had- if he even could recover. It may be too late for him. But in that moment with his hands gripping onto those leather gloved hands, Majimas fingers entwined with his, he felt like it was going to be okay.

Whatever lay ahead for him, he knew Majima would be there with him. And they would face it together.

#like a dragon infinite wealth spoilers #yakuza spoilers #yakuza 8 spoilers #kazumaji #i dont know what spoiler tags people are using SORRY #its so hard to describe a fic that is so. requires finale knowledge. without spoiling anything in the description #anyway very rambly and quick fic i just needed to get it out of my system #yakuza #fanfiction

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ghostinthegallery · 9 months

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A Necron Reading Guide

For anyone who wants to experience the wonders of Warhammer 40K's incredibly dramatic undead robots from space, here are basically all the published books/stories, ranked into tiers:

Must Read:

The Infinite & The Divine- You've already read this one. If not, your friends and family and the whole internet have recommended it to you. Go read it. A skeleton robot archaeologist throat-punches a dinosaur in like...chapter 2. This is worth your time.

Twice Dead King: Ruin & Reign- duology, so read both books. Wonderfully tragic, all the epic Greek poetry vibes, necrons who need therapy but will never get it. Bring tissues.

Severed- Somehow the most wholesome relationship in all of 40K, plus some fun lore, but mostly we are here for feelings. Also bring tissues but for happy tears this time.

Once you are done and need more (aka the good short stories):

War in the Museum- More of Trazyn being Trazyn, what more can you want?

The Bleeding Stars- See above.

The Word of the Silent King- Szarekh is a weird dude, but it's definitely fun watching him screw with some space marines

Once you really need a fix and realize there's basically nothing else:

The Lords of Borsis- fun scheming political short story, but it misses some of the little touches that make a necron story feel like necrons to me. Not the author's fault, pretty sure at that point GW didn't know the necrons' lore either.

The Devourer- decent little novella featuring Anrakyr the Traveler, but he has to share a lot of page time with some random Blood Angels and a cryptek who does not matter. Not the most compelling of the bunch, but there are worse ways to spend an afternoon.

Don't bother even once your get desperate:

The Everliving Legion- short story anthology. Has Word of the Silent King and Lords of Borsis, so you can get it for those, but the rest of the stories are just humans fighting necrons or being scared of necrons and that is not really what I'm after. Let my necron books be about necrons pls.

Indomitus- don't. Just don't. The book is bad, even by GW standards. They will never explain what the Pariah Nexus thing was about and I have given up hope of ever getting answers.

#warhammer 40k #necrons #the infinite and the divine #twice dead king #warhammer books #go read and then write fanfic so I have more necron stuff to read #because this list is basically it and it is not enough

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lightwise · 5 days

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TBB S3 E13 Reaction

- Ooooh, Tantiss has light on it again for the first time since the beginning of the season 👀 that is hopeful. Omega’s presence is bringing light back to this desolate place

- We haven’t seen male scientists before have we?

- Scrunchy nose and scowly eyebrows. Baby girl is in full blown revenge mode 😎

- I have to point out that every time a tv show has characters be given perfectly fitting outfits in a new environment (especially something like a prison) it cracks me up to no end. There’s no way Omega and Bayrn sized prison jumpsuits were just laying around somewhere.

- Omega has grown SO MUCH 😭 physically, emotionally, rationally. At the start of this season she made that doll to keep herself sane and now she knows that she doesn’t even need to mention that fact to Eva. She is so confident and focused in her mission and in showing up as a leader and example for these kids. I’m so freaking proud of her

- And to juxtapose that with Bora Vio, where Omega was captured by Cad Bane and confronted by Fennec about her fears of becoming an experiment in a test tube—AND where she got herself out and where the boys could pick her up. Chefs kiss

- Echo!! I love their brotherly handshakes

- Hunter and Echo are not playing around sassing Rampart around lol.

- This shuttle looks very similar to the one Crosshair and Omega escaped in at the beginning of the season

- Why does Crosshair’s “yes” sound like someone screwed up on the sound mixing side? It’s so weirdly quiet and whispery

- The little tappy taps on the uniform and “I can’t wear this” “you’ve been demoted” I’m DYING 💀

- The grid layout of these prison cells reminds me of the Box episodes in TCW where Obi-Wan becomes Rako Hardeen

- Scalder is definitely trouble

- Yeah Emerie stand up for yourself and the kids!

- These kids voices 😭

- And Omega’s voice 😏 allll her training is paying off

- They stripped their armor 😭😭😭😭 all of their individuality and expressiveness gone. I do not like this

- Alright, I can see why the hair and beard trim is driving everyone wild, but it’s still not for me 😆. The bitchiness is endlessly entertaining though

- Okay this is now infinitely nerve-wracking

- Hunter putting his hand on Rampart’s shoulder and him immediately wiping it off is so hilarious 🤣. I think there is a modicum of respect that is established here though. Hunter is warning him but also giving him the clone sign of respect with the shoulder grasp. Rampart is still fastidious with his uniform but begrudgingly admits that he’s in on this mission even if it’s because he has no other choice, letting them know that he will handle himself properly.

- It’s interesting that many of the imperials this season have had beards. Last season most of them were blond and clean shaven, and now they’re dark haired and bearded. Coincidence? Trying to reuse facial models? An extra cold winter and Tarkin didn’t get his hands on the dress code protocols? 🤷🏻‍♀️

- I LOVE when the Empire is just flaunting one’s rank and bring an asshole to get things done. It works every time

- “I’ve missed this” 🤣 honestly it’s too bad Rampart isn’t willingly on the right side bc he would be steadily becoming hotter if he was

- Surely Echo appreciated the regulation drop 😅

- Ruh roh. Does no imperial ever see the “invite you into the ship and then hit you in the back of the head” thing coming??

- Echo’s always “working on” encryptions

- They’re going to have to go straight there?? 😱

- I have to say, I do feel for Rampart here. He genuinely didn’t sign up for this. Neither did the rest of them really but they don’t have a choice.

- “Wonderful. We’re all going to die” pls no 😭😭

- At no point did I ever worry that Rampart was going to give them up though. He might be pissed but he knows he’ll be sent directly back to prison if anyone in the empire recognizes him. He was sentenced by Palpatine himself. There’s no coming back from that. Whatever he chooses to do going forward, I think he knows it will have to be something he carves out himself, and trying to betray the Batch won’t help him at all in that process. Hopefully this remains true for the rest of the episodes.

- These overhead shots are insanely beautiful

- Bayrn is just a baby 🥺

- The perfect amount of suspense 😱 and Omega knows how to sound perfectly innocent

- Dr. Scalder is feeling like Nurse Ratched right now 👀

- “Our way out” “One way out” aghhhh let’s go!!

- And we get another “Echo is the baddest badass ARC Trooper ever” sequence and I LOVE it

- The droid chute lowers for the little mouse droid 🤣 adorable

- Echo 🤝 Omega doing what they need to do in the nick of time

- Wrecker wearing the tiny hat I can’t 😂😂😂

- Cue the hyperventilating

- This is so nerve-wracking

- Omg if Echo had gone out that way 😭

- “Negative” SIR 🥵 🥵 🥵

- In the last possible second!! The very warranted trust they have in Echo after all they’ve been through! Rampart’s quite reasonable fears and yet their crazy plan working as the Bad Batch does! And Crosshair catching Rampart so he doesn’t fall even though he doesn’t have to!

- I was officially white-knuckled by the end of this episode 😱💀

- Can we take a minute to appreciate Hunter’s leadership and piloting skills here? His choice to make this jump is insanely brave, his ability to fly has been proven to be capable and daring when needed, and his calm, proactive decision making that has largely been missing since their military days is back in full force. He’s on a mission and he’s not stopping until he gets his girl back for good.

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #star wars #the bad batch spoilers

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thelonelyme · 2 years

Text

♤𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡♤

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞: ディズニーツイステッドワンダーランド[Twisted Wonderland]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨/𝐢: Malleus Draconia, mc, Sebek Zigvolt, Lilia Vanrouge.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: Malleus reacts to the reader that they curse themselves to go back to sleep. [mc x Yandere Malleus Draconia]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hello!! I just read your Spoiled and Just a kiss and it was super good!!! But there is something I wanna ask if you don't mind. I saw that Malleus didn't really regret after cursing reader with Sleeping beauty spell even though they did not wake up for many years. And even when they finally woke up, he went and killed the man who saved them. I would like to know how he would respond if the reader became mentally broken or returned to eternal sleep (not death) like before due to all the shock they faced as soon as they woke up. I am sorry if I somehow inconvenienced you. Thank you for all your amazing fics. Love you 😘

𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐄: FEM READER, This is the third part of “Spoiled[1]” and "Just a kiss[2]", so if you haven’t already read that, make sure you do. Yandere content, threats, physical and psychological violence, misogyny, depression, mental illness, torture, gore, mention of non-con, allusions to suicide.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @tragedyofdevotion I hope you'll like it and thank you so much, you can't even imagine my happiness when I received your request! I swear, I'm so happy, and thank you for asking me <3 <3 Btw, sorry if this doesn't show Malleus' point of view much, I hope I haven't screwed it up. Love you too 😚.

"..." You said absolutely nothing, not a gasp, not a small cry, nor a breath stronger than the others, as elder fae sighed.

Again, no reaction.

For days you refused to eat and sleep, you did not want to leave your room, as if you were scared by the corridors of the gothic castle. He could not understand your fear, in his very long life he had to see and hear the people most dear to him die right in his arms.

As much as he loved his son, he could only blame his reckless youth and willful ignorance. After all, he knew you were from Malleus, and now there wasn't much he could do for him other than visit his body trapped in a glass coffin.

If he managed to go further and forget his fall, why couldn't you? If he, his father, had managed to go on living, why couldn't you? Then, Malleus was right to have killed him, no queen with a loyal husband at her side would ever think about shedding tears and even refusing to satisfy her primary instincts for the one who should have been a simple personal guard. Furthermore, trustworthy.

If he, Silver's father, managed to go further and forget his fall, why couldn't you? He was his son, but he couldn't feel any remorse; after all, Malleus had warned every single living and wandering soul since he still lived in his dorm not to even dare to look at you for more than a second. His obsession had grown out of all proportion: the young fae had always been raised alone, no one had ever dared to approach him for fear of being potentially burned alive or otherwise.

He was just a harmless child, but those comments, all those insults only served to increase a feeling of infinite emptiness in his soul. And when you, a defenseless and innocent little thing, presented yourself to him, you automatically signed a contract even stronger than Azul's by doing a simple and apparent thing:

You naively gave him your name.

Really, how ignorant could you be? Haven't you ever heard that you absolutely mustn't give your name to a fairy? Expecially a powerful one? Then you should have expected your impending kidnapping.

Life doesn't go our way, and being a docile and innocent little lamb in a herd of beasts ready to slaughter anything, being a ceramic pot in a sea of iron pots is nothing less than begging for a bad ending.

He has always been a respectable fae with great intelligence and many tricks up his sleeve, but he had a small problem; he always tended to underestimate what he didn't think was noteworthy enough.

He had always ignored your every desperate screams for help, even when Malleus punished you even more fervently for yelling a name other than his own, or when he forced you to eat even when you could no longer swallow anything, or when he forced you to take care of your child by silently threatening you.

And after all, any part of him couldn't feel any kind of pity towards you: he thought that what you were complaining about, all those screams and your tears were just a whim, and that it would have been better if you had submitted to Malleus ever since from the first moment to welcoming the dense seed of your loving dragon into your womb with a smile on your face.

You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble.

But now, even that calm didn't suit him. And maybe it was his fault that young fae was so.. spoiled.

He had always achieved everything that any human being and could never have desired: wealth, excellent social status, beauty, a great deal of power in his hands, but he could not be envied for his loneliness.

Lilia, tired by the smell of your blood and bored to inflict other wounds on you, got up from your bed soaked in the liquid and headed for the exit, noticing that Sebek was closely observing every move he had made.

The half-fae observed apathetically how, although Lilia was literally tearing your arm apart, you did nothing.

It was as if you were a simple rag doll, with glassy, lifeless eyes and a limp body that would move at the first touch. Maybe your stubbornness was something he could have envied.

But instead of watching his superior inflict wounds that likely would leave marks despite instant healing, you just kept staring at him relentlessly. He would have wanted to take those eyes off you just to make you stop. Lilia was torturing you and you had the damn courage to look at him?

With a wave of his gloved hand, he signaled to the mint-haired fae that it was his turn.

Sebek, on the other hand, was deeply irritated by your behavior.

Not only were you missing the essential points in being a good wife, but you were also affecting her master's emotions, which then spilled over into her entire kingdom.

Sebek hated you.

He hated your being a mere human unworthy of being alongside a powerful and majestic wizard like Malleus was, he hated all your pathetic attempts to escape from his master, blaming them at your stupid stunts and making him lose faith in them.

He hated how you were given everything from the most expensive clothes to the finest jewelry to the most opulent foods, and how you completely despised all these gifts from your husband.

He hated how much concern Malleus put into your health, he hated the fact that even though you were still a stupid human, you still managed to seduce him in unknown ways. And thanks to that Silver, now Malleus probably would have thought he had to throw them out, if not take them out.

In fact, he was still grateful and surprised that he had not yet been killed by Malleus's jealousy, which he constantly praised and thanked him for, as a good servant should do.

He especially loved the moment of your punishment.

Master Malleus had specifically told them to get a reaction in every way, and obviously he had chosen one of the more classic ways of getting someone to talk.

He loved how he could take out all his frustration and tension on your helpless body, he loved having control over your miserable human life, temporarily forgetting about his dirty human father who had dirtied him with a human side. But even though he was half like you, he had no remorse in his actions.

He saw all of this as a pass that would raise him from the mass of ungrateful people in Malleus' eyes, he wanted to be his favorite, he wanted to be the one he would care for with so much concern, he wanted to be the one to be drowned in the great amount of compliments that he gave you and that you despised hatefully, he would liked to kill you.

════════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*════════

"So, let's summarize the situation. I charge you to get my beloved wife out of her particular moment, and she still refuses to come and talk to me?!" The monarch told them menacingly, approaching step by step their figures kneeling in front of him. He couldn't believe they couldn't use any method he advised them to use to stop her from continuing with this nonsense she was doing.

He was honestly disappointed with their results.

If the two of them couldn't convince his wife to go out and finally abandon her stupid childish behavior, they wouldn't have been of any use to him.

And he had had enough.

Years and years of pampering you were probably never deserved. With a sudden movement he rose from his throne, meanwhile frightening even the two children who were blissfully ignoring the conversation until then.

He cast a cold glance at the two knights.

"Take the kids and take them to the woods, I need to have a chat with my wife. Now." Without even waiting for an answer, he quickly walked away, purposely avoiding teleportation.

He had to think about what to do.

The weather outside had changed drastically: cloudy at first, now the sky was completely black, big clouds charged with electricity and rain ready to burst at the slightest change in Malleus's magic.

Slight rumors could be heard from your room.

But it didn't matter anymore. You understood. You finally figured out the only way you were going to hurt Malleus once and for all.

You.

You were his only weakness.

Paradoxically, at that time you had much more power than the most powerful wizard in Twisted Wonderland. You had the power to destroy him in a way that no one ever did, and you didn't care in the slightest about the consequences your actions would bring. For you everyone could all have died in atrocious ways, you don't care about the aftermaths. The world had completely forgotten you, and this time it was your turn to do so.

Slowly craning your head towards the bedside table, you watched apathetically at the dagger that Sebek had put down some time before. You were happy to be hated by Sebek, you would have felt like shit otherwise.

With the last strength left in your body, you reached out to grab the blade.

Then you bent down to take the vial you had jealously guarded between the mattress and the headboard.

You crushed the object in your hands and immediately one after the other, many pieces of splintered glass pierced your hand from side to side, but in the end the liquid had managed to slip on the blade.

You took a sigh.

"THREE."

"TWO."

"ONE!"

"NO!"-

Total darkness.

════════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*════════

You finally managed to escape from him. You loved no one, and no one could ever wake you up.

There was no other Silver, there was no one.

Nobody could break through that barrier in your head.

You were free. Eye for an eye, tooth or tooth.

You had chosen freedom and had to sacrifice your body, but now you were finally free to dream.

════════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*════════

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

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puppypawprintce · 2 months

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1740 words - gen

2/?

snily friendship, nightmares, severus loving potions class, angst

cw: self loathing

ao3 link if you'd prefer ♡

One, two, three, four - four ounces of Moondew, the herbal green fluid joining its brethren of finely pulverized Unicorn Horn, Syrup of Hellebore, and Stewed Mandrake. The greenish blue substance simmers in the cauldron. Severus couldn't be more focused if he tried, his careful hand stirs its contents while slowly adding in 12 ounces of Honeywater. It beginning to shift to a much warmer shade of amber. The sweat beads by his brow and the steam emanating makes his skin feel false, like wax paper, disgusting.

There are an abysmal amount of ways to screw up an elixir, and he'll be damned if any of the infinite creep up on him today.

When he woke up this morning he'd been excited-an immensely rare sight for the student-to work on his potion of anti-paralysis. Something about it all intrigued him, and he knew he'd wanna pocket some bottles for safe keeping.

Professor Slughorn had begun giving him heads up on what his class had in store, often lending extra books and indulging in the boy's curiosity.

"You could be a great Potions master one day you know." And Severus had known, being one of the only people to carry around tiny bottles of his own creation was somewhat of an ego booster. All the more fun in Herbology and all the more easy to take care of himself.

Maybe just 4 this time.

Other students in the room seem bored, not meeting much a reason to be brewing such a potion in the first place. It must be nice to walk in for the grade alone; Severus finishes pouring his honey-like antidote and runs his fingers through his hair. Everything always feels so sticky around cauldrons, his wrists hurt.

"Okay everyone, clean up for today." Slughorn's voice flits past Severus' ears, crackly and friendly as ever. "Keep this recipe in your repertoire.. Never know when Petrificus Totalus may sneak up on you."

What an understatement. Severus wouldn't be leaving Slytherin Dungeon on Sunday unless absolutely necessary, He wrings his hands and envisions a peaceful evening ahead of him, Saturdays bringing a sense of calm. It's just a trek back to his room and he can finally fall to his pillow and take a nap.

"Hey Sev." Lily's velvet voice acts as an invisible wall he walks into. Her eyes meet his as he takes a second to really catch up in his mind, and Lily's hands fall on his shoulders like knocking over old books. She just barely exceeds him in height, her freckles highlighted by the scattered warmth in her cheeks. "You look exhausted! Did you sleep at all?"

"I slept." He answers, voice croaking like he hadn't been awake the past hour. "Not enough though. I've been planning a long nap all day."

The arms of a warm floral cinnamon hold him tight and it's oh–so familiar. Everytime Lily hugs him, Severus doesn't quite know what to do. Does he hold her back? Would it be embarrassing for her if his hands grazed her hair and does she ever stop to think that it may ruin her reputation to be seen with whatever he is—so close to her lungs and– Why can't he just live in the moment? She always sees right through him in a way that no one else does. Perhaps it's because they've known each other for so long.. Perhaps he's just not the best at hiding his shadow. It's so easy to know a terrible person when Heaven on Earth stands directly next to you.

"I've been having some nightmares. Not too many, but some." His shoulders stay tense. There's never enough time with her, even if he were capable of simply standing here with more confidence he'd still have that voice in the back of his head screaming into the canal that connects his ear and up to his eyes and through every vein that reaches his brain. Spilling acid of it's disgusting to be seen and you ruin everything you touch. It's a shame really, his work in class shows otherwise. Good wizard, bad person. Nothing can change that.

She squeezes him ever so slightly, her fingers going to pet his hair before she brings him back to an arms length apart. There's a face of worry; he hates when she looks at him like that.

"I'm sorry." It's not fair, sleeping is supposed to be a time to rest. The one time when nothing else matters except just laying there unmoving, and trying not to go crazy when the loneliness veers its ugly claws. "Mind if i ask what about?"

Severus shakes his head. It's not like he has to hide this sort of stuff from her.

"It's just mum. She's much busier now, I never know when I'll see her. If it's for one month or one minute." Chest rising and falling, he doesn't expect to feel his throat tighten. He only cries when he's tired. "Sorry I need to go."

"Naptime?"

Please take care of yourself.

He nods and whispers a quiet "see you later" before quickly finding his way around the Hogwarts corridors. It always feels empty when he runs away from her, and whenever she says goodbye. He's always hoping for something better to come up, but he knows it's not logical to think that way. To wish and wish for anything to become perfect, for his life to grow into something he's not and will never be, for things to be different.

Reaching the common room, Severus doesn't say a word to anyone. He heads straight past leather sofas and flickering lamps, through the diamond-shaped door. He lands in the carpet of his room and the way his body hits his mattress feels like a rolling pin grading on his bones 10 times over. He'd exerted himself today, and it hadn't even been a full day's worth of classes.

Counting to 112, his hands grip the 2 layers of blanket he's buried himself in and the world around fades to a depressing gray, warm but far from inviting. Sometimes he wishes for a cat to accompany him with soft paws and a gentle purr.

Other times he just wants to stay asleep 'til Christmas comes.

______

Waves and waves of saltwater fight to pull him under, stinging his eyes and blocking his breath but he can't let them win. It's not a choice, but a responsibility, his long sleeves make it exceedingly hard to move and when he reaches this small puppy in front of him he's counting to 100 hoping they'll reach the shoreline before his lungs and limbs give out. She's shaking, and all he can do is wonder where his mother is.

Eileen had been in the water too, the fury of nature's pool hoisting uncertainty in every direction. Severus looks around, running past several people he can't recognize and it's starting to frighten him. Where'd she go? Is the beating heart he's carrying in his arms meant to be here? It's all a haze, a dreary haze.

They're all suddenly together, Severus ripping the paper wrapper off his straw and their waitress brings in a rack of many books. Eileen doesn't seem to even see Severus, she chatters and laughs but doesn't quite look at him, his brain hammers and drills and he just wants her to say 'I've missed you.'

You don't want to be here do you?

It hurts, hurts more than the water pulling him under and the times he's fallen down the stairs when wanting to skip out on Church and she still won't look at him. It's only when they're in his room and he runs into her arms that her voice is aimed directly at him, the small form she can barely hold on to.

"Why do you wish to be around me when I've been so wrong?"

Severus can't stop crying.

"I miss you. It doesn't matter what you've done, I still miss you."

This hug feels like he's fallen into their burning fireplace in the dead of Winter. He knows she's slipping away. She's always slipping away.

"I can't.."

His head pounds. The feeling of chills play through his shoulders and up his neck, it's a wonder that he's still submerged in fabric of green and silver. He can feel his eyes straining with remnants of salt when he opens them and it's only a little shocking when a rough palm collides with his forehead.

"You haven't got a fever, at least I don't think.."

Regulus has no sense of personal space.

"I'm not sick," Severus responds in such a way, he doesn't know if it's even audible. "Head.. hurts."

As if he were struck by lightning Regulus flings his entire arm back to then hang by his waist, presumably what he'd be doing if he hadn't gone to check Sev's temp status. His place next to his roommate's bed is awkward, and Severus is too wracked with leftover pain and confusion to care.

"Is it 7 already?"

"Nuh uh. Still 5:30." Regulus checks his wrist as if he remembered to bring his watch to school this term.

"More sleep."

And then Severus is out again, the tension in his forehead fading once he's breathing steadily and Regulus can't help but stare for longer than any normal person would. Disgust rises in himself because he doesn't feel like he should bear witness - he sighs out with thoughts racing. It'd be so easy to tease him for everything, but easy isn't what he's about. It's not like he's out to start wars. Only out to finish them.

Everburning candles lead the way out of the room in their spot on the small coffee table, almost like a glowing sign pointing him out. No one else is in here, though that shouldn't surprise him. Leave it to Severus to be the only Slytherin avoiding everyone else like the plague.

Once he can't justify standing around any longer, Regulus picks up a small book from under his bed and snakes his way back out from whence he came. A grimace forms on his face when the door has the audacity to screech and his head whips back to make sure it hadn't been a disturbance. Pangs of empathy, it's not something he knows yet. But maybe one day it'll make sense. And maybe someday it won't feel weird, weird that he stared with not much reason.

He's gotta write this all down.

#severus snape #young severus #pro snape #hp fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #lily evans #snily friendship #regulus black #sev has nightmares and sleep issues #esi writing!

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